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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14062-h.zip b/14062-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc309f5 --- /dev/null +++ b/14062-h.zip diff --git a/14062-h/14062-h.htm b/14062-h/14062-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..141a6ee --- /dev/null +++ b/14062-h/14062-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8765 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Miscellanies</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Miscellanies, by Oscar Wilde</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Miscellanies, by Oscar Wilde, Edited by +Robert Ross + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Miscellanies + +Author: Oscar Wilde + +Release Date: November 16, 2004 [eBook #14062] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANIES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1908 edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>MISCELLANIES BY OSCAR WILDE</h1> +<h2>DEDICATION: TO WALTER LEDGER</h2> +<p><i>Since these volumes are sure of a place in your marvellous library +I trust that with your unrivalled knowledge of the various editions +of Wilde you may not detect any grievous error whether of taste or type</i>, +<i>of omission or commission. But should you do so you must blame +the editor</i>, <i>and not those who so patiently assisted him</i>, +<i>the proof readers</i>, <i>the printers</i>, <i>or the publishers. +Some day</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>I look forward to your bibliography +of the author</i>, <i>in which you will be at liberty to criticise my +capacity for anything except regard and friendship for yourself</i>.—<i>Sincerely +yours,</i></p> +<p><i>ROBERT ROSS</i></p> +<p><i>May</i> 25, 1908.</p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>The concluding volume of any collected edition is unavoidably fragmentary +and desultory. And if this particular volume is no exception to +a general tendency, it presents points of view in the author’s +literary career which may have escaped his greatest admirers and detractors. +The wide range of his knowledge and interests is more apparent than +in some of his finished work.</p> +<p>What I believed to be only the fragment of an essay on <i>Historical +Criticism</i> was already in the press, when accidentally I came across +the remaining portions, in Wilde’s own handwriting; it is now +complete though unhappily divided in this edition. <a name="citation0a"></a><a href="#footnote0a">{0a}</a> +Any doubt as to its authenticity, quite apart from the calligraphy, +would vanish on reading such a characteristic passage as the following:—‘ +. . . For, it was in vain that the middle ages strove to guard +the buried spirit of progress. When the dawn of the Greek spirit +arose, the sepulchre was empty, the grave clothes laid aside. +Humanity had risen from the dead.’ It was only Wilde who +could contrive a literary conceit of that description; but readers will +observe with different feelings, according to their temperament, that +he never followed up the particular trend of thought developed in the +essay. It is indeed more the work of the Berkeley Gold Medallist +at Dublin, or the brilliant young Magdalen Demy than of the dramatist +who was to write <i>Salomé</i>. The composition belongs +to his Oxford days when he was the unsuccessful competitor for the Chancellor’s +English Essay Prize. Perhaps Magdalen, which has never forgiven +herself for nurturing the author of <i>Ravenna</i>, may be felicitated +on having escaped the further intolerable honour that she might have +suffered by seeing crowned again with paltry academic parsley the most +highly gifted of all her children in the last century. Compared +with the crude criticism on <i>The Grosvenor Gallery</i> (one of the +earliest of Wilde’s published prose writings), <i>Historical Criticism</i> +is singularly advanced and mature. Apart from his mere scholarship +Wilde developed his literary and dramatic talent slowly. He told +me that he was never regarded as a particularly precocious or clever +youth. Indeed many old family friends and contemporary journalists +maintain sturdily that the talent of his elder brother William was much +more remarkable. In this opinion they are fortified, appropriately +enough, by the late Clement Scott. I record this interesting view +because it symbolises the familiar phenomenon that those nearest the +mountain cannot appreciate its height.</p> +<p>The exiguous fragment of <i>La Sainte Courtisane</i> is the next +unpublished work of importance. At the time of Wilde’s trial +the nearly completed drama was entrusted to Mrs. Leverson, who in 1897 +went to Paris on purpose to restore it to the author. Wilde immediately +left the manuscript in a cab. A few days later he laughingly informed +me of the loss, and added that a cab was a very proper place for it. +I have explained elsewhere that he looked on his plays with disdain +in his last years, though he was always full of schemes for writing +others. All my attempts to recover the lost work failed. +The passages here reprinted are from some odd leaves of a first draft. +The play is of course not unlike <i>Salome</i>, though it was written +in English. It expanded Wilde’s favourite theory that when +you convert some one to an idea, you lose your faith in it; the same +motive runs through <i>Mr. W. H</i>. Honorius the hermit, so far +as I recollect the story, falls in love with the courtesan who has come +to tempt him, and he reveals to her the secret of the Love of God. +She immediately becomes a Christian, and is murdered by robbers; Honorius +the hermit goes back to Alexandria to pursue a life of pleasure. +Two other similar plays Wilde invented in prison, <i>Ahab and Isabel</i> +and <i>Pharaoh</i>; he would never write them down, though often importuned +to do so. <i>Pharaoh</i> was intensely dramatic and perhaps more +original than any of the group. None of these works must be confused +with the manuscripts stolen from 16 Tite Street in 1895—namely +the enlarged version of <i>Mr. W. H</i>., the completed form of <i>A +Florentine Tragedy</i>, and <i>The Duchess of Padua</i> (which existing +in a prompt copy was of less importance than the others); nor with <i>The +Cardinal of Arragon</i>, the manuscript of which I never saw. +I scarcely think it ever existed, though Wilde used to recite proposed +passages for it.</p> +<p>In regard to printing the lectures I have felt some diffidence: the +majority of them were delivered from notes, and the same lectures were +repeated in different towns in England and America. The reports +of them in the papers are never trustworthy; they are often grotesque +travesties, like the reports of after-dinner speeches in the London +press of today. I have included only those lectures of which I +possess or could obtain manuscript.</p> +<p>The aim of this edition has been completeness; and it is complete +so far as human effort can make it; but besides the lost manuscripts +there must be buried in the contemporary press many anonymous reviews +which I have failed to identify. The remaining contents of this +book do not call for further comment, other than a reminder that Wilde +would hardly have consented to their republication. But owing +to the number of anonymous works wrongly attributed to him, chiefly +in America, and spurious works published in his name, I found it necessary +to violate the laws of friendship by rejecting nothing I knew to be +authentic. It will be seen on reference to the letters on <i>The +Ethics of Journalism</i> that Wilde’s name appearing at the end +of poems and articles was not always a proof of authenticity even in +his lifetime.</p> +<p>Of the few letters Wilde wrote to the press, those addressed to Whistler +I have included with greater misgiving than anything else in this volume. +They do not seem to me more amusing than those to which they were the +intended rejoinders. But the dates are significant. Wilde +was at one time always accused of plagiarising his ideas and his epigrams +from Whistler, especially those with which he decorated his lectures, +the accusation being brought by Whistler himself and his various disciples. +It should be noted that all the works by which Wilde is known throughout +Europe were written <i>after</i> the two friends quarrelled. That +Wilde derived a great deal from the older man goes without saying, just +as he derived much in a greater degree from Pater, Ruskin, Arnold and +Burne-Jones. Yet the tedious attempt to recognise in every jest +of his some original by Whistler induces the criticism that it seems +a pity the great painter did not get them off on the public before he +was forestalled. Reluctance from an appeal to publicity was never +a weakness in either of the men. Some of Wilde’s more frequently +quoted sayings were made at the Old Bailey (though their provenance +is often forgotten) or on his death-bed.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, the genius of the two men was entirely different. +Wilde was a humourist and a humanist before everything; and his wittiest +jests have neither the relentlessness nor the keenness characterising +those of the clever American artist. Again, Whistler could no +more have obtained the Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek, nor have written +<i>The Importance of Being Earnest</i>, nor <i>The Soul of Man</i>, +than Wilde, even if equipped as a painter, could ever have evinced that +superb restraint distinguishing the portraits of ‘Miss Alexander,’ +‘Carlyle,’ and other masterpieces. Wilde, though it +is not generally known, was something of a draughtsman in his youth. +I possess several of his drawings.</p> +<p>A complete bibliography including all the foreign translations and +American piracies would make a book of itself much larger than the present +one. In order that Wilde collectors (and there are many, I believe) +may know the authorised editions and authentic writings from the spurious, +Mr. Stuart Mason, whose work on this edition I have already acknowledged, +has supplied a list which contains every <i>genuine</i> and <i>authorised</i> +English edition. This of course does not preclude the chance that +some of the American editions are authorised, and that some of Wilde’s +genuine works even are included in the pirated editions.</p> +<p>I am indebted to the Editors and Proprietors of the <i>Queen</i> +for leave to reproduce the article on ‘English Poetesses’; +to the Editor and Proprietors of the <i>Sunday Times</i> for the article +entitled ‘Art at Willis’s Rooms’; and to Mr. William +Waldorf Astor for those from the <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.</p> +<p>ROBERT ROSS</p> +<h2>THE TOMB OF KEATS</h2> +<p>(<i>Irish Monthly</i>, July 1877.)</p> +<p>As one enters Rome from the Via Ostiensis by the Porta San Paolo, +the first object that meets the eye is a marble pyramid which stands +close at hand on the left.</p> +<p>There are many Egyptian obelisks in Rome—tall, snakelike spires +of red sandstone, mottled with strange writings, which remind us of +the pillars of flame which led the children of Israel through the desert +away from the land of the Pharaohs; but more wonderful than these to +look upon is this gaunt, wedge-shaped pyramid standing here in this +Italian city, unshattered amid the ruins and wrecks of time, looking +older than the Eternal City itself, like terrible impassiveness turned +to stone. And so in the Middle Ages men supposed this to be the +sepulchre of Remus, who was slain by his own brother at the founding +of the city, so ancient and mysterious it appears; but we have now, +perhaps unfortunately, more accurate information about it, and know +that it is the tomb of one Caius Cestius, a Roman gentleman of small +note, who died about 30 B.C.</p> +<p>Yet though we cannot care much for the dead man who lies in lonely +state beneath it, and who is only known to the world through his sepulchre, +still this pyramid will be ever dear to the eyes of all English-speaking +people, because at evening its shadows fall on the tomb of one who walks +with Spenser, and Shakespeare, and Byron, and Shelley, and Elizabeth +Barrett Browning in the great procession of the sweet singers of England.</p> +<p>For at its foot there is a green, sunny slope, known as the Old Protestant +Cemetery, and on this a common-looking grave, which bears the following +inscription:</p> +<blockquote><p>This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English +poet, who on his deathbed, in the bitterness of his heart, desired these +words to be engraven on his tombstone: HERE LIES ONE WHOSE NAME WAS +WRIT IN WATER. February 24, 1821.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And the name of the young English poet is John Keats.</p> +<p>Lord Houghton calls this cemetery ‘one of the most beautiful +spots on which the eye and heart of man can rest,’ and Shelley +speaks of it as making one ‘in love with death, to think that +one should be buried in so sweet a place’; and indeed when I saw +the violets and the daisies and the poppies that overgrow the tomb, +I remembered how the dead poet had once told his friend that he thought +the ‘intensest pleasure he had received in life was in watching +the growth of flowers,’ and how another time, after lying a while +quite still, he murmured in some strange prescience of early death, +‘I feel the flowers growing over me.’</p> +<p>But this time-worn stone and these wildflowers are but poor memorials +<a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> of one so great +as Keats; most of all, too, in this city of Rome, which pays such honour +to her dead; where popes, and emperors, and saints, and cardinals lie +hidden in ‘porphyry wombs,’ or couched in baths of jasper +and chalcedony and malachite, ablaze with precious stones and metals, +and tended with continual service. For very noble is the site, +and worthy of a noble monument; behind looms the grey pyramid, symbol +of the world’s age, and filled with memories of the sphinx, and +the lotus leaf, and the glories of old Nile; in front is the Monte Testaccio, +built, it is said, with the broken fragments of the vessels in which +all the nations of the East and the West brought their tribute to Rome; +and a little distance off, along the slope of the hill under the Aurelian +wall, some tall gaunt cypresses rise, like burnt-out funeral torches, +to mark the spot where Shelley’s heart (that ‘heart of hearts’!) +lies in the earth; and, above all, the soil on which we tread is very +Rome!</p> +<p>As I stood beside the mean grave of this divine boy, I thought of +him as of a Priest of Beauty slain before his time; and the vision of +Guido’s St. Sebastian came before my eyes as I saw him at Genoa, +a lovely brown boy, with crisp, clustering hair and red lips, bound +by his evil enemies to a tree, and though pierced by arrows, raising +his eyes with divine, impassioned gaze towards the Eternal Beauty of +the opening heavens. And thus my thoughts shaped themselves to +rhyme:</p> +<blockquote><p>HEU MISERANDE PUER</p> +<p>Rid of the world’s injustice and its pain,<br /> + He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue;<br /> + Taken from life while life and love were new<br /> +The youngest of the martyrs here is lain,<br /> +Fair as Sebastian and as foully slain.<br /> + No cypress shades his grave, nor funeral yew,<br /> + But red-lipped daisies, violets drenched with dew,<br /> +And sleepy poppies, catch the evening rain.</p> +<p>O proudest heart that broke for misery!<br /> + O saddest poet that the world hath seen!<br /> + O sweetest singer of the English land!<br /> + Thy name was writ in water on the sand,<br /> + But our tears shall keep thy memory green,<br /> +And make it flourish like a Basil-tree.</p> +<p>Borne, 1877.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Note</i>.—A later version of this sonnet, under the title +of ‘The Grave of Keats,’ is given in the <i>Poems</i>, page +157.</p> +<h2>THE GROSVENOR GALLERY, 1877</h2> +<p>(<i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, July 1877.)</p> +<p>That ‘Art is long and life is short’ is a truth which +every one feels, or ought to feel; yet surely those who were in London +last May, and had in one week the opportunities of hearing Rubenstein +play the Sonata Impassionata, of seeing Wagner conduct the Spinning-Wheel +Chorus from the <i>Flying Dutchman</i>, and of studying art at the Grosvenor +Gallery, have very little to complain of as regards human existence +and art-pleasures.</p> +<p>Descriptions of music are generally, perhaps, more or less failures, +for music is a matter of individual feeling, and the beauties and lessons +that one draws from hearing lovely sounds are mainly personal, and depend +to a large extent on one’s own state of mind and culture. +So leaving Rubenstein and Wagner to be celebrated by Franz Hüffer, +or Mr. Haweis, or any other of our picturesque writers on music, I will +describe some of the pictures now being shown in the Grosvenor Gallery.</p> +<p>The origin of this Gallery is as follows: About a year ago the idea +occurred to Sir Coutts Lindsay of building a public gallery, in which, +untrammelled by the difficulties or meannesses of ‘Hanging Committees,’ +he could exhibit to the lovers of art the works of certain great living +artists side by side: a gallery in which the student would not have +to struggle through an endless monotony of mediocre works in order to +reach what was worth looking at; one in which the people of England +could have the opportunity of judging of the merits of at least one +great master of painting, whose pictures had been kept from public exhibition +by the jealousy and ignorance of rival artists. Accordingly, last +May, in New Bond Street, the Grosvenor Gallery was opened to the public.</p> +<p>As far as the Gallery itself is concerned, there are only three rooms, +so there is no fear of our getting that terrible weariness of mind and +eye which comes on after the ‘Forced Marches’ through ordinary +picture galleries. The walls are hung with scarlet damask above +a dado of dull green and gold; there are luxurious velvet couches, beautiful +flowers and plants, tables of gilded and inlaid marbles, covered with +Japanese china and the latest ‘Minton,’ globes of ‘rainbow +glass’ like large soap-bubbles, and, in fine, everything in decoration +that is lovely to look on, and in harmony with the surrounding works +of art.</p> +<p>Burne-Jones and Holman Hunt are probably the greatest masters of +colour that we have ever had in England, with the single exception of +Turner, but their styles differ widely. To draw a rough distinction, +Holman Hunt studies and reproduces the colours of natural objects, and +deals with historical subjects, or scenes of real life, mostly from +the East, touched occasionally with a certain fancifulness, as in the +<i>Shadow of the Cross</i>. Burne-Jones, on the contrary, is a +dreamer in the land of mythology, a seer of fairy visions, a symbolical +painter. He is an imaginative colourist too, knowing that all +colour is no mere delightful quality of natural things, but a ‘spirit +upon them by which they become expressive to the spirit,’ as Mr. +Pater says. Watts’s power, on the other hand, lies in his +great originative and imaginative genius, and he reminds us of Æschylus +or Michael Angelo in the startling vividness of his conceptions. +Although these three painters differ much in aim and in result, they +yet are one in their faith, and love, and reverence, the three golden +keys to the gate of the House Beautiful.</p> +<p>On entering the West Gallery the first picture that meets the eye +is Mr. Watts’s <i>Love and Death</i>, a large painting, representing +a marble doorway, all overgrown with white-starred jasmine and sweet +brier-rose. Death, a giant form, veiled in grey draperies, is +passing in with inevitable and mysterious power, breaking through all +the flowers. One foot is already on the threshold, and one relentless +hand is extended, while Love, a beautiful boy with lithe brown limbs +and rainbow-coloured wings, all shrinking like a crumpled leaf, is trying, +with vain hands, to bar the entrance. A little dove, undisturbed +by the agony of the terrible conflict, waits patiently at the foot of +the steps for her playmate; but will wait in vain, for though the face +of Death is hidden from us, yet we can see from the terror in the boy’s +eyes and quivering lips, that, Medusa-like, this grey phantom turns +all it looks upon to stone; and the wings of Love are rent and crushed. +Except on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, there are perhaps +few paintings to compare with this in intensity of strength and in marvel +of conception. It is worthy to rank with Michael Angelo’s +<i>God Dividing the Light from the Darkness.</i></p> +<p>Next to it are hung five pictures by Millais. Three of them +are portraits of the three daughters of the Duke of Westminster, all +in white dresses, with white hats and feathers; the delicacy of the +colour being rather injured by the red damask background. These +pictures do not possess any particular merit beyond that of being extremely +good likenesses, especially the one of the Marchioness of Ormonde. +Over them is hung a picture of a seamstress, pale and vacant-looking, +with eyes red from tears and long watchings in the night, hemming a +shirt. It is meant to illustrate Hood’s familiar poem. +As we look on it, a terrible contrast strikes us between this miserable +pauper-seamstress and the three beautiful daughters of the richest duke +in the world, which breaks through any artistic reveries by its awful +vividness.</p> +<p>The fifth picture is a profile head of a young man with delicate +aquiline nose, thoughtful oval face, and artistic, abstracted air, which +will be easily recognised as a portrait of Lord Ronald Gower, who is +himself known as an artist and sculptor. But no one would discern +in these five pictures the genius that painted the <i>Home at Bethlehem</i> +and the portrait of John Ruskin which is at Oxford.</p> +<p>Then come eight pictures by Alma Tadema, good examples of that accurate +drawing of inanimate objects which makes his pictures so real from an +antiquarian point of view, and of the sweet subtlety of colouring which +gives to them a magic all their own. One represents some Roman +girls bathing in a marble tank, and the colour of the limbs in the water +is very perfect indeed; a dainty attendant is tripping down a flight +of steps with a bundle of towels, and in the centre a great green sphinx +in bronze throws forth a shower of sparkling water for a very pretty +laughing girl, who stoops gleefully beneath it. There is a delightful +sense of coolness about the picture, and one can almost imagine that +one hears the splash of water, and the girls’ chatter. It +is wonderful what a world of atmosphere and reality may be condensed +into a very small space, for this picture is only about eleven by two +and a half inches.</p> +<p>The most ambitious of these pictures is one of <i>Phidias Showing +the Frieze of the Parthenon to his Friends</i>. We are supposed +to be on a high scaffolding level with the frieze, and the effect of +great height produced by glimpses of light between the planking of the +floor is very cleverly managed. But there is a want of individuality +among the connoisseurs clustered round Phidias, and the frieze itself +is very inaccurately coloured. The Greek boys who are riding and +leading the horses are painted Egyptian red, and the whole design is +done in this red, dark blue, and black. This sombre colouring +is un-Greek; the figures of these boys were undoubtedly tinted with +flesh colour, like the ordinary Greek statues, and the whole tone of +the colouring of the original frieze was brilliant and light; while +one of its chief beauties, the reins and accoutrements of burnished +metal, is quite omitted. This painter is more at home in the Greco-Roman +art of the Empire and later Republic than he is in the art of the Periclean +age.</p> +<p>The most remarkable of Mr. Richmond’s pictures exhibited here +is his <i>Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon</i>—a very magnificent +subject, to which, however, justice is not done. Electra and her +handmaidens are grouped gracefully around the tomb of the murdered King; +but there is a want of humanity in the scene: there is no trace of that +passionate Asiatic mourning for the dead to which the Greek women were +so prone, and which Æschylus describes with such intensity; nor +would Greek women have come to pour libations to the dead in such bright-coloured +dresses as Mr. Richmond has given them; clearly this artist has not +studied Æschylus’ play of the Choëphori, in which there +is an elaborate and pathetic account of this scene. The tall, +twisted tree-stems, however, that form the background are fine and original +in effect, and Mr. Richmond has caught exactly that peculiar opal-blue +of the sky which is so remarkable in Greece; the purple orchids too, +and daffodil and narcissi that are in the foreground are all flowers +which I have myself seen at Argos.</p> +<p>Sir Coutts Lindsay sends a life-size portrait of his wife, holding +a violin, which has some good points of colour and position, and four +other pictures, including an exquisitely simple and quaint little picture +of the <i>Dower House at Balcarres</i>, and a <i>Daphne</i> with rather +questionable flesh-painting, and in whom we miss the breathlessness +of flight.</p> +<blockquote><p>I saw the blush come o’er her like a rose;<br /> +The half-reluctant crimson comes and goes;<br /> +Her glowing limbs make pause, and she is stayed<br /> +Wondering the issue of the words she prayed.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is a great pity that Holman Hunt is not represented by any of +his really great works, such as the <i>Finding of Christ in the Temple</i>, +or <i>Isabella Mourning over the Pot of Basil</i>, both of which are +fair samples of his powers. Four pictures of his are shown here: +a little Italian child, painted with great love and sweetness, two street +scenes in Cairo full of rich Oriental colouring, and a wonderful work +called the <i>Afterglow in Egypt</i>. It represents a tall swarthy +Egyptian woman, in a robe of dark and light blue, carrying a green jar +on her shoulder, and a sheaf of grain on her head; around her comes +fluttering a flock of beautiful doves of all colours, eager to be fed. +Behind is a wide flat river, and across the river a stretch of ripe +corn, through which a gaunt camel is being driven; the sun has set, +and from the west comes a great wave of red light like wine poured out +on the land, yet not crimson, as we see the Afterglow in Northern Europe, +but a rich pink like that of a rose. As a study of colour it is +superb, but it is difficult to feel a human interest in this Egyptian +peasant.</p> +<p>Mr. Albert Moore sends some of his usual pictures of women, which +as studies of drapery and colour effects are very charming. One +of them, a tall maiden, in a robe of light blue clasped at the neck +with a glowing sapphire, and with an orange headdress, is a very good +example of the highest decorative art, and a perfect delight in colour.</p> +<p>Mr. Spencer Stanhope’s picture of <i>Eve Tempted</i> is one +of the remarkable pictures of the Gallery. Eve, a fair woman, +of surpassing loveliness, is leaning against a bank of violets, underneath +the apple tree; naked, except for the rich thick folds of gilded hair +which sweep down from her head like the bright rain in which Zeus came +to Danae. The head is drooped a little forward as a flower droops +when the dew has fallen heavily, and her eyes are dimmed with the haze +that comes in moments of doubtful thought. One arm falls idly +by her side; the other is raised high over her head among the branches, +her delicate fingers just meeting round one of the burnished apples +that glow amidst the leaves like ‘golden lamps in a green night.’ +An amethyst-coloured serpent, with a devilish human head, is twisting +round the trunk of the tree and breathes into the woman’s ear +a blue flame of evil counsel. At the feet of Eve bright flowers +are growing, tulips, narcissi, lilies, and anemones, all painted with +a loving patience that reminds us of the older Florentine masters; after +whose example, too, Mr. Stanhope has used gilding for Eve’s hair +and for the bright fruits.</p> +<p>Next to it is another picture by the same artist, entitled <i>Love +and the Maiden</i>. A girl has fallen asleep in a wood of olive +trees, through whose branches and grey leaves we can see the glimmer +of sky and sea, with a little seaport town of white houses shining in +the sunlight. The olive wood is ever sacred to the Virgin Pallas, +the Goddess of Wisdom; and who would have dreamed of finding Eros hidden +there? But the girl wakes up, as one wakes from sleep one knows +not why, to see the face of the boy Love, who, with outstretched hands, +is leaning towards her from the midst of a rhododendron’s crimson +blossoms. A rose-garland presses the boy’s brown curls, +and he is clad in a tunic of oriental colours, and delicately sensuous +are his face and his bared limbs. His boyish beauty is of that +peculiar type unknown in Northern Europe, but common in the Greek islands, +where boys can still be found as beautiful as the Charmides of Plato. +Guido’s <i>St. Sebastian</i> in the Palazzo Rosso at Genoa is +one of those boys, and Perugino once drew a Greek Ganymede for his native +town, but the painter who most shows the influence of this type is Correggio, +whose lily-bearer in the Cathedral at Parma, and whose wild-eyed, open-mouthed +St. Johns in the ‘Incoronata Madonna’ of St. Giovanni Evangelista, +are the best examples in art of the bloom and vitality and radiance +of this adolescent beauty. And so there is extreme loveliness +in this figure of Love by Mr. Stanhope, and the whole picture is full +of grace, though there is, perhaps, too great a luxuriance of colour, +and it would have been a relief had the girl been dressed in pure white.</p> +<p>Mr. Frederick Burton, of whom all Irishmen are so justly proud, is +represented by a fine water-colour portrait of Mrs. George Smith; one +would almost believe it to be in oils, so great is the lustre on this +lady’s raven-black hair, and so rich and broad and vigorous is +the painting of a Japanese scarf she is wearing. Then as we turn +to the east wall of the gallery we see the three great pictures of Burne-Jones, +the <i>Beguiling of Merlin</i>, the <i>Days of Creation</i>, and the +<i>Mirror of Venus</i>. The version of the legend of Merlin’s +Beguiling that Mr. Burne-Jones has followed differs from Mr. Tennyson’s +and from the account in the <i>Morte d’Arthur</i>. It is +taken from the <i>Romance of Merlin</i>, which tells the story in this +wise:</p> +<blockquote><p>It fell on a day that they went through the forest of +Breceliande, and found a bush that was fair and high, of white hawthorn, +full of flowers, and there they sat in the shadow. And Merlin +fell on sleep; and when she felt that he was on sleep she arose softly, +and began her enchantments, such as Merlin had taught her, and made +the ring nine times, and nine times the enchantments.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>And then he looked about him, and him seemed he was in the fairest +tower of the world, and the most strong; neither of iron was it fashioned, +nor steel, nor timber, nor of stone, but of the air, without any other +thing; and in sooth so strong it is that it may never be undone while +the world endureth.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So runs the chronicle; and thus Mr. Burne-Jones, the ‘Archimage +of the esoteric unreal,’ treats the subject. Stretched upon +a low branch of the tree, and encircled with the glory of the white +hawthorn-blossoms, half sits, half lies, the great enchanter. +He is not drawn as Mr. Tennyson has described him, with the ‘vast +and shaggy mantle of a beard,’ which youth gone out had left in +ashes; smooth and clear-cut and very pale is his face; time has not +seared him with wrinkles or the signs of age; one would hardly know +him to be old were it not that he seems very weary of seeking into the +mysteries of the world, and that the great sadness that is born of wisdom +has cast a shadow on him. But now what availeth him his wisdom +or his arts? His eyes, that saw once so clear, are dim and glazed +with coming death, and his white and delicate hands that wrought of +old such works of marvel, hang listlessly. Vivien, a tall, lithe +woman, beautiful and subtle to look on, like a snake, stands in front +of him, reading the fatal spell from the enchanted book; mocking the +utter helplessness of him whom once her lying tongue had called</p> +<blockquote><p> Her lord and liege,<br /> +Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve,<br /> +Her god, her Merlin, the one passionate love<br /> +Of her whole life.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In her brown crisp hair is the gleam of a golden snake, and she is +clad in a silken robe of dark violet that clings tightly to her limbs, +more expressing than hiding them; the colour of this dress is like the +colour of a purple sea-shell, broken here and there with slight gleams +of silver and pink and azure; it has a strange metallic lustre like +the iris-neck of the dove. Were this Mr. Burne-Jones’s only +work it would be enough of itself to make him rank as a great painter. +The picture is full of magic; and the colour is truly a spirit dwelling +on things and making them expressive to the spirit, for the delicate +tones of grey, and green, and violet seem to convey to us the idea of +languid sleep, and even the hawthorn-blossoms have lost their wonted +brightness, and are more like the pale moonlight to which Shelley compared +them, than the sheet of summer snow we see now in our English fields.</p> +<p>The next picture is divided into six compartments, each representing +a day in the Creation of the World, under the symbol of an angel holding +a crystal globe, within which is shown the work of a day. In the +first compartment stands the lonely angel of the First Day, and within +the crystal ball Light is being separated from Darkness. In the +fourth compartment are four angels, and the crystal glows like a heated +opal, for within it the creation of the Sun, Moon, and Stars is passing; +the number of the angels increases, and the colours grow more vivid +till we reach the sixth compartment, which shines afar off like a rainbow. +Within it are the six angels of the Creation, each holding its crystal +ball; and within the crystal of the sixth angel one can see Adam’s +strong brown limbs and hero form, and the pale, beautiful body of Eve. +At the feet also of these six winged messengers of the Creator is sitting +the angel of the Seventh Day, who on a harp of gold is singing the glories +of that coming day which we have not yet seen. The faces of the +angels are pale and oval-shaped, in their eyes is the light of Wisdom +and Love, and their lips seem as if they would speak to us; and strength +and beauty are in their wings. They stand with naked feet, some +on shell-strewn sands whereon tide has never washed nor storm broken, +others it seems on pools of water, others on strange flowers; and their +hair is like the bright glory round a saint’s head.</p> +<p>The scene of the third picture is laid on a long green valley by +the sea; eight girls, handmaidens of the Goddess of Love, are collected +by the margin of a long pool of clear water, whose surface no wandering +wind or flapping bird has ruffled; but the large flat leaves of the +water-lily float on it undisturbed, and clustering forget-me-nots rise +here and there like heaps of scattered turquoise.</p> +<p>In this <i>Mirror of Venus</i> each girl is reflected as in a mirror +of polished steel. Some of them bend over the pool in laughing +wonder at their own beauty, others, weary of shadows, are leaning back, +and one girl is standing straight up; and nothing of her is reflected +in the pool but a glimmer of white feet. This picture, however, +has not the intense pathos and tragedy of the <i>Beguiling of Merlin</i>, +nor the mystical and lovely symbolism of the <i>Days of the Creation</i>. +Above these three pictures are hung five allegorical studies of figures +by the same artist, all worthy of his fame.</p> +<p>Mr. Walter Crane, who has illustrated so many fairy tales for children, +sends an ambitious work called the <i>Renaissance of Venus</i>, which +in the dull colour of its ‘sunless dawn,’ and in its general +want of all the glow and beauty and passion that one associates with +this scene reminds one of Botticelli’s picture of the same subject. +After Mr. Swinburne’s superb description of the sea-birth of the +goddess in his <i>Hymn to Proserpine</i>, it is very strange to find +a cultured artist of feeling producing such a vapid Venus as this. +The best thing in it is the painting of an apple tree: the time of year +is spring, and the leaves have not yet come, but the tree is laden with +pink and white blossoms, which stand out in beautiful relief against +the pale blue of the sky, and are very true to nature.</p> +<p>M. Alphonse Legros sends nine pictures, and there is a natural curiosity +to see the work of a gentleman who holds at Cambridge the same professorship +as Mr. Ruskin does at Oxford. Four of these are studies of men’s +heads, done in two hours each for his pupils at the Slade Schools. +There is a good deal of vigorous, rough execution about them, and they +are marvels of rapid work. His portrait of Mr. Carlyle is unsatisfactory; +and even in No. 79, a picture of two scarlet-robed bishops, surrounded +by Spanish monks, his colour is very thin and meagre. A good bit +of painting is of some metal pots in a picture called <i>Le Chaudronnier</i>.</p> +<p>Mr. Leslie, unfortunately, is represented only by one small work, +called <i>Palm-blossom</i>. It is a picture of a perfectly lovely +child that reminds one of Sir Joshua’s cherubs in the National +Gallery, with a mouth like two petals of a rose; the under-lip, as Rossetti +says quaintly somewhere, ‘sucked in, as if it strove to kiss itself.’</p> +<p>Then we come to the most abused pictures in the whole Exhibition—the +‘colour symphonies’ of the ‘Great Dark Master,’ +Mr. Whistler, who deserves the name of ‘Ο σκοτεινος +as much as Heraclitus ever did. Their titles do not convey much +information. No. 4 is called <i>Nocturne in Black and Gold</i>, +No. 6A <i>Nocturne in Blue and Silver</i>, and so on. The first +of these represents a rocket of golden rain, with green and red fires +bursting in a perfectly black sky, two large black smudges on the picture +standing, I believe, for a tower which is in ‘Cremorne Gardens’ +and for a crowd of lookers-on. The other is rather prettier; a +rocket is breaking in a pale blue sky over a large dark blue bridge +and a blue and silver river. These pictures are certainly worth +looking at for about as long as one looks at a real rocket, that is, +for somewhat less than a quarter of a minute.</p> +<p>No. 7 is called <i>Arrangement in Black No. 3</i>, apparently some +pseudonym for our greatest living actor, for out of black smudgy clouds +comes looming the gaunt figure of Mr. Henry Irving, with the yellow +hair and pointed beard, the ruff, short cloak, and tight hose in which +he appeared as Philip II. in Tennyson’s play <i>Queen Mary</i>. +One hand is thrust into his breast, and his legs are stuck wide apart +in a queer stiff position that Mr. Irving often adopts preparatory to +one of his long, wolflike strides across the stage. The figure +is life-size, and, though apparently one-armed, is so ridiculously like +the original that one cannot help almost laughing when one sees it. +And we may imagine that any one who had the misfortune to be shut up +at night in the Grosvenor Gallery would hear this <i>Arrangement in +Black No. 3</i> murmuring in the well-known Lyceum accents:</p> +<blockquote><p> By St. James, I do protest,<br /> +Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard,<br /> +I am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty.<br /> +Simon, is supper ready?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Nos. 8 and 9 are life-size portraits of two young ladies, evidently +caught in a black London fog; they look like sisters, but are not related +probably, as one is a <i>Harmony in Amber and Black</i>, the other only +an <i>Arrangement in Brown.</i></p> +<p>Mr. Whistler, however, sends one really good picture to this exhibition, +a portrait of Mr. Carlyle, which is hung in the entrance hall; the expression +on the old man’s face, the texture and colour of his grey hair, +and the general sympathetic treatment, show Mr. Whistler <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a> +to be an artist of very great power when he likes.</p> +<p>There is not so much in the East Gallery that calls for notice. +Mr. Leighton is unfortunately represented only by two little heads, +one of an Italian girl, the other called <i>A Study</i>. There +is some delicate flesh painting of red and brown in these works that +reminds one of a russet apple, but of course they are no samples of +this artist’s great strength. There are two good portraits—one +of Mrs. Burne-Jones, by Mr. Poynter. This lady has a very delicate, +artistic face, reminding us, perhaps, a little of one of the angels +her husband has painted. She is represented in a white dress, +with a perfectly gigantic old-fashioned watch hung to her waist, drinking +tea from an old blue china cup. The other is a head of the Duchess +of Westminster by Mr. Forbes-Robertson, who both as an actor and an +artist has shown great cleverness. He has succeeded very well +in reproducing the calm, beautiful profile and lustrous golden hair, +but the shoulders are ungraceful, and very unlike the original. +The figure of a girl leaning against a wonderful screen, looking terribly +‘misunderstood,’ and surrounded by any amount of artistic +china and furniture, by Mrs. Louise Jopling, is worth looking at too. +It is called <i>It Might Have Been</i>, and the girl is quite fit to +be the heroine of any sentimental novel.</p> +<p>The two largest contributors to this gallery are Mr. Ferdinand Heilbuth +and Mr. James Tissot. The first of these two artists sends some +delightful pictures from Rome, two of which are particularly pleasing. +One is of an old Cardinal in the Imperial scarlet of the Cæsars +meeting a body of young Italian boys in purple soutanes, students evidently +in some religious college, near the Church of St. John Lateran. +One of the boys is being presented to the Cardinal, and looks very nervous +under the operation; the rest gaze in wonder at the old man in his beautiful +dress. The other picture is a view in the gardens of the Villa +Borghese; a Cardinal has sat down on a marble seat in the shade of the +trees, and is suspending his meditation for a moment to smile at a pretty +child to whom a French <i>bonne</i> is pointing out the gorgeously dressed +old gentleman; a flunkey in attendance on the Cardinal looks superciliously +on.</p> +<p>Nearly all of Mr. Tissot’s pictures are deficient in feeling +and depth; his young ladies are too fashionably over-dressed to interest +the artistic eye, and he has a hard unscrupulousness in painting uninteresting +objects in an uninteresting way. There is some good colour and +drawing, however, in his painting of a withered chestnut tree, with +the autumn sun glowing through the yellow leaves, in a picnic scene, +No. 23; the remainder of the picture being something in the photographic +style of Frith.</p> +<p>What a gap in art there is between such a picture as the <i>Banquet +of the Civic Guard</i> in Holland, with its beautiful grouping of noble-looking +men, its exquisite Venetian glass aglow with light and wine, and Mr. +Tissot’s over-dressed, common-looking people, and ugly, painfully +accurate representation of modern soda-water bottles!</p> +<p>Mr. Tissot’s <i>Widower</i>, however, shines in qualities which +his other pictures lack; it is full of depth and suggestiveness; the +grasses and wild, luxuriant growth of the foreground are a revel of +natural life.</p> +<p>We must notice besides in this gallery Mr. Watts’s two powerful +portraits of Mr. Burne-Jones and Lady Lindsay.</p> +<p>To get to the Water-Colour Room we pass through a small sculpture +gallery, which contains some busts of interest, and a pretty terra-cotta +figure of a young sailor, by Count Gleichen, entitled <i>Cheeky</i>, +but it is not remarkable in any way, and contrasts very unfavourably +with the Exhibition of Sculpture at the Royal Academy, in which are +three really fine works of art—Mr. Leighton’s <i>Man Struggling +with a Snake</i>, which may be thought worthy of being looked on side +by side with the Laocoon of the Vatican, and Lord Ronald Gower’s +two statues, one of a dying French Guardsman at the Battle of Waterloo, +the other of Marie Antoinette being led to execution with bound hands, +Queenlike and noble to the last.</p> +<p>The collection of water-colours is mediocre; there is a good effect +of Mr. Poynter’s, the east wind seen from a high cliff sweeping +down on the sea like the black wings of some god; and some charming +pictures of Fairy Land by Mr. Richard Doyle, which would make good illustrations +for one of Mr. Allingham’s Fairy-Poems, but the <i>tout-ensemble</i> +is poor.</p> +<p>Taking a general view of the works exhibited here, we see that this +dull land of England, with its short summer, its dreary rains and fogs, +its mining districts and factories, and vile deification of machinery, +has yet produced very great masters of art, men with a subtle sense +and love of what is beautiful, original, and noble in imagination.</p> +<p>Nor are the art-treasures of this country at all exhausted by this +Exhibition; there are very many great pictures by living artists hidden +away in different places, which those of us who are yet boys have never +seen, and which our elders must wish to see again.</p> +<p>Holman Hunt has done better work than the <i>Afterglow in Egypt</i>; +neither Millais, Leighton, nor Poynter has sent any of the pictures +on which his fame rests; neither Burne-Jones nor Watts shows us here +all the glories of his art; and the name of that strange genius who +wrote the <i>Vision of Love revealed in Sleep</i>, and the names of +Dante Rossetti and of the Marchioness of Waterford, cannot be found +in the catalogue. And so it is to be hoped that this is not the +only exhibition of paintings that we shall see in the Grosvenor Gallery; +and Sir Coutts Lindsay, in showing us great works of art, will be most +materially aiding that revival of culture and love of beauty which in +great part owes its birth to Mr. Ruskin, and which Mr. Swinburne, and +Mr. Pater, and Mr. Symonds, and Mr. Morris, and many others, are fostering +and keeping alive, each in his own peculiar fashion.</p> +<h2>THE GROSVENOR GALLERY 1879</h2> +<p>(<i>Saunders’ Irish Daily News</i>, May 5, 1879.)</p> +<p>While the yearly exhibition of the Royal Academy may be said to present +us with the general characteristics of ordinary English art at its most +commonplace level, it is at the Grosvenor Gallery that we are enabled +to see the highest development of the modern artistic spirit as well +as what one might call its specially accentuated tendencies.</p> +<p>Foremost among the great works now exhibited at this gallery are +Mr. Burne-Jones’s <i>Annunciation</i> and his four pictures illustrating +the Greek legend of Pygmalion—works of the very highest importance +in our æsthetic development as illustrative of some of the more +exquisite qualities of modern culture. In the first the Virgin +Mary, a passionless, pale woman, with that mysterious sorrow whose meaning +she was so soon to learn mirrored in her wan face, is standing, in grey +drapery, by a marble fountain, in what seems the open courtyard of an +empty and silent house, while through the branches of a tall olive tree, +unseen by the Virgin’s tear-dimmed eyes, is descending the angel +Gabriel with his joyful and terrible message, not painted as Angelico +loved to do, in the varied splendour of peacock-like wings and garments +of gold and crimson, but somewhat sombre in colour, set with all the +fine grace of nobly-fashioned drapery and exquisitely ordered design. +In presence of what may be called the mediæval spirit may be discerned +both the idea and the technique of the work, and even still more so +in the four pictures of the story of Pygmalion, where the sculptor is +represented in dress and in looks rather as a Christian <i>St. Francis</i>, +than as a pure Greek artist in the first morning tide of art, creating +his own ideal, and worshipping it. For delicacy and melody of +colour these pictures are beyond praise, nor can anything exceed the +idyllic loveliness of Aphrodite waking the statue into sensuous life: +the world above her head like a brittle globe of glass, her feet resting +on a drift of the blue sky, and a choir of doves fluttering around her +like a fall of white snow. Following in the same school of ideal +and imaginative painting is Miss Evelyn Pickering, whose picture of +St. Catherine, in the Dudley of some years ago, attracted such great +attention. To the present gallery she has contributed a large +picture of <i>Night and Sleep</i>, twin brothers floating over the world +in indissoluble embrace, the one spreading the cloak of darkness, while +from the other’s listless hands the Leathean poppies fall in a +scarlet shower. Mr. Strudwich sends a picture of <i>Isabella</i>, +which realises in some measure the pathos of Keats’s poem, and +another of the lover in the lily garden from the Song of Solomon, both +works full of delicacy of design and refinement of detail, yet essentially +weak in colour, and in comparison with the splendid Giorgione-like work +of Mr. Fairfax Murray, are more like the coloured drawings of the modern +German school than what we properly call a painting. The last-named +artist, while essentially weak in draughtsmanship, yet possesses the +higher quality of noble colour in the fullest degree.</p> +<p>The draped figures of men and women in his <i>Garland Makers</i>, +and <i>Pastoral</i>, some wrought in that single note of colour which +the earlier Florentines loved, others with all the varied richness and +glow of the Venetian school, show what great results may be brought +about by a youth spent in Italian cities. And finally I must notice +the works contributed to this Gallery by that most powerful of all our +English artists, Mr. G. F. Watts, the extraordinary width and reach +of whose genius were never more illustrated than by the various pictures +bearing his name which are here exhibited. His <i>Paolo and Francesca</i>, +and his <i>Orpheus and Eurydice</i>, are creative visions of the very +highest order of imaginative painting; marked as it is with all the +splendid vigour of nobly ordered design, the last-named picture possesses +qualities of colour no less great. The white body of the dying +girl, drooping like a pale lily, and the clinging arms of her lover, +whose strong brown limbs seem filled with all the sensuous splendour +of passionate life, form a melancholy and wonderful note of colour to +which the eye continually returns as indicating the motive of the conception. +Yet here I would dwell rather on two pictures which show the splendid +simplicity and directness of his strength, the one a portrait of himself, +the other that of a little child called <i>Dorothy</i>, who has all +that sweet gravity and look of candour which we like to associate with +that old-fashioned name: a child with bright rippling hair, tangled +like floss silk, open brown eyes and flower-like mouth; dressed in faded +claret, with little lace about the neck and throat, toned down to a +delicate grey—the hands simply clasped before her. This +is the picture; as truthful and lovely as any of those Brignoli children +which Vandyke has painted in Genoa. Nor is his own picture of +himself—styled in the catalogue merely <i>A Portrait</i>—less +wonderful, especially the luminous treatment of the various shades of +black as shown in the hat and cloak. It would be quite impossible, +however, to give any adequate account or criticism of the work now exhibited +in the Grosvenor Gallery within the limits of a single notice. +Richmond’s noble picture of <i>Sleep and Death Bearing the Slain +Body of Sarpedon</i>, and his bronze statue of the Greek athlete, are +works of the very highest order of artistic excellence, but I will reserve +for another occasion the qualities of his power. Mr. Whistler, +whose wonderful and eccentric genius is better appreciated in France +than in England, sends a very wonderful picture entitled <i>The Golden +Girl</i>, a life-size study in amber, yellow and browns, of a child +dancing with a skipping-rope, full of birdlike grace and exquisite motion; +as well as some delightful specimens of etching (an art of which he +is the consummate master), one of which, called <i>The Little Forge</i>, +entirely done with the dry point, possesses extraordinary merit; nor +have the philippics of the <i>Fors Clavigera</i> deterred him from exhibiting +some more of his ‘arrangements in colour,’ one of which, +called a <i>Harmony in Green and Gold</i>, I would especially mention +as an extremely good example of what ships lying at anchor on a summer +evening are from the ‘Impressionist point of view.’</p> +<p>Mr. Eugene Benson, one of the most cultured of those many Americans +who seem to have found their Mecca in modern Rome, has sent a picture +of <i>Narcissus</i>, a work full of the true Theocritean sympathy for +the natural picturesqueness of shepherd life, and entirely delightful +to all who love the peculiar qualities of Italian scenery. The +shadows of the trees drifting across the grass, the crowding together +of the sheep, and the sense of summer air and light which fills the +picture, are full of the highest truth and beauty; and Mr. Forbes-Robertson, +whose picture of Phelps as Cardinal Wolsey has just been bought by the +Garrick Club, and who is himself so well known as a young actor of the +very highest promise, is represented by a portrait of Mr. Hermann Vezin +which is extremely clever and certainly very lifelike. Nor amongst +the minor works must I omit to notice Miss Stuart-Wortley’s view +on the river Cherwell, taken from the walks of Magdalen College, Oxford,—a +little picture marked by great sympathy for the shade and coolness of +green places and for the stillness of summer waters; or Mrs. Valentine +Bromley’s <i>Misty Day</i>, remarkable for the excellent drawing +of a breaking wave, as well as for a great delicacy of tone. Besides +the Marchioness of Waterford, whose brilliant treatment of colour is +so well known, and Mr. Richard Doyle, whose water-colour drawings of +children and of fairy scenes are always so fresh and bright, the qualities +of the Irish genius in the field of art find an entirely adequate exponent +in Mr. Wills, who as a dramatist and a painter has won himself such +an honourable name. Three pictures of his are exhibited here: +the <i>Spirit of the Shell</i>, which is perhaps too fanciful and vague +in design; the <i>Nymph and Satyr</i>, where the little goat-footed +child has all the sweet mystery and romance of the woodlands about him; +and the <i>Parting of Ophelia and Laertes</i>, a work not only full +of very strong drawing, especially in the modelling of the male figure, +but a very splendid example of the power of subdued and reserved colour, +the perfect harmony of tone being made still more subtle by the fitful +play of reflected light on the polished armour.</p> +<p>I shall reserve for another notice the wonderful landscapes of Mr. +Cecil Lawson, who has caught so much of Turner’s imagination and +mode of treatment, as well as a consideration of the works of Herkomer, +Tissot and Legros, and others of the modern realistic school.</p> +<p><i>Note</i>.—The other notice mentioned above did not appear.</p> +<h2>L’ENVOI</h2> +<p>An Introduction to <i>Rose Leaf and Apple Leaf</i> by Rennell Rodd, +published by J. M. Stoddart and Co., Philadelphia, 1882.</p> +<p>Amongst the many young men in England who are seeking along with +me to continue and to perfect the English Renaissance—<i>jeunes +guerriers du drapeau romantique</i>, as Gautier would have called us—there +is none whose love of art is more flawless and fervent, whose artistic +sense of beauty is more subtle and more delicate—none, indeed, +who is dearer to myself—than the young poet whose verses I have +brought with me to America; verses full of sweet sadness, and yet full +of joy; for the most joyous poet is not he who sows the desolate highways +of this world with the barren seed of laughter, but he who makes his +sorrow most musical, this indeed being the meaning of joy in art—that +incommunicable element of artistic delight which, in poetry, for instance, +comes from what Keats called the ‘sensuous life of verse,’ +the element of song in the singing, made so pleasurable to us by that +wonder of motion which often has its origin in mere musical impulse, +and in painting is to be sought for, from the subject never, but from +the pictorial charm only—the scheme and symphony of the colour, +the satisfying beauty of the design: so that the ultimate expression +of our artistic movement in painting has been, not in the spiritual +visions of the Pre-Raphaelites, for all their marvel of Greek legend +and their mystery of Italian song, but in the work of such men as Whistler +and Albert Moore, who have raised design and colour to the ideal level +of poetry and music. For the quality of their exquisite painting +comes from the mere inventive and creative handling of line and colour, +from a certain form and choice of beautiful workmanship, which, rejecting +all literary reminiscence and all metaphysical idea, is in itself entirely +satisfying to the æsthetic sense—is, as the Greeks would +say, an end in itself; the effect of their work being like the effect +given to us by music; for music is the art in which form and matter +are always one—the art whose subject cannot be separated from +the method of its expression; the art which most completely realises +for us the artistic ideal, and is the condition to which all the other +arts are constantly aspiring.</p> +<p>Now, this increased sense of the absolutely satisfying value of beautiful +workmanship, this recognition of the primary importance of the sensuous +element in art, this love of art for art’s sake, is the point +in which we of the younger school have made a departure from the teaching +of Mr. Ruskin,—a departure definite and different and decisive.</p> +<p>Master indeed of the knowledge of all noble living and of the wisdom +of all spiritual things will he be to us ever, seeing that it was he +who by the magic of his presence and the music of his lips taught us +at Oxford that enthusiasm for beauty which is the secret of Hellenism, +and that desire for creation which is the secret of life, and filled +some of us, at least, with the lofty and passionate ambition to go forth +into far and fair lands with some message for the nations and some mission +for the world, and yet in his art criticism, his estimate of the joyous +element of art, his whole method of approaching art, we are no longer +with him; for the keystone to his æsthetic system is ethical always. +He would judge of a picture by the amount of noble moral ideas it expresses; +but to us the channels by which all noble work in painting can touch, +and does touch, the soul are not those of truths of life or metaphysical +truths. To him perfection of workmanship seems but the symbol +of pride, and incompleteness of technical resource the image of an imagination +too limitless to find within the limits of form its complete expression, +or of a love too simple not to stammer in its tale. But to us +the rule of art is not the rule of morals. In an ethical system, +indeed, of any gentle mercy good intentions will, one is fain to fancy, +have their recognition; but of those that would enter the serene House +of Beauty the question that we ask is not what they had ever meant to +do, but what they have done. Their pathetic intentions are of +no value to us, but their realised creations only. <i>Pour moi +je préfère les poètes qui font des vers</i>, <i>les +médecins qui sachent guérir</i>, <i>les peintres qui sachent +peindre.</i></p> +<p>Nor, in looking at a work of art, should we be dreaming of what it +symbolises, but rather loving it for what it is. Indeed, the transcendental +spirit is alien to the spirit of art. The metaphysical mind of +Asia may create for itself the monstrous and many-breasted idol, but +to the Greek, pure artist, that work is most instinct with spiritual +life which conforms most closely to the perfect facts of physical life +also. Nor, in its primary aspect, has a painting, for instance, +any more spiritual message or meaning for us than a blue tile from the +wall of Damascus, or a Hitzen vase. It is a beautifully coloured +surface, nothing more, and affects us by no suggestion stolen from philosophy, +no pathos pilfered from literature, no feeling filched from a poet, +but by its own incommunicable artistic essence—by that selection +of truth which we call style, and that relation of values which is the +draughtsmanship of painting, by the whole quality of the workmanship, +the arabesque of the design, the splendour of the colour, for these +things are enough to stir the most divine and remote of the chords which +make music in our soul, and colour, indeed, is of itself a mystical +presence on things, and tone a kind of sentiment.</p> +<p>This, then—the new departure of our younger school—is +the chief characteristic of Mr. Rennell Rodd’s poetry; for, while +there is much in his work that may interest the intellect, much that +will excite the emotions, and many-cadenced chords of sweet and simple +sentiment—for to those who love Art for its own sake all other +things are added—yet, the effect which they pre-eminently seek +to produce is purely an artistic one. Such a poem as <i>The Sea-King’s +Grave</i>, with all its majesty of melody as sonorous and as strong +as the sea by whose pine-fringed shores it was thus nobly conceived +and nobly fashioned; or the little poem that follows it, whose cunning +workmanship, wrought with such an artistic sense of limitation, one +might liken to the rare chasing of the mirror that is its motive; or +<i>In a Church</i>, pale flower of one of those exquisite moments when +all things except the moment itself seem so curiously real, and when +the old memories of forgotten days are touched and made tender, and +the familiar place grows fervent and solemn suddenly with a vision of +the undying beauty of the gods that died; or the scene in <i>Chartres +Cathedral</i>, sombre silence brooding on vault and arch, silent people +kneeling on the dust of the desolate pavement as the young priest lifts +Lord Christ’s body in a crystal star, and then the sudden beams +of scarlet light that break through the blazoned window and smite on +the carven screen, and sudden organ peals of mighty music rolling and +echoing from choir to canopy, and from spire to shaft, and over all +the clear glad voice of a singing boy, affecting one as a thing over-sweet, +and striking just the right artistic keynote for one’s emotions; +or <i>At Lanuvium</i>, through the music of whose lines one seems to +hear again the murmur of the Mantuan bees straying down from their own +green valleys and inland streams to find what honeyed amber the sea-flowers +might be hiding; or the poem written <i>In the Coliseum</i>, which gives +one the same artistic joy that one gets watching a handicraftsman at +his work, a goldsmith hammering out his gold into those thin plates +as delicate as the petals of a yellow rose, or drawing it out into the +long wires like tangled sunbeams, so perfect and precious is the mere +handling of it; or the little lyric interludes that break in here and +there like the singing of a thrush, and are as swift and as sure as +the beating of a bird’s wing, as light and bright as the apple-blossoms +that flutter fitfully down to the orchard grass after a spring shower, +and look the lovelier for the rain’s tears lying on their dainty +veinings of pink and pearl; or the sonnets—for Mr. Rodd is one +of those <i>qui sonnent le sonnet</i>, as the Ronsardists used to say—that +one called <i>On the Border Hills</i>, with its fiery wonder of imagination +and the strange beauty of its eighth line; or the one which tells of +the sorrow of the great king for the little dead child—well, all +these poems aim, as I said, at producing a purely artistic effect, and +have the rare and exquisite quality that belongs to work of that kind; +and I feel that the entire subordination in our æsthetic movement +of all merely emotional and intellectual motives to the vital informing +poetic principle is the surest sign of our strength.</p> +<p>But it is not enough that a work of art should conform to the æsthetic +demands of the age: there should be also about it, if it is to give +us any permanent delight, the impress of a distinct individuality. +Whatever work we have in the nineteenth century must rest on the two +poles of personality and perfection. And so in this little volume, +by separating the earlier and more simple work from the work that is +later and stronger and possesses increased technical power and more +artistic vision, one might weave these disconnected poems, these stray +and scattered threads, into one fiery-coloured strand of life, noting +first a boy’s mere gladness of being young, with all its simple +joy in field and flower, in sunlight and in song, and then the bitterness +of sudden sorrow at the ending by Death of one of the brief and beautiful +friendships of one’s youth, with all those unanswered longings +and questionings unsatisfied by which we vex, so uselessly, the marble +face of death; the artistic contrast between the discontented incompleteness +of the spirit and the complete perfection of the style that expresses +it forming the chief element of the æsthetic charm of these particular +poems;—and then the birth of Love, and all the wonder and the +fear and the perilous delight of one on whose boyish brows the little +wings of love have beaten for the first time; and the love-songs, so +dainty and delicate, little swallow-flights of music, and full of such +fragrance and freedom that they might all be sung in the open air and +across moving water; and then autumn, coming with its choirless woods +and odorous decay and ruined loveliness, Love lying dead; and the sense +of the mere pity of it.</p> +<p>One might stop there, for from a young poet one should ask for no +deeper chords of life than those that love and friendship make eternal +for us; and the best poems in the volume belong clearly to a later time, +a time when these real experiences become absorbed and gathered up into +a form which seems from such real experiences to be the most alien and +the most remote; when the simple expression of joy or sorrow suffices +no longer, and lives rather in the stateliness of the cadenced metre, +in the music and colour of the linked words, than in any direct utterance; +lives, one might say, in the perfection of the form more than in the +pathos of the feeling. And yet, after the broken music of love +and the burial of love in the autumn woods, we can trace that wandering +among strange people, and in lands unknown to us, by which we try so +pathetically to heal the hurts of the life we know, and that pure and +passionate devotion to Art which one gets when the harsh reality of +life has too suddenly wounded one, and is with discontent or sorrow +marring one’s youth, just as often, I think, as one gets it from +any natural joy of living; and that curious intensity of vision by which, +in moments of overmastering sadness and despair ungovernable, artistic +things will live in one’s memory with a vivid realism caught from +the life which they help one to forget—an old grey tomb in Flanders +with a strange legend on it, making one think how, perhaps, passion +does live on after death; a necklace of blue and amber beads and a broken +mirror found in a girl’s grave at Rome, a marble image of a boy +habited like Erôs, and with the pathetic tradition of a great +king’s sorrow lingering about it like a purple shadow,—over +all these the tired spirit broods with that calm and certain joy that +one gets when one has found something that the ages never dull and the +world cannot harm; and with it comes that desire of Greek things which +is often an artistic method of expressing one’s desire for perfection; +and that longing for the old dead days which is so modern, so incomplete, +so touching, being, in a way, the inverted torch of Hope, which burns +the hand it should guide; and for many things a little sadness, and +for all things a great love; and lastly, in the pinewood by the sea, +once more the quick and vital pulse of joyous youth leaping and laughing +in every line, the frank and fearless freedom of wave and wind waking +into fire life’s burnt-out ashes and into song the silent lips +of pain,—how clearly one seems to see it all, the long colonnade +of pines with sea and sky peeping in here and there like a flitting +of silver; the open place in the green, deep heart of the wood with +the little moss-grown altar to the old Italian god in it; and the flowers +all about, cyclamen in the shadowy places, and the stars of the white +narcissus lying like snow-flakes over the grass, where the quick, bright-eyed +lizard starts by the stone, and the snake lies coiled lazily in the +sun on the hot sand, and overhead the gossamer floats from the branches +like thin, tremulous threads of gold,—the scene is so perfect +for its motive, for surely here, if anywhere, the real gladness of life +might be revealed to one’s youth—the gladness that comes, +not from the rejection, but from the absorption, of all passion, and +is like that serene calm that dwells in the faces of the Greek statues, +and which despair and sorrow cannot touch, but intensify only.</p> +<p>In some such way as this we could gather up these strewn and scattered +petals of song into one perfect rose of life, and yet, perhaps, in so +doing, we might be missing the true quality of the poems; one’s +real life is so often the life that one does not lead; and beautiful +poems, like threads of beautiful silks, may be woven into many patterns +and to suit many designs, all wonderful and all different: and romantic +poetry, too, is essentially the poetry of impressions, being like that +latest school of painting, the school of Whistler and Albert Moore, +in its choice of situation as opposed to subject; in its dealing with +the exceptions rather than with the types of life; in its brief intensity; +in what one might call its fiery-coloured momentariness, it being indeed +the momentary situations of life, the momentary aspects of nature, which +poetry and painting now seek to render for us. Sincerity and constancy +will the artist, indeed, have always; but sincerity in art is merely +that plastic perfection of execution without which a poem or a painting, +however noble its sentiment or human its origin, is but wasted and unreal +work, and the constancy of the artist cannot be to any definite rule +or system of living, but to that principle of beauty only through which +the inconstant shadows of his life are in their most fleeting moment +arrested and made permanent. He will not, for instance, in intellectual +matters acquiesce in that facile orthodoxy of our day which is so reasonable +and so artistically uninteresting, nor yet will he desire that fiery +faith of the antique time which, while it intensified, yet limited the +vision; still less will he allow the calm of his culture to be marred +by the discordant despair of doubt or the sadness of a sterile scepticism; +for the Valley Perilous, where ignorant armies clash by night, is no +resting-place meet for her to whom the gods have assigned the clear +upland, the serene height, and the sunlit air,—rather will he +be always curiously testing new forms of belief, tinging his nature +with the sentiment that still lingers about some beautiful creeds, and +searching for experience itself, and not for the fruits of experience; +when he has got its secret, he will leave without regret much that was +once very precious to him. ‘I am always insincere,’ +says Emerson somewhere, ‘as knowing that there are other moods’: +‘<i>Les émotions</i>,’ wrote Théophile Gautier +once in a review of Arsène Houssaye, ‘<i>Les émotions +ne se ressemblent pas</i>, <i>mais être ému</i>—<i>voilà +l’important</i>.’</p> +<p>Now, this is the secret of the art of the modern romantic school, +and gives one the right keynote for its apprehension; but the real quality +of all work which, like Mr. Rodd’s, aims, as I said, at a purely +artistic effect, cannot be described in terms of intellectual criticism; +it is too intangible for that. One can perhaps convey it best +in terms of the other arts, and by reference to them; and, indeed, some +of these poems are as iridescent and as exquisite as a lovely fragment +of Venetian glass; others as delicate in perfect workmanship and as +single in natural motive as an etching by Whistler is, or one of those +beautiful little Greek figures which in the olive woods round Tanagra +men can still find, with the faint gilding and the fading crimson not +yet fled from hair and lips and raiment; and many of them seem like +one of Corot’s twilights just passing into music; for not merely +in visible colour, but in sentiment also—which is the colour of +poetry—may there be a kind of tone.</p> +<p>But I think that the best likeness to the quality of this young poet’s +work I ever saw was in the landscape by the Loire. We were staying +once, he and I, at Amboise, that little village with its grey slate +roofs and steep streets and gaunt, grim gateway, where the quiet cottages +nestle like white pigeons into the sombre clefts of the great bastioned +rock, and the stately Renaissance houses stand silent and apart—very +desolate now, but with some memory of the old days still lingering about +the delicately-twisted pillars, and the carved doorways, with their +grotesque animals, and laughing masks, and quaint heraldic devices, +all reminding one of a people who could not think life real till they +had made it fantastic. And above the village, and beyond the bend +of the river, we used to go in the afternoon, and sketch from one of +the big barges that bring the wine in autumn and the wood in winter +down to the sea, or lie in the long grass and make plans <i>pour la +gloire</i>, <i>et pour ennuyer les philistins</i>, or wander along the +low, sedgy banks, ‘matching our reeds in sportive rivalry,’ +as comrades used in the old Sicilian days; and the land was an ordinary +land enough, and bare, too, when one thought of Italy, and how the oleanders +were robing the hillsides by Genoa in scarlet, and the cyclamen filling +with its purple every valley from Florence to Rome; for there was not +much real beauty, perhaps, in it, only long, white dusty roads and straight +rows of formal poplars; but, now and then, some little breaking gleam +of broken light would lend to the grey field and the silent barn a secret +and a mystery that were hardly their own, would transfigure for one +exquisite moment the peasants passing down through the vineyard, or +the shepherd watching on the hill, would tip the willows with silver +and touch the river into gold; and the wonder of the effect, with the +strange simplicity of the material, always seemed to me to be a little +like the quality of these the verses of my friend.</p> +<h2>MRS. LANGTRY AS HESTER GRAZEBROOK</h2> +<p>(<i>New York World</i>, November 7, 1882.)</p> +<p>It is only in the best Greek gems, on the silver coins of Syracuse, +or among the marble figures of the Parthenon frieze, that one can find +the ideal representation of the marvellous beauty of that face which +laughed through the leaves last night as Hester Grazebrook.</p> +<p>Pure Greek it is, with the grave low forehead, the exquisitely arched +brow; the noble chiselling of the mouth, shaped as if it were the mouthpiece +of an instrument of music; the supreme and splendid curve of the cheek; +the augustly pillared throat which bears it all: it is Greek, because +the lines which compose it are so definite and so strong, and yet so +exquisitely harmonised that the effect is one of simple loveliness purely: +Greek, because its essence and its quality, as is the quality of music +and of architecture, is that of beauty based on absolutely mathematical +laws.</p> +<p>But while art remains dumb and immobile in its passionless serenity, +with the beauty of this face it is different: the grey eyes lighten +into blue or deepen into violet as fancy succeeds fancy; the lips become +flower-like in laughter or, tremulous as a bird’s wing, mould +themselves at last into the strong and bitter moulds of pain or scorn. +And then motion comes, and the statue wakes into life. But the +life is not the ordinary life of common days; it is life with a new +value given to it, the value of art: and the charm to me of Hester Grazebrook’s +acting in the first scene of the play <a name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43">{43}</a> +last night was that mingling of classic grace with absolute reality +which is the secret of all beautiful art, of the plastic work of the +Greeks and of the pictures of Jean François Millet equally.</p> +<p>I do not think that the sovereignty and empire of women’s beauty +has at all passed away, though we may no longer go to war for them as +the Greeks did for the daughter of Leda. The greatest empire still +remains for them—the empire of art. And, indeed, this wonderful +face, seen last night for the first time in America, has filled and +permeated with the pervading image of its type the whole of our modern +art in England. Last century it was the romantic type which dominated +in art, the type loved by Reynolds and Gainsborough, of wonderful contrasts +of colour, of exquisite and varying charm of expression, but without +that definite plastic feeling which divides classic from romantic work. +This type degenerated into mere facile prettiness in the hands of lesser +masters, and, in protest against it, was created by the hands of the +Pre-Raphaelites a new type, with its rare combination of Greek form +with Florentine mysticism. But this mysticism becomes over-strained +and a burden, rather than an aid to expression, and a desire for the +pure Hellenic joy and serenity came in its place; and in all our modern +work, in the paintings of such men as Albert Moore and Leighton and +Whistler, we can trace the influence of this single face giving fresh +life and inspiration in the form of a new artistic ideal.</p> +<p>As regards Hester Grazebrook’s dresses, the first was a dress +whose grace depended entirely on the grace of the person who wore it. +It was merely the simple dress of a village girl in England. The +second was a lovely combination of blue and creamy lace. But the +masterpiece was undoubtedly the last, a symphony in silver-grey and +pink, a pure melody of colour which I feel sure Whistler would call +a <i>Scherzo</i>, and take as its visible motive the moonlight wandering +in silver mist through a rose-garden; unless indeed he saw this dress, +in which case he would paint it and nothing else, for it is a dress +such as Velasquez only could paint, and Whistler very wisely always +paints those things which are within reach of Velasquez only.</p> +<p>The scenery was, of course, prepared in a hurry. Still, much +of it was very good indeed: the first scene especially, with its graceful +trees and open forge and cottage porch, though the roses were dreadfully +out of tone and, besides their crudity of colour, were curiously badly +grouped. The last scene was exceedingly clever and true to nature +as well, being that combination of lovely scenery and execrable architecture +which is so specially characteristic of a German spa. As for the +drawing-room scene, I cannot regard it as in any way a success. +The heavy ebony doors are entirely out of keeping with the satin panels; +the silk hangings and festoons of black and yellow are quite meaningless +in their position and consequently quite ugly; the carpet is out of +all colour relation with the rest of the room, and the table-cover is +mauve. Still, to have decorated ever so bad a room in six days +must, I suppose, be a subject of respectful wonder, though I should +have fancied that Mr. Wallack had many very much better sets in his +own stock.</p> +<p>But I am beginning to quarrel generally with most modern scene-painting. +A scene is primarily a decorative background for the actors, and should +always be kept subordinate, first to the players, their dress, gesture, +and action; and secondly, to the fundamental principle of decorative +art, which is not to imitate but to suggest nature. If the landscape +is given its full realistic value, the value of the figures to which +it serves as a background is impaired and often lost, and so the painted +hangings of the Elizabethan age were a far more artistic, and so a far +more rational form of scenery than most modern scene-painting is. +From the same master-hand which designed the curtain of Madison Square +Theatre I should like very much to see a good decorative landscape in +scene-painting; for I have seen no open-air scene in any theatre which +did not really mar the value of the actors. One must either, like +Titian, make the landscape subordinate to the figures, or, like Claude, +the figures subordinate to the landscape; for if we desire realistic +acting we cannot have realistic scene-painting.</p> +<p>I need not describe, however, how the beauty of Hester Grazebrook +survived the crude roses and the mauve tablecloth triumphantly. +That it is a beauty that will be appreciated to the full in America +I do not doubt for a moment, for it is only countries which possess +great beauty that can appreciate beauty at all. It may also influence +the art of America as it has influenced the art of England, for of the +rare Greek type it is the most absolutely perfect example.</p> +<p>The Philistine may, of course, object that to be absolutely perfect +is impossible. Well, that is so: but then it is only the impossible +things that are worth doing nowadays!</p> +<h2>WOMAN’S DRESS</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, October 14, 1884.)</p> +<p>Mr. Oscar Wilde, who asks us to permit him ‘that most charming +of all pleasures, the pleasure of answering one’s critics,’ +sends us the following remarks:—</p> +<p>The ‘Girl Graduate’ must of course have precedence, not +merely for her sex but for her sanity: her letter is extremely sensible. +She makes two points: that high heels are a necessity for any lady who +wishes to keep her dress clean from the Stygian mud of our streets, +and that without a tight corset ‘the ordinary number of petticoats +and etceteras’ cannot be properly or conveniently held up. +Now, it is quite true that as long as the lower garments are suspended +from the hips a corset is an absolute necessity; the mistake lies in +not suspending all apparel from the shoulders. In the latter case +a corset becomes useless, the body is left free and unconfined for respiration +and motion, there is more health, and consequently more beauty. +Indeed all the most ungainly and uncomfortable articles of dress that +fashion has ever in her folly prescribed, not the tight corset merely, +but the farthingale, the vertugadin, the hoop, the crinoline, and that +modern monstrosity the so-called ‘dress improver’ also, +all of them have owed their origin to the same error, the error of not +seeing that it is from the shoulders, and from the shoulders only, that +all garments should be hung.</p> +<p>And as regards high heels, I quite admit that some additional height +to the shoe or boot is necessary if long gowns are to be worn in the +street; but what I object to is that the height should be given to the +heel only, and not to the sole of the foot also. The modern high-heeled +boot is, in fact, merely the clog of the time of Henry VI., with the +front prop left out, and its inevitable effect is to throw the body +forward, to shorten the steps, and consequently to produce that want +of grace which always follows want of freedom.</p> +<p>Why should clogs be despised? Much art has been expended on +clogs. They have been made of lovely woods, and delicately inlaid +with ivory, and with mother-of-pearl. A clog might be a dream +of beauty, and, if not too high or too heavy, most comfortable also. +But if there be any who do not like clogs, let them try some adaptation +of the trouser of the Turkish lady, which is loose round the limb and +tight at the ankle.</p> +<p>The ‘Girl Graduate,’ with a pathos to which I am not +insensible, entreats me not to apotheosise ‘that awful, befringed, +beflounced, and bekilted divided skirt.’ Well, I will acknowledge +that the fringes, the flounces, and the kilting do certainly defeat +the whole object of the dress, which is that of ease and liberty; but +I regard these things as mere wicked superfluities, tragic proofs that +the divided skirt is ashamed of its own division. The principle +of the dress is good, and, though it is not by any means perfection, +it is a step towards it.</p> +<p>Here I leave the ‘Girl Graduate,’ with much regret, for +Mr. Wentworth Huyshe. Mr. Huyshe makes the old criticism that +Greek dress is unsuited to our climate, and, to me the somewhat new +assertion, that the men’s dress of a hundred years ago was preferable +to that of the second part of the seventeenth century, which I consider +to have been the exquisite period of English costume.</p> +<p>Now, as regards the first of these two statements, I will say, to +begin with, that the warmth of apparel does not depend really on the +number of garments worn, but on the material of which they are made. +One of the chief faults of modern dress is that it is composed of far +too many articles of clothing, most of which are of the wrong substance; +but over a substratum of pure wool, such as is supplied by Dr. Jaeger +under the modern German system, some modification of Greek costume is +perfectly applicable to our climate, our country and our century. +This important fact has already been pointed out by Mr. E. W. Godwin +in his excellent, though too brief, handbook on Dress, contributed to +the Health Exhibition. I call it an important fact because it +makes almost any form of lovely costume perfectly practicable in our +cold climate. Mr. Godwin, it is true, points out that the English +ladies of the thirteenth century abandoned after some time the flowing +garments of the early Renaissance in favour of a tighter mode, such +as Northern Europe seems to demand. This I quite admit, and its +significance; but what I contend, and what I am sure Mr. Godwin would +agree with me in, is that the principles, the laws of Greek dress may +be perfectly realised, even in a moderately tight gown with sleeves: +I mean the principle of suspending all apparel from the shoulders, and +of relying for beauty of effect not on the stiff ready-made ornaments +of the modern milliner—the bows where there should be no bows, +and the flounces where there should be no flounces—but on the +exquisite play of light and line that one gets from rich and rippling +folds. I am not proposing any antiquarian revival of an ancient +costume, but trying merely to point out the right laws of dress, laws +which are dictated by art and not by archæology, by science and +not by fashion; and just as the best work of art in our days is that +which combines classic grace with absolute reality, so from a continuation +of the Greek principles of beauty with the German principles of health +will come, I feel certain, the costume of the future.</p> +<p>And now to the question of men’s dress, or rather to Mr. Huyshe’s +claim of the superiority, in point of costume, of the last quarter of +the eighteenth century over the second quarter of the seventeenth. +The broad-brimmed hat of 1640 kept the rain of winter and the glare +of summer from the face; the same cannot be said of the hat of one hundred +years ago, which, with its comparatively narrow brim and high crown, +was the precursor of the modern ‘chimney-pot’: a wide turned-down +collar is a healthier thing than a strangling stock, and a short cloak +much more comfortable than a sleeved overcoat, even though the latter +may have had ‘three capes’; a cloak is easier to put on +and off, lies lightly on the shoulder in summer, and wrapped round one +in winter keeps one perfectly warm. A doublet, again, is simpler +than a coat and waistcoat; instead of two garments one has one; by not +being open also it protects the chest better.</p> +<p>Short loose trousers are in every way to be preferred to the tight +knee-breeches which often impede the proper circulation of the blood; +and finally, the soft leather boots which could be worn above or below +the knee, are more supple, and give consequently more freedom, than +the stiff Hessian which Mr. Huyshe so praises. I say nothing about +the question of grace and picturesqueness, for I suppose that no one, +not even Mr. Huyshe, would prefer a maccaroni to a cavalier, a Lawrence +to a Vandyke, or the third George to the first Charles; but for ease, +warmth and comfort this seventeenth-century dress is infinitely superior +to anything that came after it, and I do not think it is excelled by +any preceding form of costume. I sincerely trust that we may soon +see in England some national revival of it.</p> +<h2>MORE RADICAL IDEAS UPON DRESS REFORM</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 11, 1884.)</p> +<p>I have been much interested at reading the large amount of correspondence +that has been called forth by my recent lecture on Dress. It shows +me that the subject of dress reform is one that is occupying many wise +and charming people, who have at heart the principles of health, freedom, +and beauty in costume, and I hope that ‘H. B. T.’ and ‘Materfamilias’ +will have all the real influence which their letters—excellent +letters both of them—certainly deserve.</p> +<p>I turn first to Mr. Huyshe’s second letter, and the drawing +that accompanies it; but before entering into any examination of the +theory contained in each, I think I should state at once that I have +absolutely no idea whether this gentleman wears his hair longer short, +or his cuffs back or forward, or indeed what he is like at all. +I hope he consults his own comfort and wishes in everything which has +to do with his dress, and is allowed to enjoy that individualism in +apparel which he so eloquently claims for himself, and so foolishly +tries to deny to others; but I really could not take Mr. Wentworth Huyshe’s +personal appearance as any intellectual basis for an investigation of +the principles which should guide the costume of a nation. I am +not denying the force, or even the popularity, of the ‘’Eave +arf a brick’ school of criticism, but I acknowledge it does not +interest me. The gamin in the gutter may be a necessity, but the +gamin in discussion is a nuisance. So I will proceed at once to +the real point at issue, the value of the late eighteenth-century costume +over that worn in the second quarter of the seventeenth: the relative +merits, that is, of the principles contained in each. Now, as +regards the eighteenth-century costume, Mr. Wentworth Huyshe acknowledges +that he has had no practical experience of it at all; in fact, he makes +a pathetic appeal to his friends to corroborate him in his assertion, +which I do not question for a moment, that he has never been ‘guilty +of the eccentricity’ of wearing himself the dress which he proposes +for general adoption by others. There is something so naïve +and so amusing about this last passage in Mr. Huyshe’s letter +that I am really in doubt whether I am not doing him a wrong in regarding +him as having any serious, or sincere, views on the question of a possible +reform in dress; still, as irrespective of any attitude of Mr. Huyshe’s +in the matter, the subject is in itself an interesting one, I think +it is worth continuing, particularly as I have myself worn this late +eighteenth-century dress many times, both in public and in private, +and so may claim to have a very positive right to speak on its comfort +and suitability. The particular form of the dress I wore was very +similar to that given in Mr. Godwin’s handbook, from a print of +Northcote’s, and had a certain elegance and grace about it which +was very charming; still, I gave it up for these reasons:—After +a further consideration of the laws of dress I saw that a doublet is +a far simpler and easier garment than a coat and waistcoat, and, if +buttoned from the shoulder, far warmer also, and that tails have no +place in costume, except on some Darwinian theory of heredity; from +absolute experience in the matter I found that the excessive tightness +of knee-breeches is not really comfortable if one wears them constantly; +and, in fact, I satisfied myself that the dress is not one founded on +any real principles. The broad-brimmed hat and loose cloak, which, +as my object was not, of course, historical accuracy but modern ease, +I had always worn with the costume in question, I have still retained, +and find them most comfortable.</p> +<p>Well, although Mr. Huyshe has no real experience of the dress he +proposes, he gives us a drawing of it, which he labels, somewhat prematurely, +‘An ideal dress.’ An ideal dress of course it is not; +‘passably picturesque,’ he says I may possibly think it; +well, passably picturesque it may be, but not beautiful, certainly, +simply because it is not founded on right principles, or, indeed, on +any principles at all. Picturesqueness one may get in a variety +of ways; ugly things that are strange, or unfamiliar to us, for instance, +may be picturesque, such as a late sixteenth-century costume, or a Georgian +house. Ruins, again, may be picturesque, but beautiful they never +can be, because their lines are meaningless. Beauty, in fact, +is to be got only from the perfection of principles; and in ‘the +ideal dress’ of Mr. Huyshe there are no ideas or principles at +all, much less the perfection of either. Let us examine it, and +see its faults; they are obvious to any one who desires more than a +‘Fancy-dress ball’ basis for costume. To begin with, +the hat and boots are all wrong. Whatever one wears on the extremities, +such as the feet and head, should, for the sake of comfort, be made +of a soft material, and for the sake of freedom should take its shape +from the way one chooses to wear it, and not from any stiff, stereotyped +design of hat or boot maker. In a hat made on right principles +one should be able to turn the brim up or down according as the day +is dark or fair, dry or wet; but the hat brim of Mr. Huyshe’s +drawing is perfectly stiff, and does not give much protection to the +face, or the possibility of any at all to the back of the head or the +ears, in case of a cold east wind; whereas the bycocket, a hat made +in accordance with the right laws, can be turned down behind and at +the sides, and so give the same warmth as a hood. The crown, again, +of Mr. Huyshe’s hat is far too high; a high crown diminishes the +stature of a small person, and in the case of any one who is tall is +a great inconvenience when one is getting in and out of hansoms and +railway carriages, or passing under a street awning: in no case is it +of any value whatsoever, and being useless it is of course against the +principles of dress.</p> +<p>As regards the boots, they are not quite so ugly or so uncomfortable +as the hat; still they are evidently made of stiff leather, as otherwise +they would fall down to the ankle, whereas the boot should be made of +soft leather always, and if worn high at all must be either laced up +the front or carried well over the knee: in the latter case one combines +perfect freedom for walking together with perfect protection against +rain, neither of which advantages a short stiff boot will ever give +one, and when one is resting in the house the long soft boot can be +turned down as the boot of 1640 was. Then there is the overcoat: +now, what are the right principles of an overcoat? To begin with, +it should be capable of being easily put on or off, and worn over any +kind of dress; consequently it should never have narrow sleeves, such +as are shown in Mr. Huyshe’s drawing. If an opening or slit +for the arm is required it should be made quite wide, and may be protected +by a flap, as in that excellent overall the modern Inverness cape; secondly, +it should not be too tight, as otherwise all freedom of walking is impeded. +If the young gentleman in the drawing buttons his overcoat he may succeed +in being statuesque, though that I doubt very strongly, but he will +never succeed in being swift; his <i>super-totus</i> is made for him +on no principle whatsoever; a <i>super-totus</i>, or overall, should +be capable of being worn long or short, quite loose or moderately tight, +just as the wearer wishes; he should be able to have one arm free and +one arm covered, or both arms free or both arms covered, just as he +chooses for his convenience in riding, walking, or driving; an overall +again should never be heavy, and should always be warm: lastly, it should +be capable of being easily carried if one wants to take it off; in fact, +its principles are those of freedom and comfort, and a cloak realises +them all, just as much as an overcoat of the pattern suggested by Mr. +Huyshe violates them.</p> +<p>The knee-breeches are of course far too tight; any one who has worn +them for any length of time—any one, in fact, whose views on the +subject are not purely theoretical—will agree with me there; like +everything else in the dress, they are a great mistake. The substitution +of the jacket for the coat and waistcoat of the period is a step in +the right direction, which I am glad to see; it is, however, far too +tight over the hips for any possible comfort. Whenever a jacket +or doublet comes below the waist it should be slit at each side. +In the seventeenth century the skirt of the jacket was sometimes laced +on by points and tags, so that it could be removed at will, sometimes +it was merely left open at the sides: in each case it exemplified what +are always the true principles of dress, I mean freedom and adaptability +to circumstances.</p> +<p>Finally, as regards drawings of this kind, I would point out that +there is absolutely no limit at all to the amount of ‘passably +picturesque’ costumes which can be either revived or invented +for us; but that unless a costume is founded on principles and exemplified +laws, it never can be of any real value to us in the reform of dress. +This particular drawing of Mr. Huyshe’s, for instance, proves +absolutely nothing, except that our grandfathers did not understand +the proper laws of dress. There is not a single rule of right +costume which is not violated in it, for it gives us stiffness, tightness +and discomfort instead of comfort, freedom and ease.</p> +<p>Now here, on the other hand, is a dress which, being founded on principles, +can serve us as an excellent guide and model; it has been drawn for +me, most kindly, by Mr. Godwin from the Duke of Newcastle’s delightful +book on horsemanship, a book which is one of our best authorities on +our best era of costume. I do not of course propose it necessarily +for absolute imitation; that is not the way in which one should regard +it; it is not, I mean, a revival of a dead costume, but a realisation +of living laws. I give it as an example of a particular application +of principles which are universally right. This rationally dressed +young man can turn his hat brim down if it rains, and his loose trousers +and boots down if he is tired—that is, he can adapt his costume +to circumstances; then he enjoys perfect freedom, the arms and legs +are not made awkward or uncomfortable by the excessive tightness of +narrow sleeves and knee-breeches, and the hips are left quite untrammelled, +always an important point; and as regards comfort, his jacket is not +too loose for warmth, nor too close for respiration; his neck is well +protected without being strangled, and even his ostrich feathers, if +any Philistine should object to them, are not merely dandyism, but fan +him very pleasantly, I am sure, in summer, and when the weather is bad +they are no doubt left at home, and his cloak taken out. <i>The +value of the dress is simply that every separate article of it expresses +a law</i>. My young man is consequently apparelled with ideas, +while Mr. Huyshe’s young man is stiffened with facts; the latter +teaches one nothing; from the former one learns everything. I +need hardly say that this dress is good, not because it is seventeenth +century, but because it is constructed on the true principles of costume, +just as a square lintel or a pointed arch is good, not because one may +be Greek and the other Gothic, but because each of them is the best +method of spanning a certain-sized opening, or resisting a certain weight. +The fact, however, that this dress was generally worn in England two +centuries and a half ago shows at least this, that the right laws of +dress have been understood and realised in our country, and so in our +country may be realised and understood again. As regards the absolute +beauty of this dress and its meaning, I should like to say a few words +more. Mr. Wentworth Huyshe solemnly announces that ‘he and +those who think with him’ cannot permit this question of beauty +to be imported into the question of dress; that he and those who think +with him take ‘practical views on the subject,’ and so on. +Well, I will not enter here into a discussion as to how far any one +who does not take beauty and the value of beauty into account can claim +to be practical at all. The word practical is nearly always the +last refuge of the uncivilised. Of all misused words it is the +most evilly treated. But what I want to point out is that beauty +is essentially organic; that is, it comes, not from without, but from +within, not from any added prettiness, but from the perfection of its +own being; and that consequently, as the body is beautiful, so all apparel +that rightly clothes it must be beautiful also in its construction and +in its lines.</p> +<p>I have no more desire to define ugliness than I have daring to define +beauty; but still I would like to remind those who mock at beauty as +being an unpractical thing of this fact, that an ugly thing is merely +a thing that is badly made, or a thing that does not serve its purpose; +that ugliness is want of fitness; that ugliness is failure; that ugliness +is uselessness, such as ornament in the wrong place, while beauty, as +some one finely said, is the purgation of all superfluities. There +is a divine economy about beauty; it gives us just what is needful and +no more, whereas ugliness is always extravagant; ugliness is a spendthrift +and wastes its material; in fine, ugliness—and I would commend +this remark to Mr. Wentworth Huyshe—ugliness, as much in costume +as in anything else, is always the sign that somebody has been unpractical. +So the costume of the future in England, if it is founded on the true +laws of freedom, comfort, and adaptability to circumstances, cannot +fail to be most beautiful also, because beauty is the sign always of +the rightness of principles, the mystical seal that is set upon what +is perfect, and upon what is perfect only.</p> +<p>As for your other correspondent, the first principle of dress that +all garments should be hung from the shoulders and not from the waist +seems to me to be generally approved of, although an ‘Old Sailor’ +declares that no sailors or athletes ever suspend their clothes from +the shoulders, but always from the hips. My own recollection of +the river and running ground at Oxford—those two homes of Hellenism +in our little Gothic town—is that the best runners and rowers +(and my own college turned out many) wore always a tight jersey, with +short drawers attached to it, the whole costume being woven in one piece. +As for sailors it is true, I admit, and the bad custom seems to involve +that constant ‘hitching up’ of the lower garments which, +however popular in transpontine dramas, cannot, I think, but be considered +an extremely awkward habit; and as all awkwardness comes from discomfort +of some kind, I trust that this point in our sailor’s dress will +be looked to in the coming reform of our navy, for, in spite of all +protests, I hope we are about to reform everything, from torpedoes to +top-hats, and from crinolettes to cruises.</p> +<p>Then as regards clogs, my suggestion of them seems to have aroused +a great deal of terror. Fashion in her high-heeled boots has screamed, +and the dreadful word ‘anachronism’ has been used. +Now, whatever is useful cannot be an anachronism. Such a word +is applicable only to the revival of some folly; and, besides, in the +England of our own day clogs are still worn in many of our manufacturing +towns, such as Oldham. I fear that in Oldham they may not be dreams +of beauty; in Oldham the art of inlaying them with ivory and with pearl +may possibly be unknown; yet in Oldham they serve their purpose. +Nor is it so long since they were worn by the upper classes of this +country generally. Only a few days ago I had the pleasure of talking +to a lady who remembered with affectionate regret the clogs of her girlhood; +they were, according to her, not too high nor too heavy, and were provided, +besides, with some kind of spring in the sole so as to make them the +more supple for the foot in walking. Personally, I object to all +additional height being given to a boot or shoe; it is really against +the proper principles of dress, although, if any such height is to be +given it should be by means of two props, not one; but what I should +prefer to see is some adaptation of the divided skirt or long and moderately +loose knickerbockers. If, however, the divided skirt is to be +of any positive value, it must give up all idea of ‘being identical +in appearance with an ordinary skirt’; it must diminish the moderate +width of each of its divisions, and sacrifice its foolish frills and +flounces; the moment it imitates a dress it is lost; but let it visibly +announce itself as what it actually is, and it will go far towards solving +a real difficulty. I feel sure that there will be found many graceful +and charming girls ready to adopt a costume founded on these principles, +in spite of Mr. Wentworth Huyshe’s terrible threat that he will +not propose to them as long as they wear it, for all charges of a want +of womanly character in these forms of dress are really meaningless; +every right article of apparel belongs equally to both sexes, and there +is absolutely no such thing as a definitely feminine garment. +One word of warning I should like to be allowed to give: The over-tunic +should be made full and moderately loose; it may, if desired, be shaped +more or less to the figure, but in no case should it be confined at +the waist by any straight band or belt; on the contrary, it should fall +from the shoulder to the knee, or below it, in fine curves and vertical +lines, giving more freedom and consequently more grace. Few garments +are so absolutely unbecoming as a belted tunic that reaches to the knees, +a fact which I wish some of our Rosalinds would consider when they don +doublet and hose; indeed, to the disregard of this artistic principle +is due the ugliness, the want of proportion, in the Bloomer costume, +a costume which in other respects is sensible.</p> +<h2>MR. WHISTLER’S TEN O’CLOCK</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, February 21, 1885.)</p> +<p>Last night, at Prince’s Hall, Mr. Whistler made his first public +appearance as a lecturer on art, and spoke for more than an hour with +really marvellous eloquence on the absolute uselessness of all lectures +of the kind. Mr. Whistler began his lecture with a very pretty +<i>aria</i> on prehistoric history, describing how in earlier times +hunter and warrior would go forth to chase and foray, while the artist +sat at home making cup and bowl for their service. Rude imitations +of nature they were first, like the gourd bottle, till the sense of +beauty and form developed and, in all its exquisite proportions, the +first vase was fashioned. Then came a higher civilisation of architecture +and armchairs, and with exquisite design, and dainty diaper, the useful +things of life were made lovely; and the hunter and the warrior lay +on the couch when they were tired, and, when they were thirsty, drank +from the bowl, and never cared to lose the exquisite proportion of the +one, or the delightful ornament of the other; and this attitude of the +primitive anthropophagous Philistine formed the text of the lecture +and was the attitude which Mr. Whistler entreated his audience to adopt +towards art. Remembering, no doubt, many charming invitations +to wonderful private views, this fashionable assemblage seemed somewhat +aghast, and not a little amused, at being told that the slightest appearance +among a civilised people of any joy in beautiful things is a grave impertinence +to all painters; but Mr. Whistler was relentless, and, with charming +ease and much grace of manner, explained to the public that the only +thing they should cultivate was ugliness, and that on their permanent +stupidity rested all the hopes of art in the future.</p> +<p>The scene was in every way delightful; he stood there, a miniature +Mephistopheles, mocking the majority! He was like a brilliant +surgeon lecturing to a class composed of subjects destined ultimately +for dissection, and solemnly assuring them how valuable to science their +maladies were, and how absolutely uninteresting the slightest symptoms +of health on their part would be. In fairness to the audience, +however, I must say that they seemed extremely gratified at being rid +of the dreadful responsibility of admiring anything, and nothing could +have exceeded their enthusiasm when they were told by Mr. Whistler that +no matter how vulgar their dresses were, or how hideous their surroundings +at home, still it was possible that a great painter, if there was such +a thing, could, by contemplating them in the twilight and half closing +his eyes, see them under really picturesque conditions, and produce +a picture which they were not to attempt to understand, much less dare +to enjoy. Then there were some arrows, barbed and brilliant, shot +off, with all the speed and splendour of fireworks, and the archæologists, +who spend their lives in verifying the birthplaces of nobodies, and +estimate the value of a work of art by its date or its decay; at the +art critics who always treat a picture as if it were a novel, and try +and find out the plot; at dilettanti in general and amateurs in particular; +and (<i>O mea culpa</i>!) at dress reformers most of all. ‘Did +not Velasquez paint crinolines? What more do you want?’</p> +<p>Having thus made a holocaust of humanity, Mr. Whistler turned to +nature, and in a few moments convicted her of the Crystal Palace, Bank +holidays, and a general overcrowding of detail, both in omnibuses and +in landscapes, and then, in a passage of singular beauty, not unlike +one that occurs in Corot’s letters, spoke of the artistic value +of dim dawns and dusks, when the mean facts of life are lost in exquisite +and evanescent effects, when common things are touched with mystery +and transfigured with beauty, when the warehouses become as palaces +and the tall chimneys of the factory seem like campaniles in the silver +air.</p> +<p>Finally, after making a strong protest against anybody but a painter +judging of painting, and a pathetic appeal to the audience not to be +lured by the æsthetic movement into having beautiful things about +them, Mr. Whistler concluded his lecture with a pretty passage about +Fusiyama on a fan, and made his bow to an audience which he had succeeded +in completely fascinating by his wit, his brilliant paradoxes, and, +at times, his real eloquence. Of course, with regard to the value +of beautiful surroundings I differ entirely from Mr. Whistler. +An artist is not an isolated fact; he is the resultant of a certain +<i>milieu</i> and a certain <i>entourage</i>, and can no more be born +of a nation that is devoid of any sense of beauty than a fig can grow +from a thorn or a rose blossom from a thistle. That an artist +will find beauty in ugliness, <i>le beau dans l’horrible</i>, +is now a commonplace of the schools, the <i>argot</i> of the atelier, +but I strongly deny that charming people should be condemned to live +with magenta ottomans and Albert-blue curtains in their rooms in order +that some painter may observe the side-lights on the one and the values +of the other. Nor do I accept the dictum that only a painter is +a judge of painting. I say that only an artist is a judge of art; +there is a wide difference. As long as a painter is a painter +merely, he should not be allowed to talk of anything but mediums and +megilp, and on those subjects should be compelled to hold his tongue; +it is only when he becomes an artist that the secret laws of artistic +creation are revealed to him. For there are not many arts, but +one art merely—poem, picture and Parthenon, sonnet and statue—all +are in their essence the same, and he who knows one knows all. +But the poet is the supreme artist, for he is the master of colour and +of form, and the real musician besides, and is lord over all life and +all arts; and so to the poet beyond all others are these mysteries known; +to Edgar Allan Poe and to Baudelaire, not to Benjamin West and Paul +Delaroche. However, I should not enjoy anybody else’s lectures +unless in a few points I disagreed with them, and Mr. Whistler’s +lecture last night was, like everything that he does, a masterpiece. +Not merely for its clever satire and amusing jests will it be remembered, +but for the pure and perfect beauty of many of its passages—passages +delivered with an earnestness which seemed to amaze those who had looked +on Mr. Whistler as a master of persiflage merely, and had not known +him as we do, as a master of painting also. For that he is indeed +one of the very greatest masters of painting is my opinion. And +I may add that in this opinion Mr. Whistler himself entirely concurs.</p> +<h2>THE RELATION OF DRESS TO ART: A NOTE IN BLACK AND WHITE ON MR. WHISTLER’S +LECTURE</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, February 28, 1885.)</p> +<p>‘How can you possibly paint these ugly three-cornered hats?’ +asked a reckless art critic once of Sir Joshua Reynolds. ‘I +see light and shade in them,’ answered the artist. ‘<i>Les +grands coloristes</i>,’ says Baudelaire, in a charming article +on the artistic value of frock coats, ‘<i>les grands coloristes +savent faire de la couleur avec un habit noir</i>, <i>une cravate blanche</i>, +<i>et un fond gris</i>.’</p> +<p>‘Art seeks and finds the beautiful in all times, as did her +high priest Rembrandt, when he saw the picturesque grandeur of the Jews’ +quarter of Amsterdam, and lamented not that its inhabitants were not +Greeks,’ were the fine and simple words used by Mr. Whistler in +one of the most valuable passages of his lecture. The most valuable, +that is, to the painter: for there is nothing of which the ordinary +English painter needs more to be reminded than that the true artist +does not wait for life to be made picturesque for him, but sees life +under picturesque conditions always—under conditions, that is +to say, which are at once new and delightful. But between the +attitude of the painter towards the public and the attitude of a people +towards art, there is a wide difference. That, under certain conditions +of light and shade, what is ugly in fact may in its effect become beautiful, +is true; and this, indeed, is the real <i>modernité</i> of art: +but these conditions are exactly what we cannot be always sure of, as +we stroll down Piccadilly in the glaring vulgarity of the noonday, or +lounge in the park with a foolish sunset as a background. Were +we able to carry our <i>chiaroscuro</i> about with us, as we do our +umbrellas, all would be well; but this being impossible, I hardly think +that pretty and delightful people will continue to wear a style of dress +as ugly as it is useless and as meaningless as it is monstrous, even +on the chance of such a master as Mr. Whistler spiritualising them into +a symphony or refining them into a mist. For the arts are made +for life, and not life for the arts.</p> +<p>Nor do I feel quite sure that Mr. Whistler has been himself always +true to the dogma he seems to lay down, that a painter should paint +only the dress of his age and of his actual surroundings: far be it +from me to burden a butterfly with the heavy responsibility of its past: +I have always been of opinion that consistency is the last refuge of +the unimaginative: but have we not all seen, and most of us admired, +a picture from his hand of exquisite English girls strolling by an opal +sea in the fantastic dresses of Japan? Has not Tite Street been +thrilled with the tidings that the models of Chelsea were posing to +the master, in peplums, for pastels?</p> +<p>Whatever comes from Mr Whistler’s brush is far too perfect +in its loveliness to stand or fall by any intellectual dogmas on art, +even by his own: for Beauty is justified of all her children, and cares +nothing for explanations: but it is impossible to look through any collection +of modern pictures in London, from Burlington House to the Grosvenor +Gallery, without feeling that the professional model is ruining painting +and reducing it to a condition of mere pose and <i>pastiche.</i></p> +<p>Are we not all weary of him, that venerable impostor fresh from the +steps of the Piazza di Spagna, who, in the leisure moments that he can +spare from his customary organ, makes the round of the studios and is +waited for in Holland Park? Do we not all recognise him, when, +with the gay <i>insouciance</i> of his nation, he reappears on the walls +of our summer exhibitions as everything that he is not, and as nothing +that he is, glaring at us here as a patriarch of Canaan, here beaming +as a brigand from the Abruzzi? Popular is he, this poor peripatetic +professor of posing, with those whose joy it is to paint the posthumous +portrait of the last philanthropist who in his lifetime had neglected +to be photographed,—yet he is the sign of the decadence, the symbol +of decay.</p> +<p>For all costumes are caricatures. The basis of Art is not the +Fancy Ball. Where there is loveliness of dress, there is no dressing +up. And so, were our national attire delightful in colour, and +in construction simple and sincere; were dress the expression of the +loveliness that it shields and of the swiftness and motion that it does +not impede; did its lines break from the shoulder instead of bulging +from the waist; did the inverted wineglass cease to be the ideal of +form; were these things brought about, as brought about they will be, +then would painting be no longer an artificial reaction against the +ugliness of life, but become, as it should be, the natural expression +of life’s beauty. Nor would painting merely, but all the +other arts also, be the gainers by a change such as that which I propose; +the gainers, I mean, through the increased atmosphere of Beauty by which +the artists would be surrounded and in which they would grow up. +For Art is not to be taught in Academies. It is what one looks +at, not what one listens to, that makes the artist. The real schools +should be the streets. There is not, for instance, a single delicate +line, or delightful proportion, in the dress of the Greeks, which is +not echoed exquisitely in their architecture. A nation arrayed +in stove-pipe hats and dress-improvers might have built the Pantechnichon +possibly, but the Parthenon never. And finally, there is this +to be said: Art, it is true, can never have any other claim but her +own perfection, and it may be that the artist, desiring merely to contemplate +and to create, is wise in not busying himself about change in others: +yet wisdom is not always the best; there are times when she sinks to +the level of common-sense; and from the passionate folly of those—and +there are many—who desire that Beauty shall be confined no longer +to the <i>bric-à-brac</i> of the collector and the dust of the +museum, but shall be, as it should be, the natural and national inheritance +of all,—from this noble unwisdom, I say, who knows what new loveliness +shall be given to life, and, under these more exquisite conditions, +what perfect artist born? <i>Le milieu se renouvelant</i>, <i>l’art +se renouvelle.</i></p> +<p>Speaking, however, from his own passionless pedestal, Mr. Whistler, +in pointing out that the power of the painter is to be found in his +power of vision, not in his cleverness of hand, has expressed a truth +which needed expression, and which, coming from the lord of form and +colour, cannot fail to have its influence. His lecture, the Apocrypha +though it be for the people, yet remains from this time as the Bible +for the painter, the masterpiece of masterpieces, the song of songs. +It is true he has pronounced the panegyric of the Philistine, but I +fancy Ariel praising Caliban for a jest: and, in that he has read the +Commination Service over the critics, let all men thank him, the critics +themselves, indeed, most of all, for he has now relieved them from the +necessity of a tedious existence. Considered, again, merely as +an orator, Mr. Whistler seems to me to stand almost alone. Indeed, +among all our public speakers I know but few who can combine so felicitously +as he does the mirth and malice of Puck with the style of the minor +prophets.</p> +<h2>KEATS’S SONNET ON BLUE</h2> +<p>(<i>Century Guild Hobby Horse</i>, July 1886.)</p> +<p>During my tour in America I happened one evening to find myself in +Louisville, Kentucky. The subject I had selected to speak on was +the Mission of Art in the Nineteenth Century, and in the course of my +lecture I had occasion to quote Keats’s Sonnet on Blue as an example +of the poet’s delicate sense of colour-harmonies. When my +lecture was concluded there came round to see me a lady of middle age, +with a sweet gentle manner and a most musical voice. She introduced +herself to me as Mrs. Speed, the daughter of George Keats, and invited +me to come and examine the Keats manuscripts in her possession. +I spent most of the next day with her, reading the letters of Keats +to her father, some of which were at that time unpublished, poring over +torn yellow leaves and faded scraps of paper, and wondering at the little +Dante in which Keats had written those marvellous notes on Milton. +Some months afterwards, when I was in California, I received a letter +from Mrs. Speed asking my acceptance of the original manuscript of the +sonnet which I had quoted in my lecture. This manuscript I have +had reproduced here, as it seems to me to possess much psychological +interest. It shows us the conditions that preceded the perfected +form, the gradual growth, not of the conception but of the expression, +and the workings of that spirit of selection which is the secret of +style. In the case of poetry, as in the case of the other arts, +what may appear to be simply technicalities of method are in their essence +spiritual, not mechanical, and although, in all lovely work, what concerns +us is the ultimate form, not the conditions that necessitate that form, +yet the preference that precedes perfection, the evolution of the beauty, +and the mere making of the music, have, if not their artistic value, +at least their value to the artist.</p> +<p>It will be remembered that this sonnet was first published in 1848 +by Lord Houghton in his <i>Life</i>, <i>Letters</i>, <i>and Literary +Remains of John Keats</i>. Lord Houghton does not definitely state +where he found it, but it was probably among the Keats manuscripts belonging +to Mr. Charles Brown. It is evidently taken from a version later +than that in my possession, as it accepts all the corrections, and makes +three variations. As in my manuscript the first line is torn away, +I give the sonnet here as it appears in Lord Houghton’s edition.</p> +<blockquote><p>ANSWER TO A SONNET ENDING THUS:</p> +<p> Dark eyes are dearer far<br /> +Than those that make the hyacinthine bell. <a name="citation74"></a><a href="#footnote74">{74}</a></p> +<p> By J. H. REYNOLDS.</p> +<p>Blue! ’Tis the life of heaven,—the domain<br /> + Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,—<br /> +The tent of Hesperus and all his train,—<br /> + The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey and dun.<br /> +Blue! ’Tis the life of waters—ocean<br /> + And all its vassal streams: pools numberless<br /> +May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can<br /> + Subside if not to dark-blue nativeness.<br /> +Blue! gentle cousin of the forest green,<br /> + Married to green in all the sweetest flowers,<br /> +Forget-me-not,—the blue-bell,—and, that queen<br /> + Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers<br /> +Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great,<br /> + When in an Eye thou art alive with fate!</p> +<p>Feb. 1818.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the <i>Athenæum</i> of the 3rd of June 1876, appeared a +letter from Mr. A. J. Horwood, stating that he had in his possession +a copy of <i>The Garden of Florence</i> in which this sonnet was transcribed. +Mr. Horwood, who was unaware that the sonnet had been already published +by Lord Houghton, gives the transcript at length. His version +reads <i>hue</i> for <i>life</i> in the first line, and <i>bright</i> +for <i>wide</i> in the second, and gives the sixth line thus:</p> +<blockquote><p>With all his tributary streams, pools numberless,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>a foot too long: it also reads <i>to</i> for <i>of</i> in the ninth +line. Mr. Buxton Forman is of opinion that these variations are +decidedly genuine, but indicative of an earlier state of the poem than +that adopted in Lord Houghton’s edition. However, now that +we have before us Keats’s first draft of his sonnet, it is difficult +to believe that the sixth line in Mr. Horwood’s version is really +a genuine variation. Keats may have written,</p> +<blockquote><p> Ocean<br /> +His tributary streams, pools numberless,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and the transcript may have been carelessly made, but having got +his line right in his first draft, Keats probably did not spoil it in +his second. The <i>Athenæum</i> version inserts a comma +after <i>art</i> in the last line, which seems to me a decided improvement, +and eminently characteristic of Keats’s method. I am glad +to see that Mr. Buxton Forman has adopted it.</p> +<p>As for the corrections that Lord Houghton’s version shows Keats +to have made in the eighth and ninth lines of this sonnet, it is evident +that they sprang from Keats’s reluctance to repeat the same word +in consecutive lines, except in cases where a word’s music or +meaning was to be emphasised. The substitution of ‘its’ +for ‘his’ in the sixth line is more difficult of explanation. +It was due probably to a desire on Keats’s part not to mar by +any echo the fine personification of Hesperus.</p> +<p>It may be noticed that Keats’s own eyes were brown, and not +blue, as stated by Mrs. Proctor to Lord Houghton. Mrs. Speed showed +me a note to that effect written by Mrs. George Keats on the margin +of the page in Lord Houghton’s Life (p. 100, vol. i.), where Mrs. +Proctor’s description is given. Cowden Clarke made a similar +correction in his <i>Recollections</i>, and in some of the later editions +of Lord Houghton’s book the word ‘blue’ is struck +out. In Severn’s portraits of Keats also the eyes are given +as brown.</p> +<p>The exquisite sense of colour expressed in the ninth and tenth lines +may be paralleled by</p> +<blockquote><p>The Ocean with its vastness, its blue green,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>of the sonnet to George Keats.</p> +<h2>THE AMERICAN INVASION</h2> +<p>(<i>Court and Society Review</i>, March 23, 1887.)</p> +<p>A terrible danger is hanging over the Americans in London. +Their future and their reputation this season depend entirely on the +success of Buffalo Bill and Mrs. Brown-Potter. The former is certain +to draw; for English people are far more interested in American barbarism +than they are in American civilisation. When they sight Sandy +Hook they look to their rifles and ammunition; and, after dining once +at Delmonico’s, start off for Colorado or California, for Montana +or the Yellow Stone Park. Rocky Mountains charm them more than +riotous millionaires; they have been known to prefer buffaloes to Boston. +Why should they not? The cities of America are inexpressibly tedious. +The Bostonians take their learning too sadly; culture with them is an +accomplishment rather than an atmosphere; their ‘Hub,’ as +they call it, is the paradise of prigs. Chicago is a sort of monster-shop, +full of bustle and bores. Political life at Washington is like +political life in a suburban vestry. Baltimore is amusing for +a week, but Philadelphia is dreadfully provincial; and though one can +dine in New York one could not dwell there. Better the Far West +with its grizzly bears and its untamed cow-boys, its free open-air life +and its free open-air manners, its boundless prairie and its boundless +mendacity! This is what Buffalo Bill is going to bring to London; +and we have no doubt that London will fully appreciate his show.</p> +<p>With regard to Mrs. Brown-Potter, as acting is no longer considered +absolutely essential for success on the English stage, there is really +no reason why the pretty bright-eyed lady who charmed us all last June +by her merry laugh and her nonchalant ways, should not—to borrow +an expression from her native language—make a big boom and paint +the town red. We sincerely hope she will; for, on the whole, the +American invasion has done English society a great deal of good. +American women are bright, clever, and wonderfully cosmopolitan. +Their patriotic feelings are limited to an admiration for Niagara and +a regret for the Elevated Railway; and, unlike the men, they never bore +us with Bunkers Hill. They take their dresses from Paris and their +manners from Piccadilly, and wear both charmingly. They have a +quaint pertness, a delightful conceit, a native self-assertion. +They insist on being paid compliments and have almost succeeded in making +Englishmen eloquent. For our aristocracy they have an ardent admiration; +they adore titles and are a permanent blow to Republican principles. +In the art of amusing men they are adepts, both by nature and education, +and can actually tell a story without forgetting the point—an +accomplishment that is extremely rare among the women of other countries. +It is true that they lack repose and that their voices are somewhat +harsh and strident when they land first at Liverpool; but after a time +one gets to love these pretty whirlwinds in petticoats that sweep so +recklessly through society and are so agitating to all duchesses who +have daughters. There is something fascinating in their funny, +exaggerated gestures and their petulant way of tossing the head. +Their eyes have no magic nor mystery in them, but they challenge us +for combat; and when we engage we are always worsted. Their lips +seem made for laughter and yet they never grimace. As for their +voices, they soon get them into tune. Some of them have been known +to acquire a fashionable drawl in two seasons; and after they have been +presented to Royalty they all roll their R’s as vigorously as +a young equerry or an old lady-in-waiting. Still, they never really +lose their accent; it keeps peeping out here and there, and when they +chatter together they are like a bevy of peacocks. Nothing is +more amusing than to watch two American girls greeting each other in +a drawing-room or in the Row. They are like children with their +shrill staccato cries of wonder, their odd little exclamations. +Their conversation sounds like a series of exploding crackers; they +are exquisitely incoherent and use a sort of primitive, emotional language. +After five minutes they are left beautifully breathless and look at +each other half in amusement and half in affection. If a stolid +young Englishman is fortunate enough to be introduced to them he is +amazed at their extraordinary vivacity, their electric quickness of +repartee, their inexhaustible store of curious catchwords. He +never really understands them, for their thoughts flutter about with +the sweet irresponsibility of butterflies; but he is pleased and amused +and feels as if he were in an aviary. On the whole, American girls +have a wonderful charm and, perhaps, the chief secret of their charm +is that they never talk seriously except about amusements. They +have, however, one grave fault—their mothers. Dreary as +were those old Pilgrim Fathers who left our shores more than two centuries +ago to found a New England beyond seas, the Pilgrim Mothers who have +returned to us in the nineteenth century are drearier still.</p> +<p>Here and there, of course, there are exceptions, but as a class they +are either dull, dowdy or dyspeptic. It is only fair to the rising +generation of America to state that they are not to blame for this. +Indeed, they spare no pains at all to bring up their parents properly +and to give them a suitable, if somewhat late, education. From +its earliest years every American child spends most of its time in correcting +the faults of its father and mother; and no one who has had the opportunity +of watching an American family on the deck of an Atlantic steamer, or +in the refined seclusion of a New York boarding-house, can fail to have +been struck by this characteristic of their civilisation. In America +the young are always ready to give to those who are older than themselves +the full benefits of their inexperience. A boy of only eleven +or twelve years of age will firmly but kindly point out to his father +his defects of manner or temper; will never weary of warning him against +extravagance, idleness, late hours, unpunctuality, and the other temptations +to which the aged are so particularly exposed; and sometimes, should +he fancy that he is monopolising too much of the conversation at dinner, +will remind him, across the table, of the new child’s adage, ‘Parents +should be seen, not heard.’ Nor does any mistaken idea of +kindness prevent the little American girl from censuring her mother +whenever it is necessary. Often, indeed, feeling that a rebuke +conveyed in the presence of others is more truly efficacious than one +merely whispered in the quiet of the nursery, she will call the attention +of perfect strangers to her mother’s general untidiness, her want +of intellectual Boston conversation, immoderate love of iced water and +green corn, stinginess in the matter of candy, ignorance of the usages +of the best Baltimore society, bodily ailments and the like. In +fact, it may be truly said that no American child is ever blind to the +deficiencies of its parents, no matter how much it may love them.</p> +<p>Yet, somehow, this educational system has not been so successful +as it deserved. In many cases, no doubt, the material with which +the children had to deal was crude and incapable of real development; +but the fact remains that the American mother is a tedious person. +The American father is better, for he is never seen in London. +He passes his life entirely in Wall Street and communicates with his +family once a month by means of a telegram in cipher. The mother, +however, is always with us, and, lacking the quick imitative faculty +of the younger generation, remains uninteresting and provincial to the +last. In spite of her, however, the American girl is always welcome. +She brightens our dull dinner parties for us and makes life go pleasantly +by for a season. In the race for coronets she often carries off +the prize; but, once she has gained the victory, she is generous and +forgives her English rivals everything, even their beauty.</p> +<p>Warned by the example of her mother that American women do not grow +old gracefully, she tries not to grow old at all and often succeeds. +She has exquisite feet and hands, is always <i>bien chaussée +et bien gantée</i> and can talk brilliantly upon any subject, +provided that she knows nothing about it.</p> +<p>Her sense of humour keeps her from the tragedy of a <i>grande passion</i>, +and, as there is neither romance nor humility in her love, she makes +an excellent wife. What her ultimate influence on English life +will be it is difficult to estimate at present; but there can be no +doubt that, of all the factors that have contributed to the social revolution +of London, there are few more important, and none more delightful, than +the American Invasion.</p> +<h2>SERMONS IN STONES AT BLOOMSBURY: THE NEW SCULPTURE ROOM AT THE BRITISH +MUSEUM</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, October 15, 1887.)</p> +<p>Through the exertions of Sir Charles Newton, to whom every student +of classic art should be grateful, some of the wonderful treasures so +long immured in the grimy vaults of the British Museum have at last +been brought to light, and the new Sculpture Room now opened to the +public will amply repay the trouble of a visit, even from those to whom +art is a stumbling-block and a rock of offence. For setting aside +the mere beauty of form, outline and mass, the grace and loveliness +of design and the delicacy of technical treatment, here we have shown +to us what the Greeks and Romans thought about death; and the philosopher, +the preacher, the practical man of the world, and even the Philistine +himself, cannot fail to be touched by these ‘sermons in stones,’ +with their deep significance, their fertile suggestion, their plain +humanity. Common tombstones they are, most of them, the work not +of famous artists but of simple handicraftsmen, only they were wrought +in days when every handicraft was an art. The finest specimens, +from the purely artistic point of view, are undoubtedly the two <i>stelai</i> +found at Athens. They are both the tombstones of young Greek athletes. +In one the athlete is represented handing his <i>strigil</i> to his +slave, in the other the athlete stands alone, <i>strigil</i> in hand. +They do not belong to the greatest period of Greek art, they have not +the grand style of the Phidian age, but they are beautiful for all that, +and it is impossible not to be fascinated by their exquisite grace and +by the treatment which is so simple in its means, so subtle in its effect. +All the tombstones, however, are full of interest. Here is one +of two ladies of Smyrna who were so remarkable in their day that the +city voted them honorary crowns; here is a Greek doctor examining a +little boy who is suffering from indigestion; here is the memorial of +Xanthippus who, probably, was a martyr to gout, as he is holding in +his hand the model of a foot, intended, no doubt, as a votive offering +to some god. A lovely <i>stele</i> from Rhodes gives us a family +group. The husband is on horseback and is bidding farewell to +his wife, who seems as if she would follow him but is being held back +by a little child. The pathos of parting from those we love is +the central motive of Greek funeral art. It is repeated in every +possible form, and each mute marble stone seems to murmur χαιρε. +Roman art is different. It introduces vigorous and realistic portraiture +and deals with pure family life far more frequently than Greek art does. +They are very ugly, those stern-looking Roman men and women whose portraits +are exhibited on their tombs, but they seem to have been loved and respected +by their children and their servants. Here is the monument of +Aphrodisius and Atilia, a Roman gentleman and his wife, who died in +Britain many centuries ago, and whose tombstone was found in the Thames; +and close by it stands a <i>stele</i> from Rome with the busts of an +old married couple who are certainly marvellously ill-favoured. +The contrast between the abstract Greek treatment of the idea of death +and the Roman concrete realisation of the individuals who have died +is extremely curious.</p> +<p>Besides the tombstones, the new Sculpture Room contains some most +fascinating examples of Roman decorative art under the Emperors. +The most wonderful of all, and this alone is worth a trip to Bloomsbury, +is a bas-relief representing a marriage scene. Juno Pronuba is +joining the hands of a handsome young noble and a very stately lady. +There is all the grace of Perugino in this marble, all the grace of +Raphael even. The date of it is uncertain, but the particular +cut of the bridegroom’s beard seems to point to the time of the +Emperor Hadrian. It is clearly the work of Greek artists and is +one of the most beautiful bas-reliefs in the whole Museum. There +is something in it which reminds one of the music and the sweetness +of Propertian verse. Then we have delightful friezes of children. +One representing children playing on musical instruments might have +suggested much of the plastic art of Florence. Indeed, as we view +these marbles it is not difficult to see whence the Renaissance sprang +and to what we owe the various forms of Renaissance art. The frieze +of the Muses, each of whom wears in her hair a feather plucked from +the wings of the vanquished sirens, is extremely fine; there is a lovely +little bas-relief of two cupids racing in chariots; and the frieze of +recumbent Amazons has some splendid qualities of design. A frieze +of children playing with the armour of the god Mars should also be mentioned. +It is full of fancy and delicate humour.</p> +<p>On the whole, Sir Charles Newton and Mr. Murray are warmly to be +congratulated on the success of the new room. We hope, however, +that some more of the hidden treasures will shortly be catalogued and +shown. In the vaults at present there is a very remarkable bas-relief +of the marriage of Cupid and Psyche, and another representing the professional +mourners weeping over the body of the dead. The fine cast of the +Lion of Chæronea should also be brought up, and so should the +<i>stele</i> with the marvellous portrait of the Roman slave. +Economy is an excellent public virtue, but the parsimony that allows +valuable works of art to remain in the grime and gloom of a damp cellar +is little short of a detestable public vice.</p> +<h2>THE UNITY OF THE ARTS: A LECTURE AND A FIVE O’CLOCK</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, December 12, 1887.)</p> +<p>Last Saturday afternoon, at Willis’s Rooms, Mr. Selwyn Image +delivered the first of a series of four lectures on Modern Art before +a select and distinguished audience. The chief point on which +he dwelt was the absolute unity of all the arts and, in order to convey +this idea, he framed a definition wide enough to include Shakespeare’s +<i>King Lear</i> and Michael Angelo’s <i>Creation</i>, Paul Veronese’s +picture of Alexander and Darius, and Gibbon’s description of the +entry of Heliogabalus into Rome. All these he regarded as so many +expressions of man’s thoughts and emotions on fine things, conveyed +through visible or audible modes; and starting from this point he approached +the question of the true relation of literature to painting, always +keeping in view the central motive of his creed, <i>Credo in unam artem +multipartitam</i>, <i>indivisibilem</i>, and dwelling on resemblances +rather than differences. The result at which he ultimately arrived +was this: the Impressionists, with their frank artistic acceptance of +form and colour as things absolutely satisfying in themselves, have +produced very beautiful work, but painting has something more to give +us than the mere visible aspect of things. The lofty spiritual +visions of William Blake, and the marvellous romance of Dante Gabriel +Rossetti, can find their perfect expression in painting; every mood +has its colour and every dream has its form. The chief quality +of Mr. Image’s lecture was its absolute fairness, but this was, +to a certain portion of the audience, its chief defect. ‘Sweet +reasonableness,’ said one, ‘is always admirable in a spectator, +but from a leader we want something more.’ ‘It is +only an auctioneer who should admire all schools of art,’ said +another; while a third sighed over what he called ‘the fatal sterility +of the judicial mind,’ and expressed a perfectly groundless fear +that the Century Guild was becoming rational. For, with a courtesy +and a generosity that we strongly recommend to other lecturers, Mr. +Image provided refreshments for his audience after his address was over, +and it was extremely interesting to listen to the various opinions expressed +by the great Five-o’clock-tea School of Criticism which was largely +represented. For our own part, we found Mr. Image’s lecture +extremely suggestive. It was sometimes difficult to understand +in what exact sense he was using the word ‘literary,’ and +we do not think that a course of drawing from the plaster cast of the +<i>Dying Gaul</i> would in the slightest degree improve the ordinary +art critic. The true unity of the arts is to be found, not in +any resemblance of one art to another, but in the fact that to the really +artistic nature all the arts have the same message and speak the same +language though with different tongues. No amount of daubing on +a cellar wall will make a man understand the mystery of Michael Angelo’s +Sybils, nor is it necessary to write a blank verse drama before one +can appreciate the beauty of <i>Hamlet</i>. It is essential that +an art critic should have a nature receptive of beautiful impressions, +and sufficient intuition to recognise style when he meets with it, and +truth when it is shown to him; but, if he does not possess these qualities, +a reckless career of water-colour painting will not give them to him, +for, if from the incompetent critic all things be hidden, to the bad +painter nothing shall be revealed.</p> +<h2>ART AT WILLIS’S ROOMS</h2> +<p>(<i>Sunday Times</i>, December 25, 1887.)</p> +<p>Accepting a suggestion made by a friendly critic last week, Mr. Selwyn +Image began his second lecture by explaining more fully what he meant +by literary art, and pointed out the difference between an ordinary +illustration to a book and such creative and original works as Michael +Angelo’s fresco of <i>The Expulsion from Eden</i> and Rossetti’s +<i>Beata Beatrix</i>. In the latter case the artist treats literature +as if it were life itself, and gives a new and delightful form to what +seer or singer has shown us; in the former we have merely a translation +which misses the music and adds no marvel. As for subject, Mr. +Image protested against the studio-slang that no subject is necessary, +defining subject as the thought, emotion or impression which a man desires +to embody in form and colour, and admitting Mr. Whistler’s fireworks +as readily as Giotto’s angels, and Van Huysum’s roses no +less than Mantegna’s gods. Here, we think that Mr. Image +might have pointed out more clearly the contrast between the purely +pictorial subject and the subject that includes among its elements such +things as historical associations or poetic memories; the contrast, +in fact, between impressive art and the art that is expressive also. +However, the topics he had to deal with were so varied that it was, +no doubt, difficult for him to do more than suggest. From subject +he passed to style, which he described as ‘that masterful but +restrained individuality of manner by which one artist is differentiated +from another.’ The true qualities of style he found in restraint +which is submission to law; simplicity which is unity of vision; and +severity, for <i>le beau est toujours sévère.</i></p> +<p>The realist he defined as one who aims at reproducing the external +phenomena of nature, while the idealist is the man who ‘imagines +things of fine interest.’ Yet, while he defined them he +would not separate them. The true artist is a realist, for he +recognises an external world of truth; an idealist, for he has selection, +abstraction and the power of individualisation. To stand apart +from the world of nature is fatal, but it is no less fatal merely to +reproduce facts.</p> +<p>Art, in a word, must not content itself simply with holding the mirror +up to nature, for it is a re-creation more than a reflection, and not +a repetition but rather a new song. As for finish, it must not +be confused with elaboration. A picture, said Mr. Image, is finished +when the means of form and colour employed by the artist are adequate +to convey the artist’s intention; and, with this definition and +a peroration suitable to the season, he concluded his interesting and +intellectual lecture.</p> +<p>Light refreshments were then served to the audience, and the five-o’clock-tea +school of criticism came very much to the front. Mr. Image’s +entire freedom from dogmatism and self-assertion was in some quarters +rather severely commented on, and one young gentleman declared that +such virtuous modesty as the lecturer’s might easily become a +most vicious mannerism. Everybody, however, was extremely pleased +to learn that it is no longer the duty of art to hold the mirror up +to nature, and the few Philistines who dissented from this view received +that most terrible of all punishments—the contempt of the highly +cultured.</p> +<p>Mr. Image’s third lecture will be delivered on January 21 and +will, no doubt, be largely attended, as the subjects advertised are +full of interest, and though ‘sweet reasonableness’ may +not convert, it always charms.</p> +<h2>MR. MORRIS ON TAPESTRY</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 2, 1888.)</p> +<p>Yesterday evening Mr. William Morris delivered a most interesting +and fascinating lecture on Carpet and Tapestry Weaving at the Arts and +Crafts Exhibition now held at the New Gallery. Mr. Morris had +small practical models of the two looms used, the carpet loom where +the weaver sits in front of his work; the more elaborate tapestry loom +where the weaver sits behind, at the back of the stuff, has his design +outlined on the upright threads and sees in a mirror the shadow of the +pattern and picture as it grows gradually to perfection. He spoke +at much length on the question of dyes—praising madder and kermes +for reds, precipitate of iron or ochre for yellows, and for blue either +indigo or woad. At the back of the platform hung a lovely Flemish +tapestry of the fourteenth century, and a superb Persian carpet about +two hundred and fifty years old. Mr. Morris pointed out the loveliness +of the carpet—its delicate suggestion of hawthorn blossom, iris +and rose, its rejection of imitation and shading; and showed how it +combined the great quality of decorative design—being at once +clear and well defined in form: each outline exquisitely traced, each +line deliberate in its intention and its beauty, and the whole effect +being one of unity, of harmony, almost of mystery, the colours being +so perfectly harmonised together and the little bright notes of colour +being so cunningly placed either for tone or brilliancy.</p> +<p>Tapestries, he said, were to the North of Europe what fresco was +to the South—our climate, amongst other reasons, guiding us in +our choice of material for wall-covering. England, France, and +Flanders were the three great tapestry countries—Flanders with +its great wool trade being the first in splendid colours and superb +Gothic design. The keynote of tapestry, the secret of its loveliness, +was, he told the audience, the complete filling up of every corner and +square inch of surface with lovely and fanciful and suggestive design. +Hence the wonder of those great Gothic tapestries where the forest trees +rise in different places, one over the other, each leaf perfect in its +shape and colour and decorative value, while in simple raiment of beautiful +design knights and ladies wandered in rich flower gardens, and rode +with hawk on wrist through long green arcades, and sat listening to +lute and viol in blossom-starred bowers or by cool gracious water springs. +Upon the other hand, when the Gothic feeling died away, and Boucher +and others began to design, they gave us wide expanses of waste sky, +elaborate perspective, posing nymphs and shallow artificial treatment. +Indeed, Boucher met with scant mercy at Mr. Morris’s vigorous +hands and was roundly abused, and modern Gobelins, with M. Bougereau’s +cartoons, fared no better.</p> +<p>Mr. Morris told some delightful stories about old tapestry work from +the days when in the Egyptian tombs the dead were laid wrapped in picture +cloths, some of which are now in the South Kensington Museum, to the +time of the great Turk Bajazet who, having captured some Christian knights, +would accept nothing for their ransom but the ‘storied tapestries +of France’ and gerfalcons. As regards the use of tapestry +in modern days, he pointed out that we were richer than the middle ages, +and so should be better able to afford this form of lovely wall-covering, +which for artistic tone is absolutely without rival. He said that +the very limitation of material and form forced the imaginative designer +into giving us something really beautiful and decorative. ‘What +is the use of setting an artist in a twelve-acre field and telling him +to design a house? Give him a limited space and he is forced by +its limitation to concentrate, and to fill with pure loveliness the +narrow surface at his disposal.’ The worker also gives to +the original design a very perfect richness of detail, and the threads +with their varying colours and delicate reflections convey into the +work a new source of delight. Here, he said, we found perfect +unity between the imaginative artist and the handicraftsman. The +one was not too free, the other was not a slave. The eye of the +artist saw, his brain conceived, his imagination created, but the hand +of the weaver had also its opportunity for wonderful work, and did not +copy what was already made, but re-created and put into a new and delightful +form a design that for its perfection needed the loom to aid, and had +to pass into a fresh and marvellous material before its beauty came +to its real flower and blossom of absolutely right expression and artistic +effect. But, said Mr. Morris in conclusion, to have great work +we must be worthy of it. Commercialism, with its vile god cheapness, +its callous indifference to the worker, its innate vulgarity of temper, +is our enemy. To gain anything good we must sacrifice something +of our luxury—must think more of others, more of the State, the +commonweal: ‘We cannot have riches and wealth both,’ he +said; we must choose between them.</p> +<p>The lecture was listened to with great attention by a very large +and distinguished audience, and Mr. Morris was loudly applauded.</p> +<p>The next lecture will be on Sculpture by Mr. George Simonds, and +if it is half so good as Mr. Morris it will well repay a visit to the +lecture-room. Mr. Crane deserves great credit for his exertions +in making this exhibition what it should be, and there is no doubt but +that it will exercise an important and a good influence on all the handicrafts +of our country.</p> +<h2>SCULPTURE AT THE ARTS AND CRAFTS</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 9, 1888.)</p> +<p>The most satisfactory thing in Mr. Simonds’ lecture last night +was the peroration, in which he told the audience that ‘an artist +cannot be made.’ But for this well-timed warning some deluded +people might have gone away under the impression that sculpture was +a sort of mechanical process within the reach of the meanest capabilities. +For it must be confessed that Mr. Simonds’ lecture was at once +too elementary and too elaborately technical. The ordinary art +student, even the ordinary studio-loafer, could not have learned anything +from it, while the ‘cultured person,’ of whom there were +many specimens present, could not but have felt a little bored at the +careful and painfully clear descriptions given by the lecturer of very +well-known and uninteresting methods of work. However, Mr. Simonds +did his best. He described modelling in clay and wax; casting +in plaster and in metal; how to enlarge and how to diminish to scale; +bas-reliefs and working in the round; the various kinds of marble, their +qualities and characteristics; how to reproduce in marble the plaster +or clay bust; how to use the point, the drill, the wire and the chisel; +and the various difficulties attending each process. He exhibited +a clay bust of Mr. Walter Crane on which he did some elementary work; +a bust of Mr. Parsons; a small statuette; several moulds, and an interesting +diagram of the furnace used by Balthasar Keller for casting a great +equestrian statue of Louis XIV. in 1697-8.</p> +<p>What his lecture lacked were ideas. Of the artistic value of +each material; of the correspondence between material or method and +the imaginative faculty seeking to find expression; of the capacities +for realism and idealism that reside in each material; of the historical +and human side of the art—he said nothing. He showed the +various instruments and how they are used, but he treated them entirely +as instruments for the hand. He never once brought his subject +into any relation either with art or with life. He explained forms +of labour and forms of saving labour. He showed the various methods +as they might be used by an artisan. Mr. Morris, last week, while +explaining the technical processes of weaving, never forgot that he +was lecturing on an art. He not merely taught his audience, but +he charmed them. However, the audience gathered together last +night at the Arts and Crafts Exhibition seemed very much interested; +at least, they were very attentive; and Mr. Walter Crane made a short +speech at the conclusion, in which he expressed his satisfaction that +in spite of modern machinery sculpture had hardly altered one of its +tools. For our own part we cannot help regretting the extremely +commonplace character of the lecture. If a man lectures on poets +he should not confine his remarks purely to grammar.</p> +<p>Next week Mr. Emery Walker lectures on Printing. We hope—indeed +we are sure, that he will not forget that it is an art, or rather it +was an art once, and can be made so again.</p> +<h2>PRINTING AND PRINTERS</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 16, 1888.)</p> +<p>Nothing could have been better than Mr. Emery Walker’s lecture +on Letterpress Printing and Illustration, delivered last night at the +Arts and Crafts. A series of most interesting specimens of old +printed books and manuscripts was displayed on the screen by means of +the magic-lantern, and Mr. Walker’s explanations were as clear +and simple as his suggestions were admirable. He began by explaining +the different kinds of type and how they are made, and showed specimens +of the old block-printing which preceded the movable type and is still +used in China. He pointed out the intimate connection between +printing and handwriting—as long as the latter was good the printers +had a living model to go by, but when it decayed printing decayed also. +He showed on the screen a page from Gutenberg’s Bible (the first +printed book, date about 1450-5) and a manuscript of Columella; a printed +Livy of 1469, with the abbreviations of handwriting, and a manuscript +of the History of Pompeius by Justin of 1451. The latter he regarded +as an example of the beginning of the Roman type. The resemblance +between the manuscripts and the printed books was most curious and suggestive. +He then showed a page out of John of Spier’s edition of Cicero’s +Letters, the first book printed at Venice, an edition of the same book +by Nicholas Jansen in 1470, and a wonderful manuscript Petrarch of the +sixteenth century. He told the audience about Aldus, who was the +first publisher to start cheap books, who dropped abbreviations and +had his type cut by Francia <i>pictor et aurifex</i>, who was said to +have taken it from Petrarch’s handwriting. He exhibited +a page of the copy-book of Vicentino, the great Venetian writing-master, +which was greeted with a spontaneous round of applause, and made some +excellent suggestions about improving modern copy-books and avoiding +slanting writing.</p> +<p>A superb Plautus printed at Florence in 1514 for Lorenzo di Medici, +Polydore Virgil’s History with the fine Holbein designs, printed +at Basle in 1556, and other interesting books, were also exhibited on +the screen, the size, of course, being very much enlarged. He +spoke of Elzevir in the seventeenth century when handwriting began to +fall off, and of the English printer Caslon, and of Baskerville whose +type was possibly designed by Hogarth, but is not very good. Latin, +he remarked, was a better language to print than English, as the tails +of the letters did not so often fall below the line. The wide +spacing between lines, occasioned by the use of a lead, he pointed out, +left the page in stripes and made the blanks as important as the lines. +Margins should, of course, be wide except the inner margins, and the +headlines often robbed the page of its beauty of design. The type +used by the <i>Pall Mall</i> was, we are glad to say, rightly approved +of.</p> +<p>With regard to illustration, the essential thing, Mr. Walker said, +is to have harmony between the type and the decoration. He pleaded +for true book ornament as opposed to the silly habit of putting pictures +where they are not wanted, and pointed out that mechanical harmony and +artistic harmony went hand in hand. No ornament or illustration +should be used in a book which cannot be printed in the same way as +the type. For his warnings he produced Rogers’s <i>Italy</i> +with a steel-plate engraving, and a page from an American magazine which +being florid, pictorial and bad, was greeted with some laughter. +For examples we had a lovely Boccaccio printed at Ulm, and a page out +of <i>La Mer des Histoires</i> printed in 1488. Blake and Bewick +were also shown, and a page of music designed by Mr. Horne.</p> +<p>The lecture was listened to with great attention by a large audience, +and was certainly most attractive. Mr. Walker has the keen artistic +instinct that comes out of actually working in the art of which he spoke. +His remarks about the pictorial character of modern illustration were +well timed, and we hope that some of the publishers in the audience +will take them to heart.</p> +<p>Next Thursday Mr. Cobden-Sanderson lectures on Bookbinding, a subject +on which few men in England have higher qualifications for speaking. +We are glad to see these lectures are so well attended.</p> +<h2>THE BEAUTIES OF BOOKBINDING</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 23, 1888.)</p> +<p>‘The beginning of art,’ said Mr. Cobden-Sanderson last +night in his charming lecture on Bookbinding, ‘is man thinking +about the universe.’ He desires to give expression to the +joy and wonder that he feels at the marvels that surround him, and invents +a form of beauty through which he utters the thought or feeling that +is in him. And bookbinding ranks amongst the arts: ‘through +it a man expresses himself.’</p> +<p>This elegant and pleasantly exaggerated exordium preceded some very +practical demonstrations. ‘The apron is the banner of the +future!’ exclaimed the lecturer, and he took his coat off and +put his apron on. He spoke a little about old bindings for the +papyrus roll, about the ivory or cedar cylinders round which old manuscripts +were wound, about the stained covers and the elaborate strings, till +binding in the modern sense began with literature in a folded form, +with literature in pages. A binding, he pointed out, consists +of two boards, originally of wood, now of mill-board, covered with leather, +silk or velvet. The use of these boards is to protect the ‘world’s +written wealth.’ The best material is leather, decorated +with gold. The old binders used to be given forests that they +might always have a supply of the skins of wild animals; the modern +binder has to content himself with importing morocco, which is far the +best leather there is, and is very much to be preferred to calf.</p> +<p>Mr. Sanderson mentioned by name a few of the great binders such as +Le Gascon, and some of the patrons of bookbinding like the Medicis, +Grolier, and the wonderful women who so loved books that they lent them +some of the perfume and grace of their own strange lives. However, +the historical part of the lecture was very inadequate, possibly necessarily +so through the limitations of time. The really elaborate part +of the lecture was the practical exposition. Mr. Sanderson described +and illustrated the various processes of smoothing, pressing, cutting, +paring, and the like. He divided bindings into two classes, the +useful and the beautiful. Among the former he reckoned paper covers +such as the French use, paper boards and cloth boards, and half leather +or calf bindings. Cloth he disliked as a poor material, the gold +on which soon fades away. As for beautiful bindings, in them ‘decoration +rises into enthusiasm.’ A beautiful binding is ‘a +homage to genius.’ It has its ethical value, its spiritual +effect. ‘By doing good work we raise life to a higher plane,’ +said the lecturer, and he dwelt with loving sympathy on the fact that +a book is ‘sensitive by nature,’ that it is made by a human +being for a human being, that the design must ‘come from the man +himself, and express the moods of his imagination, the joy of his soul.’ +There must, consequently, be no division of labour. ‘I make +my own paste and enjoy doing it,’ said Mr. Sanderson as he spoke +of the necessity for the artist doing the whole work with his own hands. +But before we have really good bookbinding we must have a social revolution. +As things are now, the worker diminished to a machine is the slave of +the employer, and the employer bloated into a millionaire is the slave +of the public, and the public is the slave of its pet god, cheapness. +The bookbinder of the future is to be an educated man who appreciates +literature and has freedom for his fancy and leisure for his thought.</p> +<p>All this is very good and sound. But in treating bookbinding +as an imaginative, expressive human art we must confess that we think +that Mr. Sanderson made something of an error. Bookbinding is +essentially decorative, and good decoration is far more often suggested +by material and mode of work than by any desire on the part of the designer +to tell us of his joy in the world. Hence it comes that good decoration +is always traditional. Where it is the expression of the individual +it is usually either false or capricious. These handicrafts are +not primarily expressive arts; they are impressive arts. If a +man has any message for the world he will not deliver it in a material +that always suggests and always conditions its own decoration. +The beauty of bookbinding is abstract decorative beauty. It is +not, in the first instance, a mode of expression for a man’s soul. +Indeed, the danger of all these lofty claims for handicraft is simply +that they show a desire to give crafts the province and motive of arts +such as poetry, painting and sculpture. Such province and such +motive they have not got. Their aim is different. Between +the arts that aim at annihilating their material and the arts that aim +at glorifying it there is a wide gulf.</p> +<p>However, it was quite right of Mr. Cobden-Sanderson to extol his +own art, and though he seemed often to confuse expressive and impressive +modes of beauty, he always spoke with great sincerity.</p> +<p>Next week Mr. Crane delivers the final lecture of this admirable +‘Arts and Crafts’ series and, no doubt, he will have much +to say on a subject to which he has devoted the whole of his fine artistic +life. For ourselves, we cannot help feeling that in bookbinding +art expresses primarily not the feeling of the worker but simply itself, +its own beauty, its own wonder.</p> +<h2>THE CLOSE OF THE ARTS AND CRAFTS</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, November 30, 1888.)</p> +<p>Mr. Walter Crane, the President of the Society of Arts and Crafts, +was greeted last night by such an enormous audience that at one time +the honorary secretary became alarmed for the safety of the cartoons, +and many people were unable to gain admission at all. However, +order was soon established, and Mr. Cobden-Sanderson stepped up on to +the platform and in a few pleasantly sententious phrases introduced +Mr. Crane as one who had always been ‘the advocate of great and +unpopular causes,’ and the aim of whose art was ‘joy in +widest commonalty spread.’ Mr. Crane began his lecture by +pointing out that Art had two fields, aspect and adaptation, and that +it was primarily with the latter that the designer was concerned, his +object being not literal fact but ideal beauty. With the unstudied +and accidental effects of Nature the designer had nothing to do. +He sought for principles and proceeded by geometric plan and abstract +line and colour. Pictorial art is isolated and unrelated, and +the frame is the last relic of the old connection between painting and +architecture. But the designer does not desire primarily to produce +a picture. He aims at making a pattern and proceeds by selection; +he rejects the ‘hole in the wall’ idea, and will have nothing +to do with the ‘false windows of a picture.’</p> +<p>Three things differentiate designs. First, the spirit of the +artist, that mode and manner by which Dürer is separated from Flaxman, +by which we recognise the soul of a man expressing itself in the form +proper to it. Next comes the constructive idea, the filling of +spaces with lovely work. Last is the material which, be it leather +or clay, ivory or wood, often suggests and always controls the pattern. +As for naturalism, we must remember that we see not with our eyes alone +but with our whole faculties. Feeling and thought are part of +sight. Mr. Crane then drew on a blackboard the naturalistic oak-tree +of the landscape painter and the decorative oak-tree of the designer. +He showed that each artist is looking for different things, and that +the designer always makes appearance subordinate to decorative motive. +He showed also the field daisy as it is in Nature and the same flower +treated for panel decoration. The designer systematises and emphasises, +chooses and rejects, and decorative work bears the same relation to +naturalistic presentation that the imaginative language of the poetic +drama bears to the language of real life. The decorative capabilities +of the square and the circle were then shown on the board, and much +was said about symmetry, alternation and radiation, which last principle +Mr. Crane described as ‘the Home Rule of design, the perfection +of local self-government,’ and which, he pointed out, was essentially +organic, manifesting itself in the bird’s wing as well as in the +Tudor vaulting of Gothic architecture. Mr. Crane then passed to +the human figure, ‘that expressive unit of design,’ which +contains all the principles of decoration, and exhibited a design of +a nude figure with an axe couched in an architectural spandrel, a figure +which he was careful to explain was, in spite of the axe, not that of +Mr. Gladstone. The designer then leaving <i>chiaroscuro</i>, shading +and other ‘superficial facts of life’ to take care of themselves, +and keeping the idea of space limitation always before him, then proceeds +to emphasise the beauty of his material, be it metal with its ‘agreeable +bossiness,’ as Ruskin calls it, or leaded glass with its fine +dark lines, or mosaic with its jewelled tesseræ, or the loom with +its crossed threads, or wood with its pleasant crispness. Much +bad art comes from one art trying to borrow from another. We have +sculptors who try to be pictorial, painters who aim at stage effects, +weavers who seek for pictorial motives, carvers who make Life and not +Art their aim, cotton printers ‘who tie up bunches of artificial +flowers with streamers of artificial ribbons’ and fling them on +the unfortunate textile.</p> +<p>Then came the little bit of Socialism, very sensible and very quietly +put. ‘How can we have fine art when the worker is condemned +to monotonous and mechanical labour in the midst of dull or hideous +surroundings, when cities and nature are sacrificed to commercial greed, +when cheapness is the god of Life?’ In old days the craftsman +was a designer; he had his ’prentice days of quiet study; and +even the painter began by grinding colours. Some little old ornament +still lingers, here and there, on the brass rosettes of cart-horses, +in the common milk-cans of Antwerp, in the water-vessels of Italy. +But even this is disappearing. ‘The tourist passes by’ +and creates a demand that commerce satisfies in an unsatisfactory manner. +We have not yet arrived at a healthy state of things. There is +still the Tottenham Court Road and a threatened revival of Louis Seize +furniture, and the ‘popular pictorial print struggles through +the meshes of the antimacassar.’ Art depends on Life. +We cannot get it from machines. And yet machines are bad only +when they are our masters. The printing press is a machine that +Art values because it obeys her. True art must have the vital +energy of life itself, must take its colours from life’s good +or evil, must follow angels of light or angels of darkness. The +art of the past is not to be copied in a servile spirit. For a +new age we require a new form.</p> +<p>Mr. Crane’s lecture was most interesting and instructive. +On one point only we would differ from him. Like Mr. Morris he +quite underrates the art of Japan, and looks on the Japanese as naturalists +and not as decorative artists. It is true that they are often +pictorial, but by the exquisite finesse of their touch, the brilliancy +and beauty of their colour, their perfect knowledge of how to make a +space decorative without decorating it (a point on which Mr. Crane said +nothing, though it is one of the most important things in decoration), +and by their keen instinct of where to place a thing, the Japanese are +decorative artists of a high order. Next year somebody must lecture +the Arts and Crafts on Japanese art. In the meantime, we congratulate +Mr. Crane and Mr. Cobden-Sanderson on the admirable series of lectures +that has been delivered at this exhibition. Their influence for +good can hardly be over-estimated. The exhibition, we are glad +to hear, has been a financial success. It closes tomorrow, but +is to be only the first of many to come.</p> +<h2>ENGLISH POETESSES</h2> +<p>(<i>Queen</i>, December 8, 1888.)</p> +<p>England has given to the world one great poetess, Elizabeth Barrett +Browning. By her side Mr. Swinburne would place Miss Christina +Rossetti, whose New Year hymn he describes as so much the noblest of +sacred poems in our language, that there is none which comes near it +enough to stand second. ‘It is a hymn,’ he tells us, +‘touched as with the fire, and bathed as in the light of sunbeams, +tuned as to chords and cadences of refluent sea-music beyond reach of +harp and organ, large echoes of the serene and sonorous tides of heaven.’ +Much as I admire Miss Rossetti’s work, her subtle choice of words, +her rich imagery, her artistic naïveté, wherein curious +notes of strangeness and simplicity are fantastically blended together, +I cannot but think that Mr. Swinburne has, with noble and natural loyalty, +placed her on too lofty a pedestal. To me, she is simply a very +delightful artist in poetry. This is indeed something so rare +that when we meet it we cannot fail to love it, but it is not everything. +Beyond it and above it are higher and more sunlit heights of song, a +larger vision, and an ampler air, a music at once more passionate and +more profound, a creative energy that is born of the spirit, a winged +rapture that is born of the soul, a force and fervour of mere utterance +that has all the wonder of the prophet, and not a little of the consecration +of the priest.</p> +<p>Mrs. Browning is unapproachable by any woman who has ever touched +lyre or blown through reed since the days of the great Æolian +poetess. But Sappho, who, to the antique world was a pillar of +flame, is to us but a pillar of shadow. Of her poems, burnt with +other most precious work by Byzantine Emperor and by Roman Pope, only +a few fragments remain. Possibly they lie mouldering in the scented +darkness of an Egyptian tomb, clasped in the withered hands of some +long-dead lover. Some Greek monk at Athos may even now be poring +over an ancient manuscript, whose crabbed characters conceal lyric or +ode by her whom the Greeks spoke of as ‘the Poetess’ just +as they termed Homer ‘the Poet,’ who was to them the tenth +Muse, the flower of the Graces, the child of Erôs, and the pride +of Hellas—Sappho, with the sweet voice, the bright, beautiful +eyes, the dark hyacinth-coloured hair. But, practically, the work +of the marvellous singer of Lesbos is entirely lost to us.</p> +<p>We have a few rose-leaves out of her garden, that is all. Literature +nowadays survives marble and bronze, but in old days, in spite of the +Roman poet’s noble boast, it was not so. The fragile clay +vases of the Greeks still keep for us pictures of Sappho, delicately +painted in black and red and white; but of her song we have only the +echo of an echo.</p> +<p>Of all the women of history, Mrs. Browning is the only one that we +could name in any possible or remote conjunction with Sappho.</p> +<p>Sappho was undoubtedly a far more flawless and perfect artist. +She stirred the whole antique world more than Mrs. Browning ever stirred +our modern age. Never had Love such a singer. Even in the +few lines that remain to us the passion seems to scorch and burn. +But, as unjust Time, who has crowned her with the barren laurels of +fame, has twined with them the dull poppies of oblivion, let us turn +from the mere memory of a poetess to one whose song still remains to +us as an imperishable glory to our literature; to her who heard the +cry of the children from dark mine and crowded factory, and made England +weep over its little ones; who, in the feigned sonnets from the Portuguese, +sang of the spiritual mystery of Love, and of the intellectual gifts +that Love brings to the soul; who had faith in all that is worthy, and +enthusiasm for all that is great, and pity for all that suffers; who +wrote the <i>Vision of Poets</i> and <i>Casa Guidi Windows</i> and <i>Aurora +Leigh.</i></p> +<p>As one, to whom I owe my love of poetry no less than my love of country, +has said of her:</p> +<blockquote><p> Still on our ears<br /> +The clear ‘Excelsior’ from a woman’s lip<br /> +Rings out across the Apennines, although<br /> +The woman’s brow lies pale and cold in death<br /> +With all the mighty marble dead in Florence.<br /> +For while great songs can stir the hearts of men,<br /> +Spreading their full vibrations through the world<br /> +In ever-widening circles till they reach<br /> +The Throne of God, and song becomes a prayer,<br /> +And prayer brings down the liberating strength<br /> +That kindles nations to heroic deeds,<br /> +She lives—the great-souled poetess who saw<br /> +From Casa Guidi windows Freedom dawn<br /> +On Italy, and gave the glory back<br /> +In sunrise hymns to all Humanity!</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She lives indeed, and not alone in the heart of Shakespeare’s +England, but in the heart of Dante’s Italy also. To Greek +literature she owed her scholarly culture, but modern Italy created +her human passion for Liberty. When she crossed the Alps she became +filled with a new ardour, and from that fine, eloquent mouth, that we +can still see in her portraits, broke forth such a noble and majestic +outburst of lyrical song as had not been heard from woman’s lips +for more than two thousand years. It is pleasant to think that +an English poetess was to a certain extent a real factor in bringing +about that unity of Italy that was Dante’s dream, and if Florence +drove her great singer into exile, she at least welcomed within her +walls the later singer that England had sent to her.</p> +<p>If one were asked the chief qualities of Mrs. Browning’s work, +one would say, as Mr. Swinburne said of Byron’s, its sincerity +and its strength. Faults it, of course, possesses. ‘She +would rhyme moon to table,’ used to be said of her in jest; and +certainly no more monstrous rhymes are to be found in all literature +than some of those we come across in Mrs. Browning’s poems. +But her ruggedness was never the result of carelessness. It was +deliberate, as her letters to Mr. Horne show very clearly. She +refused to sandpaper her muse. She disliked facile smoothness +and artificial polish. In her very rejection of art she was an +artist. She intended to produce a certain effect by certain means, +and she succeeded; and her indifference to complete assonance in rhyme +often gives a splendid richness to her verse, and brings into it a pleasurable +element of surprise.</p> +<p>In philosophy she was a Platonist, in politics an Opportunist. +She attached herself to no particular party. She loved the people +when they were king-like, and kings when they showed themselves to be +men. Of the real value and motive of poetry she had a most exalted +idea. ‘Poetry,’ she says, in the preface of one of +her volumes, ‘has been as serious a thing to me as life itself; +and life has been a very serious thing. There has been no playing +at skittles for me in either. I never mistook pleasure for the +final cause of poetry, nor leisure for the hour of the poet. I +have done my work so far, not as mere hand and head work apart from +the personal being, but as the completest expression of that being to +which I could attain.’</p> +<p>It certainly is her completest expression, and through it she realises +her fullest perfection. ‘The poet,’ she says elsewhere, +‘is at once richer and poorer than he used to be; he wears better +broadcloth, but speaks no more oracles.’ These words give +us the keynote to her view of the poet’s mission. He was +to utter Divine oracles, to be at once inspired prophet and holy priest; +and as such we may, I think, without exaggeration, conceive her. +She was a Sibyl delivering a message to the world, sometimes through +stammering lips, and once at least with blinded eyes, yet always with +the true fire and fervour of lofty and unshaken faith, always with the +great raptures of a spiritual nature, the high ardours of an impassioned +soul. As we read her best poems we feel that, though Apollo’s +shrine be empty and the bronze tripod overthrown, and the vale of Delphi +desolate, still the Pythia is not dead. In our own age she has +sung for us, and this land gave her new birth. Indeed, Mrs. Browning +is the wisest of the Sibyls, wiser even than that mighty figure whom +Michael Angelo has painted on the roof of the Sistine Chapel at Rome, +poring over the scroll of mystery, and trying to decipher the secrets +of Fate; for she realised that, while knowledge is power, suffering +is part of knowledge.</p> +<p>To her influence, almost as much as to the higher education of women, +I would be inclined to attribute the really remarkable awakening of +woman’s song that characterises the latter half of our century +in England. No country has ever had so many poetesses at once. +Indeed, when one remembers that the Greeks had only nine muses, one +is sometimes apt to fancy that we have too many. And yet the work +done by women in the sphere of poetry is really of a very high standard +of excellence. In England we have always been prone to underrate +the value of tradition in literature. In our eagerness to find +a new voice and a fresh mode of music, we have forgotten how beautiful +Echo may be. We look first for individuality and personality, +and these are, indeed, the chief characteristics of the masterpieces +of our literature, either in prose or verse; but deliberate culture +and a study of the best models, if united to an artistic temperament +and a nature susceptible of exquisite impressions, may produce much +that is admirable, much that is worthy of praise. It would be +quite impossible to give a complete catalogue of all the women who since +Mrs. Browning’s day have tried lute and lyre. Mrs. Pfeiffer, +Mrs. Hamilton King, Mrs. Augusta Webster, Graham Tomson, Miss Mary Robinson, +Jean Ingelow, Miss May Kendall, Miss Nesbit, Miss May Probyn, Mrs. Craik, +Mrs. Meynell, Miss Chapman, and many others have done really good work +in poetry, either in the grave Dorian mode of thoughtful and intellectual +verse, or in the light and graceful forms of old French song, or in +the romantic manner of antique ballad, or in that ‘moment’s +monument,’ as Rossetti called it, the intense and concentrated +sonnet. Occasionally one is tempted to wish that the quick, artistic +faculty that women undoubtedly possess developed itself somewhat more +in prose and somewhat less in verse. Poetry is for our highest +moods, when we wish to be with the gods, and in our poetry nothing but +the very best should satisfy us; but prose is for our daily bread, and +the lack of good prose is one of the chief blots on our culture. +French prose, even in the hands of the most ordinary writers, is always +readable, but English prose is detestable. We have a few, a very +few, masters, such as they are. We have Carlyle, who should not +be imitated; and Mr. Pater, who, through the subtle perfection of his +form, is inimitable absolutely; and Mr. Froude, who is useful; and Matthew +Arnold, who is a model; and Mr. George Meredith, who is a warning; and +Mr. Lang, who is the divine amateur; and Mr. Stevenson, who is the humane +artist; and Mr. Ruskin, whose rhythm and colour and fine rhetoric and +marvellous music of words are entirely unattainable. But the general +prose that one reads in magazines and in newspapers is terribly dull +and cumbrous, heavy in movement and uncouth or exaggerated in expression. +Possibly some day our women of letters will apply themselves more definitely +to prose.</p> +<p>Their light touch, and exquisite ear, and delicate sense of balance +and proportion would be of no small service to us. I can fancy +women bringing a new manner into our literature.</p> +<p>However, we have to deal here with women as poetesses, and it is +interesting to note that, though Mrs. Browning’s influence undoubtedly +contributed very largely to the development of this new song-movement, +if I may so term it, still there seems to have been never a time during +the last three hundred years when the women of this kingdom did not +cultivate, if not the art, at least the habit, of writing poetry.</p> +<p>Who the first English poetess was I cannot say. I believe it +was the Abbess Juliana Berners, who lived in the fifteenth century; +but I have no doubt that Mr. Freeman would be able at a moment’s +notice to produce some wonderful Saxon or Norman poetess, whose works +cannot be read without a glossary, and even with its aid are completely +unintelligible. For my own part, I am content with the Abbess +Juliana, who wrote enthusiastically about hawking; and after her I would +mention Anne Askew, who in prison and on the eve of her fiery martyrdom +wrote a ballad that has, at any rate, a pathetic and historical interest. +Queen Elizabeth’s ‘most sweet and sententious ditty’ +on Mary Stuart is highly praised by Puttenham, a contemporary critic, +as an example of ‘Exargasia, or the Gorgeous in Literature,’ +which somehow seems a very suitable epithet for such a great Queen’s +poems. The term she applies to the unfortunate Queen of Scots, +‘the daughter of debate,’ has, of course, long since passed +into literature. The Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney’s +sister, was much admired as a poetess in her day.</p> +<p>In 1613 the ‘learned, virtuous, and truly noble ladie,’ +Elizabeth Carew, published a <i>Tragedie of Marian</i>, <i>the Faire +Queene of Jewry</i>, and a few years later the ‘noble ladie Diana +Primrose’ wrote <i>A Chain of Pearl</i>, which is a panegyric +on the ‘peerless graces’ of Gloriana. Mary Morpeth, +the friend and admirer of Drummond of Hawthornden; Lady Mary Wroth, +to whom Ben Jonson dedicated <i>The Alchemist</i>; and the Princess +Elizabeth, the sister of Charles I., should also be mentioned.</p> +<p>After the Restoration women applied themselves with still greater +ardour to the study of literature and the practice of poetry. +Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, was a true woman of letters, and some +of her verses are extremely pretty and graceful. Mrs. Aphra Behn +was the first Englishwoman who adopted literature as a regular profession. +Mrs. Katharine Philips, according to Mr. Gosse, invented sentimentality. +As she was praised by Dryden, and mourned by Cowley, let us hope she +may be forgiven. Keats came across her poems at Oxford when he +was writing <i>Endymion</i>, and found in one of them ‘a most +delicate fancy of the Fletcher kind’; but I fear nobody reads +the Matchless Orinda now. Of Lady Winchelsea’s <i>Nocturnal +Reverie</i> Wordsworth said that, with the exception of Pope’s +<i>Windsor Forest</i>, it was the only poem of the period intervening +between <i>Paradise Lost</i> and Thomson’s <i>Seasons</i> that +contained a single new image of external nature. Lady Rachel Russell, +who may be said to have inaugurated the letter-writing literature of +England; Eliza Haywood, who is immortalised by the badness of her work, +and has a niche in <i>The Dunciad</i>; and the Marchioness of Wharton, +whose poems Waller said he admired, are very remarkable types, the finest +of them being, of course, the first named, who was a woman of heroic +mould and of a most noble dignity of nature.</p> +<p>Indeed, though the English poetesses up to the time of Mrs. Browning +cannot be said to have produced any work of absolute genius, they are +certainly interesting figures, fascinating subjects for study. +Amongst them we find Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who had all the caprice +of Cleopatra, and whose letters are delightful reading; Mrs. Centlivre, +who wrote one brilliant comedy; Lady Anne Barnard, whose <i>Auld Robin +Gray</i> was described by Sir Walter Scott as ‘worth all the dialogues +Corydon and Phillis have together spoken from the days of Theocritus +downwards,’ and is certainly a very beautiful and touching poem; +Esther Vanhomrigh and Hester Johnson, the Vanessa and the Stella of +Dean Swift’s life; Mrs. Thrale, the friend of the great lexicographer; +the worthy Mrs. Barbauld; the excellent Mrs. Hannah More; the industrious +Joanna Baillie; the admirable Mrs. Chapone, whose <i>Ode to Solitude</i> +always fills me with the wildest passion for society, and who will at +least be remembered as the patroness of the establishment at which Becky +Sharp was educated; Miss Anna Seward, who was called ‘The Swan +of Lichfield’; poor L. E. L., whom Disraeli described in one of +his clever letters to his sister as ‘the personification of Brompton—pink +satin dress, white satin shoes, red cheeks, snub nose, and her hair +<i>à la</i> Sappho’; Mrs. Ratcliffe, who introduced the +romantic novel, and has consequently much to answer for; the beautiful +Duchess of Devonshire, of whom Gibbon said that she was ‘made +for something better than a Duchess’; the two wonderful sisters, +Lady Dufferin and Mrs. Norton; Mrs. Tighe, whose <i>Psyche</i> Keats +read with pleasure; Constantia Grierson, a marvellous blue-stocking +in her time; Mrs. Hemans; pretty, charming ‘Perdita,’ who +flirted alternately with poetry and the Prince Regent, played divinely +in the <i>Winter’s Tale</i>, was brutally attacked by Gifford, +and has left us a pathetic little poem on the Snowdrop; and Emily Brontë, +whose poems are instinct with tragic power, and seem often on the verge +of being great.</p> +<p>Old fashions in literature are not so pleasant as old fashions in +dress. I like the costume of the age of powder better than the +poetry of the age of Pope. But if one adopts the historical standpoint—and +this is, indeed, the only standpoint from which we can ever form a fair +estimate of work that is not absolutely of the highest order—we +cannot fail to see that many of the English poetesses who preceded Mrs. +Browning were women of no ordinary talent, and that if the majority +of them looked upon poetry simply as a department of <i>belles lettres</i>, +so in most cases did their contemporaries. Since Mrs. Browning’s +day our woods have become full of singing birds, and if I venture to +ask them to apply themselves more to prose and less to song, it is not +that I like poetical prose, but that I love the prose of poets.</p> +<h2>LONDON MODELS</h2> +<p>(<i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, January 1889.)</p> +<p>Professional models are a purely modern invention. To the Greeks, +for instance, they were quite unknown. Mr. Mahaffy, it is true, +tells us that Pericles used to present peacocks to the great ladies +of Athenian society in order to induce them to sit to his friend Phidias, +and we know that Polygnotus introduced into his picture of the Trojan +women the face of Elpinice, the celebrated sister of the great Conservative +leader of the day, but these <i>grandes dames</i> clearly do not come +under our category. As for the old masters, they undoubtedly made +constant studies from their pupils and apprentices, and even their religious +pictures are full of the portraits of their friends and relations, but +they do not seem to have had the inestimable advantage of the existence +of a class of people whose sole profession is to pose. In fact +the model, in our sense of the word, is the direct creation of Academic +Schools.</p> +<p>Every country now has its own models, except America. In New +York, and even in Boston, a good model is so great a rarity that most +of the artists are reduced to painting Niagara and millionaires. +In Europe, however, it is different. Here we have plenty of models, +and of every nationality. The Italian models are the best. +The natural grace of their attitudes, as well as the wonderful picturesqueness +of their colouring, makes them facile—often too facile—subjects +for the painter’s brush. The French models, though not so +beautiful as the Italian, possess a quickness of intellectual sympathy, +a capacity, in fact, of understanding the artist, which is quite remarkable. +They have also a great command over the varieties of facial expression, +are peculiarly dramatic, and can chatter the <i>argot</i> of the <i>atelier</i> +as cleverly as the critic of the <i>Gil Bias</i>. The English +models form a class entirely by themselves. They are not so picturesque +as the Italian, nor so clever as the French, and they have absolutely +no tradition, so to speak, of their order. Now and then some old +veteran knocks at a studio door, and proposes to sit as Ajax defying +the lightning, or as King Lear upon the blasted heath. One of +them some time ago called on a popular painter who, happening at the +moment to require his services, engaged him, and told him to begin by +kneeling down in the attitude of prayer. ‘Shall I be Biblical +or Shakespearean, sir?’ asked the veteran. ‘Well—Shakespearean,’ +answered the artist, wondering by what subtle <i>nuance</i> of expression +the model would convey the difference. ‘All right, sir,’ +said the professor of posing, and he solemnly knelt down and began to +wink with his left eye! This class, however, is dying out. +As a rule the model, nowadays, is a pretty girl, from about twelve to +twenty-five years of age, who knows nothing about art, cares less, and +is merely anxious to earn seven or eight shillings a day without much +trouble. English models rarely look at a picture, and never venture +on any æsthetic theories. In fact, they realise very completely +Mr. Whistler’s idea of the function of an art critic, for they +pass no criticisms at all. They accept all schools of art with +the grand catholicity of the auctioneer, and sit to a fantastic young +impressionist as readily as to a learned and laborious academician. +They are neither for the Whistlerites nor against them; the quarrel +between the school of facts and the school of effects touches them not; +idealistic and naturalistic are words that convey no meaning to their +ears; they merely desire that the studio shall be warm, and the lunch +hot, for all charming artists give their models lunch.</p> +<p>As to what they are asked to do they are equally indifferent. +On Monday they will don the rags of a beggar-girl for Mr. Pumper, whose +pathetic pictures of modern life draw such tears from the public, and +on Tuesday they will pose in a peplum for Mr. Phœbus, who thinks +that all really artistic subjects are necessarily B.C. They career +gaily through all centuries and through all costumes, and, like actors, +are interesting only when they are not themselves. They are extremely +good-natured, and very accommodating. ‘What do you sit for?’ +said a young artist to a model who had sent him in her card (all models, +by the way, have cards and a small black bag). ‘Oh, for +anything you like, sir,’ said the girl, ‘landscape if necessary!’</p> +<p>Intellectually, it must be acknowledged, they are Philistines, but +physically they are perfect—at least some are. Though none +of them can talk Greek, many can look Greek, which to a nineteenth-century +painter is naturally of great importance. If they are allowed, +they chatter a great deal, but they never say anything. Their +observations are the only <i>banalités</i> heard in Bohemia. +However, though they cannot appreciate the artist as artist, they are +quite ready to appreciate the artist as a man. They are very sensitive +to kindness, respect and generosity. A beautiful model who had +sat for two years to one of our most distinguished English painters, +got engaged to a street vendor of penny ices. On her marriage +the painter sent her a pretty wedding present, and received in return +a nice letter of thanks with the following remarkable postscript: ‘Never +eat the green ices!’</p> +<p>When they are tired a wise artist gives them a rest. Then they +sit in a chair and read penny dreadfuls, till they are roused from the +tragedy of literature to take their place again in the tragedy of art. +A few of them smoke cigarettes. This, however, is regarded by +the other models as showing a want of seriousness, and is not generally +approved of. They are engaged by the day and by the half-day. +The tariff is a shilling an hour, to which great artists usually add +an omnibus fare. The two best things about them are their extraordinary +prettiness, and their extreme respectability. As a class they +are very well behaved, particularly those who sit for the figure, a +fact which is curious or natural according to the view one takes of +human nature. They usually marry well, and sometimes they marry +the artist. For an artist to marry his model is as fatal as for +a <i>gourmet</i> to marry his cook: the one gets no sittings, and the +other gets no dinners.</p> +<p>On the whole the English female models are very naïve, very +natural, and very good-humoured. The virtues which the artist +values most in them are prettiness and punctuality. Every sensible +model consequently keeps a diary of her engagements, and dresses neatly. +The bad season is, of course, the summer, when the artists are out of +town. However, of late years some artists have engaged their models +to follow them, and the wife of one of our most charming painters has +often had three or four models under her charge in the country, so that +the work of her husband and his friends should not be interrupted. +In France the models migrate <i>en masse</i> to the little seaport villages +or forest hamlets where the painters congregate. The English models, +however, wait patiently in London, as a rule, till the artists come +back. Nearly all of them live with their parents, and help to +support the house. They have every qualification for being immortalised +in art except that of beautiful hands. The hands of the English +model are nearly always coarse and red.</p> +<p>As for the male models, there is the veteran whom we have mentioned +above. He has all the traditions of the grand style, and is rapidly +disappearing with the school he represents. An old man who talks +about Fuseli is, of course, unendurable, and, besides, patriarchs have +ceased to be fashionable subjects. Then there is the true Academy +model. He is usually a man of thirty, rarely good-looking, but +a perfect miracle of muscles. In fact he is the apotheosis of +anatomy, and is so conscious of his own splendour that he tells you +of his tibia and his thorax, as if no one else had anything of the kind. +Then come the Oriental models. The supply of these is limited, +but there are always about a dozen in London. They are very much +sought after as they can remain immobile for hours, and generally possess +lovely costumes. However, they have a very poor opinion of English +art, which they regard as something between a vulgar personality and +a commonplace photograph. Next we have the Italian youth who has +come over specially to be a model, or takes to it when his organ is +out of repair. He is often quite charming with his large melancholy +eyes, his crisp hair, and his slim brown figure. It is true he +eats garlic, but then he can stand like a faun and couch like a leopard, +so he is forgiven. He is always full of pretty compliments, and +has been known to have kind words of encouragement for even our greatest +artists. As for the English lad of the same age, he never sits +at all. Apparently he does not regard the career of a model as +a serious profession. In any case he is rarely, if ever, to be +got hold of. English boys, too, are difficult to find. Sometimes +an ex-model who has a son will curl his hair, and wash his face, and +bring him the round of the studios, all soap and shininess. The +young school don’t like him, but the older school do, and when +he appears on the walls of the Royal Academy he is called <i>The Infant +Samuel</i>. Occasionally also an artist catches a couple of <i>gamins</i> +in the gutter and asks them to come to his studio. The first time +they always appear, but after that they don’t keep their appointments. +They dislike sitting still, and have a strong and perhaps natural objection +to looking pathetic. Besides, they are always under the impression +that the artist is laughing at them. It is a sad fact, but there +is no doubt that the poor are completely unconscious of their own picturesqueness. +Those of them who can be induced to sit do so with the idea that the +artist is merely a benevolent philanthropist who has chosen an eccentric +method of distributing alms to the undeserving. Perhaps the School +Board will teach the London <i>gamin</i> his own artistic value, and +then they will be better models than they are now. One remarkable +privilege belongs to the Academy model, that of extorting a sovereign +from any newly elected Associate or R.A. They wait at Burlington +House till the announcement is made, and then race to the hapless artist’s +house. The one who arrives first receives the money. They +have of late been much troubled at the long distances they have had +to run, and they look with disfavour on the election of artists who +live at Hampstead or at Bedford Park, for it is considered a point of +honour not to employ the underground railway, omnibuses, or any artificial +means of locomotion. The race is to the swift.</p> +<p>Besides the professional posers of the studio there are posers of +the Row, the posers at afternoon teas, the posers in politics and the +circus posers. All four classes are delightful, but only the last +class is ever really decorative. Acrobats and gymnasts can give +the young painter infinite suggestions, for they bring into their art +an element of swiftness of motion and of constant change that the studio +model necessary lacks. What is interesting in these ‘slaves +of the ring’ is that with them Beauty is an unconscious result +not a conscious aim, the result in fact of the mathematical calculation +of curves and distances, of absolute precision of eye, of the scientific +knowledge of the equilibrium of forces, and of perfect physical training. +A good acrobat is always graceful, though grace is never his object; +he is graceful because he does what he has to do in the best way in +which it can be done—graceful because he is natural. If +an ancient Greek were to come to life now, which considering the probable +severity of his criticisms would be rather trying to our conceit, he +would be found far oftener at the circus than at the theatre. +A good circus is an oasis of Hellenism in a world that reads too much +to be wise, and thinks too much to be beautiful. If it were not +for the running-ground at Eton, the towing-path at Oxford, the Thames +swimming-baths, and the yearly circuses, humanity would forget the plastic +perfection of its own form, and degenerate into a race of short-sighted +professors and spectacled <i>précieuses</i>. Not that the +circus proprietors are, as a rule, conscious of their high mission. +Do they not bore us with the <i>haute école</i>, and weary us +with Shakespearean clowns?—Still, at least, they give us acrobats, +and the acrobat is an artist. The mere fact that he never speaks +to the audience shows how well he appreciates the great truth that the +aim of art is not to reveal personality but to please. The clown +may be blatant, but the acrobat is always beautiful. He is an +interesting combination of the spirit of Greek sculpture with the spangles +of the modern costumier. He has even had his niche in the novels +of our age, and if <i>Manette Salomon</i> be the unmasking of the model, +<i>Les Frères Zemganno</i> is the apotheosis of the acrobat.</p> +<p>As regards the influence of the ordinary model on our English school +of painting, it cannot be said that it is altogether good. It +is, of course, an advantage for the young artist sitting in his studio +to be able to isolate ‘a little corner of life,’ as the +French say, from disturbing surroundings, and to study it under certain +effects of light and shade. But this very isolation leads often +to mere mannerism in the painter, and robs him of that broad acceptance +of the general facts of life which is the very essence of art. +Model-painting, in a word, while it may be the condition of art, is +not by any means its aim. It is simply practice, not perfection. +Its use trains the eye and the hand of the painter, its abuse produces +in his work an effect of mere posing and prettiness. It is the +secret of much of the artificiality of modern art, this constant posing +of pretty people, and when art becomes artificial it becomes monotonous. +Outside the little world of the studio, with its draperies and its <i>bric-à-brac</i>, +lies the world of life with its infinite, its Shakespearean variety. +We must, however, distinguish between the two kinds of models, those +who sit for the figure and those who sit for the costume. The +study of the first is always excellent, but the costume-model is becoming +rather wearisome in modern pictures. It is really of very little +use to dress up a London girl in Greek draperies and to paint her as +a goddess. The robe may be the robe of Athens, but the face is +usually the face of Brompton. Now and then, it is true, one comes +across a model whose face is an exquisite anachronism, and who looks +lovely and natural in the dress of any century but her own. This, +however, is rather rare. As a rule models are absolutely <i>de +notre siècle</i>, and should be painted as such. Unfortunately +they are not, and, as a consequence, we are shown every year a series +of scenes from fancy dress balls which are called historical pictures, +but are little more than mediocre representations of modern people masquerading. +In France they are wiser. The French painter uses the model simply +for study; for the finished picture he goes direct to life.</p> +<p>However, we must not blame the sitters for the shortcomings of the +artists. The English models are a well-behaved and hard-working +class, and if they are more interested in artists than in art, a large +section of the public is in the same condition, and most of our modern +exhibitions seem to justify its choice.</p> +<h2>LETTER TO JOAQUIN MILLER</h2> +<p>Written to Mr. Joaquin Miller in reply to a letter, dated February +9, 1882, in reference to the behaviour of a section of the audience +at Wilde’s lecture on the English Renaissance at the Grand Opera +House, Rochester, New York State, on February 7. It was first +published in a volume called <i>Decorative Art in America</i>, containing +unauthorised reprints of certain reviews and letters contributed by +Wilde to English newspapers. (New York: Brentano’s, 1906.)</p> +<p>St. Louis, <i>February</i> 28, 1882.</p> +<p>MY DEAR JOAQUIN MILLER,—I thank you for your chivalrous and +courteous letter. Believe me, I would as lief judge of the strength +and splendour of sun and sea by the dust that dances in the beam and +the bubble that breaks on the wave, as take the petty and profitless +vulgarity of one or two insignificant towns as any test or standard +of the real spirit of a sane, strong and simple people, or allow it +to affect my respect for the many noble men or women whom it has been +my privilege in this great country to know.</p> +<p>For myself and the cause which I represent I have no fears as regards +the future. Slander and folly have their way for a season, but +for a season only; while, as touching the few provincial newspapers +which have so vainly assailed me, or that ignorant and itinerant libeller +of New England who goes lecturing from village to village in such open +and ostentatious isolation, be sure I have no time to waste on them. +Youth being so glorious, art so godlike, and the very world about us +so full of beautiful things, and things worthy of reverence, and things +honourable, how should one stop to listen to the lucubrations of a literary +<i>gamin</i>, to the brawling and mouthing of a man whose praise would +be as insolent as his slander is impotent, or to the irresponsible and +irrepressible chatter of the professionally unproductive?</p> +<p>It is a great advantage, I admit, to have done nothing, but one must +not abuse even that advantage.</p> +<p>Who, after all, that I should write of him, is this scribbling anonymuncule +in grand old Massachusetts who scrawls and screams so glibly about what +he cannot understand? This apostle of inhospitality, who delights +to defile, to desecrate, and to defame the gracious courtesies he is +unworthy to enjoy? Who are these scribes who, passing with purposeless +alacrity from the <i>Police News</i> to the Parthenon, and from crime +to criticism, sway with such serene incapacity the office which they +so lately swept? ‘Narcissuses of imbecility,’ what +should they see in the clear waters of Beauty and in the well undefiled +of Truth but the shifting and shadowy image of their own substantial +stupidity? Secure of that oblivion for which they toil so laboriously +and, I must acknowledge, with such success, let them peer at us through +their telescopes and report what they like of us. But, my dear +Joaquin, should we put them under the microscope there would be really +nothing to be seen.</p> +<p>I look forward to passing another delightful evening with you on +my return to New York, and I need not tell you that whenever you visit +England you will be received with that courtesy with which it is our +pleasure to welcome all Americans, and that honour with which it is +our privilege to greet all poets.—Most sincerely and affectionately +yours,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<h2>NOTES ON WHISTLER</h2> +<h3>I.<br /> +(World, November 14, 1883.)</h3> +<p>From Oscar Wilde, Exeter, to J. M’Neill Whistler, Tite Street.—<i>Punch</i> +too ridiculous—when you and I are together we never talk about +anything except ourselves.</p> +<h3>II.<br /> +(World, February 25, 1885.)</h3> +<p>DEAR BUTTERFLY,—By the aid of a biographical dictionary I made +the discovery that there were once two painters, called Benjamin West +and Paul Delaroche, who rashly lectured upon Art. As of their +works nothing at all remains, I conclude that they explained themselves +away.</p> +<p>Be warned in time, James; and remain, as I do, incomprehensible. +To be great is to be misunderstood.—<i>Tout à vous</i>, +OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<h3>III.<br /> +(World, November 24,1886.)</h3> +<p>ATLAS,—This is very sad! With our James vulgarity begins +at home, and should be allowed to stay there.—<i>À vous</i>, +OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<h2>REPLY TO WHISTLER</h2> +<p>(<i>Truth</i>, January 9, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of <i>Truth.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—I can hardly imagine that the public is in the very smallest +degree interested in the shrill shrieks of ‘Plagiarism’ +that proceed from time to time out of the lips of silly vanity or incompetent +mediocrity.</p> +<p>However, as Mr. James Whistler has had the impertinence to attack +me with both venom and vulgarity in your columns, I hope you will allow +me to state that the assertions contained in his letter are as deliberately +untrue as they are deliberately offensive.</p> +<p>The definition of a disciple as one who has the courage of the opinions +of his master is really too old even for Mr. Whistler to be allowed +to claim it, and as for borrowing Mr. Whistler’s ideas about art, +the only thoroughly original ideas I have ever heard him express have +had reference to his own superiority as a painter over painters greater +than himself.</p> +<p>It is a trouble for any gentleman to have to notice the lucubrations +of so ill-bred and ignorant a person as Mr. Whistler, but your publication +of his insolent letter left me no option in the matter.—I remain, +sir, faithfully yours, OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, S. W.</p> +<h2>LETTERS ON DORIAN GRAY</h2> +<h3>I. MR. WILDE’S BAD CASE</h3> +<p>(<i>St. James’s Gazette</i>, June 26, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>St. James’s Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—I have read your criticism of my story, <i>The Picture +of Dorian Gray</i>; and I need hardly say that I do not propose to discuss +its merits or demerits, its personalities or its lack of personality. +England is a free country, and ordinary English criticism is perfectly +free and easy. Besides, I must admit that, either from temperament +or taste, or from both, I am quite incapable of understanding how any +work of art can be criticised from a moral standpoint. The sphere +of art and the sphere of ethics are absolutely distinct and separate; +and it is to the confusion between the two that we owe the appearance +of Mrs. Grundy, that amusing old lady who represents the only original +form of humour that the middle classes of this country have been able +to produce.</p> +<p>What I do object to most strongly is that you should have placarded +the town with posters on which was printed in large letters:—</p> +<blockquote><p>MR. OSCAR WILDE’S<br /> +LATEST ADVERTISEMENT:<br /> +A BAD CASE.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Whether the expression ‘A Bad Case’ refers to my book +or to the present position of the Government, I cannot tell. What +was silly and unnecessary was the use of the term ‘advertisement.’</p> +<p>I think I may say without vanity—though I do not wish to appear +to run vanity down—that of all men in England I am the one who +requires least advertisement. I am tired to death of being advertised—I +feel no thrill when I see my name in a paper. The chronicle does +not interest me any more. I wrote this book entirely for my own +pleasure, and it gave me very great pleasure to write it. Whether +it becomes popular or not is a matter of absolute indifference to me. +I am afraid, Sir, that the real advertisement is your cleverly written +article. The English public, as a mass, takes no interest in a +work of art until it is told that the work in question is immoral, and +your <i>réclame</i> will, I have no doubt, largely increase the +sale of the magazine; in which sale I may mention with some regret, +I have no pecuniary interest.—I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, +OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, <i>June</i> 25.</p> +<h3>II. MR. OSCAR WILDE AGAIN</h3> +<p>(<i>St. James’s Gazette</i>, June 27, 1890.)</p> +<p>SIR,—In your issue of today you state that my brief letter +published in your columns is the ‘best reply’ I can make +to your article upon <i>Dorian Gray</i>. This is not so. +I do not propose to discuss fully the matter here, but I feel bound +to say that your article contains the most unjustifiable attack that +has been made upon any man of letters for many years.</p> +<p>The writer of it, who is quite incapable of concealing his personal +malice, and so in some measure destroys the effect he wishes to produce, +seems not to have the slightest idea of the temper in which a work of +art should be approached. To say that such a book as mine should +be ‘chucked into the fire’ is silly. That is what +one does with newspapers.</p> +<p>Of the value of pseudo-ethical criticism in dealing with artistic +work I have spoken already. But as your writer has ventured into +the perilous grounds of literary criticism I ask you to allow me, in +fairness not merely to myself but to all men to whom literature is a +fine art, to say a few words about his critical method.</p> +<p>He begins by assailing me with much ridiculous virulence because +the chief personages in my story are puppies. They <i>are</i> +puppies. Does he think that literature went to the dogs when Thackeray +wrote about puppydom? I think that puppies are extremely interesting +from an artistic as well as from a psychological point of view.</p> +<p>They seem to me to be certainly far more interesting than prigs; +and I am of opinion that Lord Henry Wotton is an excellent corrective +of the tedious ideal shadowed forth in the semi-theological novels of +our age.</p> +<p>He then makes vague and fearful insinuations about my grammar and +my erudition. Now, as regards grammar, I hold that, in prose at +any rate, correctness should always be subordinate to artistic effect +and musical cadence; and any peculiarities of syntax that may occur +in <i>Dorian Gray</i> are deliberately intended, and are introduced +to show the value of the artistic theory in question. Your writer +gives no instance of any such peculiarity. This I regret, because +I do not think that any such instances occur.</p> +<p>As regards erudition, it is always difficult, even for the most modest +of us, to remember that other people do not know quite as much as one +does one’s self. I myself frankly admit I cannot imagine +how a casual reference to Suetonius and Petronius Arbiter can be construed +into evidence of a desire to impress an unoffending and ill-educated +public by an assumption of superior knowledge. I should fancy +that the most ordinary of scholars is perfectly well acquainted with +the <i>Lives of the Cæsars</i> and with the <i>Satyricon.</i></p> +<p>The <i>Lives of the Cæsars</i>, at any rate, forms part of +the curriculum at Oxford for those who take the Honour School of <i>Literæ +Humaniores</i>; and as for the <i>Satyricon</i> it is popular even among +pass-men, though I suppose they are obliged to read it in translations.</p> +<p>The writer of the article then suggests that I, in common with that +great and noble artist Count Tolstoi, take pleasure in a subject because +it is dangerous. About such a suggestion there is this to be said. +Romantic art deals with the exception and with the individual. +Good people, belonging as they do to the normal, and so, commonplace, +type, are artistically uninteresting.</p> +<p>Bad people are, from the point of view of art, fascinating studies. +They represent colour, variety and strangeness. Good people exasperate +one’s reason; bad people stir one’s imagination. Your +critic, if I must give him so honourable a title, states that the people +in my story have no counterpart in life; that they are, to use his vigorous +if somewhat vulgar phrase, ‘mere catchpenny revelations of the +non-existent.’ Quite so.</p> +<p>If they existed they would not be worth writing about. The +function of the artist is to invent, not to chronicle. There are +no such people. If there were I would not write about them. +Life by its realism is always spoiling the subject-matter of art.</p> +<p>The superior pleasure in literature is to realise the non-existent.</p> +<p>And finally, let me say this. You have reproduced, in a journalistic +form, the comedy of <i>Much Ado about Nothing</i> and have, of course, +spoilt it in your reproduction.</p> +<p>The poor public, hearing, from an authority so high as your own, +that this is a wicked book that should be coerced and suppressed by +a Tory Government, will, no doubt, rush to it and read it. But, +alas! they will find that it is a story with a moral. And the +moral is this: All excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its own +punishment.</p> +<p>The painter, Basil Hallward, worshipping physical beauty far too +much, as most painters do, dies by the hand of one in whose soul he +has created a monstrous and absurd vanity. Dorian Gray, having +led a life of mere sensation and pleasure, tries to kill conscience, +and at that moment kills himself. Lord Henry Wotton seeks to be +merely the spectator of life. He finds that those who reject the +battle are more deeply wounded than those who take part in it.</p> +<p>Yes, there is a terrible moral in <i>Dorian Gray</i>—a moral +which the prurient will not be able to find in it, but it will be revealed +to all whose minds are healthy. Is this an artistic error? +I fear it is. It is the only error in the book.—I remain, +Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, <i>June</i> 26.</p> +<h3>III. MR. OSCAR WILDE’S DEFENCE</h3> +<p>(<i>St. James’s Gazette</i>, June 28, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>St. James’s Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—As you still keep up, though in a somewhat milder form +than before, your attacks on me and my book, you not only confer on +me the right, but you impose upon me the duty of reply.</p> +<p>You state, in your issue of today, that I misrepresented you when +I said that you suggested that a book so wicked as mine should be ‘suppressed +and coerced by a Tory Government.’ Now, you did not propose +this, but you did suggest it. When you declare that you do not +know whether or not the Government will take action about my book, and +remark that the authors of books much less wicked have been proceeded +against in law, the suggestion is quite obvious.</p> +<p>In your complaint of misrepresentation you seem to me, Sir, to have +been not quite candid.</p> +<p>However, as far as I am concerned, this suggestion is of no importance. +What is of importance is that the editor of a paper like yours should +appear to countenance the monstrous theory that the Government of a +country should exercise a censorship over imaginative literature. +This is a theory against which I, and all men of letters of my acquaintance, +protest most strongly; and any critic who admits the reasonableness +of such a theory shows at once that he is quite incapable of understanding +what literature is, and what are the rights that literature possesses. +A Government might just as well try to teach painters how to paint, +or sculptors how to model, as attempt to interfere with the style, treatment +and subject-matter of the literary artist, and no writer, however eminent +or obscure, should ever give his sanction to a theory that would degrade +literature far more than any didactic or so-called immoral book could +possibly do.</p> +<p>You then express your surprise that ‘so experienced a literary +gentleman’ as myself should imagine that your critic was animated +by any feeling of personal malice towards him. The phrase ‘literary +gentleman’ is a vile phrase, but let that pass.</p> +<p>I accept quite readily your assurance that your critic was simply +criticising a work of art in the best way that he could, but I feel +that I was fully justified in forming the opinion of him that I did. +He opened his article by a gross personal attack on myself. This, +I need hardly say, was an absolutely unpardonable error of critical +taste.</p> +<p>There is no excuse for it except personal malice; and you, Sir, should +not have sanctioned it. A critic should be taught to criticise +a work of art without making any reference to the personality of the +author. This, in fact, is the beginning of criticism. However, +it was not merely his personal attack on me that made me imagine that +he was actuated by malice. What really confirmed me in my first +impression was his reiterated assertion that my book was tedious and +dull.</p> +<p>Now, if I were criticising my book, which I have some thoughts of +doing, I think I would consider it my duty to point out that it is far +too crowded with sensational incident, and far too paradoxical in style, +as far, at any rate, as the dialogue goes. I feel that from a +standpoint of art these are true defects in the book. But tedious +and dull the book is not.</p> +<p>Your critic has cleared himself of the charge of personal malice, +his denial and yours being quite sufficient in the matter; but he has +done so only by a tacit admission that he has really no critical instinct +about literature and literary work, which, in one who writes about literature, +is, I need hardly say, a much graver fault than malice of any kind.</p> +<p>Finally, Sir, allow me to say this. Such an article as you +have published really makes me despair of the possibility of any general +culture in England. Were I a French author, and my book brought +out in Paris, there is not a single literary critic in France on any +paper of high standing who would think for a moment of criticising it +from an ethical standpoint. If he did so he would stultify himself, +not merely in the eyes of all men of letters, but in the eyes of the +majority of the public.</p> +<p>You have yourself often spoken against Puritanism. Believe +me, Sir, Puritanism is never so offensive and destructive as when it +deals with art matters. It is there that it is radically wrong. +It is this Puritanism, to which your critic has given expression, that +is always marring the artistic instinct of the English. So far +from encouraging it, you should set yourself against it, and should +try to teach your critics to recognise the essential difference between +art and life.</p> +<p>The gentleman who criticised my book is in a perfectly hopeless confusion +about it, and your attempt to help him out by proposing that the subject-matter +of art should be limited does not mend matters. It is proper that +limitation should be placed on action. It is not proper that limitation +should be placed on art. To art belong all things that are and +all things that are not, and even the editor of a London paper has no +right to restrain the freedom of art in the selection of subject-matter. +I now trust, Sir, that these attacks on me and on my book will cease. +There are forms of advertisement that are unwarranted and unwarrantable.—I +am, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, S. W., <i>June</i> 27.</p> +<h3>IV. (St. James’s Gazette, June 30, 1890.)</h3> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>St. James’s Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—In your issue of this evening you publish a letter from +‘A London Editor’ which clearly insinuates in the last paragraph +that I have in some way sanctioned the circulation of an expression +of opinion, on the part of the proprietors of <i>Lippincott’s +Magazine</i>, of the literary and artistic value of my story of <i>The +Picture of Dorian Gray.</i></p> +<p>Allow me, Sir, to state that there are no grounds for this insinuation. +I was not aware that any such document was being circulated; and I have +written to the agents, Messrs. Ward and Lock—who cannot, I feel +sure, be primarily responsible for its appearance—to ask them +to withdraw it at once. No publisher should ever express an opinion +of the value of what he publishes. That is a matter entirely for +the literary critic to decide.</p> +<p>I must admit, as one to whom contemporary literature is constantly +submitted for criticism, that the only thing that ever prejudices me +against a book is the lack of literary style; but I can quite understand +how any ordinary critic would be strongly prejudiced against a work +that was accompanied by a premature and unnecessary panegyric from the +publisher. A publisher is simply a useful middleman. It +is not for him to anticipate the verdict of criticism.</p> +<p>I may, however, while expressing my thanks to the ‘London Editor’ +for drawing my attention to this, I trust, purely American method of +procedure, venture to differ from him in one of his criticisms. +He states that he regards the expression ‘complete’ as applied +to a story, as a specimen of the ‘adjectival exuberance of the +puffer.’ Here, it seems to me, he sadly exaggerates. +What my story is is an interesting problem. What my story is not +is a ‘novelette’—a term which you have more than once +applied to it. There is no such word in the English language as +novelette. It should not be used. It is merely part of the +slang of Fleet Street.</p> +<p>In another part of your paper, Sir, you state that I received your +assurance of the lack of malice in your critic ‘somewhat grudgingly.’ +This is not so. I frankly said that I accepted that assurance +‘quite readily,’ and that your own denial and that of your +own critic were ‘sufficient.’</p> +<p>Nothing more generous could have been said. What I did feel +was that you saved your critic from the charge of malice by convicting +him of the unpardonable crime of lack of literary instinct. I +still feel that. To call my book an ineffective attempt at allegory, +that in the hands of Mr. Anstey might have been made striking, is absurd.</p> +<p>Mr. Anstey’s sphere in literature and my sphere are different.</p> +<p>You then gravely ask me what rights I imagine literature possesses. +That is really an extraordinary question for the editor of a newspaper +such as yours to ask. The rights of literature, Sir, are the rights +of intellect.</p> +<p>I remember once hearing M. Renan say that he would sooner live under +a military despotism than under the despotism of the Church, because +the former merely limited the freedom of action, while the latter limited +the freedom of mind.</p> +<p>You say that a work of art is a form of action. It is not. +It is the highest mode of thought.</p> +<p>In conclusion, Sir, let me ask you not to force on me this continued +correspondence by daily attacks. It is a trouble and a nuisance.</p> +<p>As you assailed me first, I have a right to the last word. +Let that last word be the present letter, and leave my book, I beg you, +to the immortality that it deserves.—I am, Sir, your obedient +servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, S.W., <i>June</i> 28.</p> +<h3>V. ‘DORIAN GRAY’</h3> +<p>(<i>Daily Chronicle</i>, July 2, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Daily Chronicle.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—Will you allow me to correct some errors into which your +critic has fallen in his review of my story, <i>The Picture of Dorian +Gray</i>, published in today’s issue of your paper?</p> +<p>Your critic states, to begin with, that I make desperate attempts +to ‘vamp up’ a moral in my story. Now, I must candidly +confess that I do not know what ‘vamping’ is. I see, +from time to time, mysterious advertisements in the newspapers about +‘How to Vamp,’ but what vamping really means remains a mystery +to me—a mystery that, like all other mysteries, I hope some day +to explore.</p> +<p>However, I do not propose to discuss the absurd terms used by modern +journalism. What I want to say is that, so far from wishing to +emphasise any moral in my story, the real trouble I experienced in writing +the story was that of keeping the extremely obvious moral subordinate +to the artistic and dramatic effect.</p> +<p>When I first conceived the idea of a young man selling his soul in +exchange for eternal youth—an idea that is old in the history +of literature, but to which I have given new form—I felt that, +from an æsthetic point of view, it would be difficult to keep +the moral in its proper secondary place; and even now I do not feel +quite sure that I have been able to do so. I think the moral too +apparent. When the book is published in a volume I hope to correct +this defect.</p> +<p>As for what the moral is, your critic states that it is this—that +when a man feels himself becoming ‘too angelic’ he should +rush out and make a ‘beast of himself.’ I cannot say +that I consider this a moral. The real moral of the story is that +all excess, as well as all renunciation, brings its punishment, and +this moral is so far artistically and deliberately suppressed that it +does not enunciate its law as a general principle, but realises itself +purely in the lives of individuals, and so becomes simply a dramatic +element in a work of art, and not the object of the work of art itself.</p> +<p>Your critic also falls into error when he says that Dorian Gray, +having a ‘cool, calculating, conscienceless character,’ +was inconsistent when he destroyed the picture of his own soul, on the +ground that the picture did not become less hideous after he had done +what, in his vanity, he had considered his first good action. +Dorian Gray has not got a cool, calculating, conscienceless character +at all. On the contrary, he is extremely impulsive, absurdly romantic, +and is haunted all through his life by an exaggerated sense of conscience +which mars his pleasures for him and warns him that youth and enjoyment +are not everything in the world. It is finally to get rid of the +conscience that had dogged his steps from year to year that he destroys +the picture; and thus in his attempt to kill conscience Dorian Gray +kills himself.</p> +<p>Your critic then talks about ‘obtrusively cheap scholarship.’ +Now, whatever a scholar writes is sure to display scholarship in the +distinction of style and the fine use of language; but my story contains +no learned or pseudo-learned discussions, and the only literary books +that it alludes to are books that any fairly educated reader may be +supposed to be acquainted with, such as the <i>Satyricon</i> of Petronius +Arbiter, or Gautier’s <i>Emaux et Camées</i>. Such +books as Le Conso’s <i>Clericalis Disciplina</i> belong not to +culture, but to curiosity. Anybody may be excused for not knowing +them.</p> +<p>Finally, let me say this—the æsthetic movement produced +certain curious colours, subtle in their loveliness and fascinating +in their almost mystical tone. They were, and are, our reaction +against the crude primaries of a doubtless more respectable but certainly +less cultivated age. My story is an essay on decorative art. +It reacts against the crude brutality of plain realism. It is +poisonous if you like, but you cannot deny that it is also perfect, +and perfection is what we artists aim at.—I remain, Sir, your +obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, <i>June</i> 30.</p> +<h3>VI. MR. WILDE’S REJOINDER</h3> +<p>(<i>Scots Observer</i>, July 12, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Scots Observer.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—You have published a review of my story, <i>The Picture +of Dorian Gray</i>. As this review is grossly unjust to me as +an artist, I ask you to allow me to exercise in your columns my right +of reply.</p> +<p>Your reviewer, Sir, while admitting that the story in question is +‘plainly the work of a man of letters,’ the work of one +who has ‘brains, and art, and style,’ yet suggests, and +apparently in all seriousness, that I have written it in order that +it should be read by the most depraved members of the criminal and illiterate +classes. Now, Sir, I do not suppose that the criminal and illiterate +classes ever read anything except newspapers. They are certainly +not likely to be able to understand anything of mine. So let them +pass, and on the broad question of why a man of letters writes at all +let me say this.</p> +<p>The pleasure that one has in creating a work of art is a purely personal +pleasure, and it is for the sake of this pleasure that one creates. +The artist works with his eye on the object. Nothing else interests +him. What people are likely to say does not even occur to him.</p> +<p>He is fascinated by what he has in hand. He is indifferent +to others. I write because it gives me the greatest possible artistic +pleasure to write. If my work pleases the few I am gratified. +If it does not, it causes me no pain. As for the mob, I have no +desire to be a popular novelist. It is far too easy.</p> +<p>Your critic then, Sir, commits the absolutely unpardonable crime +of trying to confuse the artist with his subject-matter. For this, +Sir, there is no excuse at all.</p> +<p>Of one who is the greatest figure in the world’s literature +since Greek days, Keats remarked that he had as much pleasure in conceiving +the evil as he had in conceiving the good. Let your reviewer, +Sir, consider the bearings of Keats’s fine criticism, for it is +under these conditions that every artist works. One stands remote +from one’s subject-matter. One creates it and one contemplates +it. The further away the subject-matter is, the more freely can +the artist work.</p> +<p>Your reviewer suggests that I do not make it sufficiently clear whether +I prefer virtue to wickedness or wickedness to virtue. An artist, +Sir, has no ethical sympathies at all. Virtue and wickedness are +to him simply what the colours on his palette are to the painter. +They are no more and they are no less. He sees that by their means +a certain artistic effect can be produced and he produces it. +Iago may be morally horrible and Imogen stainlessly pure. Shakespeare, +as Keats said, had as much delight in creating the one as he had in +creating the other.</p> +<p>It was necessary, Sir, for the dramatic development of this story +to surround Dorian Gray with an atmosphere of moral corruption. +Otherwise the story would have had no meaning and the plot no issue. +To keep this atmosphere vague and indeterminate and wonderful was the +aim of the artist who wrote the story. I claim, Sir, that he has +succeeded. Each man sees his own sin in Dorian Gray. What +Dorian Gray’s sins are no one knows. He who finds them has +brought them.</p> +<p>In conclusion, Sir, let me say how really deeply I regret that you +should have permitted such a notice as the one I feel constrained to +write on to have appeared in your paper. That the editor of the +<i>St. James’s Gazette</i> should have employed Caliban as his +art-critic was possibly natural. The editor of the <i>Scots Observer</i> +should not have allowed Thersites to make mows in his review. +It is unworthy of so distinguished a man of letters.—I am, etc.,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, <i>July</i> 9.</p> +<h3>VII. ART AND MORALITY</h3> +<p>(<i>Scots Observer</i>, August 2, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Scots Observer.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—In a letter dealing with the relations of art to morals +recently published in your columns—a letter which I may say seems +to me in many respects admirable, especially in its insistence on the +right of the artist to select his own subject-matter—Mr. Charles +Whibley suggests that it must be peculiarly painful for me to find that +the ethical import of Dorian Gray has been so strongly recognised by +the foremost Christian papers of England and America that I have been +greeted by more than one of them as a moral reformer.</p> +<p>Allow me, Sir, to reassure, on this point, not merely Mr. Charles +Whibley himself but also your, no doubt, anxious readers. I have +no hesitation in saying that I regard such criticisms as a very gratifying +tribute to my story. For if a work of art is rich, and vital and +complete, those who have artistic instincts will see its beauty, and +those to whom ethics appeal more strongly than æsthetics will +see its moral lesson. It will fill the cowardly with terror, and +the unclean will see in it their own shame. It will be to each +man what he is himself. It is the spectator, and not life, that +art really mirrors.</p> +<p>And so in the case of <i>Dorian Gray</i> the purely literary critic, +as in the <i>Speaker</i> and elsewhere, regards it as a ‘serious’ +and ‘fascinating’ work of art: the critic who deals with +art in its relation to conduct, as the <i>Christian Leader</i> and the +<i>Christian World</i>, regards it as an ethical parable: <i>Light</i>, +which I am told is the organ of the English mystics, regards it as a +work of high spiritual import; the <i>St. James’s Gazette</i>, +which is seeking apparently to be the organ of the prurient, sees or +pretends to see in it all kinds of dreadful things, and hints at Treasury +prosecutions; and your Mr. Charles Whibley genially says that he discovers +in it ‘lots of morality.’</p> +<p>It is quite true that he goes on to say that he detects no art in +it. But I do not think that it is fair to expect a critic to be +able to see a work of art from every point of view. Even Gautier +had his limitations just as much as Diderot had, and in modern England +Goethes are rare. I can only assure Mr. Charles Whibley that no +moral apotheosis to which he has added the most modest contribution +could possibly be a source of unhappiness to an artist.—I remain, +Sir, your obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, <i>July</i> 1890.</p> +<h3>VIII.</h3> +<p>(<i>Scots Observer</i>, August 16, 1890.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Scots Observer.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—I am afraid I cannot enter into any newspaper discussion +on the subject of art with Mr. Whibley, partly because the writing of +letters is always a trouble to me, and partly because I regret to say +that I do not know what qualifications Mr. Whibley possesses for the +discussion of so important a topic. I merely noticed his letter +because, I am sure without in any way intending it, he made a suggestion +about myself personally that was quite inaccurate. His suggestion +was that it must have been painful to me to find that a certain section +of the public, as represented by himself and the critics of some religious +publications, had insisted on finding what he calls ‘lots of morality’ +in my story of <i>The Picture of Dorian Gray.</i></p> +<p>Being naturally desirous of setting your readers right on a question +of such vital interest to the historian, I took the opportunity of pointing +out in your columns that I regarded all such criticisms as a very gratifying +tribute to the ethical beauty of the story, and I added that I was quite +ready to recognise that it was not really fair to ask of any ordinary +critic that he should be able to appreciate a work of art from every +point of view.</p> +<p>I still hold this opinion. If a man sees the artistic beauty +of a thing, he will probably care very little for its ethical import. +If his temperament is more susceptible to ethical than to æsthetic +influences, he will be blind to questions of style, treatment and the +like. It takes a Goethe to see a work of art fully, completely +and perfectly, and I thoroughly agree with Mr. Whibley when he says +that it is a pity that Goethe never had an opportunity of reading <i>Dorian +Gray</i>. I feel quite certain that he would have been delighted +by it, and I only hope that some ghostly publisher is even now distributing +shadowy copies in the Elysian fields, and that the cover of Gautier’s +copy is powdered with gilt asphodels.</p> +<p>You may ask me, Sir, why I should care to have the ethical beauty +of my story recognised. I answer, Simply because it exists, because +the thing is there.</p> +<p>The chief merit of <i>Madame Bovary</i> is not the moral lesson that +can be found in it, any more than the chief merit of <i>Salammbô</i> +is its archæology; but Flaubert was perfectly right in exposing +the ignorance of those who called the one immoral and the other inaccurate; +and not merely was he right in the ordinary sense of the word, but he +was artistically right, which is everything. The critic has to +educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic.</p> +<p>Allow me to make one more correction, Sir, and I will have done with +Mr. Whibley. He ends his letter with the statement that I have +been indefatigable in my public appreciation of my own work. I +have no doubt that in saying this he means to pay me a compliment, but +he really overrates my capacity, as well as my inclination for work. +I must frankly confess that, by nature and by choice, I am extremely +indolent.</p> +<p>Cultivated idleness seems to me to be the proper occupation for man. +I dislike newspaper controversies of any kind, and of the two hundred +and sixteen criticisms of <i>Dorian Gray</i> that have passed from my +library table into the wastepaper basket I have taken public notice +of only three. One was that which appeared in the <i>Scots Observer</i>. +I noticed it because it made a suggestion, about the intention of the +author in writing the book, which needed correction. The second +was an article in the <i>St. James’s Gazette</i>. It was +offensively and vulgarly written, and seemed to me to require immediate +and caustic censure. The tone of the article was an impertinence +to any man of letters.</p> +<p>The third was a meek attack in a paper called the <i>Daily Chronicle</i>. +I think my writing to the <i>Daily Chronicle</i> was an act of pure +wilfulness. In fact, I feel sure it was. I quite forget +what they said. I believe they said that <i>Dorian Gray</i> was +poisonous, and I thought that, on alliterative grounds, it would be +kind to remind them that, however that may be, it is at any rate perfect. +That was all. Of the other two hundred and thirteen criticisms +I have taken no notice. Indeed, I have not read more than half +of them. It is a sad thing, but one wearies even of praise.</p> +<p>As regards Mr. Brown’s letter, it is interesting only in so +far as it exemplifies the truth of what I have said above on the question +of the two obvious schools of critics. Mr. Brown says frankly +that he considers morality to be the ‘strong point’ of my +story. Mr. Brown means well, and has got hold of a half truth, +but when he proceeds to deal with the book from the artistic standpoint +he, of course, goes sadly astray. To class <i>Dorian Gray</i> +with M. Zola’s <i>La Terre</i> is as silly as if one were to class +Musset’s <i>Fortunio</i> with one of the Adelphi melodramas. +Mr. Brown should be content with ethical appreciation. There he +is impregnable.</p> +<p>Mr. Cobban opens badly by describing my letter, setting Mr. Whibley +right on a matter of fact, as an ‘impudent paradox.’ +The term ‘impudent’ is meaningless, and the word ‘paradox’ +is misplaced. I am afraid that writing to newspapers has a deteriorating +influence on style. People get violent and abusive and lose all +sense of proportion, when they enter that curious journalistic arena +in which the race is always to the noisiest. ‘Impudent paradox’ +is neither violent nor abusive, but it is not an expression that should +have been used about my letter. However, Mr. Cobban makes full +atonement afterwards for what was, no doubt, a mere error of manner, +by adopting the impudent paradox in question as his own, and pointing +out that, as I had previously said, the artist will always look at the +work of art from the standpoint of beauty of style and beauty of treatment, +and that those who have not got the sense of beauty, or whose sense +of beauty is dominated by ethical considerations, will always turn their +attention to the subject-matter and make its moral import the test and +touchstone of the poem or novel or picture that is presented to them, +while the newspaper critic will sometimes take one side and sometimes +the other, according as he is cultured or uncultured. In fact, +Mr. Cobban converts the impudent paradox into a tedious truism, and, +I dare say, in doing so does good service.</p> +<p>The English public likes tediousness, and likes things to be explained +to it in a tedious way.</p> +<p>Mr. Cobban has, I have no doubt, already repented of the unfortunate +expression with which he has made his <i>début</i>, so I will +say no more about it. As far as I am concerned he is quite forgiven.</p> +<p>And finally, Sir, in taking leave of the <i>Scots Observer</i> I +feel bound to make a candid confession to you.</p> +<p>It has been suggested to me by a great friend of mine, who is a charming +and distinguished man of letters, and not unknown to you personally, +that there have been really only two people engaged in this terrible +controversy, and that those two people are the editor of the <i>Scots +Observer</i> and the author of <i>Dorian Gray</i>. At dinner this +evening, over some excellent Chianti, my friend insisted that under +assumed and mysterious names you had simply given dramatic expression +to the views of some of the semi-educated classes of our community, +and that the letters signed ‘H.’ were your own skilful, +if somewhat bitter, caricature of the Philistine as drawn by himself. +I admit that something of the kind had occurred to me when I read ‘H.’s’ +first letter—the one in which he proposes that the test of art +should be the political opinions of the artist, and that if one differed +from the artist on the question of the best way of misgoverning Ireland, +one should always abuse his work. Still, there are such infinite +varieties of Philistines, and North Britain is so renowned for seriousness, +that I dismissed the idea as one unworthy of the editor of a Scotch +paper. I now fear that I was wrong, and that you have been amusing +yourself all the time by inventing little puppets and teaching them +how to use big words. Well, Sir, if it be so—and my friend +is strong upon the point—allow me to congratulate you most sincerely +on the cleverness with which you have reproduced that lack of literary +style which is, I am told, essential for any dramatic and lifelike characterisation. +I confess that I was completely taken in; but I bear no malice; and +as you have, no doubt, been laughing at me up your sleeve, let me now +join openly in the laugh, though it be a little against myself. +A comedy ends when the secret is out. Drop your curtain and put +your dolls to bed. I love Don Quixote, but I do not wish to fight +any longer with marionettes, however cunning may be the master-hand +that works their wires. Let them go, Sir, on the shelf. +The shelf is the proper place for them. On some future occasion +you can re-label them and bring them out for our amusement. They +are an excellent company, and go well through their tricks, and if they +are a little unreal, I am not the one to object to unreality in art. +The jest was really a good one. The only thing that I cannot understand +is why you gave your marionettes such extraordinary and improbable names.—I +remain, Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, <i>August</i> 13<i>.</i></p> +<h2>AN ANGLO-INDIAN’S COMPLAINT</h2> +<p>(<i>Times</i>, September 26, 1891.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Times.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—The writer of a letter signed ‘An Indian Civilian’ +that appears in your issue of today makes a statement about me which +I beg you to allow me to correct at once.</p> +<p>He says I have described the Anglo-Indians as being vulgar. +This is not the case. Indeed, I have never met a vulgar Anglo-Indian. +There may be many, but those whom I have had the pleasure of meeting +here have been chiefly scholars, men interested in art and thought, +men of cultivation; nearly all of them have been exceedingly brilliant +talkers; some of them have been exceedingly brilliant writers.</p> +<p>What I did say—I believe in the pages of the <i>Nineteenth +Century</i> <a name="citation158"></a><a href="#footnote158">{158}</a>—was +that vulgarity is the distinguishing note of those Anglo-Indians whom +Mr. Rudyard Kipling loves to write about, and writes about so cleverly. +This is quite true, and there is no reason why Mr. Rudyard Kipling should +not select vulgarity as his subject-matter, or as part of it. +For a realistic artist, certainly, vulgarity is a most admirable subject. +How far Mr. Kipling’s stories really mirror Anglo-Indian society +I have no idea at all, nor, indeed, am I ever much interested in any +correspondence between art and nature. It seems to me a matter +of entirely secondary importance. I do not wish, however, that +it should be supposed that I was passing a harsh and <i>saugrenu</i> +judgment on an important and in many ways distinguished class, when +I was merely pointing out the characteristic qualities of some puppets +in a prose-play.—I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.<br /> +<i>September</i> 25.</p> +<h2>A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES</h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>(<i>Speaker</i>, December 5, 1891.)</p> +<p>SIR.—I have just purchased, at a price that for any other English +sixpenny paper I would have considered exorbitant, a copy of the <i>Speaker</i> +at one of the charming kiosks that decorate Paris; institutions, by +the way, that I think we should at once introduce into London. +The kiosk is a delightful object, and, when illuminated at night from +within, as lovely as a fantastic Chinese lantern, especially when the +transparent advertisements are from the clever pencil of M. Chéret. +In London we have merely the ill-clad newsvendor, whose voice, in spite +of the admirable efforts of the Royal College of Music to make England +a really musical nation, is always out of tune, and whose rags, badly +designed and badly worn, merely emphasise a painful note of uncomely +misery, without conveying that impression of picturesqueness which is +the only thing that makes the poverty of others at all bearable.</p> +<p>It is not, however, about the establishment of kiosks in London that +I wish to write to you, though I am of opinion that it is a thing that +the County Council should at once take in hand. The object of +my letter is to correct a statement made in a paragraph of your interesting +paper.</p> +<p>The writer of the paragraph in question states that the decorative +designs that make lovely my book, <i>A House of Pomegranates</i>, are +by the hand of Mr. Shannon, while the delicate dreams that separate +and herald each story are by Mr. Ricketts. The contrary is the +case. Mr. Shannon is the drawer of the dreams, and Mr. Ricketts +is the subtle and fantastic decorator. Indeed, it is to Mr. Ricketts +that the entire decorative design of the book is due, from the selection +of the type and the placing of the ornamentation, to the completely +beautiful cover that encloses the whole. The writer of the paragraph +goes on to state that he does not ‘like the cover.’ +This is, no doubt, to be regretted, though it is not a matter of much +importance, as there are only two people in the world whom it is absolutely +necessary that the cover should please. One is Mr. Ricketts, who +designed it, the other is myself, whose book it binds. We both +admire it immensely! The reason, however, that your critic gives +for his failure to gain from the cover any impression of beauty seems +to me to show a lack of artistic instinct on his part, which I beg you +will allow me to try to correct.</p> +<p>He complains that a portion of the design on the left-hand side of +the cover reminds him of an Indian club with a house-painter’s +brush on top of it, while a portion of the design on the right-hand +side suggests to him the idea of ‘a chimney-pot hat with a sponge +in it.’ Now, I do not for a moment dispute that these are +the real impressions your critic received. It is the spectator, +and the mind of the spectator, as I pointed out in the preface to <i>The +Picture of Dorian Gray</i>, that art really mirrors. What I want +to indicate is this: the artistic beauty of the cover of my book resides +in the delicate tracing, arabesques, and massing of many coral-red lines +on a ground of white ivory, the colour effect culminating in certain +high gilt notes, and being made still more pleasurable by the overlapping +band of moss-green cloth that holds the book together.</p> +<p>What the gilt notes suggest, what imitative parallel may be found +to them in that chaos that is termed Nature, is a matter of no importance. +They may suggest, as they do sometimes to me, peacocks and pomegranates +and splashing fountains of gold water, or, as they do to your critic, +sponges and Indian clubs and chimney-pot hats. Such suggestions +and evocations have nothing whatsoever to do with the æsthetic +quality and value of the design. A thing in Nature becomes much +lovelier if it reminds us of a thing in Art, but a thing in Art gains +no real beauty through reminding us of a thing in Nature. The +primary æsthetic impression of a work of art borrows nothing from +recognition or resemblance. These belong to a later and less perfect +stage of apprehension.</p> +<p>Properly speaking, they are no part of a real æsthetic impression +at all, and the constant preoccupation with subject-matter that characterises +nearly all our English art-criticism, is what makes our art-criticisms, +especially as regards literature, so sterile, so profitless, so much +beside the mark, and of such curiously little account.—I remain, +Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, December 11, 1891.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—I have just had sent to me from London a copy of the <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, containing a review of my book <i>A House of Pomegranates</i>. +<a name="citation163"></a><a href="#footnote163">{163}</a> The +writer of this review makes a certain suggestion which I beg you will +allow me to correct at once.</p> +<p>He starts by asking an extremely silly question, and that is, whether +or not I have written this book for the purpose of giving pleasure to +the British child. Having expressed grave doubts on this subject, +a subject on which I cannot conceive any fairly educated person having +any doubts at all, he proceeds, apparently quite seriously, to make +the extremely limited vocabulary at the disposal of the British child +the standard by which the prose of an artist is to be judged! +Now, in building this <i>House of Pomegranates</i>, I had about as much +intention of pleasing the British child as I had of pleasing the British +public. Mamilius is as entirely delightful as Caliban is entirely +detestable, but neither the standard of Mamilius nor the standard of +Caliban is my standard. No artist recognises any standard of beauty +but that which is suggested by his own temperament. The artist +seeks to realise, in a certain material, his immaterial idea of beauty, +and thus to transform an idea into an ideal. That is the way an +artist makes things. That is why an artist makes things. +The artist has no other object in making things. Does your reviewer +imagine that Mr. Shannon, for instance, whose delicate and lovely illustrations +he confesses himself quite unable to see, draws for the purpose of giving +information to the blind?—I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.<br /> +BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS.</p> +<h2>PUPPETS AND ACTORS</h2> +<p>(<i>Daily Telegraph</i>, February 20, 1892.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—I have just been sent an article that seems to have appeared +in your paper some days ago, <a name="citation164"></a><a href="#footnote164">{164}</a> +in which it is stated that, in the course of some remarks addressed +to the Playgoers’ Club on the occasion of my taking the chair +at their last meeting, I laid it down as an axiom that the stage is +only ‘a frame furnished with a set of puppets.’</p> +<p>Now, it is quite true that I hold that the stage is to a play no +more than a picture-frame is to a painting, and that the actable value +of a play has nothing whatsoever to do with its value as a work of art. +In this century, in England, to take an obvious example, we have had +only two great plays—one is Shelley’s <i>Cenci</i>, the +other Mr. Swinburne’s <i>Atalanta in Calydon</i>, and neither +of them is in any sense of the word an actable play. Indeed, the +mere suggestion that stage representation is any test of a work of art +is quite ridiculous. In the production of Browning’s plays, +for instance, in London and at Oxford, what was being tested was obviously +the capacity of the modern stage to represent, in any adequate measure +or degree, works of introspective method and strange or sterile psychology. +But the artistic value of <i>Strqfford</i> or <i>In a Balcony</i> was +settled when Robert Browning wrote their last lines. It is not, +Sir, by the mimes that the muses are to be judged.</p> +<p>So far, the writer of the article in question is right. Where +he goes wrong is in saying that I describe this frame—the stage—as +being furnished with a set of puppets. He admits that he speaks +only by report, but he should have remembered, Sir, that report is not +merely a lying jade, which, personally, I would willingly forgive her, +but a jade who lies without lovely invention is a thing that I, at any +rate, can forgive her, never.</p> +<p>What I really said was that the frame we call the stage was ‘peopled +with either living actors or moving puppets,’ and I pointed out +briefly, of necessity, that the personality of the actor is often a +source of danger in the perfect presentation of a work of art. +It may distort. It may lead astray. It may be a discord +in the tone or symphony. For anybody can act. Most people +in England do nothing else. To be conventional is to be a comedian. +To act a particular part, however, is a very different thing, and a +very difficult thing as well. The actor’s aim is, or should +be, to convert his own accidental personality into the real and essential +personality of the character he is called upon to personate, whatever +that character may be; or perhaps I should say that there are two schools +of action—the school of those who attain their effect by exaggeration +of personality, and the school of those who attain it by suppression. +It would be too long to discuss these schools, or to decide which of +them the dramatist loves best. Let me note the danger of personality, +and pass to my puppets.</p> +<p>There are many advantages in puppets. They never argue. +They have no crude views about art. They have no private lives. +We are never bothered by accounts of their virtues, or bored by recitals +of their vices; and when they are out of an engagement they never do +good in public or save people from drowning, nor do they speak more +than is set down for them. They recognise the presiding intellect +of the dramatist, and have never been known to ask for their parts to +be written up. They are admirably docile, and have no personalities +at all. I saw lately, in Paris, a performance by certain puppets +of Shakespeare’s <i>Tempest</i>, in M. Maurice Boucher’s +translation. Miranda was the mirage of Miranda, because an artist +has so fashioned her; and Ariel was true Ariel, because so had she been +made. Their gestures were quite sufficient, and the words that +seemed to come from their little lips were spoken by poets who had beautiful +voices. It was a delightful performance, and I remember it still +with delight, though Miranda took no notice of the flowers I sent her +after the curtain fell. For modern plays, however, perhaps we +had better have living players, for in modern plays actuality is everything. +The charm—the ineffable charm—of the unreal is here denied +us, and rightly.</p> +<p>Suffer me one more correction. Your writer describes the author +of the brilliant fantastic lecture on ‘The Modern Actor’ +as a <i>protégé</i> of mine. Allow me to state that +my acquaintance with Mr. John Gray is, I regret to say, extremely recent, +and that I sought it because he had already a perfected mode of expression +both in prose and verse. All artists in this vulgar age need protection +certainly. Perhaps they have always needed it. But the nineteenth-century +artist finds it not in Prince, or Pope, or Patron, but in high indifference +of temper, in the pleasure of the creation of beautiful things, and +the long contemplation of them, in disdain of what in life is common +and ignoble and in such felicitous sense of humour as enables one to +see how vain and foolish is all popular opinion, and popular judgment, +upon the wonderful things of art. These qualities Mr. John Gray +possesses in a marked degree. He needs no other protection, nor, +indeed, would he accept it.—I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, +OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<h2>LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN: AN EXPLANATION</h2> +<p>(<i>St. James’s Gazette</i>, February 27, 1892.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>St. James’s Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—Allow me to correct a statement put forward in your issue +of this evening to the effect that I have made a certain alteration +in my play in consequence of the criticism of some journalists who write +very recklessly and very foolishly in the papers about dramatic art. +This statement is entirely untrue and grossly ridiculous.</p> +<p>The facts are as follows. On last Saturday night, after the +play was over, and the author, cigarette in hand, had delivered a delightful +and immortal speech, I had the pleasure of entertaining at supper a +small number of personal friends; and as none of them was older than +myself I, naturally, listened to their artistic views with attention +and pleasure. The opinions of the old on matters of Art are, of +course, of no value whatsoever. The artistic instincts of the +young are invariably fascinating; and I am bound to state that all my +friends, without exception, were of opinion that the psychological interest +of the second act would be greatly increased by the disclosure of the +actual relationship existing between Lady Windermere and Mrs. Erlynne—an +opinion, I may add, that had previously been strongly held and urged +by Mr. Alexander.</p> +<p>As to those of us who do not look on a play as a mere question of +pantomime and clowning psychological interest is everything, I determined, +consequently, to make a change in the precise moment of revelation. +This determination, however, was entered into long before I had the +opportunity of studying the culture, courtesy, and critical faculty +displayed in such papers as the <i>Referee</i>, <i>Reynolds</i>’, +and the <i>Sunday Sun.</i></p> +<p>When criticism becomes in England a real art, as it should be, and +when none but those of artistic instinct and artistic cultivation is +allowed to write about works of art, artists will, no doubt, read criticisms +with a certain amount of intellectual interest. As things are +at present, the criticisms of ordinary newspapers are of no interest +whatsoever, except in so far as they display, in its crudest form, the +Bœotianism of a country that has produced some Athenians, and +in which some Athenians have come to dwell.—I am, Sir, your obedient +servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.<br /> +<i>February</i> 26.</p> +<h2>SALOMÉ</h2> +<p>(<i>Times</i>, March 2, 1893.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Times.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—My attention has been drawn to a review of <i>Salomé</i> +which was published in your columns last week. <a name="citation170"></a><a href="#footnote170">{170}</a> +The opinions of English critics on a French work of mine have, of course, +little, if any, interest for me. I write simply to ask you to +allow me to correct a misstatement that appears in the review in question.</p> +<p>The fact that the greatest tragic actress of any stage now living +saw in my play such beauty that she was anxious to produce it, to take +herself the part of the heroine, to lend to the entire poem the glamour +of her personality, and to my prose the music of her flute-like voice—this +was naturally, and always will be, a source of pride and pleasure to +me, and I look forward with delight to seeing Mme. Bernhardt present +my play in Paris, that vivid centre of art, where religious dramas are +often performed. But my play was in no sense of the words written +for this great actress. I have never written a play for any actor +or actress, nor shall I ever do so. Such work is for the artisan +in literature—not for the artist.—I remain, Sir, your obedient +servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<h2>THE THIRTEEN CLUB</h2> +<p>(<i>Times</i>, January 16, 1894.)</p> +<p>At a dinner of the Thirteen Club held at the Holborn Restaurant on +January 13, 1894, the Chairman (Mr. Harry Furniss) announced that from +Mr. Oscar Wilde the following letter had been received:—</p> +<p>I have to thank the members of your Club for their kind invitation, +for which convey to them, I beg you, my sincere thanks. But I +love superstitions. They are the colour element of thought and +imagination. They are the opponents of common sense. Common +sense is the enemy of romance. The aim of your Society seems to +be dreadful. Leave us some unreality. Do not make us too +offensively sane. I love dining out, but with a Society with so +wicked an object as yours I cannot dine. I regret it. I +am sure you will all be charming, but I could not come, though 13 is +a lucky number.</p> +<h2>THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM</h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, September 20, 1894.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—Will you allow me to draw your attention to a very interesting +example of the ethics of modern journalism, a quality of which we have +all heard so much and seen so little?</p> +<p>About a month ago Mr. T. P. O’Connor published in the <i>Sunday +Sun</i> some doggerel verses entitled ‘The Shamrock,’ and +had the amusing impertinence to append my name to them as their author. +As for some years past all kinds of scurrilous personal attacks had +been made on me in Mr. O’Connor’s newspapers, I determined +to take no notice at all of the incident.</p> +<p>Enraged, however, by my courteous silence, Mr. O’Connor returns +to the charge this week. He now solemnly accuses me of plagiarising +the poem he had the vulgarity to attribute to me. <a name="citation172"></a><a href="#footnote172">{172}</a></p> +<p>This seems to me to pass beyond even those bounds of coarse humour +and coarser malice that are, by the contempt of all, conceded to the +ordinary journalist, and it is really very distressing to find so low +a standard of ethics in a Sunday newspaper.—I remain, Sir, your +obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.<br /> +<i>September</i> 18.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, September 25, 1894.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—The assistant editor of the <i>Sunday Sun</i>, on whom +seems to devolve the arduous duty of writing Mr. T. P. O’Connor’s +apologies for him, does not, I observe with regret, place that gentleman’s +conduct in any more attractive or more honourable light by the attempted +explanation that appears in the letter published in your issue of today. +For the future it would be much better if Mr. O’Connor would always +write his own apologies. That he can do so exceedingly well no +one is more ready to admit than myself. I happen to possess one +from him.</p> +<p>The assistant editor’s explanation, stripped of its unnecessary +verbiage, amounts to this: It is now stated that some months ago, somebody, +whose name, observe, is not given, forwarded to the office of the <i>Sunday +Sun</i> a manuscript in his own handwriting, containing some fifth-rate +verses with my name appended to them as their author. The assistant +editor frankly admits that they had grave doubts about my being capable +of such an astounding production. To me, I must candidly say, +it seems more probable that they never for a single moment believed +that the verses were really from my pen. Literary instinct is, +of course, a very rare thing, and it would be too much to expect any +true literary instinct to be found among the members of the staff of +an ordinary newspaper; but had Mr. O’Connor really thought that +the production, such as it is, was mine, he would naturally have asked +my permission before publishing it. Great licence of comment and +attack of every kind is allowed nowadays to newspapers, but no respectable +editor would dream of printing and publishing a man’s work without +first obtaining his consent.</p> +<p>Mr. O’Connor’s subsequent conduct in accusing me of plagiarism, +when it was proved to him on unimpeachable authority that the verses +he had vulgarly attributed to me were not by me at all, I have already +commented on. It is perhaps best left to the laughter of the gods +and the sorrow of men. I would like, however, to point out that +when Mr. O’Connor, with the kind help of his assistant editor, +states, as a possible excuse for his original sin, that he and the members +of his staff ‘took refuge’ in the belief that the verses +in question might conceivably be some very early and useful work of +mine, he and the members of his staff showed a lamentable ignorance +of the nature of the artistic temperament. Only mediocrities progress. +An artist revolves in a cycle of masterpieces, the first of which is +no less perfect than the last.</p> +<p>In conclusion, allow me to thank you for your courtesy in opening +to me the columns of your valuable paper, and also to express the hope +that the painful <i>exposé</i> of Mr. O’Connor’s +conduct that I have been forced to make will have the good result of +improving the standard of journalistic ethics in England.—I remain, +Sir, your obedient servant,</p> +<p>OSCAR WILDE.<br /> +WORTHING, <i>September</i> 22.</p> +<h2>THE GREEN CARNATION</h2> +<p>(<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, October 2, 1894.)</p> +<p>To the Editor of the <i>Pall Mall Gazette.</i></p> +<p>SIR,—Kindly allow me to contradict, in the most emphatic manner, +the suggestion, made in your issue of Thursday last, and since then +copied into many other newspapers, that I am the author of <i>The Green +Carnation.</i></p> +<p>I invented that magnificent flower. But with the middle-class +and mediocre book that usurps its strangely beautiful name I have, I +need hardly say, nothing whatsoever to do. The flower is a work +of art. The book is not.—I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, +OSCAR WILDE.</p> +<p>WORTHING, <i>October</i> 1.</p> +<h2>PHRASES AND PHILOSOPHIES FOR THE USE OF THE YOUNG</h2> +<p>(<i>Chameleon</i>, December 1894 )</p> +<p>The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible. +What the second duty is no one has as yet discovered.</p> +<p>Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious +attractiveness of others.</p> +<p>If the poor only had profiles there would be no difficulty in solving +the problem of poverty.</p> +<p>Those who see any difference between soul and body have neither.</p> +<p>A really well-made buttonhole is the only link between Art and Nature.</p> +<p>Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the +record of dead religions.</p> +<p>The well-bred contradict other people. The wise contradict +themselves.</p> +<p>Nothing that actually occurs is of the smallest importance.</p> +<p>Dulness is the coming of age of seriousness.</p> +<p>In all unimportant matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential. +In all important matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential.</p> +<p>If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found +out.</p> +<p>Pleasure is the only thing one should live for. Nothing ages +like happiness.</p> +<p>It is only by not paying one’s bills that one can hope to live +in the memory of the commercial classes.</p> +<p>No crime is vulgar, but all vulgarity is crime. Vulgarity is +the conduct of others.</p> +<p>Only the shallow know themselves.</p> +<p>Time is waste of money.</p> +<p>One should always be a little improbable.</p> +<p>There is a fatality about all good resolutions. They are invariably +made too soon.</p> +<p>The only way to atone for being occasionally a little overdressed +is by being always absolutely over-educated.</p> +<p>To be premature is to be perfect.</p> +<p>Any preoccupation with ideas of what is right or wrong in conduct +shows an arrested intellectual development.</p> +<p>Ambition is the last refuge of the failure.</p> +<p>A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes in it.</p> +<p>In examinations the foolish ask questions that the wise cannot answer.</p> +<p>Greek dress was in its essence inartistic. Nothing should reveal +the body but the body.</p> +<p>One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art.</p> +<p>It is only the superficial qualities that last. Man’s +deeper nature is soon found out.</p> +<p>Industry is the root of all ugliness.</p> +<p>The ages live in history through their anachronisms.</p> +<p>It is only the gods who taste of death. Apollo has passed away, +but Hyacinth, whom men say he slew, lives on. Nero and Narcissus +are always with us.</p> +<p>The old believe everything: the middle-aged suspect everything: the +young know everything.</p> +<p>The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is +youth.</p> +<p>Only the great masters of style ever succeed in being obscure.</p> +<p>There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men +there are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect +profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession.</p> +<p>To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance.</p> +<h2>THE RISE OF HISTORICAL CRITICISM</h2> +<p>The first portion of this essay is given at the end of the volume +containing <i>Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime and Other Prose Pieces</i>. +Recently the remainder of the original manuscript has been discovered, +and is here published for the first time. It was written for the +Chancellor’s English Essay Prize at Oxford in 1879, the subject +being ‘Historical Criticism among the Ancients.’ The +prize was not awarded. To Professor J. W. Mackail thanks are due +for revising the proofs.</p> +<h3>IV.</h3> +<p>It is evident that here Thucydides is ready to admit the variety +of manifestations which external causes bring about in their workings +on the uniform character of the nature of man. Yet, after all +is said, these are perhaps but very general statements: the ordinary +effects of peace and war are dwelt on, but there is no real analysis +of the immediate causes and general laws of the phenomena of life, nor +does Thucydides seem to recognise the truth that if humanity proceeds +in circles, the circles are always widening.</p> +<p>Perhaps we may say that with him the philosophy of history is partly +in the metaphysical stage, and see, in the progress of this idea from +Herodotus to Polybius, the exemplification of the Comtian law of the +three stages of thought, the theological, the metaphysical, and the +scientific: for truly out of the vagueness of theological mysticism +this conception which we call the Philosophy of History was raised to +a scientific principle, according to which the past was explained and +the future predicted by reference to general laws.</p> +<p>Now, just as the earliest account of the nature of the progress of +humanity is to be found in Plato, so in him we find the first explicit +attempt to found a universal philosophy of history upon wide rational +grounds. Having created an ideally perfect state, the philosopher +proceeds to give an elaborate theory of the complex causes which produce +revolutions of the moral effects of various forms of government and +education, of the rise of the criminal classes and their connection +with pauperism, and, in a word, to create history by the deductive method +and to proceed from <i>a priori</i> psychological principles to discover +the governing laws of the apparent chaos of political life.</p> +<p>There have been many attempts since Plato to deduce from a single +philosophical principle all the phenomena which experience subsequently +verifies for us. Fichte thought he could predict the world-plan +from the idea of universal time. Hegel dreamed he had found the +key to the mysteries of life in the development of freedom, and Krause +in the categories of being. But the one scientific basis on which +the true philosophy of history must rest is the complete knowledge of +the laws of human nature in all its wants, its aspirations, its powers +and its tendencies: and this great truth, which Thucydides may be said +in some measure to have apprehended, was given to us first by Plato.</p> +<p>Now, it cannot be accurately said of this philosopher that either +his philosophy or his history is entirely and simply <i>a priori. +On est de son siècle même quand on y proteste</i>, and +so we find in him continual references to the Spartan mode of life, +the Pythagorean system, the general characteristics of Greek tyrannies +and Greek democracies. For while, in his account of the method +of forming an ideal state, he says that the political artist is indeed +to fix his gaze on the sun of abstract truth in the heavens of the pure +reason, but is sometimes to turn to the realisation of the ideals on +earth: yet, after all, the general character of the Platonic method, +which is what we are specially concerned with, is essentially deductive +and <i>a priori</i>. And he himself, in the building up of his +Nephelococcygia, certainly starts with a καθαρος +πιναξ, making a clean sweep of all history and all +experience; and it was essentially as an <i>a priori</i> theorist that +he is criticised by Aristotle, as we shall see later.</p> +<p>To proceed to closer details regarding the actual scheme of the laws +of political revolutions as drawn out by Plato, we must first note that +the primary cause of the decay of the ideal state is the general principle, +common to the vegetable and animal worlds as well as to the world of +history, that all created things are fated to decay—a principle +which, though expressed in the terms of a mere metaphysical abstraction, +is yet perhaps in its essence scientific. For we too must hold +that a continuous redistribution of matter and motion is the inevitable +result of the normal persistence of Force, and that perfect equilibrium +is as impossible in politics as it certainly is in physics.</p> +<p>The secondary causes which mar the perfection of the Platonic ‘city +of the sun’ are to be found in the intellectual decay of the race +consequent on injudicious marriages and in the Philistine elevation +of physical achievements over mental culture; while the hierarchical +succession of Timocracy and Oligarchy, Democracy and Tyranny, is dwelt +on at great length and its causes analysed in a very dramatic and psychological +manner, if not in that sanctioned by the actual order of history.</p> +<p>And indeed it is apparent at first sight that the Platonic succession +of states represents rather the succession of ideas in the philosophic +mind than any historical succession of time.</p> +<p>Aristotle meets the whole simply by an appeal to facts. If +the theory of the periodic decay of all created things, he urges, be +scientific, it must be universal, and so true of all the other states +as well as of the ideal. Besides, a state usually changes into +its contrary and not to the form next to it; so the ideal state would +not change into Timocracy; while Oligarchy, more often than Tyranny, +succeeds Democracy. Plato, besides, says nothing of what a Tyranny +would change to. According to the cycle theory it ought to pass +into the ideal state again, but as a fact one Tyranny is changed into +another as at Sicyon, or into a Democracy as at Syracuse, or into an +Aristocracy as at Carthage. The example of Sicily, too, shows +that an Oligarchy is often followed by a Tyranny, as at Leontini and +Gela. Besides, it is absurd to represent greed as the chief motive +of decay, or to talk of avarice as the root of Oligarchy, when in nearly +all true oligarchies money-making is forbidden by law. And finally +the Platonic theory neglects the different kinds of democracies and +of tyrannies.</p> +<p>Now nothing can be more important than this passage in Aristotle’s +<i>Politics</i> (v. 12.), which may be said to mark an era in the evolution +of historical criticism. For there is nothing on which Aristotle +insists so strongly as that the generalisations from facts ought to +be added to the data of the <i>a priori</i> method—a principle +which we know to be true not merely of deductive speculative politics +but of physics also: for are not the residual phenomena of chemists +a valuable source of improvement in theory?</p> +<p>His own method is essentially historical though by no means empirical. +On the contrary, this far-seeing thinker, rightly styled <i>il maestro +di color che sanno</i>, may be said to have apprehended clearly that +the true method is neither exclusively empirical nor exclusively speculative, +but rather a union of both in the process called Analysis or the Interpretation +of Facts, which has been defined as the application to facts of such +general conceptions as may fix the important characteristics of the +phenomena, and present them permanently in their true relations. +He too was the first to point out, what even in our own day is incompletely +appreciated, that nature, including the development of man, is not full +of incoherent episodes like a bad tragedy, that inconsistency and anomaly +are as impossible in the moral as they are in the physical world, and +that where the superficial observer thinks he sees a revolution the +philosophical critic discerns merely the gradual and rational evolution +of the inevitable results of certain antecedents.</p> +<p>And while admitting the necessity of a psychological basis for the +philosophy of history, he added to it the important truth that man, +to be apprehended in his proper position in the universe as well as +in his natural powers, must be studied from below in the hierarchical +progression of higher function from the lower forms of life. The +important maxim, that to obtain a clear conception of anything we must +‘study it in its growth from the very beginning’ is formally +set down in the opening of the <i>Politics</i>, where, indeed, we shall +find the other characteristic features of the modern Evolutionary theory, +such as the ‘Differentiation of Function’ and the ‘Survival +of the Fittest’ explicitly set forth.</p> +<p>What a valuable step this was in the improvement of the method of +historical criticism it is needless to point out. By it, one may +say, the true thread was given to guide one’s steps through the +bewildering labyrinth of facts. For history (to use terms with +which Aristotle has made us familiar) may be looked at from two essentially +different standpoints; either as a work of art whose τελος +or final cause is external to it and imposed on it from without; or +as an organism containing the law of its own development in itself, +and working out its perfection merely by the fact of being what it is. +Now, if we adopt the former, which we may style the theological view, +we shall be in continual danger of tripping into the pitfall of some +<i>a priori</i> conclusion—that bourne from which, it has been +truly said, no traveller ever returns.</p> +<p>The latter is the only scientific theory and was apprehended in its +fulness by Aristotle, whose application of the inductive method to history, +and whose employment of the evolutionary theory of humanity, show that +he was conscious that the philosophy of history is nothing separate +from the facts of history but is contained in them, and that the rational +law of the complex phenomena of life, like the ideal in the world of +thought, is to be reached through the facts, not superimposed on them— +κατα πολλων +not παρα πολλα.</p> +<p>And finally, in estimating the enormous debt which the science of +historical criticism owes to Aristotle, we must not pass over his attitude +towards those two great difficulties in the formation of a philosophy +of history on which I have touched above. I mean the assertion +of extra-natural interference with the normal development of the world +and of the incalculable influence exercised by the power of free will.</p> +<p>Now, as regards the former, he may be said to have neglected it entirely. +The special acts of providence proceeding from God’s immediate +government of the world, which Herodotus saw as mighty landmarks in +history, would have been to him essentially disturbing elements in that +universal reign of law, the extent of whose limitless empire he of all +the great thinkers of antiquity was the first explicitly to recognise.</p> +<p>Standing aloof from the popular religion as well as from the deeper +conceptions of Herodotus and the Tragic School, he no longer thought +of God as of one with fair limbs and treacherous face haunting wood +and glade, nor would he see in him a jealous judge continually interfering +in the world’s history to bring the wicked to punishment and the +proud to a fall. God to him was the incarnation of the pure Intellect, +a being whose activity was the contemplation of his own perfection, +one whom Philosophy might imitate but whom prayers could never move, +to the sublime indifference of whose passionless wisdom what were the +sons of men, their desires or their sins? While, as regards the +other difficulty and the formation of a philosophy of history, the conflict +of free will with general laws appears first in Greek thought in the +usual theological form in which all great ideas seem to be cradled at +their birth.</p> +<p>It was such legends as those of Œdipus and Adrastus, exemplifying +the struggles of individual humanity against the overpowering force +of circumstances and necessity, which gave to the early Greeks those +same lessons which we of modern days draw, in somewhat less artistic +fashion, from the study of statistics and the laws of physiology.</p> +<p>In Aristotle, of course, there is no trace of supernatural influence. +The Furies, which drive their victim into sin first and then punishment, +are no longer ‘viper-tressed goddesses with eyes and mouth aflame,’ +but those evil thoughts which harbour within the impure soul. +In this, as in all other points, to arrive at Aristotle is to reach +the pure atmosphere of scientific and modern thought.</p> +<p>But while he rejected pure necessitarianism in its crude form as +essentially a <i>reductio ad absurdum</i> of life, he was fully conscious +of the fact that the will is not a mysterious and ultimate unit of force +beyond which we cannot go and whose special characteristic is inconsistency, +but a certain creative attitude of the mind which is, from the first, +continually influenced by habits, education and circumstance; so absolutely +modifiable, in a word, that the good and the bad man alike seem to lose +the power of free will; for the one is morally unable to sin, the other +physically incapacitated for reformation.</p> +<p>And of the influence of climate and temperature in forming the nature +of man (a conception perhaps pressed too far in modern days when the +‘race theory’ is supposed to be a sufficient explanation +of the Hindoo, and the latitude and longitude of a country the best +guide to its morals <a name="citation188"></a><a href="#footnote188">{188}</a>) +Aristotle is completely unaware. I do not allude to such smaller +points as the oligarchical tendencies of a horse-breeding country and +the democratic influence of the proximity of the sea (important though +they are for the consideration of Greek history), but rather to those +wider views in the seventh book of his <i>Politics</i>, where he attributes +the happy union in the Greek character of intellectual attainments with +the spirit of progress to the temperate climate they enjoyed, and points +out how the extreme cold of the north dulls the mental faculties of +its inhabitants and renders them incapable of social organisation or +extended empire; while to the enervating heat of eastern countries was +due that want of spirit and bravery which then, as now, was the characteristic +of the population in that quarter of the globe.</p> +<p>Thucydides has shown the causal connection between political revolutions +and the fertility of the soil, but goes a step farther and points out +the psychological influences on a people’s character exercised +by the various extremes of climate—in both cases the first appearance +of a most valuable form of historical criticism.</p> +<p>To the development of Dialectic, as to God, intervals of time are +of no account. From Plato and Aristotle we pass direct to Polybius.</p> +<p>The progress of thought from the philosopher of the Academe to the +Arcadian historian may be best illustrated by a comparison of the method +by which each of the three writers, whom I have selected as the highest +expressions of the rationalism of his respective age, attained to his +ideal state: for the latter conception may be in a measure regarded +as representing the most spiritual principle which they could discern +in history.</p> +<p>Now, Plato created his on <i>a priori</i> principles: Aristotle formed +his by an analysis of existing constitutions; Polybius found his realised +for him in the actual world of fact. Aristotle criticised the +deductive speculations of Plato by means of inductive negative instances, +but Polybius will not take the ‘Cloud City’ of the <i>Republic</i> +into account at all. He compares it to an athlete who has never +run on ‘Constitution Hill,’ to a statue so beautiful that +it is entirely removed from the ordinary conditions of humanity, and +consequently from the canons of criticism.</p> +<p>The Roman state had attained in his eyes, by means of the mutual +counteraction of three opposing forces, <a name="citation190"></a><a href="#footnote190">{190}</a> +that stable equilibrium in politics which was the ideal of all the theoretical +writers of antiquity. And in connection with this point it will +be convenient to notice here how much truth there is contained in the +accusation so often brought against the ancients that they knew nothing +of the idea of Progress, for the meaning of many of their speculations +will be hidden from us if we do not try and comprehend first what their +aim was, and secondly why it was so.</p> +<p>Now, like all wide generalities, this statement is at least inaccurate. +The prayer of Plato’s ideal city—εξ αyαθων +αμεινους, και +εξ ωφελιμωτερους +αει τους εκyονους +yιyνεσθαι, might be written as +a text over the door of the last Temple to Humanity raised by the disciples +of Fourier and Saint Simon, but it is certainly true that their ideal +principle was order and permanence, not indefinite progress. For, +setting aside the artistic prejudices which would have led the Greeks +to reject this idea of unlimited improvement, we may note that the modern +conception of progress rests partly on the new enthusiasm and worship +of humanity, partly on the splendid hopes of material improvements in +civilisation which applied science has held out to us, two influences +from which ancient Greek thought seems to have been strangely free. +For the Greeks marred the perfect humanism of the great men whom they +worshipped, by imputing to them divinity and its supernatural powers; +while their science was eminently speculative and often almost mystic +in its character, aiming at culture and not utility, at higher spirituality +and more intense reverence for law, rather than at the increased facilities +of locomotion and the cheap production of common things about which +our modern scientific school ceases not to boast. And lastly, +and perhaps chiefly, we must remember that the ‘plague spot of +all Greek states,’ as one of their own writers has called it, +was the terrible insecurity to life and property which resulted from +the factions and revolutions which ceased not to trouble Greece at all +times, raising a spirit of fanaticism such as religion raised in the +middle ages of Europe.</p> +<p>These considerations, then, will enable us to understand first how +it was that, radical and unscrupulous reformers as the Greek political +theorists were, yet, their end once attained, no modern conservatives +raised such outcry against the slightest innovation. Even acknowledged +improvements in such things as the games of children or the modes of +music were regarded by them with feelings of extreme apprehension as +the herald of the <i>drapeau rouge</i> of reform. And secondly, +it will show us how it was that Polybius found his ideal in the commonwealth +of Rome, and Aristotle, like Mr. Bright, in the middle classes. +Polybius, however, is not content merely with pointing out his ideal +state, but enters at considerable length into the question of those +general laws whose consideration forms the chief essential of the philosophy +of history.</p> +<p>He starts by accepting the general principle that all things are +fated to decay (which I noticed in the case of Plato), and that ‘as +iron produces rust and as wood breeds the animals that destroy it, so +every state has in it the seeds of its own corruption.’ +He is not, however, content to rest there, but proceeds to deal with +the more immediate causes of revolutions, which he says are twofold +in nature, either external or internal. Now, the former, depending +as they do on the synchronous conjunction of other events outside the +sphere of scientific estimation, are from their very character incalculable; +but the latter, though assuming many forms, always result from the over-great +preponderance of any single element to the detriment of the others, +the rational law lying at the base of all varieties of political changes +being that stability can result only from the statical equilibrium produced +by the counteraction of opposing parts, since the more simple a constitution +is the more it is insecure. Plato had pointed out before how the +extreme liberty of a democracy always resulted in despotism, but Polybius +analyses the law and shows the scientific principles on which it rests.</p> +<p>The doctrine of the instability of pure constitutions forms an important +era in the philosophy of history. Its special applicability to +the politics of our own day has been illustrated in the rise of the +great Napoleon, when the French state had lost those divisions of caste +and prejudice, of landed aristocracy and moneyed interest, institutions +in which the vulgar see only barriers to Liberty but which are indeed +the only possible defences against the coming of that periodic Sirius +of politics, the τυραννος +εκ προστατικης +ριζης</p> +<p>There is a principle which Tocqueville never wearies of explaining, +and which has been subsumed by Mr. Herbert Spencer under that general +law common to all organic bodies which we call the Instability of the +Homogeneous. The various manifestations of this law, as shown +in the normal, regular revolutions and evolutions of the different forms +of government, <a name="citation193a"></a><a href="#footnote193a">{193a}</a> +are expounded with great clearness by Polybius, who claimed for his +theory in the Thucydidean spirit, that it is a κτημα +ες αει, not a mere αyωνισμα +ες το παραχρημα, +and that a knowledge of it will enable the impartial observer <a name="citation193b"></a><a href="#footnote193b">{193b}</a> +to discover at any time what period of its constitutional evolution +any particular state has already reached and into what form it will +be next differentiated, though possibly the exact time of the changes +may be more or less uncertain. <a name="citation193c"></a><a href="#footnote193c">{193c}</a></p> +<p>Now in this necessarily incomplete account of the laws of political +revolutions as expounded by Polybius enough perhaps has been said to +show what is his true position in the rational development of the ‘Idea’ +which I have called the Philosophy of History, because it is the unifying +of history. Seen darkly as it is through the glass of religion +in the pages of Herodotus, more metaphysical than scientific with Thucydides, +Plato strove to seize it by the eagle-flight of speculation, to reach +it with the eager grasp of a soul impatient of those slower and surer +inductive methods which Aristotle, in his trenchant criticism of his +great master, showed were more brilliant than any vague theory, if the +test of brilliancy is truth.</p> +<p>What then is the position of Polybius? Does any new method +remain for him? Polybius was one of those many men who are born +too late to be original. To Thucydides belongs the honour of being +the first in the history of Greek thought to discern the supreme calm +of law and order underlying the fitful storms of life, and Plato and +Aristotle each represents a great new principle. To Polybius belongs +the office—how noble an office he made it his writings show—of +making more explicit the ideas which were implicit in his predecessors, +of showing that they were of wider applicability and perhaps of deeper +meaning than they had seemed before, of examining with more minuteness +the laws which they had discovered, and finally of pointing out more +clearly than any one had done the range of science and the means it +offered for analysing the present and predicting what was to come. +His office thus was to gather up what they had left, to give their principles +new life by a wider application.</p> +<p>Polybius ends this great diapason of Greek thought. When the +Philosophy of history appears next, as in Plutarch’s tract on +‘Why God’s anger is delayed,’ the pendulum of thought +had swung back to where it began. His theory was introduced to +the Romans under the cultured style of Cicero, and was welcomed by them +as the philosophical panegyric of their state. The last notice +of it in Latin literature is in the pages of Tacitus, who alludes to +the stable polity formed out of these elements as a constitution easier +to commend than to produce and in no case lasting. Yet Polybius +had seen the future with no uncertain eye, and had prophesied the rise +of the Empire from the unbalanced power of the ochlocracy fifty years +and more before there was joy in the Julian household over the birth +of that boy who, borne to power as the champion of the people, died +wearing the purple of a king.</p> +<p>No attitude of historical criticism is more important than the means +by which the ancients attained to the philosophy of history. The +principle of heredity can be exemplified in literature as well as in +organic life: Aristotle, Plato and Polybius are the lineal ancestors +of Fichte and Hegel, of Vico and Cousin, of Montesquieu and Tocqueville.</p> +<p>As my aim is not to give an account of historians but to point out +those great thinkers whose methods have furthered the advance of this +spirit of historical criticism, I shall pass over those annalists and +chroniclers who intervened between Thucydides and Polybius. Yet +perhaps it may serve to throw new light on the real nature of this spirit +and its intimate connection with all other forms of advanced thought +if I give some estimate of the character and rise of those many influences +prejudicial to the scientific study of history which cause such a wide +gap between these two historians.</p> +<p>Foremost among these is the growing influence of rhetoric and the +Isocratean school, which seems to have regarded history as an arena +for the display of either pathos or paradoxes, not a scientific investigation +into laws.</p> +<p>The new age is the age of style. The same spirit of exclusive +attention to form which made Euripides often, like Swinburne, prefer +music to meaning and melody to morality, which gave to the later Greek +statues that refined effeminacy, that overstrained gracefulness of attitude, +was felt in the sphere of history. The rules laid down for historical +composition are those relating to the æsthetic value of digressions, +the legality of employing more than one metaphor in the same sentence, +and the like; and historians are ranked not by their power of estimating +evidence but by the goodness of the Greek they write.</p> +<p>I must note also the important influence on literature exercised +by Alexander the Great; for while his travels encouraged the more accurate +research of geography, the very splendour of his achievements seems +to have brought history again into the sphere of romance. The +appearance of all great men in the world is followed invariably by the +rise of that mythopœic spirit and that tendency to look for the +marvellous, which is so fatal to true historical criticism. An +Alexander, a Napoleon, a Francis of Assisi and a Mahomet are thought +to be outside the limiting conditions of rational law, just as comets +were supposed to be not very long ago. While the founding of that +city of Alexandria, in which Western and Eastern thought met with such +strange result to both, diverted the critical tendencies of the Greek +spirit into questions of grammar, philology and the like, the narrow, +artificial atmosphere of that University town (as we may call it) was +fatal to the development of that independent and speculative spirit +of research which strikes out new methods of inquiry, of which historical +criticism is one.</p> +<p>The Alexandrines combined a great love of learning with an ignorance +of the true principles of research, an enthusiastic spirit for accumulating +materials with a wonderful incapacity to use them. Not among the +hot sands of Egypt, or the Sophists of Athens, but from the very heart +of Greece rises the man of genius on whose influence in the evolution +of the philosophy of history I have a short time ago dwelt. Born +in the serene and pure air of the clear uplands of Arcadia, Polybius +may be said to reproduce in his work the character of the place which +gave him birth. For, of all the historians—I do not say +of antiquity but of all time—none is more rationalistic than he, +none more free from any belief in the ‘visions and omens, the +monstrous legends, the grovelling superstitions and unmanly craving +for the supernatural’ (δεισιδαιμουνιας +αyεννους και +τερατειας yυναικωδους +<a name="citation197a"></a><a href="#footnote197a">{197a}</a>) which +he is compelled to notice himself as the characteristics of some of +the historians who preceded him. Fortunate in the land which bore +him, he was no less blessed in the wondrous time of his birth. +For, representing in himself the spiritual supremacy of the Greek intellect +and allied in bonds of chivalrous friendship to the world-conqueror +of his day, he seems led as it were by the hand of Fate ‘to comprehend,’ +as has been said, ‘more clearly than the Romans themselves the +historical position of Rome,’ and to discern with greater insight +than all other men could those two great resultants of ancient civilisation, +the material empire of the city of the seven hills, and the intellectual +sovereignty of Hellas.</p> +<p>Before his own day, he says, <a name="citation197b"></a><a href="#footnote197b">{197b}</a> +the events of the world were unconnected and separate and the histories +confined to particular countries. Now, for the first time the +universal empire of the Romans rendered a universal history possible. +<a name="citation198a"></a><a href="#footnote198a">{198a}</a> +This, then, is the august motive of his work: to trace the gradual rise +of this Italian city from the day when the first legion crossed the +narrow strait of Messina and landed on the fertile fields of Sicily +to the time when Corinth in the East and Carthage in the West fell before +the resistless wave of empire and the eagles of Rome passed on the wings +of universal victory from Calpè and the Pillars of Hercules to +Syria and the Nile. At the same time he recognised that the scheme +of Rome’s empire was worked out under the ægis of God’s +will. <a name="citation198b"></a><a href="#footnote198b">{198b}</a> +For, as one of the Middle Age scribes most truly says, the τυχη +of Polybius is that power which we Christians call God; the second aim, +as one may call it, of his history is to point out the rational and +human and natural causes which brought this result, distinguishing, +as we should say, between God’s mediate and immediate government +of the world.</p> +<p>With any direct intervention of God in the normal development of +Man, he will have nothing to do: still less with any idea of chance +as a factor in the phenomena of life. Chance and miracles, he +says, are mere expressions for our ignorance of rational causes. +The spirit of rationalism which we recognised in Herodotus as a vague +uncertain attitude and which appears in Thucydides as a consistent attitude +of mind never argued about or even explained, is by Polybius analysed +and formulated as the great instrument of historical research.</p> +<p>Herodotus, while believing on principle in the supernatural, yet +was sceptical at times. Thucydides simply ignored the supernatural. +He did not discuss it, but he annihilated it by explaining history without +it. Polybius enters at length into the whole question and explains +its origin and the method of treating it. Herodotus would have +believed in Scipio’s dream. Thucydides would have ignored +it entirely. Polybius explains it. He is the culmination +of the rational progression of Dialectic. ‘Nothing,’ +he says, ‘shows a foolish mind more than the attempt to account +for any phenomena on the principle of chance or supernatural intervention. +History is a search for rational causes, and there is nothing in the +world—even those phenomena which seem to us the most remote from +law and improbable—which is not the logical and inevitable result +of certain rational antecedents.’</p> +<p>Some things, of course, are to be rejected <i>a priori</i> without +entering into the subject: ‘As regards such miracles,’ he +says, <a name="citation199"></a><a href="#footnote199">{199}</a> ‘as +that on a certain statue of Artemis rain or snow never falls though +the statue stands in the open air, or that those who enter God’s +shrine in Arcadia lose their natural shadows, I cannot really be expected +to argue upon the subject. For these things are not only utterly +improbable but absolutely impossible.’</p> +<p>‘For us to argue reasonably on an acknowledged absurdity is +as vain a task as trying to catch water in a sieve; it is really to +admit the possibility of the supernatural, which is the very point at +issue.’</p> +<p>What Polybius felt was that to admit the possibility of a miracle +is to annihilate the possibility of history: for just as scientific +and chemical experiments would be either impossible or useless if exposed +to the chance of continued interference on the part of some foreign +body, so the laws and principles which govern history, the causes of +phenomena, the evolution of progress, the whole science, in a word, +of man’s dealings with his own race and with nature, will remain +a sealed book to him who admits the possibility of extra-natural interference.</p> +<p>The stories of miracles, then, are to be rejected on <i>a priori</i> +rational grounds, but in the case of events which we know to have happened +the scientific historian will not rest till he has discovered their +natural causes which, for instance, in the case of the wonderful rise +of the Roman Empire—the most marvellous thing, Polybius says, +which God ever brought about <a name="citation200a"></a><a href="#footnote200a">{200a}</a>—are +to be found in the excellence of their constitution (τη ιδιοτητι +της πολιτειας), +the wisdom of their advisers, their splendid military arrangements, +and their superstition (τη δεισιδαιμονια). +For while Polybius regarded the revealed religion as, of course, objective +reality of truth, <a name="citation200b"></a><a href="#footnote200b">{200b}</a> +he laid great stress on its moral subjective influence, going, in one +passage on the subject, even so far as almost to excuse the introduction +of the supernatural in very small quantities into history on account +of the extremely good effect it would have on pious people.</p> +<p>But perhaps there is no passage in the whole of ancient and modern +history which breathes such a manly and splendid spirit of rationalism +as one preserved to us in the Vatican—strange resting-place for +it!—in which he treats of the terrible decay of population which +had fallen on his native land in his own day, and which by the general +orthodox public was regarded as a special judgment of God, sending childlessness +on women as a punishment for the sins of the people. For it was +a disaster quite without parallel in the history of the land, and entirely +unforeseen by any of its political-economy writers who, on the contrary, +were always anticipating that danger would arise from an excess of population +overrunning its means of subsistence, and becoming unmanageable through +its size. Polybius, however, will have nothing to do with either +priest or worker of miracles in this matter. He will not even +seek that ‘sacred Heart of Greece,’ Delphi, Apollo’s +shrine, whose inspiration even Thucydides admitted and before whose +wisdom Socrates bowed. How foolish, he says, were the man who +on this matter would pray to God. We must search for the rational +causes, and the causes are seen to be clear, and the method of prevention +also. He then proceeds to notice how all this arose from the general +reluctance to marriage and to bearing the expense of educating a large +family which resulted from the carelessness and avarice of the men of +his day, and he explains on entirely rational principles the whole of +this apparently supernatural judgment.</p> +<p>Now, it is to be borne in mind that while his rejection of miracles +as violation of inviolable laws is entirely <i>a priori</i>—for, +discussion of such a matter is, of course, impossible for a rational +thinker—yet his rejection of supernatural intervention rests entirely +on the scientific grounds of the necessity of looking for natural causes. +And he is quite logical in maintaining his position on these principles. +For, where it is either difficult or impossible to assign any rational +cause for phenomena, or to discover their laws, he acquiesces reluctantly +in the alternative of admitting some extra-natural interference which +his essentially scientific method of treating the matter has logically +forced on him, approving, for instance, of prayers for rain, on the +express ground that the laws of meteorology had not yet been ascertained. +He would, of course, have been the first to welcome our modern discoveries +in the matter. The passage in question is in every way one of +the most interesting in his whole work, not, of course, as signifying +any inclination on his part to acquiesce in the supernatural, but because +it shows how essentially logical and rational his method of argument +was, and how candid and fair his mind.</p> +<p>Having now examined Polybius’s attitude towards the supernatural +and the general ideas which guided his research, I will proceed to examine +the method he pursued in his scientific investigation of the complex +phenomena of life. For, as I have said before in the course of +this essay, what is important in all great writers is not so much the +results they arrive at as the methods they pursue. The increased +knowledge of facts may alter any conclusion in history as in physical +science, and the canons of speculative historical credibility must be +acknowledged to appeal rather to that subjective attitude of mind which +we call the historic sense than to any formulated objective rules. +But a scientific method is a gain for all time, and the true if not +the only progress of historical criticism consists in the improvement +of the instruments of research.</p> +<p>Now first, as regards his conception of history, I have already pointed +out that it was to him essentially a search for causes, a problem to +be solved, not a picture to be painted, a scientific investigation into +laws and tendencies, not a mere romantic account of startling incident +and wondrous adventure. Thucydides, in the opening of his great +work, had sounded the first note of the scientific conception of history. +‘The absence of romance in my pages,’ he says, ‘will, +I fear, detract somewhat from its value, but I have written my work +not to be the exploit of a passing hour but as the possession of all +time.’ <a name="citation203"></a><a href="#footnote203">{203}</a> +Polybius follows with words almost entirely similar. If, he says, +we banish from history the consideration of causes, methods and motives +(το δια τι, και +πως, και τινος +χαριν), and refuse to consider how far the result +of anything is its rational consequent, what is left is a mere αyωνισμα, +not a μαθημα, an oratorical essay which +may give pleasure for the moment, but which is entirely without any +scientific value for the explanation of the future. Elsewhere +he says that ‘history robbed of the exposition of its causes and +laws is a profitless thing, though it may allure a fool.’ +And all through his history the same point is put forward and exemplified +in every fashion.</p> +<p>So far for the conception of history. Now for the groundwork. +As regards the character of the phenomena to be selected by the scientific +investigator, Aristotle had laid down the general formula that nature +should be studied in her normal manifestations. Polybius, true +to his character of applying explicitly the principles implicit in the +work of others, follows out the doctrine of Aristotle, and lays particular +stress on the rational and undisturbed character of the development +of the Roman constitution as affording special facilities for the discovery +of the laws of its progress. Political revolutions result from +causes either external or internal. The former are mere disturbing +forces which lie outside the sphere of scientific calculation. +It is the latter which are important for the establishing of principles +and the elucidation of the sequences of rational evolution.</p> +<p>He thus may be said to have anticipated one of the most important +truths of the modern methods of investigation: I mean that principle +which lays down that just as the study of physiology should precede +the study of pathology, just as the laws of disease are best discovered +by the phenomena presented in health, so the method of arriving at all +great social and political truths is by the investigation of those cases +where development has been normal, rational and undisturbed.</p> +<p>The critical canon that the more a people has been interfered with, +the more difficult it becomes to generalise the laws of its progress +and to analyse the separate forces of its civilisation, is one the validity +of which is now generally recognised by those who pretend to a scientific +treatment of all history: and while we have seen that Aristotle anticipated +it in a general formula, to Polybius belongs the honour of being the +first to apply it explicitly in the sphere of history.</p> +<p>I have shown how to this great scientific historian the motive of +his work was essentially the search for causes; and true to his analytical +spirit he is careful to examine what a cause really is and in what part +of the antecedents of any consequent it is to be looked for. To +give an illustration: As regards the origin of the war with Perseus, +some assigned as causes the expulsion of Abrupolis by Perseus, the expedition +of the latter to Delphi, the plot against Eumenes and the seizure of +the ambassadors in Bœotia; of these incidents the two former, +Polybius points out, were merely the pretexts, the two latter merely +the occasions of the war. The war was really a legacy left to +Perseus by his father, who was determined to fight it out with Rome. +<a name="citation205"></a><a href="#footnote205">{205}</a></p> +<p>Here as elsewhere he is not originating any new idea. Thucydides +had pointed out the difference between the real and the alleged cause, +and the Aristotelian dictum about revolutions, ου περι +μικρων αλλ εκ +μικρων, draws the distinction between cause +and occasion with the brilliancy of an epigram. But the explicit +and rational investigation of the difference between αιτια, +αρχη and προφασις +was reserved for Polybius. No canon of historical criticism can +be said to be of more real value than that involved in this distinction, +and the overlooking of it has filled our histories with the contemptible +accounts of the intrigues of courtiers and of kings and the petty plottings +of backstairs influence—particulars interesting, no doubt, to +those who would ascribe the Reformation to Anne Boleyn’s pretty +face, the Persian war to the influence of a doctor or a curtain-lecture +from Atossa, or the French Revolution to Madame de Maintenon, but without +any value for those who aim at any scientific treatment of history.</p> +<p>But the question of method, to which I am compelled always to return, +is not yet exhausted. There is another aspect in which it may +be regarded, and I shall now proceed to treat of it.</p> +<p>One of the greatest difficulties with which the modern historian +has to contend is the enormous complexity of the facts which come under +his notice: D’Alembert’s suggestion that at the end of every +century a selection of facts should be made and the rest burned (if +it was really intended seriously) could not, of course, be entertained +for a moment. A problem loses all its value when it becomes simplified, +and the world would be all the poorer if the Sybil of History burned +her volumes. Besides, as Gibbon pointed out, ‘a Montesquieu +will detect in the most insignificant fact relations which the vulgar +overlook.’</p> +<p>Nor can the scientific investigator of history isolate the particular +elements, which he desires to examine, from disturbing and extraneous +causes, as the experimental chemist can do (though sometimes, as in +the case of lunatic asylums and prisons, he is enabled to observe phenomena +in a certain degree of isolation). So he is compelled either to +use the deductive mode of arguing from general laws or to employ the +method of abstraction which gives a fictitious isolation to phenomena +never so isolated in actual existence. And this is exactly what +Polybius has done as well as Thucydides. For, as has been well +remarked, there is in the works of these two writers a certain plastic +unity of type and motive; whatever they write is penetrated through +and through with a specific quality, a singleness and concentration +of purpose, which we may contrast with the more comprehensive width +as manifested not merely in the modern mind, but also in Herodotus. +Thucydides, regarding society as influenced entirely by political motives, +took no account of forces of a different nature, and consequently his +results, like those of most modern political economists, have to be +modified largely <a name="citation207"></a><a href="#footnote207">{207}</a> +before they come to correspond with what we know was the actual state +of fact. Similarly, Polybius will deal only with those forces +which tended to bring the civilised world under the dominion of Rome +(ix. 1), and in the Thucydidean spirit points out the want of picturesqueness +and romance in his pages which is the result of the abstract method +(το μονοειδες +της συνταξεως), +being careful also to tell us that his rejection of all other forces +is essentially deliberate and the result of a preconceived theory and +by no means due to carelessness of any kind.</p> +<p>Now, of the general value of the abstract method and the legality +of its employment in the sphere of history, this is perhaps not the +suitable occasion for any discussion. It is, however, in all ways +worthy of note that Polybius is not merely conscious of, but dwells +with particular weight on, the fact which is usually urged as the strongest +objection to the employment of the abstract method—I mean the +conception of a society as a sort of human organism whose parts are +indissolubly connected with one another and all affected when one member +is in any way agitated. This conception of the organic nature +of society appears first in Plato and Aristotle, who apply it to cities. +Polybius, as his wont is, expands it to be a general characteristic +of all history. It is an idea of the very highest importance, +especially to a man like Polybius whose thoughts are continually turned +towards the essential unity of history and the impossibility of isolation.</p> +<p>Farther, as regards the particular method of investigating that group +of phenomena obtained for him by the abstract method, he will adopt, +he tells us, neither the purely deductive nor the purely inductive mode +but the union of both. In other words, he formally adopts that +method of analysis upon the importance of which I have dwelt before.</p> +<p>And lastly, while, without doubt, enormous simplicity in the elements +under consideration is the result of the employment of the abstract +method, even within the limit thus obtained a certain selection must +be made, and a selection involves a theory. For the facts of life +cannot be tabulated with as great an ease as the colours of birds and +insects can be tabulated. Now, Polybius points out that those +phenomena particularly are to be dwelt on which may serve as a παραδειyμα +or sample, and show the character of the tendencies of the age as clearly +as ‘a single drop from a full cask will be enough to disclose +the nature of the whole contents.’ This recognition of the +importance of single facts, not in themselves but because of the spirit +they represent, is extremely scientific; for we know that from the single +bone, or tooth even, the anatomist can recreate entirely the skeleton +of the primeval horse, and the botanist tell the character of the flora +and fauna of a district from a single specimen.</p> +<p>Regarding truth as ‘the most divine thing in Nature,’ +the very ‘eye and light of history without which it moves a blind +thing,’ Polybius spared no pains in the acquisition of historical +materials or in the study of the sciences of politics and war, which +he considered were so essential to the training of the scientific historian, +and the labour he took is mirrored in the many ways in which he criticises +other authorities.</p> +<p>There is something, as a rule, slightly contemptible about ancient +criticism. The modern idea of the critic as the interpreter, the +expounder of the beauty and excellence of the work he selects, seems +quite unknown. Nothing can be more captious or unfair, for instance, +than the method by which Aristotle criticised the ideal state of Plato +in his ethical works, and the passages quoted by Polybius from Timæus +show that the latter historian fully deserved the punning name given +to him. But in Polybius there is, I think, little of that bitterness +and pettiness of spirit which characterises most other writers, and +an incidental story he tells of his relations with one of the historians +whom he criticised shows that he was a man of great courtesy and refinement +of taste—as, indeed, befitted one who had lived always in the +society of those who were of great and noble birth.</p> +<p>Now, as regards the character of the canons by which he criticises +the works of other authors, in the majority of cases he employs simply +his own geographical and military knowledge, showing, for instance, +the impossibility in the accounts given of Nabis’s march from +Sparta simply by his acquaintance with the spots in question; or the +inconsistency of those of the battle of Issus; or of the accounts given +by Ephorus of the battles of Leuctra and Mantinea. In the latter +case he says, if any one will take the trouble to measure out the ground +of the site of the battle and then test the manœuvres given, he +will find how inaccurate the accounts are.</p> +<p>In other cases he appeals to public documents, the importance of +which he was always foremost in recognising; showing, for instance, +by a document in the public archives of Rhodes how inaccurate were the +accounts given of the battle of Lade by Zeno and Antisthenes. +Or he appeals to psychological probability, rejecting, for instance, +the scandalous stories told of Philip of Macedon, simply from the king’s +general greatness of character, and arguing that a boy so well educated +and so respectably connected as Demochares (xii. 14) could never have +been guilty of that of which evil rumour accused him.</p> +<p>But the chief object of his literary censure is Timæus, who +had been so unsparing of his strictures on others. The general +point which he makes against him, impugning his accuracy as a historian, +is that he derived his knowledge of history not from the dangerous perils +of a life of action but in the secure indolence of a narrow scholastic +life. There is, indeed, no point on which he is so vehement as +this. ‘A history,’ he says, ‘written in a library +gives as lifeless and as inaccurate a picture of history as a painting +which is copied not from a living animal but from a stuffed one.’</p> +<p>There is more difference, he says in another place, between the history +of an eye-witness and that of one whose knowledge comes from books, +than there is between the scenes of real life and the fictitious landscapes +of theatrical scenery. Besides this, he enters into somewhat elaborate +detailed criticism of passages where he thought Timæus was following +a wrong method and perverting truth, passages which it will be worth +while to examine in detail.</p> +<p>Timæus, from the fact of there being a Roman custom to shoot +a war-horse on a stated day, argued back to the Trojan origin of that +people. Polybius, on the other hand, points out that the inference +is quite unwarrantable, because horse-sacrifices are ordinary institutions +common to all barbarous tribes. Timæus here, as was so common +with Greek writers, is arguing back from some custom of the present +to an historical event in the past. Polybius really is employing +the comparative method, showing how the custom was an ordinary step +in the civilisation of every early people.</p> +<p>In another place, <a name="citation211"></a><a href="#footnote211">{211}</a> +he shows how illogical is the scepticism of Timæus as regards +the existence of the Bull of Phalaris simply by appealing to the statue +of the Bull, which was still to be seen in Carthage; pointing out how +impossible it was, on any other theory except that it belonged to Phalaris, +to account for the presence in Carthage of a bull of this peculiar character +with a door between his shoulders. But one of the great points +which he uses against this Sicilian historian is in reference to the +question of the origin of the Locrian colony. In accordance with +the received tradition on the subject, Aristotle had represented the +Locrian colony as founded by some Parthenidæ or slaves’ +children, as they were called, a statement which seems to have roused +the indignation of Timæus, who went to a good deal of trouble +to confute this theory. He does so on the following grounds:—</p> +<p>First of all, he points out that in the ancient days the Greeks had +no slaves at all, so the mention of them in the matter is an anachronism; +and next he declares that he was shown in the Greek city of Locris certain +ancient inscriptions in which their relation to the Italian city was +expressed in terms of the position between parent and child, which showed +also that mutual rights of citizenship were accorded to each city. +Besides this, he appeals to various questions of improbability as regards +their international relationship, on which Polybius takes diametrically +opposite grounds which hardly call for discussion. And in favour +of his own view he urges two points more: first, that the Lacedæmonians +being allowed furlough for the purpose of seeing their wives at home, +it was unlikely that the Locrians should not have had the same privilege; +and next, that the Italian Locrians knew nothing of the Aristotelian +version and had, on the contrary, very severe laws against adulterers, +runaway slaves and the like. Now, most of these questions rest +on mere probability, which is always such a subjective canon that an +appeal to it is rarely conclusive. I would note, however, as regards +the inscriptions which, if genuine, would of course have settled the +matter, that Polybius looks on them as a mere invention on the part +of Timæus, who, he remarks, gives no details about them, though, +as a rule, he is so over-anxious to give chapter and verse for everything. +A somewhat more interesting point is that where he attacks Timæus +for the introduction of fictitious speeches into his narrative; for +on this point Polybius seems to be far in advance of the opinions held +by literary men on the subject not merely in his own day, but for centuries +after. Herodotus had introduced speeches avowedly dramatic and +fictitious. Thucydides states clearly that, where he was unable +to find out what people really said, he put down what they ought to +have said. Sallust alludes, it is true, to the fact of the speech +he puts into the mouth of the tribune Memmius being essentially genuine, +but the speeches given in the senate on the occasion of the Catilinarian +conspiracy are very different from the same orations as they appear +in Cicero. Livy makes his ancient Romans wrangle and chop logic +with all the subtlety of a Hortensius or a Scævola. And +even in later days, when shorthand reporters attended the debates of +the senate and a <i>Daily News</i> was published in Rome, we find that +one of the most celebrated speeches in Tacitus (that in which the Emperor +Claudius gives the Gauls their freedom) is shown, by an inscription +discovered recently at Lugdunum, to be entirely fabulous.</p> +<p>Upon the other hand, it must be borne in mind that these speeches +were not intended to deceive; they were regarded merely as a certain +dramatic element which it was allowable to introduce into history for +the purpose of giving more life and reality to the narration, and were +to be criticised, not as we should, by arguing how in an age before +shorthand was known such a report was possible or how, in the failure +of written documents, tradition could bring down such an accurate verbal +account, but by the higher test of their psychological probability as +regards the persons in whose mouths they are placed. An ancient +historian in answer to modern criticism would say, probably, that these +fictitious speeches were in reality more truthful than the actual ones, +just as Aristotle claimed for poetry a higher degree of truth in comparison +to history. The whole point is interesting as showing how far +in advance of his age Polybius may be said to have been.</p> +<p>The last scientific historian, it is possible to gather from his +writings what he considered were the characteristics of the ideal writer +of history; and no small light will be thrown on the progress of historical +criticism if we strive to collect and analyse what in Polybius are more +or less scattered expressions. The ideal historian must be contemporary +with the events he describes, or removed from them by one generation +only. Where it is possible, he is to be an eye-witness of what +he writes of; where that is out of his power he is to test all traditions +and stories carefully and not to be ready to accept what is plausible +in place of what is true. He is to be no bookworm living aloof +from the experiences of the world in the artificial isolation of a university +town, but a politician, a soldier, and a traveller, a man not merely +of thought but of action, one who can do great things as well as write +of them, who in the sphere of history could be what Byron and Æschylus +were in the sphere of poetry, at once <i>le chantre et le héros.</i></p> +<p>He is to keep before his eyes the fact that chance is merely a synonym +for our ignorance; that the reign of law pervades the domain of history +as much as it does that of political science. He is to accustom +himself to look on all occasions for rational and natural causes. +And while he is to recognise the practical utility of the supernatural, +in an educational point of view, he is not himself to indulge in such +intellectual beating of the air as to admit the possibility of the violation +of inviolable laws, or to argue in a sphere wherein argument is <i>a +priori</i> annihilated. He is to be free from all bias towards +friend and country; he is to be courteous and gentle in criticism; he +is not to regard history as a mere opportunity for splendid and tragic +writing; nor is he to falsify truth for the sake of a paradox or an +epigram.</p> +<p>While acknowledging the importance of particular facts as samples +of higher truths, he is to take a broad and general view of humanity. +He is to deal with the whole race and with the world, not with particular +tribes or separate countries. He is to bear in mind that the world +is really an organism wherein no one part can be moved without the others +being affected also. He is to distinguish between cause and occasion, +between the influence of general laws and particular fancies, and he +is to remember that the greatest lessons of the world are contained +in history and that it is the historian’s duty to manifest them +so as to save nations from following those unwise policies which always +lead to dishonour and ruin, and to teach individuals to apprehend by +the intellectual culture of history those truths which else they would +have to learn in the bitter school of experience.</p> +<p>Now, as regards his theory of the necessity of the historian’s +being contemporary with the events he describes, so far as the historian +is a mere narrator the remark is undoubtedly true. But to appreciate +the harmony and rational position of the facts of a great epoch, to +discover its laws, the causes which produced it and the effects which +it generates, the scene must be viewed from a certain height and distance +to be completely apprehended. A thoroughly contemporary historian +such as Lord Clarendon or Thucydides is in reality part of the history +he criticises; and, in the case of such contemporary historians as Fabius +and Philistus, Polybius is compelled to acknowledge that they are misled +by patriotic and other considerations. Against Polybius himself +no such accusation can be made. He indeed of all men is able, +as from some lofty tower, to discern the whole tendency of the ancient +world, the triumph of Roman institutions and of Greek thought which +is the last message of the old world and, in a more spiritual sense, +has become the Gospel of the new.</p> +<p>One thing indeed he did not see, or if he saw it, he thought but +little of it—how from the East there was spreading over the world, +as a wave spreads, a spiritual inroad of new religions from the time +when the Pessinuntine mother of the gods, a shapeless mass of stone, +was brought to the eternal city by her holiest citizen, to the day when +the ship <i>Castor and Pollux</i> stood in at Puteoli, and St. Paul +turned his face towards martyrdom and victory at Rome. Polybius +was able to predict, from his knowledge of the causes of revolutions +and the tendencies of the various forms of governments, the uprising +of that democratic tone of thought which, as soon as a seed is sown +in the murder of the Gracchi and the exile of Marius, culminated as +all democratic movements do culminate, in the supreme authority of one +man, the lordship of the world under the world’s rightful lord, +Caius Julius Cæsar. This, indeed, he saw in no uncertain +way. But the turning of all men’s hearts to the East, the +first glimmering of that splendid dawn which broke over the hills of +Galilee and flooded the earth like wine, was hidden from his eyes.</p> +<p>There are many points in the description of the ideal historian which +one may compare to the picture which Plato has given us of the ideal +philosopher. They are both ‘spectators of all time and all +existence.’ Nothing is contemptible in their eyes, for all +things have a meaning, and they both walk in august reasonableness before +all men, conscious of the workings of God yet free from all terror of +mendicant priest or vagrant miracle-worker. But the parallel ends +here. For the one stands aloof from the world-storm of sleet and +hail, his eyes fixed on distant and sunlit heights, loving knowledge +for the sake of knowledge and wisdom for the joy of wisdom, while the +other is an eager actor in the world ever seeking to apply his knowledge +to useful things. Both equally desire truth, but the one because +of its utility, the other for its beauty. The historian regards +it as the rational principle of all true history, and no more. +To the other it comes as an all-pervading and mystic enthusiasm, ‘like +the desire of strong wine, the craving of ambition, the passionate love +of what is beautiful.’</p> +<p>Still, though we miss in the historian those higher and more spiritual +qualities which the philosopher of the Academe alone of all men possessed, +we must not blind ourselves to the merits of that great rationalist +who seems to have anticipated the very latest words of modern science. +Nor yet is he to be regarded merely in the narrow light in which he +is estimated by most modern critics, as the explicit champion of rationalism +and nothing more. For he is connected with another idea, the course +of which is as the course of that great river of his native Arcadia +which, springing from some arid and sun-bleached rock, gathers strength +and beauty as it flows till it reaches the asphodel meadows of Olympia +and the light and laughter of Ionian waters.</p> +<p>For in him we can discern the first notes of that great cult of the +seven-hilled city which made Virgil write his epic and Livy his history, +which found in Dante its highest exponent, which dreamed of an Empire +where the Emperor would care for the bodies and the Pope for the souls +of men, and so has passed into the conception of God’s spiritual +empire and the universal brotherhood of man and widened into the huge +ocean of universal thought as the Peneus loses itself in the sea.</p> +<p>Polybius is the last scientific historian of Greece. The writer +who seems fittingly to complete the progress of thought is a writer +of biographies only. I will not here touch on Plutarch’s +employment of the inductive method as shown in his constant use of inscription +and statue, of public document and building and the like, because they +involve no new method. It is his attitude towards miracles of +which I desire to treat.</p> +<p>Plutarch is philosophic enough to see that in the sense of a violation +of the laws of nature a miracle is impossible. It is absurd, he +says, to imagine that the statue of a saint can speak, and that an inanimate +object not possessing the vocal organs should be able to utter an articulate +sound. Upon the other hand, he protests against science imagining +that, by explaining the natural causes of things, it has explained away +their transcendental meaning. ‘When the tears on the cheek +of some holy statue have been analysed into the moisture which certain +temperatures produce on wood and marble, it yet by no means follows +that they were not a sign of grief and mourning set there by God Himself.’ +When Lampon saw in the prodigy of the one-horned ram the omen of the +supreme rule of Pericles, and when Anaxagoras showed that the abnormal +development was the rational resultant of the peculiar formation of +the skull, the dreamer and the man of science were both right; it was +the business of the latter to consider how the prodigy came about, of +the former to show why it was so formed and what it so portended. +The progression of thought is exemplified in all particulars. +Herodotus had a glimmering sense of the impossibility of a violation +of nature. Thucydides ignored the supernatural. Polybius +rationalised it. Plutarch raises it to its mystical heights again, +though he bases it on law. In a word, Plutarch felt that while +science brings the supernatural down to the natural, yet ultimately +all that is natural is really supernatural. To him, as to many +of our own day, religion was that transcendental attitude of the mind +which, contemplating a world resting on inviolable law, is yet comforted +and seeks to worship God not in the violation but in the fulfilment +of nature.</p> +<p>It may seem paradoxical to quote in connection with the priest of +Chæronea such a pure rationalist as Mr. Herbert Spencer; yet when +we read as the last message of modern science that ‘when the equation +of life has been reduced to its lowest terms the symbols are symbols +still,’ mere signs, that is, of that unknown reality which underlies +all matter and all spirit, we may feel how over the wide strait of centuries +thought calls to thought and how Plutarch has a higher position than +is usually claimed for him in the progress of the Greek intellect.</p> +<p>And, indeed, it seems that not merely the importance of Plutarch +himself but also that of the land of his birth in the evolution of Greek +civilisation has been passed over by modern critics. To us, indeed, +the bare rock to which the Parthenon serves as a crown, and which lies +between Colonus and Attica’s violet hills, will always be the +holiest spot in the land of Greece: and Delphi will come next, and then +the meadows of Eurotas where that noble people lived who represented +in Hellenic thought the reaction of the law of duty against the law +of beauty, the opposition of conduct to culture. Yet, as one stands +on the σχιστη οδος +of Cithæron and looks out on the great double plain of Bœotia, +the enormous importance of the division of Hellas comes to one’s +mind with great force. To the north is Orchomenus and the Minyan +treasure house, seat of those merchant princes of Phœnicia who +brought to Greece the knowledge of letters and the art of working in +gold. Thebes is at our feet with the gloom of the terrible legends +of Greek tragedy still lingering about it, the birthplace of Pindar, +the nurse of Epaminondas and the Sacred Band.</p> +<p>And from out of the plain where ‘Mars loved to dance,’ +rises the Muses’ haunt, Helicon, by whose silver streams Corinna +and Hesiod sang. While far away under the white ægis of +those snow-capped mountains lies Chæronea and the Lion plain where +with vain chivalry the Greeks strove to check Macedon first and afterwards +Rome; Chæronea, where in the Martinmas summer of Greek civilisation +Plutarch rose from the drear waste of a dying religion as the aftermath +rises when the mowers think they have left the field bare.</p> +<p>Greek philosophy began and ended in scepticism: the first and the +last word of Greek history was Faith.</p> +<p>Splendid thus in its death, like winter sunsets, the Greek religion +passed away into the horror of night. For the Cimmerian darkness +was at hand, and when the schools of Athens were closed and the statue +of Athena broken, the Greek spirit passed from the gods and the history +of its own land to the subtleties of defining the doctrine of the Trinity +and the mystical attempts to bring Plato into harmony with Christ and +to reconcile Gethsemane and the Sermon on the Mount with the Athenian +prison and the discussion in the woods of Colonus. The Greek spirit +slept for wellnigh a thousand years. When it woke again, like +Antæus it had gathered strength from the earth where it lay, like +Apollo it had lost none of its divinity through its long servitude.</p> +<p>In the history of Roman thought we nowhere find any of those characteristics +of the Greek Illumination which I have pointed out are the necessary +concomitants of the rise of historical criticism. The conservative +respect for tradition which made the Roman people delight in the ritual +and formulas of law, and is as apparent in their politics as in their +religion, was fatal to any rise of that spirit of revolt against authority +the importance of which, as a factor in intellectual progress, we have +already seen.</p> +<p>The whitened tables of the Pontifices preserved carefully the records +of the eclipses and other atmospherical phenomena, and what we call +the art of verifying dates was known to them at an early time; but there +was no spontaneous rise of physical science to suggest by its analogies +of law and order a new method of research, nor any natural springing +up of the questioning spirit of philosophy with its unification of all +phenomena and all knowledge. At the very time when the whole tide +of Eastern superstition was sweeping into the heart of the Capitol the +Senate banished the Greek philosophers from Rome. And of the three +systems which did at length take some root in the city those of Zeno +and Epicurus were merely used as the rule for the ordering of life, +while the dogmatic scepticism of Carneades, by its very principles, +annihilated the possibility of argument and encouraged a perfect indifference +to research.</p> +<p>Nor were the Romans ever fortunate enough like the Greeks to have +to face the incubus of any dogmatic system of legends and myths, the +immoralities and absurdities of which might excite a revolutionary outbreak +of sceptical criticism. For the Roman religion became as it were +crystallised and isolated from progress at an early period of its evolution. +Their gods remained mere abstractions of commonplace virtues or uninteresting +personifications of the useful things of life. The old primitive +creed was indeed always upheld as a state institution on account of +the enormous facilities it offered for cheating in politics, but as +a spiritual system of belief it was unanimously rejected at a very early +period both by the common people and the educated classes, for the sensible +reason that it was so extremely dull. The former took refuge in +the mystic sensualities of the worship of Isis, the latter in the Stoical +rules of life. The Romans classified their gods carefully in their +order of precedence, analysed their genealogies in the laborious spirit +of modern heraldry, fenced them round with a ritual as intricate as +their law, but never quite cared enough about them to believe in them. +So it was of no account with them when the philosophers announced that +Minerva was merely memory. She had never been much else. +Nor did they protest when Lucretius dared to say of Ceres and of Liber +that they were only the corn of the field and the fruit of the vine. +For they had never mourned for the daughter of Demeter in the asphodel +meadows of Sicily, nor traversed the glades of Cithæron with fawn-skin +and with spear.</p> +<p>This brief sketch of the condition of Roman thought will serve to +prepare us for the almost total want of scientific historical criticism +which we shall discern in their literature, and has, besides, afforded +fresh corroborations of the conditions essential to the rise of this +spirit, and of the modes of thought which it reflects and in which it +is always to be found. Roman historical composition had its origin +in the pontifical college of ecclesiastical lawyers, and preserved to +its close the uncritical spirit which characterised its fountain-head. +It possessed from the outset a most voluminous collection of the materials +of history, which, however, produced merely antiquarians, not historians. +It is so hard to use facts, so easy to accumulate them.</p> +<p>Wearied of the dull monotony of the pontifical annals, which dwelt +on little else but the rise and fall in provisions and the eclipses +of the sun, Cato wrote out a history with his own hand for the instruction +of his child, to which he gave the name of Origines, and before his +time some aristocratic families had written histories in Greek much +in the same spirit in which the Germans of the eighteenth century used +French as the literary language. But the first regular Roman historian +is Sallust. Between the extravagant eulogies passed on this author +by the French (such as De Closset), and Dr. Mommsen’s view of +him as merely a political pamphleteer, it is perhaps difficult to reach +the <i>via media</i> of unbiassed appreciation. He has, at any +rate, the credit of being a purely rationalistic historian, perhaps +the only one in Roman literature. Cicero had a good many qualifications +for a scientific historian, and (as he usually did) thought very highly +of his own powers. On passages of ancient legend, however, he +is rather unsatisfactory, for while he is too sensible to believe them +he is too patriotic to reject them. And this is really the attitude +of Livy, who claims for early Roman legend a certain uncritical homage +from the rest of the subject world. His view in his history is +that it is not worth while to examine the truth of these stories.</p> +<p>In his hands the history of Rome unrolls before our eyes like some +gorgeous tapestry, where victory succeeds victory, where triumph treads +on the heels of triumph, and the line of heroes seems never to end. +It is not till we pass behind the canvas and see the slight means by +which the effect is produced that we apprehend the fact that like most +picturesque writers Livy is an indifferent critic. As regards +his attitude towards the credibility of early Roman history he is quite +as conscious as we are of its mythical and unsound nature. He +will not, for instance, decide whether the Horatii were Albans or Romans; +who was the first dictator; how many tribunes there were, and the like. +His method, as a rule, is merely to mention all the accounts and sometimes +to decide in favour of the most probable, but usually not to decide +at all. No canons of historical criticism will ever discover whether +the Roman women interviewed the mother of Coriolanus of their own accord +or at the suggestion of the senate; whether Remus was killed for jumping +over his brother’s wall or because they quarrelled about birds; +whether the ambassadors found Cincinnatus ploughing or only mending +a hedge. Livy suspends his judgment over these important facts +and history when questioned on their truth is dumb. If he does +select between two historians he chooses the one who is nearer to the +facts he describes. But he is no critic, only a conscientious +writer. It is mere vain waste to dwell on his critical powers, +for they do not exist.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In the case of Tacitus imagination has taken the place of history. +The past lives again in his pages, but through no laborious criticism; +rather through a dramatic and psychological faculty which he specially +possessed.</p> +<p>In the philosophy of history he has no belief. He can never +make up his mind what to believe as regards God’s government of +the world. There is no method in him and none elsewhere in Roman +literature.</p> +<p>Nations may not have missions but they certainly have functions. +And the function of ancient Italy was not merely to give us what is +statical in our institutions and rational in our law, but to blend into +one elemental creed the spiritual aspirations of Aryan and of Semite. +Italy was not a pioneer in intellectual progress, nor a motive power +in the evolution of thought. The owl of the goddess of Wisdom +traversed over the whole land and found nowhere a resting-place. +The dove, which is the bird of Christ, flew straight to the city of +Rome and the new reign began. It was the fashion of early Italian +painters to represent in mediæval costume the soldiers who watched +over the tomb of Christ, and this, which was the result of the frank +anachronism of all true art, may serve to us as an allegory. For +it was in vain that the middle ages strove to guard the buried spirit +of progress. When the dawn of the Greek spirit arose, the sepulchre +was empty, the grave-clothes laid aside. Humanity had risen from +the dead.</p> +<p>The study of Greek, it has been well said, implies the birth of criticism, +comparison and research. At the opening of that education of modern +by ancient thought which we call the Renaissance, it was the words of +Aristotle which sent Columbus sailing to the New World, while a fragment +of Pythagorean astronomy set Copernicus thinking on that train of reasoning +which has revolutionised the whole position of our planet in the universe. +Then it was seen that the only meaning of progress is a return to Greek +modes of thought. The monkish hymns which obscured the pages of +Greek manuscripts were blotted out, the splendours of a new method were +unfolded to the world, and out of the melancholy sea of mediævalism +rose the free spirit of man in all that splendour of glad adolescence, +when the bodily powers seem quickened by a new vitality, when the eye +sees more clearly than its wont and the mind apprehends what was beforetime +hidden from it. To herald the opening of the sixteenth century, +from the little Venetian printing press came forth all the great authors +of antiquity, each bearing on the title-page the words Αλδος +ο Μανουτιος +Ρωμαιος και +Φιλελλην words which may +serve to remind us with what wondrous prescience Polybius saw the world’s +fate when he foretold the material sovereignty of Roman institutions +and exemplified in himself the intellectual empire of Greece.</p> +<p>The course of the study of the spirit of historical criticism has +not been a profitless investigation into modes and forms of thought +now antiquated and of no account. The only spirit which is entirely +removed from us is the mediæval; the Greek spirit is essentially +modern. The introduction of the comparative method of research +which has forced history to disclose its secrets belongs in a measure +to us. Ours, too, is a more scientific knowledge of philology +and the method of survival. Nor did the ancients know anything +of the doctrine of averages or of crucial instances, both of which methods +have proved of such importance in modern criticism, the one adding a +most important proof of the statical elements of history, and exemplifying +the influences of all physical surroundings on the life of man; the +other, as in the single instance of the Moulin Quignon skull, serving +to create a whole new science of prehistoric archæology and to +bring us back to a time when man was coeval with the stone age, the +mammoth and the woolly rhinoceros. But, except these, we have +added no new canon or method to the science of historical criticism. +Across the drear waste of a thousand years the Greek and the modern +spirit join hands.</p> +<p>In the torch race which the Greek boys ran from the Cerameician field +of death to the home of the goddess of Wisdom, not merely he who first +reached the goal but he also who first started with the torch aflame +received a prize. In the Lampadephoria of civilisation and free +thought let us not forget to render due meed of honour to those who +first lit that sacred flame, the increasing splendour of which lights +our footsteps to the far-off divine event of the attainment of perfect +truth.</p> +<h2>LA SAINTE COURTISANE; OR, THE WOMAN COVERED WITH JEWELS</h2> +<p><i>The scene represents a corner of a valley in the Thebaid. +On the right hand of the stage is a cavern. In front of the cavern +stands a great crucifix.</i></p> +<p><i>On the left</i> [<i>sand dunes</i>].</p> +<p><i>The sky is blue like the inside of a cup of lapis lazuli. +The hills are of red sand. Here and there on the hills there are +clumps of thorns.</i></p> +<p>FIRST MAN. Who is she? She makes me afraid. She +has a purple cloak and her hair is like threads of gold. I think +she must be the daughter of the Emperor. I have heard the boatmen +say that the Emperor has a daughter who wears a cloak of purple.</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. She has birds’ wings upon her sandals, and +her tunic is of the colour of green corn. It is like corn in spring +when she stands still. It is like young corn troubled by the shadows +of hawks when she moves. The pearls on her tunic are like many +moons.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. They are like the moons one sees in the water when +the wind blows from the hills.</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. I think she is one of the gods. I think she +comes from Nubia.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. I am sure she is the daughter of the Emperor. +Her nails are stained with henna. They are like the petals of +a rose. She has come here to weep for Adonis.</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. She is one of the gods. I do not know why +she has left her temple. The gods should not leave their temples. +If she speaks to us let us not answer and she will pass by.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. She will not speak to us. She is the daughter +of the Emperor.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Dwells he not here, the beautiful young hermit, he +who will not look on the face of woman?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. Of a truth it is here the hermit dwells.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Why will he not look on the face of woman?</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. We do not know.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Why do ye yourselves not look at me?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. You are covered with bright stones, and you dazzle +our eyes.</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. He who looks at the sun becomes blind. You +are too bright to look at. It is not wise to look at things that +are very bright. Many of the priests in the temples are blind, +and have slaves to lead them.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Where does he dwell, the beautiful young hermit who +will not look on the face of woman? Has he a house of reeds or +a house of burnt clay or does he lie on the hillside? Or does +he make his bed in the rushes?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. He dwells in that cavern yonder.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. What a curious place to dwell in.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. Of old a centaur lived there. When the hermit +came the centaur gave a shrill cry, wept and lamented, and galloped +away.</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. No. It was a white unicorn who lived in the +cave. When it saw the hermit coming the unicorn knelt down and +worshipped him. Many people saw it worshipping him.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. I have talked with people who saw it.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. Some say he was a hewer of wood and worked for +hire. But that may not be true.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. What gods then do ye worship? Or do ye worship +any gods? There are those who have no gods to worship. The +philosophers who wear long beards and brown cloaks have no gods to worship. +They wrangle with each other in the porticoes. The [ ] laugh at +them.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We worship seven gods. We may not tell their +names. It is a very dangerous thing to tell the names of the gods. +No one should ever tell the name of his god. Even the priests +who praise the gods all day long, and eat of their food with them, do +not call them by their right names.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Where are these gods ye worship?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We hide them in the folds of our tunics. We +do not show them to any one. If we showed them to any one they +might leave us.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Where did ye meet with them?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. They were given to us by an embalmer of the dead +who had found them in a tomb. We served him for seven years.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. The dead are terrible. I am afraid of Death.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. Death is not a god. He is only the servant +of the gods.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. He is the only god I am afraid of. Ye have +seen many of the gods?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We have seen many of them. One sees them chiefly +at night time. They pass one by very swiftly. Once we saw +some of the gods at daybreak. They were walking across a plain.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Once as I was passing through the market place I +heard a sophist from Cilicia say that there is only one God. He +said it before many people.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. That cannot be true. We have ourselves seen +many, though we are but common men and of no account. When I saw +them I hid myself in a bush. They did me no harm.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Tell me more about the beautiful young hermit. +Talk to me about the beautiful young hermit who will not look on the +face of woman. What is the story of his days? What mode +of life has he?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We do not understand you.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. What does he do, the beautiful young hermit? +Does he sow or reap? Does he plant a garden or catch fish in a +net? Does he weave linen on a loom? Does he set his hand +to the wooden plough and walk behind the oxen?</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. He being a very holy man does nothing. We +are common men and of no account. We toil all day long in the +sun. Sometimes the ground is very hard.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Do the birds of the air feed him? Do the jackals +share their booty with him?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. Every evening we bring him food. We do not +think that the birds of the air feed him.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Why do ye feed him? What profit have ye in +so doing?</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. He is a very holy man. One of the gods whom +he has offended has made him mad. We think he has offended the +moon.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Go and tell him that one who has come from Alexandria +desires to speak with him.</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We dare not tell him. This hour he is praying +to his God. We pray thee to pardon us for not doing thy bidding.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Are ye afraid of him?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We are afraid of him.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Why are ye afraid of him?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We do not know.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. What is his name?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. The voice that speaks to him at night time in the +cavern calls to him by the name of Honorius. It was also by the +name of Honorius that the three lepers who passed by once called to +him. We think that his name is Honorius.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Why did the three lepers call to him?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. That he might heal them.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Did he heal them?</p> +<p>SECOND MAN. No. They had committed some sin: it was for +that reason they were lepers. Their hands and faces were like +salt. One of them wore a mask of linen. He was a king’s +son.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. What is the voice that speaks to him at night time +in his cave?</p> +<p>FIRST MAN. We do not know whose voice it is. We think +it is the voice of his God. For we have seen no man enter his +cavern nor any come forth from it.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Honorius.</p> +<p>HONORIUS (<i>from within</i>). Who calls Honorius?</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Come forth, Honorius.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>My chamber is ceiled with cedar and odorous with myrrh. The +pillars of my bed are of cedar and the hangings are of purple. +My bed is strewn with purple and the steps are of silver. The +hangings are sewn with silver pomegranates and the steps that are of +silver are strewn with saffron and with myrrh. My lovers hang +garlands round the pillars of my house. At night time they come +with the flute players and the players of the harp. They woo me +with apples and on the pavement of my courtyard they write my name in +wine.</p> +<p>From the uttermost parts of the world my lovers come to me. +The kings of the earth come to me and bring me presents.</p> +<p>When the Emperor of Byzantium heard of me he left his porphyry chamber +and set sail in his galleys. His slaves bare no torches that none +might know of his coming. When the King of Cyprus heard of me +he sent me ambassadors. The two Kings of Libya who are brothers +brought me gifts of amber.</p> +<p>I took the minion of Cæsar from Cæsar and made him my +playfellow. He came to me at night in a litter. He was pale +as a narcissus, and his body was like honey.</p> +<p>The son of the Præfect slew himself in my honour, and the Tetrarch +of Cilicia scourged himself for my pleasure before my slaves.</p> +<p>The King of Hierapolis who is a priest and a robber set carpets for +me to walk on.</p> +<p>Sometimes I sit in the circus and the gladiators fight beneath me. +Once a Thracian who was my lover was caught in the net. I gave +the signal for him to die and the whole theatre applauded. Sometimes +I pass through the gymnasium and watch the young men wrestling or in +the race. Their bodies are bright with oil and their brows are +wreathed with willow sprays and with myrtle. They stamp their +feet on the sand when they wrestle and when they run the sand follows +them like a little cloud. He at whom I smile leaves his companions +and follows me to my home. At other times I go down to the harbour +and watch the merchants unloading their vessels. Those that come +from Tyre have cloaks of silk and earrings of emerald. Those that +come from Massilia have cloaks of fine wool and earrings of brass. +When they see me coming they stand on the prows of their ships and call +to me, but I do not answer them. I go to the little taverns where +the sailors lie all day long drinking black wine and playing with dice +and I sit down with them.</p> +<p>I made the Prince my slave, and his slave who was a Tyrian I made +my Lord for the space of a moon.</p> +<p>I put a figured ring on his finger and brought him to my house. +I have wonderful things in my house.</p> +<p>The dust of the desert lies on your hair and your feet are scratched +with thorns and your body is scorched by the sun. Come with me, +Honorius, and I will clothe you in a tunic of silk. I will smear +your body with myrrh and pour spikenard on your hair. I will clothe +you in hyacinth and put honey in your mouth. Love—</p> +<p>HONORIUS. There is no love but the love of God.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Who is He whose love is greater than that of mortal +men?</p> +<p>HONORIUS. It is He whom thou seest on the cross, Myrrhina. +He is the Son of God and was born of a virgin. Three wise men +who were kings brought Him offerings, and the shepherds who were lying +on the hills were wakened by a great light.</p> +<p>The Sibyls knew of His coming. The groves and the oracles spake +of Him. David and the prophets announced Him. There is no +love like the love of God nor any love that can be compared to it.</p> +<p>The body is vile, Myrrhina. God will raise thee up with a new +body which will not know corruption, and thou wilt dwell in the Courts +of the Lord and see Him whose hair is like fine wool and whose feet +are of brass.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. The beauty . . .</p> +<p>HONORIUS. The beauty of the soul increases till it can see +God. Therefore, Myrrhina, repent of thy sins. The robber +who was crucified beside Him He brought into Paradise. [<i>Exit.</i></p> +<p>MYRRHINA. How strangely he spake to me. And with what +scorn did he regard me. I wonder why he spake to me so strangely.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>HONORIUS. Myrrhina, the scales have fallen from my eyes and +I see now clearly what I did not see before. Take me to Alexandria +and let me taste of the seven sins.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Do not mock me, Honorius, nor speak to me with such +bitter words. For I have repented of my sins and I am seeking +a cavern in this desert where I too may dwell so that my soul may become +worthy to see God.</p> +<p>HONORIUS. The sun is setting, Myrrhina. Come with me +to Alexandria.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. I will not go to Alexandria.</p> +<p>HONORIUS. Farewell, Myrrhina.</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. Honorius, farewell. No, no, do not go.</p> +<p>. . . . .</p> +<p>I have cursed my beauty for what it has done, and cursed the wonder +of my body for the evil that it has brought upon you.</p> +<p>Lord, this man brought me to Thy feet. He told me of Thy coming +upon earth, and of the wonder of Thy birth, and the great wonder of +Thy death also. By him, O Lord, Thou wast revealed to me.</p> +<p>HONORIUS. You talk as a child, Myrrhina, and without knowledge. +Loosen your hands. Why didst thou come to this valley in thy beauty?</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. The God whom thou worshippest led me here that I +might repent of my iniquities and know Him as the Lord.</p> +<p>HONORIUS. Why didst thou tempt me with words?</p> +<p>MYRRHINA. That thou shouldst see Sin in its painted mask and +look on Death in its robe of Shame.</p> +<h2>THE ENGLISH RENAISSANCE OF ART</h2> +<p>‘The English Renaissance of Art’ was delivered as a lecture +for the first time in the Chickering Hall, New York, on January 9, 1882. +A portion of it was reported in the <i>New York Tribune</i> on the following +day and in other American papers subsequently. Since then this +portion has been reprinted, more or less accurately, from time to time, +in unauthorised editions, but not more than one quarter of the lecture +has ever been published.</p> +<p>There are in existence no less than four copies of the lecture, the +earliest of which is entirely in the author’s handwriting. +The others are type-written and contain many corrections and additions +made by the author in manuscript. These have all been collated +and the text here given contains, as nearly as possible, the lecture +in its original form as delivered by the author during his tour in the +United States.</p> +<p>Among the many debts which we owe to the supreme æsthetic faculty +of Goethe is that he was the first to teach us to define beauty in terms +the most concrete possible, to realise it, I mean, always in its special +manifestations. So, in the lecture which I have the honour to +deliver before you, I will not try to give you any abstract definition +of beauty—any such universal formula for it as was sought for +by the philosophy of the eighteenth century—still less to communicate +to you that which in its essence is incommunicable, the virtue by which +a particular picture or poem affects us with a unique and special joy; +but rather to point out to you the general ideas which characterise +the great English Renaissance of Art in this century, to discover their +source, as far as that is possible, and to estimate their future as +far as that is possible.</p> +<p>I call it our English Renaissance because it is indeed a sort of +new birth of the spirit of man, like the great Italian Renaissance of +the fifteenth century, in its desire for a more gracious and comely +way of life, its passion for physical beauty, its exclusive attention +to form, its seeking for new subjects for poetry, new forms of art, +new intellectual and imaginative enjoyments: and I call it our romantic +movement because it is our most recent expression of beauty.</p> +<p>It has been described as a mere revival of Greek modes of thought, +and again as a mere revival of mediæval feeling. Rather +I would say that to these forms of the human spirit it has added whatever +of artistic value the intricacy and complexity and experience of modern +life can give: taking from the one its clearness of vision and its sustained +calm, from the other its variety of expression and the mystery of its +vision. For what, as Goethe said, is the study of the ancients +but a return to the real world (for that is what they did); and what, +said Mazzini, is mediævalism but individuality?</p> +<p>It is really from the union of Hellenism, in its breadth, its sanity +of purpose, its calm possession of beauty, with the adventive, the intensified +individualism, the passionate colour of the romantic spirit, that springs +the art of the nineteenth century in England, as from the marriage of +Faust and Helen of Troy sprang the beautiful boy Euphorion.</p> +<p>Such expressions as ‘classical’ and ‘romantic’ +are, it is true, often apt to become the mere catchwords of schools. +We must always remember that art has only one sentence to utter: there +is for her only one high law, the law of form or harmony—yet between +the classical and romantic spirit we may say that there lies this difference +at least, that the one deals with the type and the other with the exception. +In the work produced under the modern romantic spirit it is no longer +the permanent, the essential truths of life that are treated of; it +is the momentary situation of the one, the momentary aspect of the other +that art seeks to render. In sculpture, which is the type of one +spirit, the subject predominates over the situation; in painting, which +is the type of the other, the situation predominates over the subject.</p> +<p>There are two spirits, then: the Hellenic spirit and the spirit of +romance may be taken as forming the essential elements of our conscious +intellectual tradition, of our permanent standard of taste. As +regards their origin, in art as in politics there is but one origin +for all revolutions, a desire on the part of man for a nobler form of +life, for a freer method and opportunity of expression. Yet, I +think that in estimating the sensuous and intellectual spirit which +presides over our English Renaissance, any attempt to isolate it in +any way from the progress and movement and social life of the age that +has produced it would be to rob it of its true vitality, possibly to +mistake its true meaning. And in disengaging from the pursuits +and passions of this crowded modern world those passions and pursuits +which have to do with art and the love of art, we must take into account +many great events of history which seem to be the most opposed to any +such artistic feeling.</p> +<p>Alien then from any wild, political passion, or from the harsh voice +of a rude people in revolt, as our English Renaissance must seem, in +its passionate cult of pure beauty, its flawless devotion to form, its +exclusive and sensitive nature, it is to the French Revolution that +we must look for the most primary factor of its production, the first +condition of its birth: that great Revolution of which we are all the +children, though the voices of some of us be often loud against it; +that Revolution to which at a time when even such spirits as Coleridge +and Wordsworth lost heart in England, noble messages of love blown across +seas came from your young Republic.</p> +<p>It is true that our modern sense of the continuity of history has +shown us that neither in politics nor in nature are there revolutions +ever but evolutions only, and that the prelude to that wild storm which +swept over France in ’89 and made every king in Europe tremble +for his throne, was first sounded in literature years before the Bastille +fell and the Palace was taken. The way for those red scenes by +Seine and Loire was paved by that critical spirit of Germany and England +which accustomed men to bring all things to the test of reason or utility +or both, while the discontent of the people in the streets of Paris +was the echo that followed the life of Émile and of Werther. +For Rousseau, by silent lake and mountain, had called humanity back +to the golden age that still lies before us and preached a return to +nature, in passionate eloquence whose music still lingers about our +keen northern air. And Goethe and Scott had brought romance back +again from the prison she had lain in for so many centuries—and +what is romance but humanity?</p> +<p>Yet in the womb of the Revolution itself, and in the storm and terror +of that wild time, tendencies were hidden away that the artistic Renaissance +bent to her own service when the time came—a scientific tendency +first, which has borne in our own day a brood of somewhat noisy Titans, +yet in the sphere of poetry has not been unproductive of good. +I do not mean merely in its adding to enthusiasm that intellectual basis +which is its strength, or that more obvious influence about which Wordsworth +was thinking when he said very nobly that poetry was merely the impassioned +expression in the face of science, and that when science would put on +a form of flesh and blood the poet would lend his divine spirit to aid +the transfiguration. Nor do I dwell much on the great cosmical +emotion and deep pantheism of science to which Shelley has given its +first and Swinburne its latest glory of song, but rather on its influence +on the artistic spirit in preserving that close observation and the +sense of limitation as well as of clearness of vision which are the +characteristics of the real artist.</p> +<p>The great and golden rule of art as well as of life, wrote William +Blake, is that the more distinct, sharp and defined the boundary line, +the more perfect is the work of art; and the less keen and sharp the +greater is the evidence of weak imitation, plagiarism and bungling. +‘Great inventors in all ages knew this—Michael Angelo and +Albert Dürer are known by this and by this alone’; and another +time he wrote, with all the simple directness of nineteenth-century +prose, ‘to generalise is to be an idiot.’</p> +<p>And this love of definite conception, this clearness of vision, this +artistic sense of limit, is the characteristic of all great work and +poetry; of the vision of Homer as of the vision of Dante, of Keats and +William Morris as of Chaucer and Theocritus. It lies at the base +of all noble, realistic and romantic work as opposed to colourless and +empty abstractions of our own eighteenth-century poets and of the classical +dramatists of France, or of the vague spiritualities of the German sentimental +school: opposed, too, to that spirit of transcendentalism which also +was root and flower itself of the great Revolution, underlying the impassioned +contemplation of Wordsworth and giving wings and fire to the eagle-like +flight of Shelley, and which in the sphere of philosophy, though displaced +by the materialism and positiveness of our day, bequeathed two great +schools of thought, the school of Newman to Oxford, the school of Emerson +to America. Yet is this spirit of transcendentalism alien to the +spirit of art. For the artist can accept no sphere of life in +exchange for life itself. For him there is no escape from the +bondage of the earth: there is not even the desire of escape.</p> +<p>He is indeed the only true realist: symbolism, which is the essence +of the transcendental spirit, is alien to him. The metaphysical +mind of Asia will create for itself the monstrous, many-breasted idol +of Ephesus, but to the Greek, pure artist, that work is most instinct +with spiritual life which conforms most clearly to the perfect facts +of physical life.</p> +<p>‘The storm of revolution,’ as André Chenier said, +‘blows out the torch of poetry.’ It is not for some +little time that the real influence of such a wild cataclysm of things +is felt: at first the desire for equality seems to have produced personalities +of more giant and Titan stature than the world had ever known before. +Men heard the lyre of Byron and the legions of Napoleon; it was a period +of measureless passions and of measureless despair; ambition, discontent, +were the chords of life and art; the age was an age of revolt: a phase +through which the human spirit must pass but one in which it cannot +rest. For the aim of culture is not rebellion but peace, the valley +perilous where ignorant armies clash by night being no dwelling-place +meet for her to whom the gods have assigned the fresh uplands and sunny +heights and clear, untroubled air.</p> +<p>And soon that desire for perfection, which lay at the base of the +Revolution, found in a young English poet its most complete and flawless +realisation.</p> +<p>Phidias and the achievements of Greek art are foreshadowed in Homer: +Dante prefigures for us the passion and colour and intensity of Italian +painting: the modern love of landscape dates from Rousseau, and it is +in Keats that one discerns the beginning of the artistic renaissance +of England.</p> +<p>Byron was a rebel and Shelley a dreamer; but in the calmness and +clearness of his vision, his perfect self-control, his unerring sense +of beauty and his recognition of a separate realm for the imagination, +Keats was the pure and serene artist, the forerunner of the pre-Raphaelite +school, and so of the great romantic movement of which I am to speak.</p> +<p>Blake had indeed, before him, claimed for art a lofty, spiritual +mission, and had striven to raise design to the ideal level of poetry +and music, but the remoteness of his vision both in painting and poetry +and the incompleteness of his technical powers had been adverse to any +real influence. It is in Keats that the artistic spirit of this +century first found its absolute incarnation.</p> +<p>And these pre-Raphaelites, what were they? If you ask nine-tenths +of the British public what is the meaning of the word æsthetics, +they will tell you it is the French for affectation or the German for +a dado; and if you inquire about the pre-Raphaelites you will hear something +about an eccentric lot of young men to whom a sort of divine crookedness +and holy awkwardness in drawing were the chief objects of art. +To know nothing about their great men is one of the necessary elements +of English education.</p> +<p>As regards the pre-Raphaelites the story is simple enough. +In the year 1847 a number of young men in London, poets and painters, +passionate admirers of Keats all of them, formed the habit of meeting +together for discussions on art, the result of such discussions being +that the English Philistine public was roused suddenly from its ordinary +apathy by hearing that there was in its midst a body of young men who +had determined to revolutionise English painting and poetry. They +called themselves the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.</p> +<p>In England, then as now, it was enough for a man to try and produce +any serious beautiful work to lose all his rights as a citizen; and +besides this, the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood—among whom the names +of Dante Rossetti, Holman Hunt and Millais will be familiar to you—had +on their side three things that the English public never forgives: youth, +power and enthusiasm.</p> +<p>Satire, always as sterile as it is shameful and as impotent as it +is insolent, paid them that usual homage which mediocrity pays to genius—doing, +here as always, infinite harm to the public, blinding them to what is +beautiful, teaching them that irreverence which is the source of all +vileness and narrowness of life, but harming the artist not at all, +rather confirming him in the perfect rightness of his work and ambition. +For to disagree with three-fourths of the British public on all points +is one of the first elements of sanity, one of the deepest consolations +in all moments of spiritual doubt.</p> +<p>As regards the ideas these young men brought to the regeneration +of English art, we may see at the base of their artistic creations a +desire for a deeper spiritual value to be given to art as well as a +more decorative value.</p> +<p>Pre-Raphaelites they called themselves; not that they imitated the +early Italian masters at all, but that in their work, as opposed to +the facile abstractions of Raphael, they found a stronger realism of +imagination, a more careful realism of technique, a vision at once more +fervent and more vivid, an individuality more intimate and more intense.</p> +<p>For it is not enough that a work of art should conform to the æsthetic +demands of its age: there must be also about it, if it is to affect +us with any permanent delight, the impress of a distinct individuality, +an individuality remote from that of ordinary men, and coming near to +us only by virtue of a certain newness and wonder in the work, and through +channels whose very strangeness makes us more ready to give them welcome.</p> +<p><i>La personalité</i>, said one of the greatest of modern +French critics, <i>voilà ce qui nous sauvera.</i></p> +<p>But above all things was it a return to Nature—that formula +which seems to suit so many and such diverse movements: they would draw +and paint nothing but what they saw, they would try and imagine things +as they really happened. Later there came to the old house by +Blackfriars Bridge, where this young brotherhood used to meet and work, +two young men from Oxford, Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris—the +latter substituting for the simpler realism of the early days a more +exquisite spirit of choice, a more faultless devotion to beauty, a more +intense seeking for perfection: a master of all exquisite design and +of all spiritual vision. It is of the school of Florence rather +than of that of Venice that he is kinsman, feeling that the close imitation +of Nature is a disturbing element in imaginative art. The visible +aspect of modern life disturbs him not; rather is it for him to render +eternal all that is beautiful in Greek, Italian, and Celtic legend. +To Morris we owe poetry whose perfect precision and clearness of word +and vision has not been excelled in the literature of our country, and +by the revival of the decorative arts he has given to our individualised +romantic movement the social idea and the social factor also.</p> +<p>But the revolution accomplished by this clique of young men, with +Ruskin’s faultless and fervent eloquence to help them, was not +one of ideas merely but of execution, not one of conceptions but of +creations.</p> +<p>For the great eras in the history of the development of all the arts +have been eras not of increased feeling or enthusiasm in feeling for +art, but of new technical improvements primarily and specially. +The discovery of marble quarries in the purple ravines of Pentelicus +and on the little low-lying hills of the island of Paros gave to the +Greeks the opportunity for that intensified vitality of action, that +more sensuous and simple humanism, to which the Egyptian sculptor working +laboriously in the hard porphyry and rose-coloured granite of the desert +could not attain. The splendour of the Venetian school began with +the introduction of the new oil medium for painting. The progress +in modern music has been due to the invention of new instruments entirely, +and in no way to an increased consciousness on the part of the musician +of any wider social aim. The critic may try and trace the deferred +resolutions of Beethoven <a name="citation253"></a><a href="#footnote253">{253}</a> +to some sense of the incompleteness of the modern intellectual spirit, +but the artist would have answered, as one of them did afterwards, ‘Let +them pick out the fifths and leave us at peace.’</p> +<p>And so it is in poetry also: all this love of curious French metres +like the Ballade, the Villanelle, the Rondel; all this increased value +laid on elaborate alliterations, and on curious words and refrains, +such as you will find in Dante Rossetti and Swinburne, is merely the +attempt to perfect flute and viol and trumpet through which the spirit +of the age and the lips of the poet may blow the music of their many +messages.</p> +<p>And so it has been with this romantic movement of ours: it is a reaction +against the empty conventional workmanship, the lax execution of previous +poetry and painting, showing itself in the work of such men as Rossetti +and Burne-Jones by a far greater splendour of colour, a far more intricate +wonder of design than English imaginative art has shown before. +In Rossetti’s poetry and the poetry of Morris, Swinburne and Tennyson +a perfect precision and choice of language, a style flawless and fearless, +a seeking for all sweet and precious melodies and a sustaining consciousness +of the musical value of each word are opposed to that value which is +merely intellectual. In this respect they are one with the romantic +movement of France of which not the least characteristic note was struck +by Théophile Gautier’s advice to the young poet to read +his dictionary every day, as being the only book worth a poet’s +reading.</p> +<p>While, then, the material of workmanship is being thus elaborated +and discovered to have in itself incommunicable and eternal qualities +of its own, qualities entirely satisfying to the poetic sense and not +needing for their æsthetic effect any lofty intellectual vision, +any deep criticism of life or even any passionate human emotion at all, +the spirit and the method of the poet’s working—what people +call his inspiration—have not escaped the controlling influence +of the artistic spirit. Not that the imagination has lost its +wings, but we have accustomed ourselves to count their innumerable pulsations, +to estimate their limitless strength, to govern their ungovernable freedom.</p> +<p>To the Greeks this problem of the conditions of poetic production, +and the places occupied by either spontaneity or self-consciousness +in any artistic work, had a peculiar fascination. We find it in +the mysticism of Plato and in the rationalism of Aristotle. We +find it later in the Italian Renaissance agitating the minds of such +men as Leonardo da Vinci. Schiller tried to adjust the balance +between form and feeling, and Goethe to estimate the position of self-consciousness +in art. Wordsworth’s definition of poetry as ‘emotion +remembered in tranquillity’ may be taken as an analysis of one +of the stages through which all imaginative work has to pass; and in +Keats’s longing to be ‘able to compose without this fever’ +(I quote from one of his letters), his desire to substitute for poetic +ardour ‘a more thoughtful and quiet power,’ we may discern +the most important moment in the evolution of that artistic life. +The question made an early and strange appearance in your literature +too; and I need not remind you how deeply the young poets of the French +romantic movement were excited and stirred by Edgar Allan Poe’s +analysis of the workings of his own imagination in the creating of that +supreme imaginative work which we know by the name of <i>The Raven.</i></p> +<p>In the last century, when the intellectual and didactic element had +intruded to such an extent into the kingdom which belongs to poetry, +it was against the claims of the understanding that an artist like Goethe +had to protest. ‘The more incomprehensible to the understanding +a poem is the better for it,’ he said once, asserting the complete +supremacy of the imagination in poetry as of reason in prose. +But in this century it is rather against the claims of the emotional +faculties, the claims of mere sentiment and feeling, that the artist +must react. The simple utterance of joy is not poetry any more +than a mere personal cry of pain, and the real experiences of the artist +are always those which do not find their direct expression but are gathered +up and absorbed into some artistic form which seems, from such real +experiences, to be the farthest removed and the most alien.</p> +<p>‘The heart contains passion but the imagination alone contains +poetry,’ says Charles Baudelaire. This too was the lesson +that Théophile Gautier, most subtle of all modern critics, most +fascinating of all modern poets, was never tired of teaching—‘Everybody +is affected by a sunrise or a sunset.’ The absolute distinction +of the artist is not his capacity to feel nature so much as his power +of rendering it. The entire subordination of all intellectual +and emotional faculties to the vital and informing poetic principle +is the surest sign of the strength of our Renaissance.</p> +<p>We have seen the artistic spirit working, first in the delightful +and technical sphere of language, the sphere of expression as opposed +to subject, then controlling the imagination of the poet in dealing +with his subject. And now I would point out to you its operation +in the choice of subject. The recognition of a separate realm +for the artist, a consciousness of the absolute difference between the +world of art and the world of real fact, between classic grace and absolute +reality, forms not merely the essential element of any æsthetic +charm but is the characteristic of all great imaginative work and of +all great eras of artistic creation—of the age of Phidias as of +the age of Michael Angelo, of the age of Sophocles as of the age of +Goethe.</p> +<p>Art never harms itself by keeping aloof from the social problems +of the day: rather, by so doing, it more completely realises for us +that which we desire. For to most of us the real life is the life +we do not lead, and thus, remaining more true to the essence of its +own perfection, more jealous of its own unattainable beauty, is less +likely to forget form in feeling or to accept the passion of creation +as any substitute for the beauty of the created thing.</p> +<p>The artist is indeed the child of his own age, but the present will +not be to him a whit more real than the past; for, like the philosopher +of the Platonic vision, the poet is the spectator of all time and of +all existence. For him no form is obsolete, no subject out of +date; rather, whatever of life and passion the world has known, in desert +of Judæa or in Arcadian valley, by the rivers of Troy or the rivers +of Damascus, in the crowded and hideous streets of a modern city or +by the pleasant ways of Camelot—all lies before him like an open +scroll, all is still instinct with beautiful life. He will take +of it what is salutary for his own spirit, no more; choosing some facts +and rejecting others with the calm artistic control of one who is in +possession of the secret of beauty.</p> +<p>There is indeed a poetical attitude to be adopted towards all things, +but all things are not fit subjects for poetry. Into the secure +and sacred house of Beauty the true artist will admit nothing that is +harsh or disturbing, nothing that gives pain, nothing that is debatable, +nothing about which men argue. He can steep himself, if he wishes, +in the discussion of all the social problems of his day, poor-laws and +local taxation, free trade and bimetallic currency, and the like; but +when he writes on these subjects it will be, as Milton nobly expressed +it, with his left hand, in prose and not in verse, in a pamphlet and +not in a lyric. This exquisite spirit of artistic choice was not +in Byron: Wordsworth had it not. In the work of both these men +there is much that we have to reject, much that does not give us that +sense of calm and perfect repose which should be the effect of all fine, +imaginative work. But in Keats it seemed to have been incarnate, +and in his lovely <i>Ode on a Grecian Urn</i> it found its most secure +and faultless expression; in the pageant of <i>The Earthly Paradise</i> +and the knights and ladies of Burne-Jones it is the one dominant note.</p> +<p>It is to no avail that the Muse of Poetry be called, even by such +a clarion note as Whitman’s, to migrate from Greece and Ionia +and to placard REMOVED and TO LET on the rocks of the snowy Parnassus. +Calliope’s call is not yet closed, nor are the epics of Asia ended; +the Sphinx is not yet silent, nor the fountain of Castaly dry. +For art is very life itself and knows nothing of death; she is absolute +truth and takes no care of fact; she sees (as I remember Mr. Swinburne +insisting on at dinner) that Achilles is even now more actual and real +than Wellington, not merely more noble and interesting as a type and +figure but more positive and real.</p> +<p>Literature must rest always on a principle, and temporal considerations +are no principle at all. For to the poet all times and places +are one; the stuff he deals with is eternal and eternally the same: +no theme is inept, no past or present preferable. The steam whistle +will not affright him nor the flutes of Arcadia weary him: for him there +is but one time, the artistic moment; but one law, the law of form; +but one land, the land of Beauty—a land removed indeed from the +real world and yet more sensuous because more enduring; calm, yet with +that calm which dwells in the faces of the Greek statues, the calm which +comes not from the rejection but from the absorption of passion, the +calm which despair and sorrow cannot disturb but intensify only. +And so it comes that he who seems to stand most remote from his age +is he who mirrors it best, because he has stripped life of what is accidental +and transitory, stripped it of that ‘mist of familiarity which +makes life obscure to us.’</p> +<p>Those strange, wild-eyed sibyls fixed eternally in the whirlwind +of ecstasy, those mighty-limbed and Titan prophets, labouring with the +secret of the earth and the burden of mystery, that guard and glorify +the chapel of Pope Sixtus at Rome—do they not tell us more of +the real spirit of the Italian Renaissance, of the dream of Savonarola +and of the sin of Borgia, than all the brawling boors and cooking women +of Dutch art can teach us of the real spirit of the history of Holland?</p> +<p>And so in our own day, also, the two most vital tendencies of the +nineteenth century—the democratic and pantheistic tendency and +the tendency to value life for the sake of art—found their most +complete and perfect utterance in the poetry of Shelley and Keats who, +to the blind eyes of their own time, seemed to be as wanderers in the +wilderness, preachers of vague or unreal things. And I remember +once, in talking to Mr. Burne-Jones about modern science, his saying +to me, ‘the more materialistic science becomes, the more angels +shall I paint: their wings are my protest in favour of the immortality +of the soul.’</p> +<p>But these are the intellectual speculations that underlie art. +Where in the arts themselves are we to find that breadth of human sympathy +which is the condition of all noble work; where in the arts are we to +look for what Mazzini would call the social ideas as opposed to the +merely personal ideas? By virtue of what claim do I demand for +the artist the love and loyalty of the men and women of the world? +I think I can answer that.</p> +<p>Whatever spiritual message an artist brings to his aid is a matter +for his own soul. He may bring judgment like Michael Angelo or +peace like Angelico; he may come with mourning like the great Athenian +or with mirth like the singer of Sicily; nor is it for us to do aught +but accept his teaching, knowing that we cannot smite the bitter lips +of Leopardi into laughter or burden with our discontent Goethe’s +serene calm. But for warrant of its truth such message must have +the flame of eloquence in the lips that speak it, splendour and glory +in the vision that is its witness, being justified by one thing only—the +flawless beauty and perfect form of its expression: this indeed being +the social idea, being the meaning of joy in art.</p> +<p>Not laughter where none should laugh, nor the calling of peace where +there is no peace; not in painting the subject ever, but the pictorial +charm only, the wonder of its colour, the satisfying beauty of its design.</p> +<p>You have most of you seen, probably, that great masterpiece of Rubens +which hangs in the gallery of Brussels, that swift and wonderful pageant +of horse and rider arrested in its most exquisite and fiery moment when +the winds are caught in crimson banner and the air lit by the gleam +of armour and the flash of plume. Well, that is joy in art, though +that golden hillside be trodden by the wounded feet of Christ and it +is for the death of the Son of Man that that gorgeous cavalcade is passing.</p> +<p>But this restless modern intellectual spirit of ours is not receptive +enough of the sensuous element of art; and so the real influence of +the arts is hidden from many of us: only a few, escaping from the tyranny +of the soul, have learned the secret of those high hours when thought +is not.</p> +<p>And this indeed is the reason of the influence which Eastern art +is having on us in Europe, and of the fascination of all Japanese work. +While the Western world has been laying on art the intolerable burden +of its own intellectual doubts and the spiritual tragedy of its own +sorrows, the East has always kept true to art’s primary and pictorial +conditions.</p> +<p>In judging of a beautiful statue the æsthetic faculty is absolutely +and completely gratified by the splendid curves of those marble lips +that are dumb to our complaint, the noble modelling of those limbs that +are powerless to help us. In its primary aspect a painting has +no more spiritual message or meaning than an exquisite fragment of Venetian +glass or a blue tile from the wall of Damascus: it is a beautifully +coloured surface, nothing more. The channels by which all noble +imaginative work in painting should touch, and do touch the soul, are +not those of the truths of life, nor metaphysical truths. But +that pictorial charm which does not depend on any literary reminiscence +for its effect on the one hand, nor is yet a mere result of communicable +technical skill on the other, comes of a certain inventive and creative +handling of colour. Nearly always in Dutch painting and often +in the works of Giorgione or Titian, it is entirely independent of anything +definitely poetical in the subject, a kind of form and choice in workmanship +which is itself entirely satisfying, and is (as the Greeks would say) +an end in itself.</p> +<p>And so in poetry too, the real poetical quality, the joy of poetry, +comes never from the subject but from an inventive handling of rhythmical +language, from what Keats called the ‘sensuous life of verse.’ +The element of song in the singing accompanied by the profound joy of +motion, is so sweet that, while the incomplete lives of ordinary men +bring no healing power with them, the thorn-crown of the poet will blossom +into roses for our pleasure; for our delight his despair will gild its +own thorns, and his pain, like Adonis, be beautiful in its agony; and +when the poet’s heart breaks it will break in music.</p> +<p>And health in art—what is that? It has nothing to do +with a sane criticism of life. There is more health in Baudelaire +than there is in [Kingsley]. Health is the artist’s recognition +of the limitations of the form in which he works. It is the honour +and the homage which he gives to the material he uses—whether +it be language with its glories, or marble or pigment with their glories—knowing +that the true brotherhood of the arts consists not in their borrowing +one another’s method, but in their producing, each of them by +its own individual means, each of them by keeping its objective limits, +the same unique artistic delight. The delight is like that given +to us by music—for music is the art in which form and matter are +always one, the art whose subject cannot be separated from the method +of its expression, the art which most completely realises the artistic +ideal, and is the condition to which all the other arts are constantly +aspiring.</p> +<p>And criticism—what place is that to have in our culture? +Well, I think that the first duty of an art critic is to hold his tongue +at all times, and upon all subjects: <i>C’est une grande avantage +de n’avoir rien fait</i>, <i>mais il ne faut pas en abuser.</i></p> +<p>It is only through the mystery of creation that one can gain any +knowledge of the quality of created things. You have listened +to <i>Patience</i> for a hundred nights and you have heard me only for +one. It will make, no doubt, that satire more piquant by knowing +something about the subject of it, but you must not judge of æstheticism +by the satire of Mr. Gilbert. As little should you judge of the +strength and splendour of sun or sea by the dust that dances in the +beam, or the bubble that breaks on the wave, as take your critic for +any sane test of art. For the artists, like the Greek gods, are +revealed only to one another, as Emerson says somewhere; their real +value and place time only can show. In this respect also omnipotence +is with the ages. The true critic addresses not the artist ever +but the public only. His work lies with them. Art can never +have any other claim but her own perfection: it is for the critic to +create for art the social aim, too, by teaching the people the spirit +in which they are to approach all artistic work, the love they are to +give it, the lesson they are to draw from it.</p> +<p>All these appeals to art to set herself more in harmony with modern +progress and civilisation, and to make herself the mouthpiece for the +voice of humanity, these appeals to art ‘to have a mission,’ +are appeals which should be made to the public. The art which +has fulfilled the conditions of beauty has fulfilled all conditions: +it is for the critic to teach the people how to find in the calm of +such art the highest expression of their own most stormy passions. +‘I have no reverence,’ said Keats, ‘for the public, +nor for anything in existence but the Eternal Being, the memory of great +men and the principle of Beauty.’</p> +<p>Such then is the principle which I believe to be guiding and underlying +our English Renaissance, a Renaissance many-sided and wonderful, productive +of strong ambitions and lofty personalities, yet for all its splendid +achievements in poetry and in the decorative arts and in painting, for +all the increased comeliness and grace of dress, and the furniture of +houses and the like, not complete. For there can be no great sculpture +without a beautiful national life, and the commercial spirit of England +has killed that; no great drama without a noble national life, and the +commercial spirit of England has killed that too.</p> +<p>It is not that the flawless serenity of marble cannot bear the burden +of the modern intellectual spirit, or become instinct with the fire +of romantic passion—the tomb of Duke Lorenzo and the chapel of +the Medici show us that—but it is that, as Théophile Gautier +used to say, the visible world is dead, <i>le monde visible a disparu.</i></p> +<p>Nor is it again that the novel has killed the play, as some critics +would persuade us—the romantic movement of France shows us that. +The work of Balzac and of Hugo grew up side by side together; nay, more, +were complementary to each other, though neither of them saw it. +While all other forms of poetry may flourish in an ignoble age, the +splendid individualism of the lyrist, fed by its own passion, and lit +by its own power, may pass as a pillar of fire as well across the desert +as across places that are pleasant. It is none the less glorious +though no man follow it—nay, by the greater sublimity of its loneliness +it may be quickened into loftier utterance and intensified into clearer +song. From the mean squalor of the sordid life that limits him, +the dreamer or the idyllist may soar on poesy’s viewless wings, +may traverse with fawn-skin and spear the moonlit heights of Cithæron +though Faun and Bassarid dance there no more. Like Keats he may +wander through the old-world forests of Latmos, or stand like Morris +on the galley’s deck with the Viking when king and galley have +long since passed away. But the drama is the meeting-place of +art and life; it deals, as Mazzini said, not merely with man, but with +social man, with man in his relation to God and to Humanity. It +is the product of a period of great national united energy; it is impossible +without a noble public, and belongs to such ages as the age of Elizabeth +in London and of Pericles at Athens; it is part of such lofty moral +and spiritual ardour as came to Greek after the defeat of the Persian +fleet, and to Englishman after the wreck of the Armada of Spain.</p> +<p>Shelley felt how incomplete our movement was in this respect, and +has shown in one great tragedy by what terror and pity he would have +purified our age; but in spite of <i>The Cenci</i> the drama is one +of the artistic forms through which the genius of the England of this +century seeks in vain to find outlet and expression. He has had +no worthy imitators.</p> +<p>It is rather, perhaps, to you that we should turn to complete and +perfect this great movement of ours, for there is something Hellenic +in your air and world, something that has a quicker breath of the joy +and power of Elizabeth’s England about it than our ancient civilisation +can give us. For you, at least, are young; ‘no hungry generations +tread you down,’ and the past does not weary you with the intolerable +burden of its memories nor mock you with the ruins of a beauty, the +secret of whose creation you have lost. That very absence of tradition, +which Mr. Ruskin thought would rob your rivers of their laughter and +your flowers of their light, may be rather the source of your freedom +and your strength.</p> +<p>To speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance +of the movements of animals, and the unimpeachableness of the sentiment +of trees in the woods and grass by the roadside, has been defined by +one of your poets as a flawless triumph of art. It is a triumph +which you above all nations may be destined to achieve. For the +voices that have their dwelling in sea and mountain are not the chosen +music of Liberty only; other messages are there in the wonder of wind-swept +height and the majesty of silent deep—messages that, if you will +but listen to them, may yield you the splendour of some new imagination, +the marvel of some new beauty.</p> +<p>‘I foresee,’ said Goethe, ‘the dawn of a new literature +which all people may claim as their own, for all have contributed to +its foundation.’ If, then, this is so, and if the materials +for a civilisation as great as that of Europe lie all around you, what +profit, you will ask me, will all this study of our poets and painters +be to you? I might answer that the intellect can be engaged without +direct didactic object on an artistic and historical problem; that the +demand of the intellect is merely to feel itself alive; that nothing +which has ever interested men or women can cease to be a fit subject +for culture.</p> +<p>I might remind you of what all Europe owes to the sorrow of a single +Florentine in exile at Verona, or to the love of Petrarch by that little +well in Southern France; nay, more, how even in this dull, materialistic +age the simple expression of an old man’s simple life, passed +away from the clamour of great cities amid the lakes and misty hills +of Cumberland, has opened out for England treasures of new joy compared +with which the treasures of her luxury are as barren as the sea which +she has made her highway, and as bitter as the fire which she would +make her slave.</p> +<p>But I think it will bring you something besides this, something that +is the knowledge of real strength in art: not that you should imitate +the works of these men; but their artistic spirit, their artistic attitude, +I think you should absorb that.</p> +<p>For in nations, as in individuals, if the passion for creation be +not accompanied by the critical, the æsthetic faculty also, it +will be sure to waste its strength aimlessly, failing perhaps in the +artistic spirit of choice, or in the mistaking of feeling for form, +or in the following of false ideals.</p> +<p>For the various spiritual forms of the imagination have a natural +affinity with certain sensuous forms of art—and to discern the +qualities of each art, to intensify as well its limitations as its powers +of expression, is one of the aims that culture sets before us. +It is not an increased moral sense, an increased moral supervision that +your literature needs. Indeed, one should never talk of a moral +or an immoral poem—poems are either well written or badly written, +that is all. And, indeed, any element of morals or implied reference +to a standard of good or evil in art is often a sign of a certain incompleteness +of vision, often a note of discord in the harmony of an imaginative +creation; for all good work aims at a purely artistic effect. +‘We must be careful,’ said Goethe, ‘not to be always +looking for culture merely in what is obviously moral. Everything +that is great promotes civilisation as soon as we are aware of it.’</p> +<p>But, as in your cities so in your literature, it is a permanent canon +and standard of taste, an increased sensibility to beauty (if I may +say so) that is lacking. All noble work is not national merely, +but universal. The political independence of a nation must not +be confused with any intellectual isolation. The spiritual freedom, +indeed, your own generous lives and liberal air will give you. +From us you will learn the classical restraint of form.</p> +<p>For all great art is delicate art, roughness having very little to +do with strength, and harshness very little to do with power. +‘The artist,’ as Mr. Swinburne says, ‘must be perfectly +articulate.’</p> +<p>This limitation is for the artist perfect freedom: it is at once +the origin and the sign of his strength. So that all the supreme +masters of style—Dante, Sophocles, Shakespeare—are the supreme +masters of spiritual and intellectual vision also.</p> +<p>Love art for its own sake, and then all things that you need will +be added to you.</p> +<p>This devotion to beauty and to the creation of beautiful things is +the test of all great civilised nations. Philosophy may teach +us to bear with equanimity the misfortunes of our neighbours, and science +resolve the moral sense into a secretion of sugar, but art is what makes +the life of each citizen a sacrament and not a speculation, art is what +makes the life of the whole race immortal.</p> +<p>For beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies +fall away like sand, and creeds follow one another like the withered +leaves of autumn; but what is beautiful is a joy for all seasons and +a possession for all eternity.</p> +<p>Wars and the clash of armies and the meeting of men in battle by +trampled field or leagured city, and the rising of nations there must +always be. But I think that art, by creating a common intellectual +atmosphere between all countries, might—if it could not overshadow +the world with the silver wings of peace—at least make men such +brothers that they would not go out to slay one another for the whim +or folly of some king or minister, as they do in Europe. Fraternity +would come no more with the hands of Cain, nor Liberty betray freedom +with the kiss of Anarchy; for national hatreds are always strongest +where culture is lowest.</p> +<p>‘How could I?’ said Goethe, when reproached for not writing +like Korner against the French. ‘How could I, to whom barbarism +and culture alone are of importance, hate a nation which is among the +most cultivated of the earth, a nation to which I owe a great part of +my own cultivation?’</p> +<p>Mighty empires, too, there must always be as long as personal ambition +and the spirit of the age are one, but art at least is the only empire +which a nation’s enemies cannot take from her by conquest, but +which is taken by submission only. The sovereignty of Greece and +Rome is not yet passed away, though the gods of the one be dead and +the eagles of the other tired.</p> +<p>And we in our Renaissance are seeking to create a sovereignty that +will still be England’s when her yellow leopards have grown weary +of wars and the rose of her shield is crimsoned no more with the blood +of battle; and you, too, absorbing into the generous heart of a great +people this pervading artistic spirit, will create for yourselves such +riches as you have never yet created, though your land be a network +of railways and your cities the harbours for the galleys of the world.</p> +<p>I know, indeed, that the divine natural prescience of beauty which +is the inalienable inheritance of Greek and Italian is not our inheritance. +For such an informing and presiding spirit of art to shield us from +all harsh and alien influences, we of the Northern races must turn rather +to that strained self-consciousness of our age which, as it is the key-note +of all our romantic art, must be the source of all or nearly all our +culture. I mean that intellectual curiosity of the nineteenth +century which is always looking for the secret of the life that still +lingers round old and bygone forms of culture. It takes from each +what is serviceable for the modern spirit—from Athens its wonder +without its worship, from Venice its splendour without its sin. +The same spirit is always analysing its own strength and its own weakness, +counting what it owes to East and to West, to the olive-trees of Colonus +and to the palm-trees of Lebanon, to Gethsemane and to the garden of +Proserpine.</p> +<p>And yet the truths of art cannot be taught: they are revealed only, +revealed to natures which have made themselves receptive of all beautiful +impressions by the study and worship of all beautiful things. +And hence the enormous importance given to the decorative arts in our +English Renaissance; hence all that marvel of design that comes from +the hand of Edward Burne-Jones, all that weaving of tapestry and staining +of glass, that beautiful working in clay and metal and wood which we +owe to William Morris, the greatest handicraftsman we have had in England +since the fourteenth century.</p> +<p>So, in years to come there will be nothing in any man’s house +which has not given delight to its maker and does not give delight to +its user. The children, like the children of Plato’s perfect +city, will grow up ‘in a simple atmosphere of all fair things’—I +quote from the passage in the <i>Republic</i>—‘a simple +atmosphere of all fair things, where beauty, which is the spirit of +art, will come on eye and ear like a fresh breath of wind that brings +health from a clear upland, and insensibly and gradually draw the child’s +soul into harmony with all knowledge and all wisdom, so that he will +love what is beautiful and good, and hate what is evil and ugly (for +they always go together) long before he knows the reason why; and then +when reason comes will kiss her on the cheek as a friend.’</p> +<p>That is what Plato thought decorative art could do for a nation, +feeling that the secret not of philosophy merely but of all gracious +existence might be externally hidden from any one whose youth had been +passed in uncomely and vulgar surroundings, and that the beauty of form +and colour even, as he says, in the meanest vessels of the house, will +find its way into the inmost places of the soul and lead the boy naturally +to look for that divine harmony of spiritual life of which art was to +him the material symbol and warrant.</p> +<p>Prelude indeed to all knowledge and all wisdom will this love of +beautiful things be for us; yet there are times when wisdom becomes +a burden and knowledge is one with sorrow: for as every body has its +shadow so every soul has its scepticism. In such dread moments +of discord and despair where should we, of this torn and troubled age, +turn our steps if not to that secure house of beauty where there is +always a little forgetfulness, always a great joy; to that <i>città +divina</i>, as the old Italian heresy called it, the divine city where +one can stand, though only for a brief moment, apart from the division +and terror of the world and the choice of the world too?</p> +<p>This is that <i>consolation des arts</i> which is the keynote of +Gautier’s poetry, the secret of modern life foreshadowed—as +indeed what in our century is not?—by Goethe. You remember +what he said to the German people: ‘Only have the courage,’ +he said, ‘to give yourselves up to your impressions, allow yourselves +to be delighted, moved, elevated, nay instructed, inspired for something +great.’ The courage to give yourselves up to your impressions: +yes, that is the secret of the artistic life—for while art has +been defined as an escape from the tyranny of the senses, it is an escape +rather from the tyranny of the soul. But only to those who worship +her above all things does she ever reveal her true treasure: else will +she be as powerless to aid you as the mutilated Venus of the Louvre +was before the romantic but sceptical nature of Heine.</p> +<p>And indeed I think it would be impossible to overrate the gain that +might follow if we had about us only what gave pleasure to the maker +of it and gives pleasure to its user, that being the simplest of all +rules about decoration. One thing, at least, I think it would +do for us: there is no surer test of a great country than how near it +stands to its own poets; but between the singers of our day and the +workers to whom they would sing there seems to be an ever-widening and +dividing chasm, a chasm which slander and mockery cannot traverse, but +which is spanned by the luminous wings of love.</p> +<p>And of such love I think that the abiding presence in our houses +of noble imaginative work would be the surest seed and preparation. +I do not mean merely as regards that direct literary expression of art +by which, from the little red-and-black cruse of oil or wine, a Greek +boy could learn of the lionlike splendour of Achilles, of the strength +of Hector and the beauty of Paris and the wonder of Helen, long before +he stood and listened in crowded market-place or in theatre of marble; +or by which an Italian child of the fifteenth century could know of +the chastity of Lucrece and the death of Camilla from carven doorway +and from painted chest. For the good we get from art is not what +we learn from it; it is what we become through it. Its real influence +will be in giving the mind that enthusiasm which is the secret of Hellenism, +accustoming it to demand from art all that art can do in rearranging +the facts of common life for us—whether it be by giving the most +spiritual interpretation of one’s own moments of highest passion +or the most sensuous expression of those thoughts that are the farthest +removed from sense; in accustoming it to love the things of the imagination +for their own sake, and to desire beauty and grace in all things. +For he who does not love art in all things does not love it at all, +and he who does not need art in all things does not need it at all.</p> +<p>I will not dwell here on what I am sure has delighted you all in +our great Gothic cathedrals. I mean how the artist of that time, +handicraftsman himself in stone or glass, found the best motives for +his art, always ready for his hand and always beautiful, in the daily +work of the artificers he saw around him—as in those lovely windows +of Chartres—where the dyer dips in the vat and the potter sits +at the wheel, and the weaver stands at the loom: real manufacturers +these, workers with the hand, and entirely delightful to look at, not +like the smug and vapid shopman of our time, who knows nothing of the +web or vase he sells, except that he is charging you double its value +and thinking you a fool for buying it. Nor can I but just note, +in passing, the immense influence the decorative work of Greece and +Italy had on its artists, the one teaching the sculptor that restraining +influence of design which is the glory of the Parthenon, the other keeping +painting always true to its primary, pictorial condition of noble colour +which is the secret of the school of Venice; for I wish rather, in this +lecture at least, to dwell on the effect that decorative art has on +human life—on its social not its purely artistic effect.</p> +<p>There are two kinds of men in the world, two great creeds, two different +forms of natures: men to whom the end of life is action, and men to +whom the end of life is thought. As regards the latter, who seek +for experience itself and not for the fruits of experience, who must +burn always with one of the passions of this fiery-coloured world, who +find life interesting not for its secret but for its situations, for +its pulsations and not for its purpose; the passion for beauty engendered +by the decorative arts will be to them more satisfying than any political +or religious enthusiasm, any enthusiasm for humanity, any ecstasy or +sorrow for love. For art comes to one professing primarily to +give nothing but the highest quality to one’s moments, and for +those moments’ sake. So far for those to whom the end of +life is thought. As regards the others, who hold that life is +inseparable from labour, to them should this movement be specially dear: +for, if our days are barren without industry, industry without art is +barbarism.</p> +<p>Hewers of wood and drawers of water there must be always indeed among +us. Our modern machinery has not much lightened the labour of +man after all: but at least let the pitcher that stands by the well +be beautiful and surely the labour of the day will be lightened: let +the wood be made receptive of some lovely form, some gracious design, +and there will come no longer discontent but joy to the toiler. +For what is decoration but the worker’s expression of joy in his +work? And not joy merely—that is a great thing yet not enough—but +that opportunity of expressing his own individuality which, as it is +the essence of all life, is the source of all art. ‘I have +tried,’ I remember William Morris saying to me once, ‘I +have tried to make each of my workers an artist, and when I say an artist +I mean a man.’ For the worker then, handicraftsman of whatever +kind he is, art is no longer to be a purple robe woven by a slave and +thrown over the whitened body of a leprous king to hide and to adorn +the sin of his luxury, but rather the beautiful and noble expression +of a life that has in it something beautiful and noble.</p> +<p>And so you must seek out your workman and give him, as far as possible, +the right surroundings, for remember that the real test and virtue of +a workman is not his earnestness nor his industry even, but his power +of design merely; and that ‘design is not the offspring of idle +fancy: it is the studied result of accumulative observation and delightful +habit.’ All the teaching in the world is of no avail if +you do not surround your workman with happy influences and with beautiful +things. It is impossible for him to have right ideas about colour +unless he sees the lovely colours of Nature unspoiled; impossible for +him to supply beautiful incident and action unless he sees beautiful +incident and action in the world about him.</p> +<p>For to cultivate sympathy you must be among living things and thinking +about them, and to cultivate admiration you must be among beautiful +things and looking at them. ‘The steel of Toledo and the +silk of Genoa did but give strength to oppression and lustre to pride,’ +as Mr. Ruskin says; let it be for you to create an art that is made +by the hands of the people for the joy of the people, to please the +hearts of the people, too; an art that will be your expression of your +delight in life. There is nothing ‘in common life too mean, +in common things too trivial to be ennobled by your touch’; nothing +in life that art cannot sanctify.</p> +<p>You have heard, I think, a few of you, of two flowers connected with +the æsthetic movement in England, and said (I assure you, erroneously) +to be the food of some æsthetic young men. Well, let me +tell you that the reason we love the lily and the sunflower, in spite +of what Mr. Gilbert may tell you, is not for any vegetable fashion at +all. It is because these two lovely flowers are in England the +two most perfect models of design, the most naturally adapted for decorative +art—the gaudy leonine beauty of the one and the precious loveliness +of the other giving to the artist the most entire and perfect joy. +And so with you: let there be no flower in your meadows that does not +wreathe its tendrils around your pillows, no little leaf in your Titan +forests that does not lend its form to design, no curving spray of wild +rose or brier that does not live for ever in carven arch or window or +marble, no bird in your air that is not giving the iridescent wonder +of its colour, the exquisite curves of its wings in flight, to make +more precious the preciousness of simple adornment. For the voices +that have their dwelling in sea and mountain are not the chosen music +of liberty only. Other messages are there in the wonder of wind-swept +heights and the majesty of silent deep—messages that, if you will +listen to them, will give you the wonder of all new imagination, the +treasure of all new beauty.</p> +<p>We spend our days, each one of us, in looking for the secret of life. +Well, the secret of life is in art.</p> +<h2>HOUSE DECORATION</h2> +<p>A lecture delivered in America during Wilde’s tour in 1882. +It was announced as a lecture on ‘The Practical Application of +the Principles of the Æsthetic Theory to Exterior and Interior +House Decoration, With Observations upon Dress and Personal Ornaments.’ +The earliest date on which it is known to have been given is May 11, +1882.</p> +<p>In my last lecture I gave you something of the history of Art in +England. I sought to trace the influence of the French Revolution +upon its development. I said something of the song of Keats and +the school of the pre-Raphaelites. But I do not want to shelter +the movement, which I have called the English Renaissance, under any +palladium however noble, or any name however revered. The roots +of it have, indeed, to be sought for in things that have long passed +away, and not, as some suppose, in the fancy of a few young men—although +I am not altogether sure that there is anything much better than the +fancy of a few young men.</p> +<p>When I appeared before you on a previous occasion, I had seen nothing +of American art save the Doric columns and Corinthian chimney-pots visible +on your Broadway and Fifth Avenue. Since then, I have been through +your country to some fifty or sixty different cities, I think. +I find that what your people need is not so much high imaginative art +but that which hallows the vessels of everyday use. I suppose +that the poet will sing and the artist will paint regardless whether +the world praises or blames. He has his own world and is independent +of his fellow-men. But the handicraftsman is dependent on your +pleasure and opinion. He needs your encouragement and he must +have beautiful surroundings. Your people love art but do not sufficiently +honour the handicraftsman. Of course, those millionaires who can +pillage Europe for their pleasure need have no care to encourage such; +but I speak for those whose desire for beautiful things is larger than +their means. I find that one great trouble all over is that your +workmen are not given to noble designs. You cannot be indifferent +to this, because Art is not something which you can take or leave. +It is a necessity of human life.</p> +<p>And what is the meaning of this beautiful decoration which we call +art? In the first place, it means value to the workman and it +means the pleasure which he must necessarily take in making a beautiful +thing. The mark of all good art is not that the thing done is +done exactly or finely, for machinery may do as much, but that it is +worked out with the head and the workman’s heart. I cannot +impress the point too frequently that beautiful and rational designs +are necessary in all work. I did not imagine, until I went into +some of your simpler cities, that there was so much bad work done. +I found, where I went, bad wall-papers horribly designed, and coloured +carpets, and that old offender the horse-hair sofa, whose stolid look +of indifference is always so depressing. I found meaningless chandeliers +and machine-made furniture, generally of rosewood, which creaked dismally +under the weight of the ubiquitous interviewer. I came across +the small iron stove which they always persist in decorating with machine-made +ornaments, and which is as great a bore as a wet day or any other particularly +dreadful institution. When unusual extravagance was indulged in, +it was garnished with two funeral urns.</p> +<p>It must always be remembered that what is well and carefully made +by an honest workman, after a rational design, increases in beauty and +value as the years go on. The old furniture brought over by the +Pilgrims, two hundred years ago, which I saw in New England, is just +as good and as beautiful today as it was when it first came here. +Now, what you must do is to bring artists and handicraftsmen together. +Handicraftsmen cannot live, certainly cannot thrive, without such companionship. +Separate these two and you rob art of all spiritual motive.</p> +<p>Having done this, you must place your workman in the midst of beautiful +surroundings. The artist is not dependent on the visible and the +tangible. He has his visions and his dreams to feed on. +But the workman must see lovely forms as he goes to his work in the +morning and returns at eventide. And, in connection with this, +I want to assure you that noble and beautiful designs are never the +result of idle fancy or purposeless day-dreaming. They come only +as the accumulation of habits of long and delightful observation. +And yet such things may not be taught. Right ideas concerning +them can certainly be obtained only by those who have been accustomed +to rooms that are beautiful and colours that are satisfying.</p> +<p>Perhaps one of the most difficult things for us to do is to choose +a notable and joyous dress for men. There would be more joy in +life if we were to accustom ourselves to use all the beautiful colours +we can in fashioning our own clothes. The dress of the future, +I think, will use drapery to a great extent and will abound with joyous +colour. At present we have lost all nobility of dress and, in +doing so, have almost annihilated the modern sculptor. And, in +looking around at the figures which adorn our parks, one could almost +wish that we had completely killed the noble art. To see the frockcoat +of the drawing-room done in bronze, or the double waistcoat perpetuated +in marble, adds a new horror to death. But indeed, in looking +through the history of costume, seeking an answer to the questions we +have propounded, there is little that is either beautiful or appropriate. +One of the earliest forms is the Greek drapery which is so exquisite +for young girls. And then, I think we may be pardoned a little +enthusiasm over the dress of the time of Charles I., so beautiful indeed, +that in spite of its invention being with the Cavaliers it was copied +by the Puritans. And the dress for the children of that time must +not be passed over. It was a very golden age of the little ones. +I do not think that they have ever looked so lovely as they do in the +pictures of that time. The dress of the last century in England +is also peculiarly gracious and graceful. There is nothing bizarre +or strange about it, but it is full of harmony and beauty. In +these days, when we have suffered so dreadfully from the incursions +of the modern milliner, we hear ladies boast that they do not wear a +dress more than once. In the old days, when the dresses were decorated +with beautiful designs and worked with exquisite embroidery, ladies +rather took a pride in bringing out the garment and wearing it many +times and handing it down to their daughters—a process that would, +I think, be quite appreciated by a modern husband when called upon to +settle his wife’s bills.</p> +<p>And how shall men dress? Men say that they do not particularly +care how they dress, and that it is little matter. I am bound +to reply that I do not think that you do. In all my journeys through +the country, the only well-dressed men that I saw—and in saying +this I earnestly deprecate the polished indignation of your Fifth Avenue +dandies—were the Western miners. Their wide-brimmed hats, +which shaded their faces from the sun and protected them from the rain, +and the cloak, which is by far the most beautiful piece of drapery ever +invented, may well be dwelt on with admiration. Their high boots, +too, were sensible and practical. They wore only what was comfortable, +and therefore beautiful. As I looked at them I could not help +thinking with regret of the time when these picturesque miners would +have made their fortunes and would go East to assume again all the abominations +of modern fashionable attire. Indeed, so concerned was I that +I made some of them promise that when they again appeared in the more +crowded scenes of Eastern civilisation they would still continue to +wear their lovely costume. But I do not believe they will.</p> +<p>Now, what America wants today is a school of rational art. +Bad art is a great deal worse than no art at all. You must show +your workmen specimens of good work so that they come to know what is +simple and true and beautiful. To that end I would have you have +a museum attached to these schools—not one of those dreadful modern +institutions where there is a stuffed and very dusty giraffe, and a +case or two of fossils, but a place where there are gathered examples +of art decoration from various periods and countries. Such a place +is the South Kensington Museum in London whereon we build greater hopes +for the future than on any other one thing. There I go every Saturday +night, when the museum is open later than usual, to see the handicraftsman, +the wood-worker, the glass-blower and the worker in metals. And +it is here that the man of refinement and culture comes face to face +with the workman who ministers to his joy. He comes to know more +of the nobility of the workman, and the workman, feeling the appreciation, +comes to know more of the nobility of his work.</p> +<p>You have too many white walls. More colour is wanted. +You should have such men as Whistler among you to teach you the beauty +and joy of colour. Take Mr. Whistler’s ‘Symphony in +White,’ which you no doubt have imagined to be something quite +bizarre. It is nothing of the sort. Think of a cool grey +sky flecked here and there with white clouds, a grey ocean and three +wonderfully beautiful figures robed in white, leaning over the water +and dropping white flowers from their fingers. Here is no extensive +intellectual scheme to trouble you, and no metaphysics of which we have +had quite enough in art. But if the simple and unaided colour +strike the right keynote, the whole conception is made clear. +I regard Mr. Whistler’s famous Peacock Room as the finest thing +in colour and art decoration which the world has known since Correggio +painted that wonderful room in Italy where the little children are dancing +on the walls. Mr. Whistler finished another room just before I +came away—a breakfast room in blue and yellow. The ceiling +was a light blue, the cabinet-work and the furniture were of a yellow +wood, the curtains at the windows were white and worked in yellow, and +when the table was set for breakfast with dainty blue china nothing +can be conceived at once so simple and so joyous.</p> +<p>The fault which I have observed in most of your rooms is that there +is apparent no definite scheme of colour. Everything is not attuned +to a key-note as it should be. The apartments are crowded with +pretty things which have no relation to one another. Again, your +artists must decorate what is more simply useful. In your art +schools I found no attempt to decorate such things as the vessels for +water. I know of nothing uglier than the ordinary jug or pitcher. +A museum could be filled with the different kinds of water vessels which +are used in hot countries. Yet we continue to submit to the depressing +jug with the handle all on one side. I do not see the wisdom of +decorating dinner-plates with sunsets and soup-plates with moonlight +scenes. I do not think it adds anything to the pleasure of the +canvas-back duck to take it out of such glories. Besides, we do +not want a soup-plate whose bottom seems to vanish in the distance. +One feels neither safe nor comfortable under such conditions. +In fact, I did not find in the art schools of the country that the difference +was explained between decorative and imaginative art.</p> +<p>The conditions of art should be simple. A great deal more depends +upon the heart than upon the head. Appreciation of art is not +secured by any elaborate scheme of learning. Art requires a good +healthy atmosphere. The motives for art are still around about +us as they were round about the ancients. And the subjects are +also easily found by the earnest sculptor and the painter. Nothing +is more picturesque and graceful than a man at work. The artist +who goes to the children’s playground, watches them at their sport +and sees the boy stop to tie his shoe, will find the same themes that +engaged the attention of the ancient Greeks, and such observation and +the illustrations which follow will do much to correct that foolish +impression that mental and physical beauty are always divorced.</p> +<p>To you, more than perhaps to any other country, has Nature been generous +in furnishing material for art workers to work in. You have marble +quarries where the stone is more beautiful in colour than any the Greeks +ever had for their beautiful work, and yet day after day I am confronted +with the great building of some stupid man who has used the beautiful +material as if it were not precious almost beyond speech. Marble +should not be used save by noble workmen. There is nothing which +gave me a greater sense of barrenness in travelling through the country +than the entire absence of wood carving on your houses. Wood carving +is the simplest of the decorative arts. In Switzerland the little +barefooted boy beautifies the porch of his father’s house with +examples of skill in this direction. Why should not American boys +do a great deal more and better than Swiss boys?</p> +<p>There is nothing to my mind more coarse in conception and more vulgar +in execution than modern jewellery. This is something that can +easily be corrected. Something better should be made out of the +beautiful gold which is stored up in your mountain hollows and strewn +along your river beds. When I was at Leadville and reflected that +all the shining silver that I saw coming from the mines would be made +into ugly dollars, it made me sad. It should be made into something +more permanent. The golden gates at Florence are as beautiful +today as when Michael Angelo saw them.</p> +<p>We should see more of the workman than we do. We should not +be content to have the salesman stand between us—the salesman +who knows nothing of what he is selling save that he is charging a great +deal too much for it. And watching the workman will teach that +most important lesson—the nobility of all rational workmanship.</p> +<p>I said in my last lecture that art would create a new brotherhood +among men by furnishing a universal language. I said that under +its beneficent influences war might pass away. Thinking this, +what place can I ascribe to art in our education? If children +grow up among all fair and lovely things, they will grow to love beauty +and detest ugliness before they know the reason why. If you go +into a house where everything is coarse, you find things chipped and +broken and unsightly. Nobody exercises any care. If everything +is dainty and delicate, gentleness and refinement of manner are unconsciously +acquired. When I was in San Francisco I used to visit the Chinese +Quarter frequently. There I used to watch a great hulking Chinese +workman at his task of digging, and used to see him every day drink +his tea from a little cup as delicate in texture as the petal of a flower, +whereas in all the grand hotels of the land, where thousands of dollars +have been lavished on great gilt mirrors and gaudy columns, I have been +given my coffee or my chocolate in cups an inch and a quarter thick. +I think I have deserved something nicer.</p> +<p>The art systems of the past have been devised by philosophers who +looked upon human beings as obstructions. They have tried to educate +boys’ minds before they had any. How much better it would +be in these early years to teach children to use their hands in the +rational service of mankind. I would have a workshop attached +to every school, and one hour a day given up to the teaching of simple +decorative arts. It would be a golden hour to the children. +And you would soon raise up a race of handicraftsmen who would transform +the face of your country. I have seen only one such school in +the United States, and this was in Philadelphia and was founded by my +friend Mr. Leyland. I stopped there yesterday and have brought +some of the work here this afternoon to show you. Here are two +discs of beaten brass: the designs on them are beautiful, the workmanship +is simple, and the entire result is satisfactory. The work was +done by a little boy twelve years old. This is a wooden bowl decorated +by a little girl of thirteen. The design is lovely and the colouring +delicate and pretty. Here you see a piece of beautiful wood carving +accomplished by a little boy of nine. In such work as this, children +learn sincerity in art. They learn to abhor the liar in art—the +man who paints wood to look like iron, or iron to look like stone. +It is a practical school of morals. No better way is there to +learn to love Nature than to understand Art. It dignifies every +flower of the field. And, the boy who sees the thing of beauty +which a bird on the wing becomes when transferred to wood or canvas +will probably not throw the customary stone. What we want is something +spiritual added to life. Nothing is so ignoble that Art cannot +sanctify it.</p> +<h2>ART AND THE HANDICRAFTSMAN</h2> +<p>The fragments of which this lecture is composed are taken entirely +from the original manuscripts which have but recently been discovered. +It is not certain that they all belong to the same lecture, nor that +all were written at the same period. Some portions were written +in Philadelphia in 1882.</p> +<p>People often talk as if there was an opposition between what is beautiful +and what is useful. There is no opposition to beauty except ugliness: +all things are either beautiful or ugly, and utility will be always +on the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration is +always on the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration +is always an expression of the use you put a thing to and the value +placed on it. No workman will beautifully decorate bad work, nor +can you possibly get good handicraftsmen or workmen without having beautiful +designs. You should be quite sure of that. If you have poor +and worthless designs in any craft or trade you will get poor and worthless +workmen only, but the minute you have noble and beautiful designs, then +you get men of power and intellect and feeling to work for you. +By having good designs you have workmen who work not merely with their +hands but with their hearts and heads too; otherwise you will get merely +the fool or the loafer to work for you.</p> +<p>That the beauty of life is a thing of no moment, I suppose few people +would venture to assert. And yet most civilised people act as +if it were of none, and in so doing are wronging both themselves and +those that are to come after them. For that beauty which is meant +by art is no mere accident of human life which people can take or leave, +but a positive necessity of life if we are to live as nature meant us +to, that is to say unless we are content to be less than men.</p> +<p>Do not think that the commercial spirit which is the basis of your +life and cities here is opposed to art. Who built the beautiful +cities of the world but commercial men and commercial men only? +Genoa built by its traders, Florence by its bankers, and Venice, most +lovely of all, by its noble and honest merchants.</p> +<p>I do not wish you, remember, ‘to build a new Pisa,’ nor +to bring ‘the life or the decorations of the thirteenth century +back again.’ ‘The circumstances with which you must +surround your workmen are those’ of modern American life, ‘because +the designs you have now to ask for from your workmen are such as will +make modern’ American ‘life beautiful.’ The +art we want is the art based on all the inventions of modern civilisation, +and to suit all the needs of nineteenth century life.</p> +<p>Do you think, for instance, that we object to machinery? I +tell you we reverence it; we reverence it when it does its proper work, +when it relieves man from ignoble and soulless labour, not when it seeks +to do that which is valuable only when wrought by the hands and hearts +of men. Let us have no machine-made ornament at all; it is all +bad and worthless and ugly. And let us not mistake the means of +civilisation for the end of civilisation; steam-engine, telephone and +the like, are all wonderful, but remember that their value depends entirely +on the noble uses we make of them, on the noble spirit in which we employ +them, not on the things themselves.</p> +<p>It is, no doubt, a great advantage to talk to a man at the Antipodes +through a telephone; its advantage depends entirely on the value of +what the two men have to say to one another. If one merely shrieks +slander through a tube and the other whispers folly into a wire, do +not think that anybody is very much benefited by the invention.</p> +<p>The train that whirls an ordinary Englishman through Italy at the +rate of forty miles an hour and finally sends him home without any memory +of that lovely country but that he was cheated by a courier at Rome, +or that he got a bad dinner at Verona, does not do him or civilisation +much good. But that swift legion of fiery-footed engines that +bore to the burning ruins of Chicago the loving help and generous treasure +of the world was as noble and as beautiful as any golden troop of angels +that ever fed the hungry and clothed the naked in the antique times. +As beautiful, yes; all machinery may be beautiful when it is undecorated +even. Do not seek to decorate it. We cannot but think all +good machinery is graceful, also, the line of strength and the line +of beauty being one.</p> +<p>Give then, as I said, to your workmen of today the bright and noble +surroundings that you can yourself create. Stately and simple +architecture for your cities, bright and simple dress for your men and +women; those are the conditions of a real artistic movement. For +the artist is not concerned primarily with any theory of life but with +life itself, with the joy and loveliness that should come daily on eye +and ear for a beautiful external world.</p> +<p>But the simplicity must not be barrenness nor the bright colour gaudy. +For all beautiful colours are graduated colours, the colours that seem +about to pass into one another’s realm—colour without tone +being like music without harmony, mere discord. Barren architecture, +the vulgar and glaring advertisements that desecrate not merely your +cities but every rock and river that I have seen yet in America—all +this is not enough. A school of design we must have too in each +city. It should be a stately and noble building, full of the best +examples of the best art of the world. Furthermore, do not put +your designers in a barren whitewashed room and bid them work in that +depressing and colourless atmosphere as I have seen many of the American +schools of design, but give them beautiful surroundings. Because +you want to produce a permanent canon and standard of taste in your +workman, he must have always by him and before him specimens of the +best decorative art of the world, so that you can say to him: ‘This +is good work. Greek or Italian or Japanese wrought it so many +years ago, but it is eternally young because eternally beautiful.’ +Work in this spirit and you will be sure to be right. Do not copy +it, but work with the same love, the same reverence, the same freedom +of imagination. You must teach him colour and design, how all +beautiful colours are graduated colours and glaring colours the essence +of vulgarity. Show him the quality of any beautiful work of nature +like the rose, or any beautiful work of art like an Eastern carpet—being +merely the exquisite graduation of colour, one tone answering another +like the answering chords of a symphony. Teach him how the true +designer is not he who makes the design and then colours it, but he +who designs in colour, creates in colour, thinks in colour too. +Show him how the most gorgeous stained glass windows of Europe are filled +with white glass, and the most gorgeous Eastern tapestry with toned +colours—the primary colours in both places being set in the white +glass, and the tone colours like brilliant jewels set in dusky gold. +And then as regards design, show him how the real designer will take +first any given limited space, little disk of silver, it may be, like +a Greek coin, or wide expanse of fretted ceiling or lordly wall as Tintoret +chose at Venice (it does not matter which), and to this limited space—the +first condition of decoration being the limitation of the size of the +material used—he will give the effect of its being filled with +beautiful decoration, filled with it as a golden cup will be filled +with wine, so complete that you should not be able to take away anything +from it or add anything to it. For from a good piece of design +you can take away nothing, nor can you add anything to it, each little +bit of design being as absolutely necessary and as vitally important +to the whole effect as a note or chord of music is for a sonata of Beethoven.</p> +<p>But I said the effect of its being so filled, because this, again, +is of the essence of good design. With a simple spray of leaves +and a bird in flight a Japanese artist will give you the impression +that he has completely covered with lovely design the reed fan or lacquer +cabinet at which he is working, merely because he knows the exact spot +in which to place them. All good design depends on the texture +of the utensil used and the use you wish to put it to. One of +the first things I saw in an American school of design was a young lady +painting a romantic moonlight landscape on a large round dish, and another +young lady covering a set of dinner plates with a series of sunsets +of the most remarkable colours. Let your ladies paint moonlight +landscapes and sunsets, but do not let them paint them on dinner plates +or dishes. Let them take canvas or paper for such work, but not +clay or china. They are merely painting the wrong subjects on +the wrong material, that is all. They have not been taught that +every material and texture has certain qualities of its own. The +design suitable for one is quite wrong for the other, just as the design +which you should work on a flat table-cover ought to be quite different +from the design you would work on a curtain, for the one will always +be straight, the other broken into folds; and the use too one puts the +object to should guide one in the choice of design. One does not +want to eat one’s terrapins off a romantic moonlight nor one’s +clams off a harrowing sunset. Glory of sun and moon, let them +be wrought for us by our landscape artist and be on the walls of the +rooms we sit in to remind us of the undying beauty of the sunsets that +fade and die, but do not let us eat our soup off them and send them +down to the kitchen twice a day to be washed and scrubbed by the handmaid.</p> +<p>All these things are simple enough, yet nearly always forgotten. +Your school of design here will teach your girls and your boys, your +handicraftsmen of the future (for all your schools of art should be +local schools, the schools of particular cities). We talk of the +Italian school of painting, but there is no Italian school; there were +the schools of each city. Every town in Italy, from Venice itself, +queen of the sea, to the little hill fortress of Perugia, each had its +own school of art, each different and all beautiful.</p> +<p>So do not mind what art Philadelphia or New York is having, but make +by the hands of your own citizens beautiful art for the joy of your +own citizens, for you have here the primary elements of a great artistic +movement.</p> +<p>For, believe me, the conditions of art are much simpler than people +imagine. For the noblest art one requires a clear healthy atmosphere, +not polluted as the air of our English cities is by the smoke and grime +and horridness which comes from open furnace and from factory chimney. +You must have strong, sane, healthy physique among your men and women. +Sickly or idle or melancholy people do not do much in art. And +lastly, you require a sense of individualism about each man and woman, +for this is the essence of art—a desire on the part of man to +express himself in the noblest way possible. And this is the reason +that the grandest art of the world always came from a republic, Athens, +Venice, and Florence—there were no kings there and so their art +was as noble and simple as sincere. But if you want to know what +kind of art the folly of kings will impose on a country look at the +decorative art of France under the <i>grand monarch</i>, under Louis +the Fourteenth; the gaudy gilt furniture writhing under a sense of its +own horror and ugliness, with a nymph smirking at every angle and a +dragon mouthing on every claw. Unreal and monstrous art this, +and fit only for such periwigged pomposities as the nobility of France +at that time, but not at all fit for you or me. We do not want +the rich to possess more beautiful things but the poor to create more +beautiful things; for every man is poor who cannot create. Nor +shall the art which you and I need be merely a purple robe woven by +a slave and thrown over the whitened body of some leprous king to adorn +or to conceal the sin of his luxury, but rather shall it be the noble +and beautiful expression of a people’s noble and beautiful life. +Art shall be again the most glorious of all the chords through which +the spirit of a great nation finds its noblest utterance.</p> +<p>All around you, I said, lie the conditions for a great artistic movement +for every great art. Let us think of one of them; a sculptor, +for instance.</p> +<p>If a modern sculptor were to come and say, ‘Very well, but +where can one find subjects for sculpture out of men who wear frock-coats +and chimney-pot hats?’ I would tell him to go to the docks of +a great city and watch the men loading or unloading the stately ships, +working at wheel or windlass, hauling at rope or gangway. I have +never watched a man do anything useful who has not been graceful at +some moment of his labour; it is only the loafer and the idle saunterer +who is as useless and uninteresting to the artist as he is to himself. +I would ask the sculptor to go with me to any of your schools or universities, +to the running ground and gymnasium, to watch the young men start for +a race, hurling quoit or club, kneeling to tie their shoes before leaping, +stepping from the boat or bending to the oar, and to carve them; and +when he was weary of cities I would ask him to come to your fields and +meadows to watch the reaper with his sickle and the cattle driver with +lifted lasso. For if a man cannot find the noblest motives for +his art in such simple daily things as a woman drawing water from the +well or a man leaning with his scythe, he will not find them anywhere +at all. Gods and goddesses the Greek carved because he loved them; +saint and king the Goth because he believed in them. But you, +you do not care much for Greek gods and goddesses, and you are perfectly +and entirely right; and you do not think much of kings either, and you +are quite right. But what you do love are your own men and women, +your own flowers and fields, your own hills and mountains, and these +are what your art should represent to you.</p> +<p>Ours has been the first movement which has brought the handicraftsman +and the artist together, for remember that by separating the one from +the other you do ruin to both; you rob the one of all spiritual motive +and all imaginative joy, you isolate the other from all real technical +perfection. The two greatest schools of art in the world, the +sculptor at Athens and the school of painting at Venice, had their origin +entirely in a long succession of simple and earnest handicraftsmen. +It was the Greek potter who taught the sculptor that restraining influence +of design which was the glory of the Parthenon; it was the Italian decorator +of chests and household goods who kept Venetian painting always true +to its primary pictorial condition of noble colour. For we should +remember that all the arts are fine arts and all the arts decorative +arts. The greatest triumph of Italian painting was the decoration +of a pope’s chapel in Rome and the wall of a room in Venice. +Michael Angelo wrought the one, and Tintoret, the dyer’s son, +the other. And the little ‘Dutch landscape, which you put +over your sideboard today, and between the windows tomorrow, is’ +no less a glorious ‘piece of work than the extents of field and +forest with which Benozzo has made green and beautiful the once melancholy +arcade of the Campo Santo at Pisa,’ as Ruskin says.</p> +<p>Do not imitate the works of a nation, Greek or Japanese, Italian +or English; but their artistic spirit of design and their artistic attitude +today, their own world, you should absorb but imitate never, copy never. +Unless you can make as beautiful a design in painted china or embroidered +screen or beaten brass out of your American turkey as the Japanese does +out of his grey silver-winged stork, you will never do anything. +Let the Greek carve his lions and the Goth his dragons: buffalo and +wild deer are the animals for you.</p> +<p>Golden rod and aster and rose and all the flowers that cover your +valleys in the spring and your hills in the autumn: let them be the +flowers for your art. Not merely has Nature given you the noblest +motives for a new school of decoration, but to you above all other countries +has she given the utensils to work in.</p> +<p>You have quarries of marble richer than Pantelicus, more varied than +Paros, but do not build a great white square house of marble and think +that it is beautiful, or that you are using marble nobly. If you +build in marble you must either carve it into joyous decoration, like +the lives of dancing children that adorn the marble castles of the Loire, +or fill it with beautiful sculpture, frieze and pediment, as the Greeks +did, or inlay it with other coloured marbles as they did in Venice. +Otherwise you had better build in simple red brick as your Puritan fathers, +with no pretence and with some beauty. Do not treat your marble +as if it was ordinary stone and build a house of mere blocks of it. +For it is indeed a precious stone, this marble of yours, and only workmen +of nobility of invention and delicacy of hand should be allowed to touch +it at all, carving it into noble statues or into beautiful decoration, +or inlaying it with other coloured marbles: for the true colours of +architecture are those of natural stone, and I would fain see them taken +advantage of to the full. Every variety is here, from pale yellow +to purple passing through orange, red and brown, entirely at your command; +nearly every kind of green and grey also is attainable, and with these +and with pure white what harmony might you not achieve. Of stained +and variegated stone the quantity is unlimited, the kinds innumerable. +Were brighter colours required, let glass, and gold protected by glass, +be used in mosaic, a kind of work as durable as the solid stone and +incapable of losing its lustre by time. And let the painter’s +work be reserved for the shadowed loggia and inner chamber.</p> +<p>This is the true and faithful way of building. Where this cannot +be, the device of external colouring may indeed be employed without +dishonour—but it must be with the warning reflection that a time +will come when such aids will pass away and when the building will be +judged in its lifelessness, dying the death of the dolphin. Better +the less bright, more enduring fabric. The transparent alabasters +of San Miniato and the mosaics of Saint Mark’s are more warmly +filled and more brightly touched by every return of morning and evening +rays, while the hues of the Gothic cathedrals have died like the iris +out of the cloud, and the temples, whose azure and purple once flamed +above the Grecian promontory, stand in their faded whiteness like snows +which the sunset has left cold.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>I do not know anything so perfectly commonplace in design as most +modern jewellery. How easy for you to change that and to produce +goldsmiths’ work that would be a joy to all of us. The gold +is ready for you in unexhausted treasure, stored up in the mountain +hollow or strewn on the river sand, and was not given to you merely +for barren speculation. There should be some better record of +it left in your history than the merchant’s panic and the ruined +home. We do not remember often enough how constantly the history +of a great nation will live in and by its art. Only a few thin +wreaths of beaten gold remain to tell us of the stately empire of Etruria; +and, while from the streets of Florence the noble knight and haughty +duke have long since passed away, the gates which the simple goldsmith +Gheberti made for their pleasure still guard their lovely house of baptism, +worthy still of the praise of Michael Angelo who called them worthy +to be the Gates of Paradise.</p> +<p>Have then your school of design, search out your workmen and, when +you find one who has delicacy of hand and that wonder of invention necessary +for goldsmiths’ work, do not leave him to toil in obscurity and +dishonour and have a great glaring shop and two great glaring shop-boys +in it (not to take your orders: they never do that; but to force you +to buy something you do not want at all). When you want a thing +wrought in gold, goblet or shield for the feast, necklace or wreath +for the women, tell him what you like most in decoration, flower or +wreath, bird in flight or hound in the chase, image of the woman you +love or the friend you honour. Watch him as he beats out the gold +into those thin plates delicate as the petals of a yellow rose, or draws +it into the long wires like tangled sunbeams at dawn. Whoever +that workman be help him, cherish him, and you will have such lovely +work from his hand as will be a joy to you for all time.</p> +<p>This is the spirit of our movement in England, and this is the spirit +in which we would wish you to work, making eternal by your art all that +is noble in your men and women, stately in your lakes and mountains, +beautiful in your own flowers and natural life. We want to see +that you have nothing in your houses that has not been a joy to the +man who made it, and is not a joy to those that use it. We want +to see you create an art made by the hands of the people to please the +hearts of the people too. Do you like this spirit or not? +Do you think it simple and strong, noble in its aim, and beautiful in +its result? I know you do.</p> +<p>Folly and slander have their own way for a little time, but for a +little time only. You now know what we mean: you will be able +to estimate what is said of us—its value and its motive.</p> +<p>There should be a law that no ordinary newspaper should be allowed +to write about art. The harm they do by their foolish and random +writing it would be impossible to overestimate—not to the artist +but to the public, blinding them to all, but harming the artist not +at all. Without them we would judge a man simply by his work; +but at present the newspapers are trying hard to induce the public to +judge a sculptor, for instance, never by his statues but by the way +he treats his wife; a painter by the amount of his income and a poet +by the colour of his necktie. I said there should be a law, but +there is really no necessity for a new law: nothing could be easier +than to bring the ordinary critic under the head of the criminal classes. +But let us leave such an inartistic subject and return to beautiful +and comely things, remembering that the art which would represent the +spirit of modern newspapers would be exactly the art which you and I +want to avoid—grotesque art, malice mocking you from every gateway, +slander sneering at you from every corner.</p> +<p>Perhaps you may be surprised at my talking of labour and the workman. +You have heard of me, I fear, through the medium of your somewhat imaginative +newspapers as, if not a ‘Japanese young man,’ at least a +young man to whom the rush and clamour and reality of the modern world +were distasteful, and whose greatest difficulty in life was the difficulty +of living up to the level of his blue china—a paradox from which +England has not yet recovered.</p> +<p>Well, let me tell you how it first came to me at all to create an +artistic movement in England, a movement to show the rich what beautiful +things they might enjoy and the poor what beautiful things they might +create.</p> +<p>One summer afternoon in Oxford—‘that sweet city with +her dreaming spires,’ lovely as Venice in its splendour, noble +in its learning as Rome, down the long High Street that winds from tower +to tower, past silent cloister and stately gateway, till it reaches +that long, grey seven-arched bridge which Saint Mary used to guard (used +to, I say, because they are now pulling it down to build a tramway and +a light cast-iron bridge in its place, desecrating the loveliest city +in England)—well, we were coming down the street—a troop +of young men, some of them like myself only nineteen, going to river +or tennis-court or cricket-field—when Ruskin going up to lecture +in cap and gown met us. He seemed troubled and prayed us to go +back with him to his lecture, which a few of us did, and there he spoke +to us not on art this time but on life, saying that it seemed to him +to be wrong that all the best physique and strength of the young men +in England should be spent aimlessly on cricket-ground or river, without +any result at all except that if one rowed well one got a pewter-pot, +and if one made a good score, a cane-handled bat. He thought, +he said, that we should be working at something that would do good to +other people, at something by which we might show that in all labour +there was something noble. Well, we were a good deal moved, and +said we would do anything he wished. So he went out round Oxford +and found two villages, Upper and Lower Hinksey, and between them there +lay a great swamp, so that the villagers could not pass from one to +the other without many miles of a round. And when we came back +in winter he asked us to help him to make a road across this morass +for these village people to use. So out we went, day after day, +and learned how to lay levels and to break stones, and to wheel barrows +along a plank—a very difficult thing to do. And Ruskin worked +with us in the mist and rain and mud of an Oxford winter, and our friends +and our enemies came out and mocked us from the bank. We did not +mind it much then, and we did not mind it afterwards at all, but worked +away for two months at our road. And what became of the road? +Well, like a bad lecture it ended abruptly—in the middle of the +swamp. Ruskin going away to Venice, when we came back for the +next term there was no leader, and the ‘diggers,’ as they +called us, fell asunder. And I felt that if there was enough spirit +amongst the young men to go out to such work as road-making for the +sake of a noble ideal of life, I could from them create an artistic +movement that might change, as it has changed, the face of England. +So I sought them out—leader they would call me—but there +was no leader: we were all searchers only and we were bound to each +other by noble friendship and by noble art. There was none of +us idle: poets most of us, so ambitious were we: painters some of us, +or workers in metal or modellers, determined that we would try and create +for ourselves beautiful work: for the handicraftsman beautiful work, +for those who love us poems and pictures, for those who love us not +epigrams and paradoxes and scorn.</p> +<p>Well, we have done something in England and we will do something +more. Now, I do not want you, believe me, to ask your brilliant +young men, your beautiful young girls, to go out and make a road on +a swamp for any village in America, but I think you might each of you +have some art to practise.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We must have, as Emerson said, a mechanical craft for our culture, +a basis for our higher accomplishments in the work of our hands—the +uselessness of most people’s hands seems to me one of the most +unpractical things. ‘No separation from labour can be without +some loss of power or truth to the seer,’ says Emerson again. +The heroism which would make on us the impression of Epaminondas must +be that of a domestic conqueror. The hero of the future is he +who shall bravely and gracefully subdue this Gorgon of fashion and of +convention.</p> +<p>When you have chosen your own part, abide by it, and do not weakly +try and reconcile yourself with the world. The heroic cannot be +the common nor the common the heroic. Congratulate yourself if +you have done something strange and extravagant and broken the monotony +of a decorous age.</p> +<p>And lastly, let us remember that art is the one thing which Death +cannot harm. The little house at Concord may be desolate, but +the wisdom of New England’s Plato is not silenced nor the brilliancy +of that Attic genius dimmed: the lips of Longfellow are still musical +for us though his dust be turning into the flowers which he loved: and +as it is with the greater artists, poet and philosopher and songbird, +so let it be with you.</p> +<h2>LECTURE TO ART STUDENTS</h2> +<p>Delivered to the Art students of the Royal Academy at their Club +in Golden Square, Westminster, on June 30, 1883. The text is taken +from the original manuscript.</p> +<p>In the lecture which it is my privilege to deliver before you to-night +I do not desire to give you any abstract definition of beauty at all. +For, we who are working in art cannot accept any theory of beauty in +exchange for beauty itself, and, so far from desiring to isolate it +in a formula appealing to the intellect, we, on the contrary, seek to +materialise it in a form that gives joy to the soul through the senses. +We want to create it, not to define it. The definition should +follow the work: the work should not adapt itself to the definition.</p> +<p>Nothing, indeed, is more dangerous to the young artist than any conception +of ideal beauty: he is constantly led by it either into weak prettiness +or lifeless abstraction: whereas to touch the ideal at all you must +not strip it of vitality. You must find it in life and re-create +it in art.</p> +<p>While, then, on the one hand I do not desire to give you any philosophy +of beauty—for, what I want to-night is to investigate how we can +create art, not how we can talk of it—on the other hand, I do +not wish to deal with anything like a history of English art.</p> +<p>To begin with, such an expression as English art is a meaningless +expression. One might just as well talk of English mathematics. +Art is the science of beauty, and Mathematics the science of truth: +there is no national school of either. Indeed, a national school +is a provincial school, merely. Nor is there any such thing as +a school of art even. There are merely artists, that is all.</p> +<p>And as regards histories of art, they are quite valueless to you +unless you are seeking the ostentatious oblivion of an art professorship. +It is of no use to you to know the date of Perugino or the birthplace +of Salvator Rosa: all that you should learn about art is to know a good +picture when you see it, and a bad picture when you see it. As +regards the date of the artist, all good work looks perfectly modern: +a piece of Greek sculpture, a portrait of Velasquez—they are always +modern, always of our time. And as regards the nationality of +the artist, art is not national but universal. As regards archæology, +then, avoid it altogether: archæology is merely the science of +making excuses for bad art; it is the rock on which many a young artist +founders and shipwrecks; it is the abyss from which no artist, old or +young, ever returns. Or, if he does return, he is so covered with +the dust of ages and the mildew of time, that he is quite unrecognisable +as an artist, and has to conceal himself for the rest of his days under +the cap of a professor, or as a mere illustrator of ancient history. +How worthless archæology is in art you can estimate by the fact +of its being so popular. Popularity is the crown of laurel which +the world puts on bad art. Whatever is popular is wrong.</p> +<p>As I am not going to talk to you, then, about the philosophy of the +beautiful, or the history of art, you will ask me what I am going to +talk about. The subject of my lecture to-night is what makes an +artist and what does the artist make; what are the relations of the +artist to his surroundings, what is the education the artist should +get, and what is the quality of a good work of art.</p> +<p>Now, as regards the relations of the artist to his surroundings, +by which I mean the age and country in which he is born. All good +art, as I said before, has nothing to do with any particular century; +but this universality is the quality of the work of art; the conditions +that produce that quality are different. And what, I think, you +should do is to realise completely your age in order completely to abstract +yourself from it; remembering that if you are an artist at all, you +will be not the mouthpiece of a century, but the master of eternity; +that all art rests on a principle, and that mere temporal considerations +are no principle at all; and that those who advise you to make your +art representative of the nineteenth century are advising you to produce +an art which your children, when you have them, will think old-fashioned. +But you will tell me this is an inartistic age, and we are an inartistic +people, and the artist suffers much in this nineteenth century of ours.</p> +<p>Of course he does. I, of all men, am not going to deny that. +But remember that there never has been an artistic age, or an artistic +people, since the beginning of the world. The artist has always +been, and will always be, an exquisite exception. There is no +golden age of art; only artists who have produced what is more golden +than gold.</p> +<p><i>What</i>, you will say to me, the Greeks? were not they an artistic +people?</p> +<p>Well, the Greeks certainly not, but, perhaps, you mean the Athenians, +the citizens of one out of a thousand cities.</p> +<p>Do you think that they were an artistic people? Take them even +at the time of their highest artistic development, the latter part of +the fifth century before Christ, when they had the greatest poets and +the greatest artists of the antique world, when the Parthenon rose in +loveliness at the bidding of a Phidias, and the philosopher spake of +wisdom in the shadow of the painted portico, and tragedy swept in the +perfection of pageant and pathos across the marble of the stage. +Were they an artistic people then? Not a bit of it. What +is an artistic people but a people who love their artists and understand +their art? The Athenians could do neither.</p> +<p>How did they treat Phidias? To Phidias we owe the great era, +not merely in Greek, but in all art—I mean of the introduction +of the use of the living model.</p> +<p>And what would you say if all the English bishops, backed by the +English people, came down from Exeter Hall to the Royal Academy one +day and took off Sir Frederick Leighton in a prison van to Newgate on +the charge of having allowed you to make use of the living model in +your designs for sacred pictures?</p> +<p>Would you not cry out against the barbarism and the Puritanism of +such an idea? Would you not explain to them that the worst way +to honour God is to dishonour man who is made in His image, and is the +work of His hands; and, that if one wants to paint Christ one must take +the most Christlike person one can find, and if one wants to paint the +Madonna, the purest girl one knows?</p> +<p>Would you not rush off and burn down Newgate, if necessary, and say +that such a thing was without parallel in history?</p> +<p>Without parallel? Well, that is exactly what the Athenians +did.</p> +<p>In the room of the Parthenon marbles, in the British Museum, you +will see a marble shield on the wall. On it there are two figures; +one of a man whose face is half hidden, the other of a man with the +godlike lineaments of Pericles. For having done this, for having +introduced into a bas relief, taken from Greek sacred history, the image +of the great statesman who was ruling Athens at the time, Phidias was +flung into prison and there, in the common gaol of Athens, died, the +supreme artist of the old world.</p> +<p>And do you think that this was an exceptional case? The sign +of a Philistine age is the cry of immorality against art, and this cry +was raised by the Athenian people against every great poet and thinker +of their day—Æschylus, Euripides, Socrates. It was +the same with Florence in the thirteenth century. Good handicrafts +are due to guilds not to the people. The moment the guilds lost +their power and the people rushed in, beauty and honesty of work died.</p> +<p>And so, never talk of an artistic people; there never has been such +a thing.</p> +<p>But, perhaps, you will tell me that the external beauty of the world +has almost entirely passed away from us, that the artist dwells no longer +in the midst of the lovely surroundings which, in ages past, were the +natural inheritance of every one, and that art is very difficult in +this unlovely town of ours, where, as you go to your work in the morning, +or return from it at eventide, you have to pass through street after +street of the most foolish and stupid architecture that the world has +ever seen; architecture, where every lovely Greek form is desecrated +and defiled, and every lovely Gothic form defiled and desecrated, reducing +three-fourths of the London houses to being, merely, like square boxes +of the vilest proportions, as gaunt as they are grimy, and as poor as +they are pretentious—the hall door always of the wrong colour, +and the windows of the wrong size, and where, even when wearied of the +houses you turn to contemplate the street itself, you have nothing to +look at but chimney-pot hats, men with sandwich boards, vermilion letterboxes, +and do that even at the risk of being run over by an emerald-green omnibus.</p> +<p>Is not art difficult, you will say to me, in such surroundings as +these? Of course it is difficult, but then art was never easy; +you yourselves would not wish it to be easy; and, besides, nothing is +worth doing except what the world says is impossible.</p> +<p>Still, you do not care to be answered merely by a paradox. +What are the relations of the artist to the external world, and what +is the result of the loss of beautiful surroundings to you, is one of +the most important questions of modern art; and there is no point on +which Mr. Ruskin so insists as that the decadence of art has come from +the decadence of beautiful things; and that when the artist can not +feed his eye on beauty, beauty goes from his work.</p> +<p>I remember in one of his lectures, after describing the sordid aspect +of a great English city, he draws for us a picture of what were the +artistic surroundings long ago.</p> +<p>Think, he says, in words of perfect and picturesque imagery, whose +beauty I can but feebly echo, think of what was the scene which presented +itself, in his afternoon walk, to a designer of the Gothic school of +Pisa—Nino Pisano or any of his men <a name="citation317"></a><a href="#footnote317">{317}</a>:</p> +<blockquote><p>On each side of a bright river he saw rise a line of +brighter palaces, arched and pillared, and inlaid with deep red porphyry, +and with serpentine; along the quays before their gates were riding +troops of knights, noble in face and form, dazzling in crest and shield; +horse and man one labyrinth of quaint colour and gleaming light—the +purple, and silver, and scarlet fringes flowing over the strong limbs +and clashing mail, like sea-waves over rocks at sunset. Opening +on each side from the river were gardens, courts, and cloisters; long +successions of white pillars among wreaths of vine; leaping of fountains +through buds of pomegranate and orange: and still along the garden-paths, +and under and through the crimson of the pomegranate shadows, moving +slowly, groups of the fairest women that Italy ever saw—fairest, +because purest and thoughtfullest; trained in all high knowledge, as +in all courteous art—in dance, in song, in sweet wit, in lofty +learning, in loftier courage, in loftiest love—able alike to cheer, +to enchant, or save, the souls of men. Above all this scenery +of perfect human life, rose dome and bell-tower, burning with white +alabaster and gold: beyond dome and bell-tower the slopes of mighty +hills, hoary with olive; far in the north, above a purple sea of peaks +of solemn Apennine, the clear, sharp-cloven Carrara mountains sent up +their steadfast flames of marble summit into amber sky; the great sea +itself, scorching with expanse of light, stretching from their feet +to the Gorgonian isles; and over all these, ever present, near or far—seen +through the leaves of vine, or imaged with all its march of clouds in +the Arno’s stream, or set with its depth of blue close against +the golden hair and burning cheek of lady and knight,—that untroubled +and sacred sky, which was to all men, in those days of innocent faith, +indeed the unquestioned abode of spirits, as the earth was of men; and +which opened straight through its gates of cloud and veils of dew into +the awfulness of the eternal world;—a heaven in which every cloud +that passed was literally the chariot of an angel, and every ray of +its Evening and Morning streamed from the throne of God.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>What think you of that for a school of design?</p> +<p>And then look at the depressing, monotonous appearance of any modern +city, the sombre dress of men and women, the meaningless and barren +architecture, the colourless and dreadful surroundings. Without +a beautiful national life, not sculpture merely, but all the arts will +die.</p> +<p>Well, as regards the religious feeling of the close of the passage, +I do not think I need speak about that. Religion springs from +religious feeling, art from artistic feeling: you never get one from +the other; unless you have the right root you will not get the right +flower; and, if a man sees in a cloud the chariot of an angel, he will +probably paint it very unlike a cloud.</p> +<p>But, as regards the general idea of the early part of that lovely +bit of prose, is it really true that beautiful surroundings are necessary +for the artist? I think not; I am sure not. Indeed, to me +the most inartistic thing in this age of ours is not the indifference +of the public to beautiful things, but the indifference of the artist +to the things that are called ugly. For, to the real artist, nothing +is beautiful or ugly in itself at all. With the facts of the object +he has nothing to do, but with its appearance only, and appearance is +a matter of light and shade, of masses, of position, and of value.</p> +<p>Appearance is, in fact, a matter of effect merely, and it is with +the effects of nature that you have to deal, not with the real condition +of the object. What you, as painters, have to paint is not things +as they are but things as they seem to be, not things as they are but +things as they are not.</p> +<p>No object is so ugly that, under certain conditions of light and +shade, or proximity to other things, it will not look beautiful; no +object is so beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look +ugly. I believe that in every twenty-four hours what is beautiful +looks ugly, and what is ugly looks beautiful, once.</p> +<p>And, the commonplace character of so much of our English painting +seems to me due to the fact that so many of our young artists look merely +at what we may call ‘ready-made beauty,’ whereas you exist +as artists not to copy beauty but to create it in your art, to wait +and watch for it in nature.</p> +<p>What would you say of a dramatist who would take nobody but virtuous +people as characters in his play? Would you not say he was missing +half of life? Well, of the young artist who paints nothing but +beautiful things, I say he misses one half of the world.</p> +<p>Do not wait for life to be picturesque, but try and see life under +picturesque conditions. These conditions you can create for yourself +in your studio, for they are merely conditions of light. In nature, +you must wait for them, watch for them, choose them; and, if you wait +and watch, come they will.</p> +<p>In Gower Street at night you may see a letterbox that is picturesque; +on the Thames Embankment you may see picturesque policemen. Even +Venice is not always beautiful, nor France.</p> +<p>To paint what you see is a good rule in art, but to see what is worth +painting is better. See life under pictorial conditions. +It is better to live in a city of changeable weather than in a city +of lovely surroundings.</p> +<p>Now, having seen what makes the artist, and what the artist makes, +who is the artist? There is a man living amongst us who unites +in himself all the qualities of the noblest art, whose work is a joy +for all time, who is, himself, a master of all time. That man +is Mr. Whistler.</p> +<p>But, you will say, modern dress, that is bad. If you cannot +paint black cloth you could not have painted silken doublet. Ugly +dress is better for art—facts of vision, not of the object.</p> +<p>What is a picture? Primarily, a picture is a beautifully coloured +surface, merely, with no more spiritual message or meaning for you than +an exquisite fragment of Venetian glass or a blue tile from the wall +of Damascus. It is, primarily, a purely decorative thing, a delight +to look at.</p> +<p>All archæological pictures that make you say ‘How curious!’ +all sentimental pictures that make you say ‘How sad!’ all +historical pictures that make you say ‘How interesting!’ +all pictures that do not immediately give you such artistic joy as to +make you say ‘How beautiful!’ are bad pictures.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>We never know what an artist is going to do. Of course not. +The artist is not a specialist. All such divisions as animal painters, +landscape painters, painters of Scotch cattle in an English mist, painters +of English cattle in a Scotch mist, racehorse painters, bull-terrier +painters, all are shallow. If a man is an artist he can paint +everything.</p> +<p>The object of art is to stir the most divine and remote of the chords +which make music in our soul; and colour is, indeed, of itself a mystical +presence on things, and tone a kind of sentinel.</p> +<p>Am I pleading, then, for mere technique? No. As long +as there are any signs of technique at all, the picture is unfinished. +What is finish? A picture is finished when all traces of work, +and of the means employed to bring about the result, have disappeared.</p> +<p>In the case of handicraftsmen—the weaver, the potter, the smith—on +their work are the traces of their hand. But it is not so with +the painter; it is not so with the artist.</p> +<p>Art should have no sentiment about it but its beauty, no technique +except what you cannot observe. One should be able to say of a +picture not that it is ‘well painted,’ but that it is ‘not +painted.’</p> +<p>What is the difference between absolutely decorative art and a painting? +Decorative art emphasises its material: imaginative art annihilates +it. Tapestry shows its threads as part of its beauty: a picture +annihilates its canvas; it shows nothing of it. Porcelain emphasises +its glaze: water-colours reject the paper.</p> +<p>A picture has no meaning but its beauty, no message but its joy. +That is the first truth about art that you must never lose sight of. +A picture is a purely decorative thing.</p> +<h2>BIBLIOGRAPHY BY STUART MASON</h2> +<h3>NOTE</h3> +<p>Part I. includes all the authorised editions published in England, +and the two French editions of <i>Salomé</i> published in Paris. +Authorised editions of some of the works were issued in the United States +of America simultaneously with the English publication.</p> +<p>Part II. contains the only two ‘Privately Printed’ editions +which are authorised.</p> +<p>Part III. is a chronological list of all contributions (so far as +at present known) to magazines, periodicals, etc., the date given being +that of the first publication only. Those marked with an asterisk +(*) were published anonymously. Many of the poems have been included +in anthologies of modern verse, but no attempt has been made to give +particulars of such reprints in this Bibliography.</p> +<h3>I.—AUTHORISED ENGLISH EDITIONS</h3> +<p>NEWDIGATE PRIZE POEM. RAVENNA. Recited in the Theatre, +Oxford, June 26, 1878. By OSCAR WILDE, Magdalen College. +Oxford: Thos. Shrimpton and Son, 1878.</p> +<p>POEMS. London: David Bogue, 1881 (June 30).</p> +<p>Second and Third Editions, 1881.</p> +<p>Fourth and Fifth Editions [Revised], 1882.</p> +<p>220 copies (200 for sale) of the Fifth Edition, with a new title-page +and cover designed by Charles Ricketts. London: Elkin Mathews +and John Lane, 1892 (May 26).</p> +<p>THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES. (‘The Happy Prince,’ +‘The Nightingale and the Rose,’ ‘The Selfish Giant,’ +‘The Devoted Friend,’ ‘The Remarkable Rocket.’) +Illustrated by Walter Crane and Jacomb Hood. London: David Nutt, +1888 (May).</p> +<p>Also 75 copies (65 for sale) on Large Paper, with the plates in two +states.</p> +<p>Second Edition, January 1889.</p> +<p>Third Edition, February 1902.</p> +<p>Fourth Impression, September 1905.</p> +<p>Fifth Impression, February 1907.</p> +<p>INTENTIONS. (‘The Decay of Lying,’ ‘Pen, +Pencil, and Poison,’ ‘The Critic as Artist,’ ‘The +Truth of Masks.’) London: James R. Osgood, McIlvaine and +Co., 1891 (May). New Edition, 1894.</p> +<p>Edition for Continental circulation only. <i>The English Library</i>, +No. 54. Leipzig: Heinemann and Balestier, 1891. Frequently +reprinted.</p> +<p>THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. London: Ward, Lock and Co. +[1891 (July 1).]</p> +<p>Also 250 copies on Large Paper. Dated 1891.</p> +<p>[<i>Note</i>.—July 1 is the official date of publication, but +presentation copies signed by the author and dated May 1891 are known.]</p> +<p>New Edition [1894 (October 1).] London: Ward, Lock and Bowden.</p> +<p>Reprinted. Paris: Charles Carrington, 1901, 1905, 1908 (January).</p> +<p>Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard +Tauchnitz, vol. 4049. 1908 (July).</p> +<p>LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME AND OTHER STORIES. (‘Lord +Arthur Savile’s Crime,’ ‘The Sphinx Without a Secret,’ +‘The Canterville Ghost,’ ‘The Model Millionaire.’) +London: James R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891 (July).</p> +<p>A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES. (‘The Young King,’ ‘The +Birthday of the Infanta,’ ‘The Fisherman and His Soul,’ +‘The Star Child.’) With Designs and Decorations by +Charles Ricketts and C. H. Shannon. London: James R. Osgood, McIlvaine +and Co., 1891 (November).</p> +<p>SALOMÉ. DRAME EN UN ACTE. Paris: Librairie de +l’Art Indépendant. Londres: Elkin Mathews et John +Lane, 1893 (February 22).</p> +<p>600 copies (500 for sale) and 25 on Large Paper.</p> +<p>New Edition. With sixteen Illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley. +Paris: Edition à petit nombre imprimée pour les Souscripteurs. +1907.</p> +<p>500 copies.</p> +<p>[<i>Note</i>.—Several editions, containing only a portion of +the text, have been issued for the performance of the Opera by Richard +Strauss. London: Methuen and Co.; Berlin: Adolph Fürstner. +]</p> +<p>LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN. A PLAY ABOUT A GOOD WOMAN. +London: Elkin Mathews and John Lane, 1893 (November 8).</p> +<p>500 copies and 50 on Large Paper.</p> +<p>Acting Edition. London: Samuel French. (<i>Text Incomplete</i>.)</p> +<p>SALOME. A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT. Translated from the French +[by Lord Alfred Bruce Douglas.] Pictured by Aubrey Beardsley. +London: Elkin Mathews and John Lane, 1894 (February 9).</p> +<p>500 copies and 100 on Large Paper.</p> +<p>With the two suppressed plates and extra title-page. Preface +by Robert Ross. London: John Lane, 1907 (September 1906).</p> +<p>New Edition (without illustrations). London: John Lane, 1906 +(June), 1908.</p> +<p>THE SPHINX. With Decorations by Charles Ricketts. London: +Elkin Mathews and John Lane, 1894 (July).</p> +<p>200 copies and 25 on Large Paper.</p> +<p>A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE. London: John Lane, 1894 (October +9).</p> +<p>500 copies and 50 on Large Paper.</p> +<p>THE SOUL OF MAN. London: Privately Printed, 1895.</p> +<p>[Reprinted from the <i>Fortnightly Review</i> (February 1891), by +permission of the Proprietors, and published by A. L. Humphreys.]</p> +<p>New Edition. London: Arthur L. Humphreys, 1907.</p> +<p>Reprinted in <i>Sebastian Melmoth</i>. London: Arthur L. Humphreys, +1904, 1905.</p> +<p>THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL. By C.3.3. London: Leonard +Smithers, 1898 (February 13).</p> +<p>800 copies and 30 on Japanese Vellum.</p> +<p>Second Edition, March 1898.</p> +<p>Third Edition, 1898. 99 copies only, signed by the author.</p> +<p>Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Editions, 1898.</p> +<p>Seventh Edition, 1899. <a name="citation328a"></a><a href="#footnote328a">{328a}</a></p> +<p>[<i>Note</i>.—The above are printed at the Chiswick Press on +handmade paper. All reprints on ordinary paper are unauthorised.]</p> +<p>THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST. A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR SERIOUS +PEOPLE. BY THE AUTHOR OF LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN. London: +Leonard Smithers and Co., 1899 (February).</p> +<p>1000 copies. Also 100 copies on Large Paper, and 12 on Japanese +Vellum.</p> +<p>Acting Edition. London: Samuel French. (<i>Text Incomplete</i>.)</p> +<p>AN IDEAL HUSBAND. BY THE AUTHOR OF LADY WINDERMERE’S +FAN. London: Leonard Smithers and Co., 1889 (July).</p> +<p>1000 copies. Also 100 copies on Large Paper, and 12 on Japanese +Vellum.</p> +<p>DE PROFUNDIS. London: Methuen and Co., 1905 (February 23).</p> +<p>Also 200 copies on Large Paper, and 50 on Japanese Vellum.</p> +<p>Second Edition, March 1905.</p> +<p>Third Edition, March 1905.</p> +<p>Fourth Edition, April 1905.</p> +<p>Fifth Edition, September 1905.</p> +<p>Sixth Edition, March 1906.</p> +<p>Seventh Edition, January 1907.</p> +<p>Eighth Edition, April 1907.</p> +<p>Ninth Edition, July 1907.</p> +<p>Tenth Edition, October 1907.</p> +<p>Eleventh Edition, January 1908. <a name="citation328b"></a><a href="#footnote328b">{328b}</a></p> +<p>THE WORKS OF OSCAR WILDE. London: Methuen and Co., 1908 (February +13). In thirteen volumes. 1000 copies on Handmade Paper +and 80 on Japanese Vellum.</p> +<p>THE DUCHESS OF PADUA. A PLAY.</p> +<p>SALOMÉ. A FLORENTINE TRAGEDY. VERA.</p> +<p>LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN. A PLAY ABOUT A GOOD WOMAN.</p> +<p>A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE. A PLAY.</p> +<p>AN IDEAL HUSBAND. A PLAY.</p> +<p>THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST. A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR SERIOUS +PEOPLE.</p> +<p>LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME AND OTHER PROSE PIECES.</p> +<p>INTENTIONS AND THE SOUL OF MAN.</p> +<p>THE POEMS.</p> +<p>A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES, THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES.</p> +<p>DE PROFUNDIS.</p> +<p>REVIEWS.</p> +<p>MISCELLANIES.</p> +<p>Uniform with the above. Paris: Charles Carrington, 1908 (April +16).</p> +<p>THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY.</p> +<h3>II.—EDITIONS PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR</h3> +<p>VERA; OR, THE NIHILISTS. A DRAMA IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS. +[New York] 1882.</p> +<p>THE DUCHESS OF PADUA: A TRAGEDY OF THE XVI CENTURY WRITTEN IN PARIS +IN THE XIX CENTURY. Privately Printed as Manuscript. [New +York, 1883 (March 15).]</p> +<h3>III.—MISCELLANEOUS CONTRIBUTIONS TO MAGAZINES, PERIODICALS, +Etc.</h3> +<p>1875</p> +<p>November. CHORUS OF CLOUD MAIDENS (Αριστοφανους +Νεφελαι, 275-287 and 295-307). +<i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, Vol. LXXXVI. No. 515, page 622.</p> +<p>1876</p> +<p>January. FROM SPRING DAYS TO WINTER. (FOR MUSIC.) +<i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, Vol. LXXXVII. No. 517, page 47.</p> +<p>March. GRAFFITI D’ITALIA. I. SAN MINIATO. +(JUNE 15.) <i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, Vol. LXXXVII. No. +519, page 297.</p> +<p>June. THE DOLE OF THE KING’S DAUGHTER. <i>Dublin +University Magazine</i>, Vol. LXXXVII. No. 522, page 682.</p> +<p>Trinity Term. ΔΗΞΙΘΥΜΟΝ +ΕΡΩΤΟΣ ΑΝΘΟΣ. +(THE ROSE OF LOVE, AND WITH A ROSE’S THORNS.) <i>Kottabos</i>, +Vol. II. No. 10, page 268.</p> +<p>September. Αιλινον, αιλινον +ειπε, το δ’ ευ +νικατω<i>. Dublin University Magazine</i>, +Vol. LXXXVIII. No. 525, page 291.</p> +<p>September. THE TRUE KNOWLEDGE. <i>Irish Monthly</i>, +Vol. IV. No. 39, page 594.</p> +<p>September. GRAFFITI D’ITALIA. (ARONA. LAGO +MAGGIORE.) <i>Month and Catholic Review</i>, Vol. xxviii. No. +147, page 77.</p> +<p>Michaelmas Term. ΘΡΗΝΩΙΔΙΑ. +<i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. II. No. 11, page 298.</p> +<p>1877</p> +<p>February. LOTUS LEAVES. <i>Irish Monthly</i>, Vol. v. +No. 44, page 133.</p> +<p>Hilary Term. A FRAGMENT FROM THE AGAMEMNON OF ÆSCHYLOS. +<i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. II. No. 12, page 320.</p> +<p>Hilary Term. A NIGHT VISION. <i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. II. +No. 12, page 331.</p> +<p>June. SALVE SATURNIA TELLUS. <i>Irish Monthly</i>, Vol. +V. No. 48, page 415.</p> +<p>June. URBS SACRA ÆTERNA. <i>Illustrated Monitor</i>, +Vol. IV. No. 3, page 130.</p> +<p>July. THE TOMB OF KEATS. <i>Irish Monthly</i>, Vol. V. +No. 49, page 476.</p> +<p>July. SONNET WRITTEN DURING HOLY WEEK. <i>Illustrated +Monitor</i>, Vol. IV. No. 4, page 186.</p> +<p>July. THE GROSVENOR GALLERY. <i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, +Vol. XC. No. 535, page 118.</p> +<p>Michaelmas Term. WASTED DAYS. (FROM A PICTURE PAINTED +BY MISS V. T.) <i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. III. No. 2, page 56.</p> +<p>December. Ιλοντος +Ατρυyετος<i>. +Irish Monthly</i>, Vol. V. No. 54, page 746.</p> +<p>1878</p> +<p>April. MAGDALEN WALKS. <i>Irish Monthly</i>, Vol. VI. +No. 58, page 211.</p> +<p>1879</p> +<p>Hilary Term. ‘LA BELLE MARGUERITE.’ BALLADE +DU MOYEN AGE. <i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. III. No. 6, page 146.</p> +<p>April. THE CONQUEROR OF TIME. <i>Time</i>, Vol. I. No. +1, page 30.</p> +<p>May 5. GROSVENOR GALLERY (First Notice.) <i>Saunders’ +Irish Daily News</i>, Vol. CXC. No. 42,886, page 5.</p> +<p>June. EASTER DAY. <i>Waifs and Strays</i>, Vol. I. No. +1, page 2.</p> +<p>June 11. TO SARAH BERNHARDT. <i>World</i>, No. 258, page +18.</p> +<p>July. THE NEW HELEN. <i>Time</i>, Vol. I. No. 4, page +400.</p> +<p>July 16. QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA. (<i>Charles I</i>,, <i>act +iii</i>.) <i>World</i>, No. 263, page 18.</p> +<p>Michaelmas Term. AVE! MARIA. <i>Kottabos</i>, Vol. +III. No. 8, page 206.</p> +<p>1880</p> +<p>January 14. PORTIA. <i>World</i>, No. 289, page 13.</p> +<p>March. IMPRESSION DE VOYAGE. <i>Waifs and Strays</i>, +Vol. I. No. 3, page 77.</p> +<p>August 25. AVE IMPERATRIX! A POEM ON ENGLAND. <i>World</i>, +No. 321, page 12.</p> +<p>November 10. LIBERTATIS SACRA FAMES. <i>World</i>, No. +332, page 15.</p> +<p>December. SEN ARTYSTY; OR, THE ARTIST’S DREAM. +Translated from the Polish of Madame Helena Modjeska. <i>Routledge’s +Christmas Annual: The Green Room</i>, page 66.</p> +<p>1881</p> +<p>January. THE GRAVE OF KEATS. <i>Burlington</i>, Vol. +I. No. 1, page 35.</p> +<p>March 2. IMPRESSION DE MATIN. <i>World</i>, No. 348, +page 15.</p> +<p>1882</p> +<p>February 15. IMPRESSIONS: I. LE JARDIN. II. +LA MER. <i>Our Continent</i> (Philadelphia), Vol. I. No. 1, page +9.</p> +<p>November 7. MRS. LANGTRY AS HESTER GRAZEBROOK. <i>New +York World</i>, page 5.</p> +<p>L’ENVOI, An Introduction to <i>Rose Leaf and Apple Leaf</i>, +by Rennell Rodd, page 11. Philadelphia: J. M. Stoddart and Co.</p> +<p>[Besides the ordinary edition a limited number of an <i>édition +de luxe</i> was issued printed in brown ink on one side only of a thin +transparent handmade parchment paper, the whole book being interleaved +with green tissue.]</p> +<p>1883</p> +<p>November 14. TELEGRAM TO WHISTLER. <i>World</i>, No. +489, page 16.</p> +<p>1884</p> +<p>May 29. UNDER THE BALCONY. <i>Shaksperean Show-Book</i>, +page 23.</p> +<p>(Set to Music by Lawrence Kellie as OH! BEAUTIFUL STAR. SERENADE. +London: Robert Cocks and Co., 1892.)</p> +<p>October 14. MR. OSCAR WILDE ON WOMAN’S DRESS. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XL. No. 6114, page 6.</p> +<p>November 11. MORE RADICAL IDEAS UPON DRESS REFORM. (With +two illustrations.) <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XL. No. 6138, +page 14.</p> +<p>1885</p> +<p>February 21. MR. WHISTLER’S TEN O’CLOCK. +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLI. No. 6224, page 1.</p> +<p>February 25. TENDERNESS IN TITE STREET. <i>World</i>, +No. 556, page 14.</p> +<p>February 28. THE RELATION OF DRESS TO ART. A NOTE IN +BLACK AND WHITE ON MR. WHISTLER’S LECTURE. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLI. No. 6230, page 4.</p> +<p>March 7. *DINNERS AND DISHES. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLI. No. 6236, page 5.</p> +<p>March 13. *A MODERN EPIC. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. +XLI. No. 6241, page 11.</p> +<p>March 14. SHAKESPEARE ON SCENERY. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 7, page 99.</p> +<p>March 27. *A BEVY OF POETS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLI. No. 6253, page 5.</p> +<p>April 1. *PARNASSUS VERSUS PHILOLOGY. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLI. No. 6257, page 6.</p> +<p>April 11. THE HARLOT’S HOUSE. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 11, page 167.</p> +<p>May. SHAKESPEARE AND STAGE COSTUME. <i>Nineteenth Century</i>, +Vol. XVII. No. 99, page 800.</p> +<p>May 9. HAMLET AT THE LYCEUM. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 15, page 227.</p> +<p>May 15. *TWO NEW NOVELS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. +XLI. No. 6293, page 4.</p> +<p>May 23. HENRY THE FOURTH AT OXFORD. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 17, page 264.</p> +<p>May 27. *MODERN GREEK POETRY. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLI. No. 6302, page <i>5.</i></p> +<p>May 30. OLIVIA AT THE LYCEUM. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 18, page 278.</p> +<p>June. LE JARDIN DES TUILERIES. (With an illustration +by L. Troubridge.) <i>In a Good Cause</i>, page 83. London: +Wells Gardner, Darton and Co.</p> +<p>June 6. AS YOU LIKE IT AT COOMBE HOUSE. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. I. No. 19, page 296.</p> +<p>July. ROSES AND RUE. <i>Midsummer Dreams</i>, Summer +Number of <i>Society.</i></p> +<p>(No copy of this is known to exist.)</p> +<p>November 18. *A HANDBOOK TO MARRIAGE. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLII. No. 6452, page 5.</p> +<p>1886</p> +<p>January 15. *HALF-HOURS WITH THE WORST AUTHORS. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIII. No. 6501, page 4.</p> +<p>January 23. SONNET. ON THE RECENT SALE BY AUCTION OF +KEATS’ LOVE LETTERS. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, Vol. II. No. +52, page 249.</p> +<p>February 1. *ONE OF MR. CONWAY’S REMAINDERS. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIII. No. 6515, page 5.</p> +<p>February 8. TO READ OR NOT TO READ. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIII. No. 6521, page 11.</p> +<p>February 20. TWELFTH NIGHT AT OXFORD. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, +Vol. III. No. 56, page 34.</p> +<p>March 6. *THE LETTERS OF A GREAT WOMAN. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIII. No. 6544, page 4.</p> +<p>April 12. *NEWS FROM PARNASSUS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIII. No. 6575, page 5.</p> +<p>April 14. *SOME NOVELS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. +XLIII. No. 6577, page 5.</p> +<p>April 17. *A LITERARY PILGRIM. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIII. No. 6580, page 5.</p> +<p>April 21. *BERANGER IN ENGLAND. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIII. No. 6583, page 5.</p> +<p>May 13. *THE POETRY OF THE PEOPLE. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIII. No. 6601, page 5.</p> +<p>May 15. THE CENCI. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, Vol. III. +No. 68, page 151.</p> +<p>May 22. HELENA IN TROAS. <i>Dramatic Review</i>, Vol. +III. No. 69, page 161.</p> +<p>July. KEATS’ SONNET ON BLUE. (With facsimile of +original Manuscript.) <i>Century Guild Hobby Horse</i>, Vol. I. +No. 3, page 83.</p> +<p>August 4. *PLEASING AND PRATTLING. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6672, page 5.</p> +<p>September 13. *BALZAC IN ENGLISH. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6706, page 5.</p> +<p>September 16. *TWO NEW NOVELS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6709, page 5.</p> +<p>September 20. *BEN JONSON. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6712, page 6.</p> +<p>September 27. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6718, page 5.</p> +<p>October 8. *A RIDE THROUGH MOROCCO. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6728, page 5.</p> +<p>October 14. *THE CHILDREN OF THE POETS. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6733, page 5.</p> +<p>October 28. *NEW NOVELS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. +XLIV. No. 6745, page 4.</p> +<p>November 3. *A POLITICIAN’S POETRY. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6750, page 4.</p> +<p>November 10. *MR. SYMONDS’ HISTORY OF THE RENAISSANCE. +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6756, page 5.</p> +<p>November 18. *A ‘JOLLY’ ART CRITIC. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6763, page 6.</p> +<p>November 24. NOTE ON WHISTLER. <i>World</i>, No. 647, +page 14.</p> +<p>December 1. *A ‘SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY’ THROUGH LITERATURE. +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6774, page 5.</p> +<p>December 11. *TWO BIOGRAPHIES OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIV. No. 6783, page 5.</p> +<p>1887</p> +<p>January 8. *COMMON SENSE IN ART. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6806, page 5.</p> +<p>February 1. *MINER AND MINOR POETS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6826, page 5.</p> +<p>February 17. *A NEW CALENDAR. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6840, page 5.</p> +<p>February 23. THE CANTERVILLE GHOST—I. Illustrated +by F. H. Townsend. <i>Court and Society Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. +138, page 193.</p> +<p>March 2. THE CANTERVILLE GHOST—II. Illustrated +by F. H. Townsend. <i>Court and Society Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. +139, page 207.</p> +<p>March 8. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLV. No. 6856, page 5.</p> +<p>March 23. *THE AMERICAN INVASION. <i>Court and Society +Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. 142, page 270.</p> +<p>March 28. *GREAT WRITERS BY LITTLE MEN. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLV. No. 6873, page 5.</p> +<p>March 31. *A NEW BOOK ON DICKENS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6876, page 5.</p> +<p>April 12. *OUR BOOK SHELF. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6885, page 5.</p> +<p>April 18. *A CHEAP EDITION OF A GREAT MAN. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLV. No. 6890, page 5.</p> +<p>April 26. *MR. MORRIS’S ODYSSEY. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6897, page 5.</p> +<p>May 2. *A BATCH OF NOVELS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6902, page 11.</p> +<p>May 7. *SOME NOVELS. <i>Saturday Review</i>, Vol. LXIII. +No. 1645, page 663.</p> +<p>May 11. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME. A STORY OF +CHEIROMANCY.—I. II. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. +<i>Court and Society Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. 149, page 447.</p> +<p>May 18. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME. A STORY OF +CHEIROMANCY.—III. IV. <i>Court and Society Review</i>, +Vol. IV. No. 150, page 471.</p> +<p>May 25. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE’S CRIME. A STORY OF +CHEIROMANCY.—V. VI. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. +<i>Court and Society Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. 151, page 495.</p> +<p>May 25. LADY ALROY. <i>World</i>, No. 673, page 18.</p> +<p>May 30. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLV. No. 6926, page 5.</p> +<p>June 11. *MR. PATER’S IMAGINARY PORTRAITS. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLV. No. 6937, page 2.</p> +<p>June 22. THE MODEL MILLIONAIRE. <i>World</i>, No. 677, +page 18.</p> +<p>August 8. *A GOOD HISTORICAL NOVEL. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVI. No. 6986, page 3.</p> +<p>August 20. *NEW NOVELS. <i>Saturday Review</i>, Vol. +LXIV. No. 1660, page 264.</p> +<p>September 27. *TWO BIOGRAPHIES OF KEATS. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7029, page 3.</p> +<p>October 15. *SERMONS IN STONES AT BLOOMSBURY. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7045, page 5.</p> +<p>October 24. *A SCOTCHMAN ON SCOTTISH POETRY. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7052, page 3.</p> +<p>November. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. <i>Woman’s +World</i>, Vol. I. No. 1, page 36.</p> +<p>November 9. *MR. MAHAFFY’S NEW BOOK. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7066, page 3.</p> +<p>November 24. *MR. MORRIS’S COMPLETION OF THE ODYSSEY. +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7079, page 3.</p> +<p>November 30. *SIR CHARLES BOWEN’S VIRGIL. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7084, page 3.</p> +<p>December. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. <i>Woman’s +World</i>, Vol. I. No. 2, page 81.</p> +<p>December 12. *THE UNITY OF THE ARTS. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7094, page 13.</p> +<p>December 13. UN AMANT DE NOS JOURS. <i>Court and Society +Review</i>, Vol. IV. No. 180, page 587.</p> +<p>December 16. *ARISTOTLE AT AFTERNOON TEA. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7098, page 3.</p> +<p>December 17. *EARLY CHRISTIAN ART IN IRELAND. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVI. No. 7099, page 3.</p> +<p>December 25. *ART AT WILLIS’S ROOMS. <i>Sunday +Times</i>, No. 3376, page 7.</p> +<p>December 25. FANTAISIES DÉCORATIVES. I. +LE PANNEAU. II. LES BALLONS. Illustrated by Bernard +Partridge. <i>Lady’s Pictorial</i> Christmas Number, pages +2, 3.</p> +<p>1888</p> +<p>January. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. I. No. 3, page 132.</p> +<p>January 20. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVII. No. 7128, page 3.</p> +<p>February. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. <i>Woman’s +World</i>, Vol. I. No. 4, page 180.</p> +<p>February 15. THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVII. No. 7150, page 3.</p> +<p>February 24. *VENUS OR VICTORY. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVII. No. 7158, page 2.</p> +<p>March. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. I. No. 5, page 229.</p> +<p>April. CANZONET. <i>Art and Letters</i>, Vol. II. No. +1, page 46.</p> +<p>April 6. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVII. No. 7193, page 3.</p> +<p>April 14. *M. CARO ON GEORGE SAND. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVII. No. 7200, page 3.</p> +<p>October 24. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7365, page 5.</p> +<p>November. A FASCINATING BOOK. A NOTE BY THE EDITOR. +<i>Woman’s World</i>, Vol. II. No. 13, page 53.</p> +<p>November 2. *MR. MORRIS ON TAPESTRY. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7373, page 6.</p> +<p>November 9. *SCULPTURE AT THE ‘ARTS AND CRAFTS.’ +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVIII. No. 7379, page 3.</p> +<p>November 16. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7385, page 2.</p> +<p>November 16. *PRINTING AND PRINTERS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7385, page 5.</p> +<p>November 23. *THE BEAUTIES OF BOOKBINDING. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVIII. No. 7391, page 3.</p> +<p>November 30. *THE CLOSE OF THE ‘ARTS AND CRAFTS.’ +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVIII. No. 7397, page 3.</p> +<p>December. A NOTE ON SOME MODERN POETS. <i>Woman’s +World</i>, Vol. II. No. 14, page 108.</p> +<p>December 8. ENGLISH POETESSES. <i>Queen</i>, Vol. LXXXIV. +No. 2189, page 742.</p> +<p>December 11. *SIR EDWIN ARNOLD’S LAST VOLUME. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLVIII. No. 7046, page 3.</p> +<p>December 14. *AUSTRALIAN POETS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7409, page 3.</p> +<p>December. THE YOUNG KING. Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. +<i>Lady’s Pictorial</i> Christmas Number, page 1.</p> +<p>1889</p> +<p>January. THE DECAY OF LYING: A DIALOGUE. <i>Nineteenth +Century</i>, Vol. XXV. No. 143, page 35.</p> +<p>January. PEN, PENCIL, AND POISON: A STUDY. <i>Fortnightly +Review</i>, Vol. XLV. No. 265, page 41.</p> +<p>January. LONDON MODELS. Illustrated by Harper Pennington. +<i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, Vol. VI. No. 64, page 313.</p> +<p>January. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. II. No. 15, page 164.</p> +<p>January 3. *POETRY AND PRISON. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7425, page 3.</p> +<p>January 25. *THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO WALT WHITMAN. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7444, page 3.</p> +<p>January 26. *THE NEW PRESIDENT. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7445, page 3.</p> +<p>February. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. II. No. 16, page 221.</p> +<p>February. SYMPHONY IN YELLOW. <i>Centennial Magazine</i> +(Sydney), Vol. II. No. 7, page 437.</p> +<p>February 12. *ONE OF THE BIBLES OF THE WORLD. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7459, page 3.</p> +<p>February 15. *POETICAL SOCIALISTS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7462, page 3.</p> +<p>February 27. *MR. BRANDER MATTHEWS’ ESSAYS. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7472, page 3.</p> +<p>March. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. III. No. 17, page 277.</p> +<p>March 2. *MR. WILLIAM MORRIS’S LAST BOOK. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7475, page 3.</p> +<p>March 25. *ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7494, page 3.</p> +<p>March 30. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7499, page 3.</p> +<p>April. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. II. No. 18, page 333.</p> +<p>April 13. MR. FROUDE’S BLUE-BOOK. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7511, page 3.</p> +<p>May. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. ii. No. 19, page 389.</p> +<p>May 17. *OUIDA’S NEW NOVEL. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7539, page 3.</p> +<p>June. SOME LITERARY NOTES. <i>Woman’s World</i>, +Vol. II. No. 20, page 446.</p> +<p>June 5. *A THOUGHT-READER’S NOVEL. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7555, page 2.</p> +<p>June 24. *THE POETS’ CORNER. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7571, page 3.</p> +<p>June 27. *MR. SWINBURNE’S LAST VOLUME. <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 7574, page 3.</p> +<p>July. THE PORTRAIT OF MR. W. H. <i>Blackwood’s +Edinburgh Magazine</i>, Vol. CXLVI. No. 885, page 1.</p> +<p>July 12. *THREE NEW POETS. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, +Vol. I. No. 7587, page 3.</p> +<p>December. IN THE FOREST. Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. +<i>Lady’s Pictorial</i> Christmas Number, page 9.</p> +<p>(Set to music by Edwin Tilden and published by Miles and Thompson, +Boston, U.S.A., 1891.)</p> +<p>1890</p> +<p>January 9. REPLY TO MR. WHISTLER. <i>Truth</i>, Vol. +XXVII. No. 680, page 51.</p> +<p>February 8. A CHINESE SAGE. <i>Speaker</i>, Vol. I. No. +6, page 144.</p> +<p>March 22. MR. PATER’S LAST VOLUME. <i>Speaker</i>, +Vol. I. No. 12, page 319.</p> +<p>May 24. *PRIMAVERA. <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. LI. +No. 7856, page 3.</p> +<p>June 20. THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. <i>Lippincott’s +Monthly Magazine</i> (July), Vol. XLVI. No. 271, page 3.</p> +<p>(Containing thirteen chapters only.)</p> +<p>June 26. MR. WILDE’S BAD CASE. <i>St</i>. <i>James’s +Gazette</i>, Vol. XX. No. 3135, page 4.</p> +<p>June 27. MR. OSCAR WILDE AGAIN. <i>St. James’s +Gazette</i>, Vol. XX. No. 3136, page 5.</p> +<p>June 28. MR. OSCAR WILDE’S DEFENCE. <i>St. James’s +Gazette</i>, Vol. XX. No. 3137, page 5.</p> +<p>June 30. MR. OSCAR WILDE’S DEFENCE. <i>St. James’s +Gazette</i>, Vol. XX. No. 3138, page 5.</p> +<p>July. THE TRUE FUNCTION AND VALUE OF CRITICISM; WITH SOME REMARKS +ON THE IMPORTANCE OF DOING NOTHING: A DIALOGUE. <i>Nineteenth +Century</i>, Vol. XXVIII. No. 161, page 123.</p> +<p>July 2. ‘DORIAN GRAY.’ <i>Daily Chronicle +and Clerkenwell News</i>, No. 8830, page 5.</p> +<p>July 12. MR. WILDE’S REJOINDER. <i>Scots Observer</i>, +Vol. IV. No. 86, page 201.</p> +<p>August 2. ART AND MORALITY. <i>Scots Observer</i>, Vol. +IV. No. 89, page 279.</p> +<p>August 16. ART AND MORALITY. <i>Scots Observer</i>, Vol. +IV. No. 91, page 332.</p> +<p>September. THE TRUE FUNCTION AND VALUE OF CRITICISM; WITH SOME +REMARKS ON THE IMPORTANCE OF DOING NOTHING: A DIALOGUE (<i>concluded</i>). +<i>Nineteenth Century</i>, Vol. XXVIII. No. 163, page 435.</p> +<p>1891</p> +<p>February. THE SOUL OF MAN UNDER SOCIALISM. <i>Fortnightly +Review</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 290, page 292.</p> +<p>March. A PREFACE TO ‘DORIAN GRAY.’ <i>Fortnightly +Review</i>, Vol. XLIX. No. 291, page 480.</p> +<p>September 26. AN ANGLO-INDIAN’S COMPLAINT. <i>Times</i>, +No. 33,440, page 10.</p> +<p>December 5. ‘A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES.’ <i>Speaker</i>, +Vol. IV. No. 101, page 682.</p> +<p>December 11. MR. OSCAR WILDE’S ‘HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES.’ +<i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. LIII. No. 8339, page 2.</p> +<p>1892</p> +<p>February 20. PUPPETS AND ACTORS. <i>Daily Telegraph</i>, +No. 11,470, page 3.</p> +<p>February 27. MR. OSCAR WILDE EXPLAINS. <i>St. James’s +Gazette</i>, Vol. XXIV. No. 3654, page 4.</p> +<p>December 6. THE NEW REMORSE. <i>Spirit Lamp</i>, Vol. +II. No. 4, page 97.</p> +<p>1893</p> +<p>February 17. THE HOUSE OF JUDGMENT. <i>Spirit Lamp</i>, +Vol. III. No. 2, page 52.</p> +<p>March 2. MR. OSCAR WILDE ON ‘SALOMÉ.’ +<i>Times</i>, No. 33,888, page 4.</p> +<p>June 6. THE DISCIPLE. <i>Spirit Lamp</i>, Vol. IV. No. +2, page 49.</p> +<p>TO MY WIFE: WITH A COPY OF MY POEMS; AND WITH A COPY OF ‘THE +HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES.’ <i>Book-Song</i>, <i>An Anthology +of Poems of Books and Bookmen from Modern Authors</i>. Edited +by Gleeson White, pages 156, 157. London: Elliot Stock.</p> +<p>[This was the first publication of these two poems. Anthologies +containing reprints are not included in this list.]</p> +<p>1894</p> +<p>January 15. LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE THIRTEEN CLUB. +<i>Times</i>, No. 34,161, page 7.</p> +<p>July. POEMS IN PROSE. (‘The Artist,’ ‘The +Doer of Good,’ ‘The Disciple,’ ‘The Master,’ +‘The House of Judgment.’) <i>Fortnightly Review</i>, +Vol. LIV. No. 331, page 22.</p> +<p>September 20. THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. LIX. No. 9202, page 3.</p> +<p>September 25. THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM. <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>, Vol. LIX. No. 9206, page 3.</p> +<p>October 2. ‘THE GREEN CARNATION.’ <i>Pall +Mall Gazette</i>, Vol. LIX. No. 9212, page 3.</p> +<p>December. PHRASES AND PHILOSOPHIES FOR THE USE OF THE YOUNG. +<i>Chameleon</i>, Vol. I. No. 1, page 1.</p> +<p>1895</p> +<p>April 6. LETTER ON THE QUEENSBERRY CASE. <i>Evening News</i>, +No. 4226, page 3.</p> +<p>1897</p> +<p>May 28. THE CASE OF WARDER MARTIN. SOME CRUELTIES OF +PRISON LIFE. <i>Daily Chronicle</i>, No. 10,992, page 9.</p> +<p>1898</p> +<p>March 24. LETTER ON PRISON REFORM. <i>Daily Chronicle</i>, +No. 11,249, page 5.</p> +<h2>Footnotes.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote0a"></a><a href="#citation0a">{0a}</a> See +<i>Lord Arthur Savile’s Crime and other Prose Pieces</i> in this +edition, page 223.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> Reverently +some well-meaning persons have placed a marble slab on the wall of the +cemetery with a medallion-profile of Keats on it and some mediocre lines +of poetry. The face is ugly, and rather hatchet-shaped, with thick +sensual lips, and is utterly unlike the poet himself, who was very beautiful +to look upon. ‘His countenance,’ says a lady who saw +him at one of Hazlitt’s lectures, ‘lives in my mind as one +of singular beauty and brightness; it had the expression as if he had +been looking on some glorious sight.’ And this is the idea +which Severn’s picture of him gives. Even Haydon’s +rough pen-and-ink sketch of him is better than this ‘marble libel,’ +which I hope will soon be taken down. I think the best representation +of the poet would be a coloured bust, like that of the young Rajah of +Koolapoor at Florence, which is a lovely and lifelike work of art.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> It +is perhaps not generally known that there is another and older peacock +ceiling in the world besides the one Mr. Whistler has done at Kensington. +I was surprised lately at Ravenna to come across a mosaic ceiling done +in the keynote of a peacock’s tail—blue, green, purple, +and gold—and with four peacocks in the four spandrils. Mr. +Whistler was unaware of the existence of this ceiling at the time he +did his own.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43">{43}</a> <i>An +Unequal Match</i>, by Tom Taylor, at Wallack’s Theatre, New York, +November 6, 1882.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74">{74}</a> ‘Make’ +is of course a mere printer’s error for ‘mock,’ and +was subsequently corrected by Lord Houghton. The sonnet as given +in <i>The Garden of Florence</i> reads ‘orbs’ for ‘those.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158">{158}</a> +September 1890. See <i>Intentions</i>, page 214.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163"></a><a href="#citation163">{163}</a> +November 30, 1891.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164"></a><a href="#citation164">{164}</a> +February 12, 1892.</p> +<p><a name="footnote170"></a><a href="#citation170">{170}</a> +February 23, 1893.</p> +<p><a name="footnote172"></a><a href="#citation172">{172}</a> +The verses called ‘The Shamrock’ were printed in the <i>Sunday +Sun</i>, August 5, 1894, and the charge of plagiarism was made in the +issue dated September 16, 1894.</p> +<p><a name="footnote188"></a><a href="#citation188">{188}</a> +Cousin errs a good deal in this respect. To say, as he did, ‘Give +me the latitude and the longitude of a country, its rivers and its mountains, +and I will deduce the race,’ is surely a glaring exaggeration.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190">{190}</a> +The monarchical, aristocratical, and democratic elements of the Roman +constitution are referred to.</p> +<p><a name="footnote193a"></a><a href="#citation193a">{193a}</a> +Polybius, vi. 9. αυτη πολιτειων +ανακυκλωσις, +αυτη φυσεως +οικνομια.</p> +<p><a name="footnote193b"></a><a href="#citation193b">{193b}</a> +χωρις ορyης η φθονου +ποιουμενος +την αποδειξιν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote193c"></a><a href="#citation193c">{193c}</a> +The various stages are συστασις, +αυξησις, ακμη, +μεταβολη ες +τουμπαλιν.</p> +<p><a name="footnote197a"></a><a href="#citation197a">{197a}</a> +Polybius, xii. 24.</p> +<p><a name="footnote197b"></a><a href="#citation197b">{197b}</a> +Polybius, i. 4, viii. 4, specially; and really <i>passim.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote198a"></a><a href="#citation198a">{198a}</a> +He makes one exception.</p> +<p><a name="footnote198b"></a><a href="#citation198b">{198b}</a> +Polybius, viii. 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote199"></a><a href="#citation199">{199}</a> +Polybius, xvi. 12.</p> +<p><a name="footnote200a"></a><a href="#citation200a">{200a}</a> +Polybius, viii. 4: το παραδοξοτον +των καθ ημας ερyον +ητυχη συνετελεσε; +τουτο δ’εστι +το παντα τα yνωριζομενα +μερη της οικουμενης +υπο μιαν αρχην +και δυναστειαν +αyαyειν, ο προτερον +ουχ ευρισκεται +yεyονος</p> +<p><a name="footnote200b"></a><a href="#citation200b">{200b}</a> +Polybius resembled Gibbon in many respects. Like him he held that +all religions were to the philosopher equally false, to the vulgar equally +true, to the statesman equally useful.</p> +<p><a name="footnote203"></a><a href="#citation203">{203}</a> +Cf. Polybius, xii. 25, ψιλως λεyομενον +το yεyονος ψυχαyωyει +μεν, ωφελει δ'ουδεν +προστεθεισης +δε της αιτιας +εyκαρπος η της +ιστοριας yιyνεται +χρησις.</p> +<p><a name="footnote205"></a><a href="#citation205">{205}</a> +Polybius, xxii. 22.</p> +<p><a name="footnote207"></a><a href="#citation207">{207}</a> +I mean particularly as regards his sweeping denunciation of the complete +moral decadence of Greek society during the Peloponnesian War which, +from what remains to us of Athenian literature, we know must have been +completely exaggerated. Or, rather, he is looking at men merely +in their political dealings: and in politics the man who is personally +honourable and refined will not scruple to do anything for his party.</p> +<p><a name="footnote211"></a><a href="#citation211">{211}</a> +Polybius, xii. 25.</p> +<p><a name="footnote253"></a><a href="#citation253">{253}</a> +As an instance of the inaccuracy of published reports of this lecture, +it may be mentioned that all previous versions give this passage as +<i>The artist may trace the depressed revolution of Bunthorne simply +to the lack of technical means</i>!</p> +<p><a name="footnote317"></a><a href="#citation317">{317}</a> +<i>The Two Paths</i>, Lect. III. p. 123 (1859 ed.).</p> +<p><a name="footnote328a"></a><a href="#citation328a">{328a}</a> +Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard Tauchnitz, +vol. 4056. 1908 (August).</p> +<p><a name="footnote328b"></a><a href="#citation328b">{328b}</a> +Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard Tauchnitz, +vol. 4056. 1908 (August).</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANIES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 14062-h.htm or 14062-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/0/6/14062 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Miscellanies + +Author: Oscar Wilde + +Release Date: November 16, 2004 [eBook #14062] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANIES*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1908 edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + + +MISCELLANIES BY OSCAR WILDE + + +DEDICATION: TO WALTER LEDGER + + +Since these volumes are sure of a place in your marvellous library I +trust that with your unrivalled knowledge of the various editions of +Wilde you may not detect any grievous error whether of taste or type, of +omission or commission. But should you do so you must blame the editor, +and not those who so patiently assisted him, the proof readers, the +printers, or the publishers. Some day, however, I look forward to your +bibliography of the author, in which you will be at liberty to criticise +my capacity for anything except regard and friendship for +yourself.--Sincerely yours, + +ROBERT ROSS + +May 25, 1908. + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The concluding volume of any collected edition is unavoidably fragmentary +and desultory. And if this particular volume is no exception to a +general tendency, it presents points of view in the author's literary +career which may have escaped his greatest admirers and detractors. The +wide range of his knowledge and interests is more apparent than in some +of his finished work. + +What I believed to be only the fragment of an essay on Historical +Criticism was already in the press, when accidentally I came across the +remaining portions, in Wilde's own handwriting; it is now complete though +unhappily divided in this edition. {0a} Any doubt as to its +authenticity, quite apart from the calligraphy, would vanish on reading +such a characteristic passage as the following:--' . . . For, it was in +vain that the middle ages strove to guard the buried spirit of progress. +When the dawn of the Greek spirit arose, the sepulchre was empty, the +grave clothes laid aside. Humanity had risen from the dead.' It was +only Wilde who could contrive a literary conceit of that description; but +readers will observe with different feelings, according to their +temperament, that he never followed up the particular trend of thought +developed in the essay. It is indeed more the work of the Berkeley Gold +Medallist at Dublin, or the brilliant young Magdalen Demy than of the +dramatist who was to write Salome. The composition belongs to his Oxford +days when he was the unsuccessful competitor for the Chancellor's English +Essay Prize. Perhaps Magdalen, which has never forgiven herself for +nurturing the author of Ravenna, may be felicitated on having escaped the +further intolerable honour that she might have suffered by seeing crowned +again with paltry academic parsley the most highly gifted of all her +children in the last century. Compared with the crude criticism on The +Grosvenor Gallery (one of the earliest of Wilde's published prose +writings), Historical Criticism is singularly advanced and mature. Apart +from his mere scholarship Wilde developed his literary and dramatic +talent slowly. He told me that he was never regarded as a particularly +precocious or clever youth. Indeed many old family friends and +contemporary journalists maintain sturdily that the talent of his elder +brother William was much more remarkable. In this opinion they are +fortified, appropriately enough, by the late Clement Scott. I record +this interesting view because it symbolises the familiar phenomenon that +those nearest the mountain cannot appreciate its height. + +The exiguous fragment of La Sainte Courtisane is the next unpublished +work of importance. At the time of Wilde's trial the nearly completed +drama was entrusted to Mrs. Leverson, who in 1897 went to Paris on +purpose to restore it to the author. Wilde immediately left the +manuscript in a cab. A few days later he laughingly informed me of the +loss, and added that a cab was a very proper place for it. I have +explained elsewhere that he looked on his plays with disdain in his last +years, though he was always full of schemes for writing others. All my +attempts to recover the lost work failed. The passages here reprinted +are from some odd leaves of a first draft. The play is of course not +unlike Salome, though it was written in English. It expanded Wilde's +favourite theory that when you convert some one to an idea, you lose your +faith in it; the same motive runs through Mr. W. H. Honorius the hermit, +so far as I recollect the story, falls in love with the courtesan who has +come to tempt him, and he reveals to her the secret of the Love of God. +She immediately becomes a Christian, and is murdered by robbers; Honorius +the hermit goes back to Alexandria to pursue a life of pleasure. Two +other similar plays Wilde invented in prison, Ahab and Isabel and +Pharaoh; he would never write them down, though often importuned to do +so. Pharaoh was intensely dramatic and perhaps more original than any of +the group. None of these works must be confused with the manuscripts +stolen from 16 Tite Street in 1895--namely the enlarged version of Mr. W. +H., the completed form of A Florentine Tragedy, and The Duchess of Padua +(which existing in a prompt copy was of less importance than the others); +nor with The Cardinal of Arragon, the manuscript of which I never saw. I +scarcely think it ever existed, though Wilde used to recite proposed +passages for it. + +In regard to printing the lectures I have felt some diffidence: the +majority of them were delivered from notes, and the same lectures were +repeated in different towns in England and America. The reports of them +in the papers are never trustworthy; they are often grotesque travesties, +like the reports of after-dinner speeches in the London press of today. I +have included only those lectures of which I possess or could obtain +manuscript. + +The aim of this edition has been completeness; and it is complete so far +as human effort can make it; but besides the lost manuscripts there must +be buried in the contemporary press many anonymous reviews which I have +failed to identify. The remaining contents of this book do not call for +further comment, other than a reminder that Wilde would hardly have +consented to their republication. But owing to the number of anonymous +works wrongly attributed to him, chiefly in America, and spurious works +published in his name, I found it necessary to violate the laws of +friendship by rejecting nothing I knew to be authentic. It will be seen +on reference to the letters on The Ethics of Journalism that Wilde's name +appearing at the end of poems and articles was not always a proof of +authenticity even in his lifetime. + +Of the few letters Wilde wrote to the press, those addressed to Whistler +I have included with greater misgiving than anything else in this volume. +They do not seem to me more amusing than those to which they were the +intended rejoinders. But the dates are significant. Wilde was at one +time always accused of plagiarising his ideas and his epigrams from +Whistler, especially those with which he decorated his lectures, the +accusation being brought by Whistler himself and his various disciples. +It should be noted that all the works by which Wilde is known throughout +Europe were written _after_ the two friends quarrelled. That Wilde +derived a great deal from the older man goes without saying, just as he +derived much in a greater degree from Pater, Ruskin, Arnold and Burne- +Jones. Yet the tedious attempt to recognise in every jest of his some +original by Whistler induces the criticism that it seems a pity the great +painter did not get them off on the public before he was forestalled. +Reluctance from an appeal to publicity was never a weakness in either of +the men. Some of Wilde's more frequently quoted sayings were made at the +Old Bailey (though their provenance is often forgotten) or on his death- +bed. + +As a matter of fact, the genius of the two men was entirely different. +Wilde was a humourist and a humanist before everything; and his wittiest +jests have neither the relentlessness nor the keenness characterising +those of the clever American artist. Again, Whistler could no more have +obtained the Berkeley Gold Medal for Greek, nor have written The +Importance of Being Earnest, nor The Soul of Man, than Wilde, even if +equipped as a painter, could ever have evinced that superb restraint +distinguishing the portraits of 'Miss Alexander,' 'Carlyle,' and other +masterpieces. Wilde, though it is not generally known, was something of +a draughtsman in his youth. I possess several of his drawings. + +A complete bibliography including all the foreign translations and +American piracies would make a book of itself much larger than the +present one. In order that Wilde collectors (and there are many, I +believe) may know the authorised editions and authentic writings from the +spurious, Mr. Stuart Mason, whose work on this edition I have already +acknowledged, has supplied a list which contains every _genuine_ and +_authorised_ English edition. This of course does not preclude the +chance that some of the American editions are authorised, and that some +of Wilde's genuine works even are included in the pirated editions. + +I am indebted to the Editors and Proprietors of the Queen for leave to +reproduce the article on 'English Poetesses'; to the Editor and +Proprietors of the Sunday Times for the article entitled 'Art at Willis's +Rooms'; and to Mr. William Waldorf Astor for those from the Pall Mall +Gazette. + +ROBERT ROSS + + + + +THE TOMB OF KEATS + + +(Irish Monthly, July 1877.) + +As one enters Rome from the Via Ostiensis by the Porta San Paolo, the +first object that meets the eye is a marble pyramid which stands close at +hand on the left. + +There are many Egyptian obelisks in Rome--tall, snakelike spires of red +sandstone, mottled with strange writings, which remind us of the pillars +of flame which led the children of Israel through the desert away from +the land of the Pharaohs; but more wonderful than these to look upon is +this gaunt, wedge-shaped pyramid standing here in this Italian city, +unshattered amid the ruins and wrecks of time, looking older than the +Eternal City itself, like terrible impassiveness turned to stone. And so +in the Middle Ages men supposed this to be the sepulchre of Remus, who +was slain by his own brother at the founding of the city, so ancient and +mysterious it appears; but we have now, perhaps unfortunately, more +accurate information about it, and know that it is the tomb of one Caius +Cestius, a Roman gentleman of small note, who died about 30 B.C. + +Yet though we cannot care much for the dead man who lies in lonely state +beneath it, and who is only known to the world through his sepulchre, +still this pyramid will be ever dear to the eyes of all English-speaking +people, because at evening its shadows fall on the tomb of one who walks +with Spenser, and Shakespeare, and Byron, and Shelley, and Elizabeth +Barrett Browning in the great procession of the sweet singers of England. + +For at its foot there is a green, sunny slope, known as the Old +Protestant Cemetery, and on this a common-looking grave, which bears the +following inscription: + + This grave contains all that was mortal of a young English poet, who + on his deathbed, in the bitterness of his heart, desired these words + to be engraven on his tombstone: HERE LIES ONE WHOSE NAME WAS WRIT IN + WATER. February 24, 1821. + +And the name of the young English poet is John Keats. + +Lord Houghton calls this cemetery 'one of the most beautiful spots on +which the eye and heart of man can rest,' and Shelley speaks of it as +making one 'in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so +sweet a place'; and indeed when I saw the violets and the daisies and the +poppies that overgrow the tomb, I remembered how the dead poet had once +told his friend that he thought the 'intensest pleasure he had received +in life was in watching the growth of flowers,' and how another time, +after lying a while quite still, he murmured in some strange prescience +of early death, 'I feel the flowers growing over me.' + +But this time-worn stone and these wildflowers are but poor memorials {3} +of one so great as Keats; most of all, too, in this city of Rome, which +pays such honour to her dead; where popes, and emperors, and saints, and +cardinals lie hidden in 'porphyry wombs,' or couched in baths of jasper +and chalcedony and malachite, ablaze with precious stones and metals, and +tended with continual service. For very noble is the site, and worthy of +a noble monument; behind looms the grey pyramid, symbol of the world's +age, and filled with memories of the sphinx, and the lotus leaf, and the +glories of old Nile; in front is the Monte Testaccio, built, it is said, +with the broken fragments of the vessels in which all the nations of the +East and the West brought their tribute to Rome; and a little distance +off, along the slope of the hill under the Aurelian wall, some tall gaunt +cypresses rise, like burnt-out funeral torches, to mark the spot where +Shelley's heart (that 'heart of hearts'!) lies in the earth; and, above +all, the soil on which we tread is very Rome! + +As I stood beside the mean grave of this divine boy, I thought of him as +of a Priest of Beauty slain before his time; and the vision of Guido's +St. Sebastian came before my eyes as I saw him at Genoa, a lovely brown +boy, with crisp, clustering hair and red lips, bound by his evil enemies +to a tree, and though pierced by arrows, raising his eyes with divine, +impassioned gaze towards the Eternal Beauty of the opening heavens. And +thus my thoughts shaped themselves to rhyme: + + HEU MISERANDE PUER + + Rid of the world's injustice and its pain, + He rests at last beneath God's veil of blue; + Taken from life while life and love were new + The youngest of the martyrs here is lain, + Fair as Sebastian and as foully slain. + No cypress shades his grave, nor funeral yew, + But red-lipped daisies, violets drenched with dew, + And sleepy poppies, catch the evening rain. + + O proudest heart that broke for misery! + O saddest poet that the world hath seen! + O sweetest singer of the English land! + Thy name was writ in water on the sand, + But our tears shall keep thy memory green, + And make it flourish like a Basil-tree. + + Borne, 1877. + +Note.--A later version of this sonnet, under the title of 'The Grave of +Keats,' is given in the Poems, page 157. + + + + +THE GROSVENOR GALLERY, 1877 + + +(Dublin University Magazine, July 1877.) + +That 'Art is long and life is short' is a truth which every one feels, or +ought to feel; yet surely those who were in London last May, and had in +one week the opportunities of hearing Rubenstein play the Sonata +Impassionata, of seeing Wagner conduct the Spinning-Wheel Chorus from the +Flying Dutchman, and of studying art at the Grosvenor Gallery, have very +little to complain of as regards human existence and art-pleasures. + +Descriptions of music are generally, perhaps, more or less failures, for +music is a matter of individual feeling, and the beauties and lessons +that one draws from hearing lovely sounds are mainly personal, and depend +to a large extent on one's own state of mind and culture. So leaving +Rubenstein and Wagner to be celebrated by Franz Huffer, or Mr. Haweis, or +any other of our picturesque writers on music, I will describe some of +the pictures now being shown in the Grosvenor Gallery. + +The origin of this Gallery is as follows: About a year ago the idea +occurred to Sir Coutts Lindsay of building a public gallery, in which, +untrammelled by the difficulties or meannesses of 'Hanging Committees,' +he could exhibit to the lovers of art the works of certain great living +artists side by side: a gallery in which the student would not have to +struggle through an endless monotony of mediocre works in order to reach +what was worth looking at; one in which the people of England could have +the opportunity of judging of the merits of at least one great master of +painting, whose pictures had been kept from public exhibition by the +jealousy and ignorance of rival artists. Accordingly, last May, in New +Bond Street, the Grosvenor Gallery was opened to the public. + +As far as the Gallery itself is concerned, there are only three rooms, so +there is no fear of our getting that terrible weariness of mind and eye +which comes on after the 'Forced Marches' through ordinary picture +galleries. The walls are hung with scarlet damask above a dado of dull +green and gold; there are luxurious velvet couches, beautiful flowers and +plants, tables of gilded and inlaid marbles, covered with Japanese china +and the latest 'Minton,' globes of 'rainbow glass' like large +soap-bubbles, and, in fine, everything in decoration that is lovely to +look on, and in harmony with the surrounding works of art. + +Burne-Jones and Holman Hunt are probably the greatest masters of colour +that we have ever had in England, with the single exception of Turner, +but their styles differ widely. To draw a rough distinction, Holman Hunt +studies and reproduces the colours of natural objects, and deals with +historical subjects, or scenes of real life, mostly from the East, +touched occasionally with a certain fancifulness, as in the Shadow of the +Cross. Burne-Jones, on the contrary, is a dreamer in the land of +mythology, a seer of fairy visions, a symbolical painter. He is an +imaginative colourist too, knowing that all colour is no mere delightful +quality of natural things, but a 'spirit upon them by which they become +expressive to the spirit,' as Mr. Pater says. Watts's power, on the +other hand, lies in his great originative and imaginative genius, and he +reminds us of AEschylus or Michael Angelo in the startling vividness of +his conceptions. Although these three painters differ much in aim and in +result, they yet are one in their faith, and love, and reverence, the +three golden keys to the gate of the House Beautiful. + +On entering the West Gallery the first picture that meets the eye is Mr. +Watts's Love and Death, a large painting, representing a marble doorway, +all overgrown with white-starred jasmine and sweet brier-rose. Death, a +giant form, veiled in grey draperies, is passing in with inevitable and +mysterious power, breaking through all the flowers. One foot is already +on the threshold, and one relentless hand is extended, while Love, a +beautiful boy with lithe brown limbs and rainbow-coloured wings, all +shrinking like a crumpled leaf, is trying, with vain hands, to bar the +entrance. A little dove, undisturbed by the agony of the terrible +conflict, waits patiently at the foot of the steps for her playmate; but +will wait in vain, for though the face of Death is hidden from us, yet we +can see from the terror in the boy's eyes and quivering lips, that, +Medusa-like, this grey phantom turns all it looks upon to stone; and the +wings of Love are rent and crushed. Except on the ceiling of the Sistine +Chapel in Rome, there are perhaps few paintings to compare with this in +intensity of strength and in marvel of conception. It is worthy to rank +with Michael Angelo's God Dividing the Light from the Darkness. + +Next to it are hung five pictures by Millais. Three of them are +portraits of the three daughters of the Duke of Westminster, all in white +dresses, with white hats and feathers; the delicacy of the colour being +rather injured by the red damask background. These pictures do not +possess any particular merit beyond that of being extremely good +likenesses, especially the one of the Marchioness of Ormonde. Over them +is hung a picture of a seamstress, pale and vacant-looking, with eyes red +from tears and long watchings in the night, hemming a shirt. It is meant +to illustrate Hood's familiar poem. As we look on it, a terrible +contrast strikes us between this miserable pauper-seamstress and the +three beautiful daughters of the richest duke in the world, which breaks +through any artistic reveries by its awful vividness. + +The fifth picture is a profile head of a young man with delicate aquiline +nose, thoughtful oval face, and artistic, abstracted air, which will be +easily recognised as a portrait of Lord Ronald Gower, who is himself +known as an artist and sculptor. But no one would discern in these five +pictures the genius that painted the Home at Bethlehem and the portrait +of John Ruskin which is at Oxford. + +Then come eight pictures by Alma Tadema, good examples of that accurate +drawing of inanimate objects which makes his pictures so real from an +antiquarian point of view, and of the sweet subtlety of colouring which +gives to them a magic all their own. One represents some Roman girls +bathing in a marble tank, and the colour of the limbs in the water is +very perfect indeed; a dainty attendant is tripping down a flight of +steps with a bundle of towels, and in the centre a great green sphinx in +bronze throws forth a shower of sparkling water for a very pretty +laughing girl, who stoops gleefully beneath it. There is a delightful +sense of coolness about the picture, and one can almost imagine that one +hears the splash of water, and the girls' chatter. It is wonderful what +a world of atmosphere and reality may be condensed into a very small +space, for this picture is only about eleven by two and a half inches. + +The most ambitious of these pictures is one of Phidias Showing the Frieze +of the Parthenon to his Friends. We are supposed to be on a high +scaffolding level with the frieze, and the effect of great height +produced by glimpses of light between the planking of the floor is very +cleverly managed. But there is a want of individuality among the +connoisseurs clustered round Phidias, and the frieze itself is very +inaccurately coloured. The Greek boys who are riding and leading the +horses are painted Egyptian red, and the whole design is done in this +red, dark blue, and black. This sombre colouring is un-Greek; the +figures of these boys were undoubtedly tinted with flesh colour, like the +ordinary Greek statues, and the whole tone of the colouring of the +original frieze was brilliant and light; while one of its chief beauties, +the reins and accoutrements of burnished metal, is quite omitted. This +painter is more at home in the Greco-Roman art of the Empire and later +Republic than he is in the art of the Periclean age. + +The most remarkable of Mr. Richmond's pictures exhibited here is his +Electra at the Tomb of Agamemnon--a very magnificent subject, to which, +however, justice is not done. Electra and her handmaidens are grouped +gracefully around the tomb of the murdered King; but there is a want of +humanity in the scene: there is no trace of that passionate Asiatic +mourning for the dead to which the Greek women were so prone, and which +AEschylus describes with such intensity; nor would Greek women have come +to pour libations to the dead in such bright-coloured dresses as Mr. +Richmond has given them; clearly this artist has not studied AEschylus' +play of the Choephori, in which there is an elaborate and pathetic +account of this scene. The tall, twisted tree-stems, however, that form +the background are fine and original in effect, and Mr. Richmond has +caught exactly that peculiar opal-blue of the sky which is so remarkable +in Greece; the purple orchids too, and daffodil and narcissi that are in +the foreground are all flowers which I have myself seen at Argos. + +Sir Coutts Lindsay sends a life-size portrait of his wife, holding a +violin, which has some good points of colour and position, and four other +pictures, including an exquisitely simple and quaint little picture of +the Dower House at Balcarres, and a Daphne with rather questionable flesh- +painting, and in whom we miss the breathlessness of flight. + + I saw the blush come o'er her like a rose; + The half-reluctant crimson comes and goes; + Her glowing limbs make pause, and she is stayed + Wondering the issue of the words she prayed. + +It is a great pity that Holman Hunt is not represented by any of his +really great works, such as the Finding of Christ in the Temple, or +Isabella Mourning over the Pot of Basil, both of which are fair samples +of his powers. Four pictures of his are shown here: a little Italian +child, painted with great love and sweetness, two street scenes in Cairo +full of rich Oriental colouring, and a wonderful work called the +Afterglow in Egypt. It represents a tall swarthy Egyptian woman, in a +robe of dark and light blue, carrying a green jar on her shoulder, and a +sheaf of grain on her head; around her comes fluttering a flock of +beautiful doves of all colours, eager to be fed. Behind is a wide flat +river, and across the river a stretch of ripe corn, through which a gaunt +camel is being driven; the sun has set, and from the west comes a great +wave of red light like wine poured out on the land, yet not crimson, as +we see the Afterglow in Northern Europe, but a rich pink like that of a +rose. As a study of colour it is superb, but it is difficult to feel a +human interest in this Egyptian peasant. + +Mr. Albert Moore sends some of his usual pictures of women, which as +studies of drapery and colour effects are very charming. One of them, a +tall maiden, in a robe of light blue clasped at the neck with a glowing +sapphire, and with an orange headdress, is a very good example of the +highest decorative art, and a perfect delight in colour. + +Mr. Spencer Stanhope's picture of Eve Tempted is one of the remarkable +pictures of the Gallery. Eve, a fair woman, of surpassing loveliness, is +leaning against a bank of violets, underneath the apple tree; naked, +except for the rich thick folds of gilded hair which sweep down from her +head like the bright rain in which Zeus came to Danae. The head is +drooped a little forward as a flower droops when the dew has fallen +heavily, and her eyes are dimmed with the haze that comes in moments of +doubtful thought. One arm falls idly by her side; the other is raised +high over her head among the branches, her delicate fingers just meeting +round one of the burnished apples that glow amidst the leaves like +'golden lamps in a green night.' An amethyst-coloured serpent, with a +devilish human head, is twisting round the trunk of the tree and breathes +into the woman's ear a blue flame of evil counsel. At the feet of Eve +bright flowers are growing, tulips, narcissi, lilies, and anemones, all +painted with a loving patience that reminds us of the older Florentine +masters; after whose example, too, Mr. Stanhope has used gilding for +Eve's hair and for the bright fruits. + +Next to it is another picture by the same artist, entitled Love and the +Maiden. A girl has fallen asleep in a wood of olive trees, through whose +branches and grey leaves we can see the glimmer of sky and sea, with a +little seaport town of white houses shining in the sunlight. The olive +wood is ever sacred to the Virgin Pallas, the Goddess of Wisdom; and who +would have dreamed of finding Eros hidden there? But the girl wakes up, +as one wakes from sleep one knows not why, to see the face of the boy +Love, who, with outstretched hands, is leaning towards her from the midst +of a rhododendron's crimson blossoms. A rose-garland presses the boy's +brown curls, and he is clad in a tunic of oriental colours, and +delicately sensuous are his face and his bared limbs. His boyish beauty +is of that peculiar type unknown in Northern Europe, but common in the +Greek islands, where boys can still be found as beautiful as the +Charmides of Plato. Guido's St. Sebastian in the Palazzo Rosso at Genoa +is one of those boys, and Perugino once drew a Greek Ganymede for his +native town, but the painter who most shows the influence of this type is +Correggio, whose lily-bearer in the Cathedral at Parma, and whose wild- +eyed, open-mouthed St. Johns in the 'Incoronata Madonna' of St. Giovanni +Evangelista, are the best examples in art of the bloom and vitality and +radiance of this adolescent beauty. And so there is extreme loveliness +in this figure of Love by Mr. Stanhope, and the whole picture is full of +grace, though there is, perhaps, too great a luxuriance of colour, and it +would have been a relief had the girl been dressed in pure white. + +Mr. Frederick Burton, of whom all Irishmen are so justly proud, is +represented by a fine water-colour portrait of Mrs. George Smith; one +would almost believe it to be in oils, so great is the lustre on this +lady's raven-black hair, and so rich and broad and vigorous is the +painting of a Japanese scarf she is wearing. Then as we turn to the east +wall of the gallery we see the three great pictures of Burne-Jones, the +Beguiling of Merlin, the Days of Creation, and the Mirror of Venus. The +version of the legend of Merlin's Beguiling that Mr. Burne-Jones has +followed differs from Mr. Tennyson's and from the account in the Morte +d'Arthur. It is taken from the Romance of Merlin, which tells the story +in this wise: + + It fell on a day that they went through the forest of Breceliande, and + found a bush that was fair and high, of white hawthorn, full of + flowers, and there they sat in the shadow. And Merlin fell on sleep; + and when she felt that he was on sleep she arose softly, and began her + enchantments, such as Merlin had taught her, and made the ring nine + times, and nine times the enchantments. + + . . . . . + + And then he looked about him, and him seemed he was in the fairest + tower of the world, and the most strong; neither of iron was it + fashioned, nor steel, nor timber, nor of stone, but of the air, + without any other thing; and in sooth so strong it is that it may + never be undone while the world endureth. + +So runs the chronicle; and thus Mr. Burne-Jones, the 'Archimage of the +esoteric unreal,' treats the subject. Stretched upon a low branch of the +tree, and encircled with the glory of the white hawthorn-blossoms, half +sits, half lies, the great enchanter. He is not drawn as Mr. Tennyson +has described him, with the 'vast and shaggy mantle of a beard,' which +youth gone out had left in ashes; smooth and clear-cut and very pale is +his face; time has not seared him with wrinkles or the signs of age; one +would hardly know him to be old were it not that he seems very weary of +seeking into the mysteries of the world, and that the great sadness that +is born of wisdom has cast a shadow on him. But now what availeth him +his wisdom or his arts? His eyes, that saw once so clear, are dim and +glazed with coming death, and his white and delicate hands that wrought +of old such works of marvel, hang listlessly. Vivien, a tall, lithe +woman, beautiful and subtle to look on, like a snake, stands in front of +him, reading the fatal spell from the enchanted book; mocking the utter +helplessness of him whom once her lying tongue had called + + Her lord and liege, + Her seer, her bard, her silver star of eve, + Her god, her Merlin, the one passionate love + Of her whole life. + +In her brown crisp hair is the gleam of a golden snake, and she is clad +in a silken robe of dark violet that clings tightly to her limbs, more +expressing than hiding them; the colour of this dress is like the colour +of a purple sea-shell, broken here and there with slight gleams of silver +and pink and azure; it has a strange metallic lustre like the iris-neck +of the dove. Were this Mr. Burne-Jones's only work it would be enough of +itself to make him rank as a great painter. The picture is full of +magic; and the colour is truly a spirit dwelling on things and making +them expressive to the spirit, for the delicate tones of grey, and green, +and violet seem to convey to us the idea of languid sleep, and even the +hawthorn-blossoms have lost their wonted brightness, and are more like +the pale moonlight to which Shelley compared them, than the sheet of +summer snow we see now in our English fields. + +The next picture is divided into six compartments, each representing a +day in the Creation of the World, under the symbol of an angel holding a +crystal globe, within which is shown the work of a day. In the first +compartment stands the lonely angel of the First Day, and within the +crystal ball Light is being separated from Darkness. In the fourth +compartment are four angels, and the crystal glows like a heated opal, +for within it the creation of the Sun, Moon, and Stars is passing; the +number of the angels increases, and the colours grow more vivid till we +reach the sixth compartment, which shines afar off like a rainbow. Within +it are the six angels of the Creation, each holding its crystal ball; and +within the crystal of the sixth angel one can see Adam's strong brown +limbs and hero form, and the pale, beautiful body of Eve. At the feet +also of these six winged messengers of the Creator is sitting the angel +of the Seventh Day, who on a harp of gold is singing the glories of that +coming day which we have not yet seen. The faces of the angels are pale +and oval-shaped, in their eyes is the light of Wisdom and Love, and their +lips seem as if they would speak to us; and strength and beauty are in +their wings. They stand with naked feet, some on shell-strewn sands +whereon tide has never washed nor storm broken, others it seems on pools +of water, others on strange flowers; and their hair is like the bright +glory round a saint's head. + +The scene of the third picture is laid on a long green valley by the sea; +eight girls, handmaidens of the Goddess of Love, are collected by the +margin of a long pool of clear water, whose surface no wandering wind or +flapping bird has ruffled; but the large flat leaves of the water-lily +float on it undisturbed, and clustering forget-me-nots rise here and +there like heaps of scattered turquoise. + +In this Mirror of Venus each girl is reflected as in a mirror of polished +steel. Some of them bend over the pool in laughing wonder at their own +beauty, others, weary of shadows, are leaning back, and one girl is +standing straight up; and nothing of her is reflected in the pool but a +glimmer of white feet. This picture, however, has not the intense pathos +and tragedy of the Beguiling of Merlin, nor the mystical and lovely +symbolism of the Days of the Creation. Above these three pictures are +hung five allegorical studies of figures by the same artist, all worthy +of his fame. + +Mr. Walter Crane, who has illustrated so many fairy tales for children, +sends an ambitious work called the Renaissance of Venus, which in the +dull colour of its 'sunless dawn,' and in its general want of all the +glow and beauty and passion that one associates with this scene reminds +one of Botticelli's picture of the same subject. After Mr. Swinburne's +superb description of the sea-birth of the goddess in his Hymn to +Proserpine, it is very strange to find a cultured artist of feeling +producing such a vapid Venus as this. The best thing in it is the +painting of an apple tree: the time of year is spring, and the leaves +have not yet come, but the tree is laden with pink and white blossoms, +which stand out in beautiful relief against the pale blue of the sky, and +are very true to nature. + +M. Alphonse Legros sends nine pictures, and there is a natural curiosity +to see the work of a gentleman who holds at Cambridge the same +professorship as Mr. Ruskin does at Oxford. Four of these are studies of +men's heads, done in two hours each for his pupils at the Slade Schools. +There is a good deal of vigorous, rough execution about them, and they +are marvels of rapid work. His portrait of Mr. Carlyle is +unsatisfactory; and even in No. 79, a picture of two scarlet-robed +bishops, surrounded by Spanish monks, his colour is very thin and meagre. +A good bit of painting is of some metal pots in a picture called Le +Chaudronnier. + +Mr. Leslie, unfortunately, is represented only by one small work, called +Palm-blossom. It is a picture of a perfectly lovely child that reminds +one of Sir Joshua's cherubs in the National Gallery, with a mouth like +two petals of a rose; the under-lip, as Rossetti says quaintly somewhere, +'sucked in, as if it strove to kiss itself.' + +Then we come to the most abused pictures in the whole Exhibition--the +'colour symphonies' of the 'Great Dark Master,' Mr. Whistler, who +deserves the name of '[Greek] as much as Heraclitus ever did. Their +titles do not convey much information. No. 4 is called Nocturne in Black +and Gold, No. 6A Nocturne in Blue and Silver, and so on. The first of +these represents a rocket of golden rain, with green and red fires +bursting in a perfectly black sky, two large black smudges on the picture +standing, I believe, for a tower which is in 'Cremorne Gardens' and for a +crowd of lookers-on. The other is rather prettier; a rocket is breaking +in a pale blue sky over a large dark blue bridge and a blue and silver +river. These pictures are certainly worth looking at for about as long +as one looks at a real rocket, that is, for somewhat less than a quarter +of a minute. + +No. 7 is called Arrangement in Black No. 3, apparently some pseudonym for +our greatest living actor, for out of black smudgy clouds comes looming +the gaunt figure of Mr. Henry Irving, with the yellow hair and pointed +beard, the ruff, short cloak, and tight hose in which he appeared as +Philip II. in Tennyson's play Queen Mary. One hand is thrust into his +breast, and his legs are stuck wide apart in a queer stiff position that +Mr. Irving often adopts preparatory to one of his long, wolflike strides +across the stage. The figure is life-size, and, though apparently one- +armed, is so ridiculously like the original that one cannot help almost +laughing when one sees it. And we may imagine that any one who had the +misfortune to be shut up at night in the Grosvenor Gallery would hear +this Arrangement in Black No. 3 murmuring in the well-known Lyceum +accents: + + By St. James, I do protest, + Upon the faith and honour of a Spaniard, + I am vastly grieved to leave your Majesty. + Simon, is supper ready? + +Nos. 8 and 9 are life-size portraits of two young ladies, evidently +caught in a black London fog; they look like sisters, but are not related +probably, as one is a Harmony in Amber and Black, the other only an +Arrangement in Brown. + +Mr. Whistler, however, sends one really good picture to this exhibition, +a portrait of Mr. Carlyle, which is hung in the entrance hall; the +expression on the old man's face, the texture and colour of his grey +hair, and the general sympathetic treatment, show Mr. Whistler {19} to be +an artist of very great power when he likes. + +There is not so much in the East Gallery that calls for notice. Mr. +Leighton is unfortunately represented only by two little heads, one of an +Italian girl, the other called A Study. There is some delicate flesh +painting of red and brown in these works that reminds one of a russet +apple, but of course they are no samples of this artist's great strength. +There are two good portraits--one of Mrs. Burne-Jones, by Mr. Poynter. +This lady has a very delicate, artistic face, reminding us, perhaps, a +little of one of the angels her husband has painted. She is represented +in a white dress, with a perfectly gigantic old-fashioned watch hung to +her waist, drinking tea from an old blue china cup. The other is a head +of the Duchess of Westminster by Mr. Forbes-Robertson, who both as an +actor and an artist has shown great cleverness. He has succeeded very +well in reproducing the calm, beautiful profile and lustrous golden hair, +but the shoulders are ungraceful, and very unlike the original. The +figure of a girl leaning against a wonderful screen, looking terribly +'misunderstood,' and surrounded by any amount of artistic china and +furniture, by Mrs. Louise Jopling, is worth looking at too. It is called +It Might Have Been, and the girl is quite fit to be the heroine of any +sentimental novel. + +The two largest contributors to this gallery are Mr. Ferdinand Heilbuth +and Mr. James Tissot. The first of these two artists sends some +delightful pictures from Rome, two of which are particularly pleasing. +One is of an old Cardinal in the Imperial scarlet of the Caesars meeting +a body of young Italian boys in purple soutanes, students evidently in +some religious college, near the Church of St. John Lateran. One of the +boys is being presented to the Cardinal, and looks very nervous under the +operation; the rest gaze in wonder at the old man in his beautiful dress. +The other picture is a view in the gardens of the Villa Borghese; a +Cardinal has sat down on a marble seat in the shade of the trees, and is +suspending his meditation for a moment to smile at a pretty child to whom +a French bonne is pointing out the gorgeously dressed old gentleman; a +flunkey in attendance on the Cardinal looks superciliously on. + +Nearly all of Mr. Tissot's pictures are deficient in feeling and depth; +his young ladies are too fashionably over-dressed to interest the +artistic eye, and he has a hard unscrupulousness in painting +uninteresting objects in an uninteresting way. There is some good colour +and drawing, however, in his painting of a withered chestnut tree, with +the autumn sun glowing through the yellow leaves, in a picnic scene, No. +23; the remainder of the picture being something in the photographic +style of Frith. + +What a gap in art there is between such a picture as the Banquet of the +Civic Guard in Holland, with its beautiful grouping of noble-looking men, +its exquisite Venetian glass aglow with light and wine, and Mr. Tissot's +over-dressed, common-looking people, and ugly, painfully accurate +representation of modern soda-water bottles! + +Mr. Tissot's Widower, however, shines in qualities which his other +pictures lack; it is full of depth and suggestiveness; the grasses and +wild, luxuriant growth of the foreground are a revel of natural life. + +We must notice besides in this gallery Mr. Watts's two powerful portraits +of Mr. Burne-Jones and Lady Lindsay. + +To get to the Water-Colour Room we pass through a small sculpture +gallery, which contains some busts of interest, and a pretty terra-cotta +figure of a young sailor, by Count Gleichen, entitled Cheeky, but it is +not remarkable in any way, and contrasts very unfavourably with the +Exhibition of Sculpture at the Royal Academy, in which are three really +fine works of art--Mr. Leighton's Man Struggling with a Snake, which may +be thought worthy of being looked on side by side with the Laocoon of the +Vatican, and Lord Ronald Gower's two statues, one of a dying French +Guardsman at the Battle of Waterloo, the other of Marie Antoinette being +led to execution with bound hands, Queenlike and noble to the last. + +The collection of water-colours is mediocre; there is a good effect of +Mr. Poynter's, the east wind seen from a high cliff sweeping down on the +sea like the black wings of some god; and some charming pictures of Fairy +Land by Mr. Richard Doyle, which would make good illustrations for one of +Mr. Allingham's Fairy-Poems, but the tout-ensemble is poor. + +Taking a general view of the works exhibited here, we see that this dull +land of England, with its short summer, its dreary rains and fogs, its +mining districts and factories, and vile deification of machinery, has +yet produced very great masters of art, men with a subtle sense and love +of what is beautiful, original, and noble in imagination. + +Nor are the art-treasures of this country at all exhausted by this +Exhibition; there are very many great pictures by living artists hidden +away in different places, which those of us who are yet boys have never +seen, and which our elders must wish to see again. + +Holman Hunt has done better work than the Afterglow in Egypt; neither +Millais, Leighton, nor Poynter has sent any of the pictures on which his +fame rests; neither Burne-Jones nor Watts shows us here all the glories +of his art; and the name of that strange genius who wrote the Vision of +Love revealed in Sleep, and the names of Dante Rossetti and of the +Marchioness of Waterford, cannot be found in the catalogue. And so it is +to be hoped that this is not the only exhibition of paintings that we +shall see in the Grosvenor Gallery; and Sir Coutts Lindsay, in showing us +great works of art, will be most materially aiding that revival of +culture and love of beauty which in great part owes its birth to Mr. +Ruskin, and which Mr. Swinburne, and Mr. Pater, and Mr. Symonds, and Mr. +Morris, and many others, are fostering and keeping alive, each in his own +peculiar fashion. + + + + +THE GROSVENOR GALLERY 1879 + + +(Saunders' Irish Daily News, May 5, 1879.) + +While the yearly exhibition of the Royal Academy may be said to present +us with the general characteristics of ordinary English art at its most +commonplace level, it is at the Grosvenor Gallery that we are enabled to +see the highest development of the modern artistic spirit as well as what +one might call its specially accentuated tendencies. + +Foremost among the great works now exhibited at this gallery are Mr. +Burne-Jones's Annunciation and his four pictures illustrating the Greek +legend of Pygmalion--works of the very highest importance in our aesthetic +development as illustrative of some of the more exquisite qualities of +modern culture. In the first the Virgin Mary, a passionless, pale woman, +with that mysterious sorrow whose meaning she was so soon to learn +mirrored in her wan face, is standing, in grey drapery, by a marble +fountain, in what seems the open courtyard of an empty and silent house, +while through the branches of a tall olive tree, unseen by the Virgin's +tear-dimmed eyes, is descending the angel Gabriel with his joyful and +terrible message, not painted as Angelico loved to do, in the varied +splendour of peacock-like wings and garments of gold and crimson, but +somewhat sombre in colour, set with all the fine grace of nobly-fashioned +drapery and exquisitely ordered design. In presence of what may be +called the mediaeval spirit may be discerned both the idea and the +technique of the work, and even still more so in the four pictures of the +story of Pygmalion, where the sculptor is represented in dress and in +looks rather as a Christian St. Francis, than as a pure Greek artist in +the first morning tide of art, creating his own ideal, and worshipping +it. For delicacy and melody of colour these pictures are beyond praise, +nor can anything exceed the idyllic loveliness of Aphrodite waking the +statue into sensuous life: the world above her head like a brittle globe +of glass, her feet resting on a drift of the blue sky, and a choir of +doves fluttering around her like a fall of white snow. Following in the +same school of ideal and imaginative painting is Miss Evelyn Pickering, +whose picture of St. Catherine, in the Dudley of some years ago, +attracted such great attention. To the present gallery she has +contributed a large picture of Night and Sleep, twin brothers floating +over the world in indissoluble embrace, the one spreading the cloak of +darkness, while from the other's listless hands the Leathean poppies fall +in a scarlet shower. Mr. Strudwich sends a picture of Isabella, which +realises in some measure the pathos of Keats's poem, and another of the +lover in the lily garden from the Song of Solomon, both works full of +delicacy of design and refinement of detail, yet essentially weak in +colour, and in comparison with the splendid Giorgione-like work of Mr. +Fairfax Murray, are more like the coloured drawings of the modern German +school than what we properly call a painting. The last-named artist, +while essentially weak in draughtsmanship, yet possesses the higher +quality of noble colour in the fullest degree. + +The draped figures of men and women in his Garland Makers, and Pastoral, +some wrought in that single note of colour which the earlier Florentines +loved, others with all the varied richness and glow of the Venetian +school, show what great results may be brought about by a youth spent in +Italian cities. And finally I must notice the works contributed to this +Gallery by that most powerful of all our English artists, Mr. G. F. +Watts, the extraordinary width and reach of whose genius were never more +illustrated than by the various pictures bearing his name which are here +exhibited. His Paolo and Francesca, and his Orpheus and Eurydice, are +creative visions of the very highest order of imaginative painting; +marked as it is with all the splendid vigour of nobly ordered design, the +last-named picture possesses qualities of colour no less great. The +white body of the dying girl, drooping like a pale lily, and the clinging +arms of her lover, whose strong brown limbs seem filled with all the +sensuous splendour of passionate life, form a melancholy and wonderful +note of colour to which the eye continually returns as indicating the +motive of the conception. Yet here I would dwell rather on two pictures +which show the splendid simplicity and directness of his strength, the +one a portrait of himself, the other that of a little child called +Dorothy, who has all that sweet gravity and look of candour which we like +to associate with that old-fashioned name: a child with bright rippling +hair, tangled like floss silk, open brown eyes and flower-like mouth; +dressed in faded claret, with little lace about the neck and throat, +toned down to a delicate grey--the hands simply clasped before her. This +is the picture; as truthful and lovely as any of those Brignoli children +which Vandyke has painted in Genoa. Nor is his own picture of +himself--styled in the catalogue merely A Portrait--less wonderful, +especially the luminous treatment of the various shades of black as shown +in the hat and cloak. It would be quite impossible, however, to give any +adequate account or criticism of the work now exhibited in the Grosvenor +Gallery within the limits of a single notice. Richmond's noble picture +of Sleep and Death Bearing the Slain Body of Sarpedon, and his bronze +statue of the Greek athlete, are works of the very highest order of +artistic excellence, but I will reserve for another occasion the +qualities of his power. Mr. Whistler, whose wonderful and eccentric +genius is better appreciated in France than in England, sends a very +wonderful picture entitled The Golden Girl, a life-size study in amber, +yellow and browns, of a child dancing with a skipping-rope, full of +birdlike grace and exquisite motion; as well as some delightful specimens +of etching (an art of which he is the consummate master), one of which, +called The Little Forge, entirely done with the dry point, possesses +extraordinary merit; nor have the philippics of the Fors Clavigera +deterred him from exhibiting some more of his 'arrangements in colour,' +one of which, called a Harmony in Green and Gold, I would especially +mention as an extremely good example of what ships lying at anchor on a +summer evening are from the 'Impressionist point of view.' + +Mr. Eugene Benson, one of the most cultured of those many Americans who +seem to have found their Mecca in modern Rome, has sent a picture of +Narcissus, a work full of the true Theocritean sympathy for the natural +picturesqueness of shepherd life, and entirely delightful to all who love +the peculiar qualities of Italian scenery. The shadows of the trees +drifting across the grass, the crowding together of the sheep, and the +sense of summer air and light which fills the picture, are full of the +highest truth and beauty; and Mr. Forbes-Robertson, whose picture of +Phelps as Cardinal Wolsey has just been bought by the Garrick Club, and +who is himself so well known as a young actor of the very highest +promise, is represented by a portrait of Mr. Hermann Vezin which is +extremely clever and certainly very lifelike. Nor amongst the minor +works must I omit to notice Miss Stuart-Wortley's view on the river +Cherwell, taken from the walks of Magdalen College, Oxford,--a little +picture marked by great sympathy for the shade and coolness of green +places and for the stillness of summer waters; or Mrs. Valentine +Bromley's Misty Day, remarkable for the excellent drawing of a breaking +wave, as well as for a great delicacy of tone. Besides the Marchioness +of Waterford, whose brilliant treatment of colour is so well known, and +Mr. Richard Doyle, whose water-colour drawings of children and of fairy +scenes are always so fresh and bright, the qualities of the Irish genius +in the field of art find an entirely adequate exponent in Mr. Wills, who +as a dramatist and a painter has won himself such an honourable name. +Three pictures of his are exhibited here: the Spirit of the Shell, which +is perhaps too fanciful and vague in design; the Nymph and Satyr, where +the little goat-footed child has all the sweet mystery and romance of the +woodlands about him; and the Parting of Ophelia and Laertes, a work not +only full of very strong drawing, especially in the modelling of the male +figure, but a very splendid example of the power of subdued and reserved +colour, the perfect harmony of tone being made still more subtle by the +fitful play of reflected light on the polished armour. + +I shall reserve for another notice the wonderful landscapes of Mr. Cecil +Lawson, who has caught so much of Turner's imagination and mode of +treatment, as well as a consideration of the works of Herkomer, Tissot +and Legros, and others of the modern realistic school. + +Note.--The other notice mentioned above did not appear. + + + + +L'ENVOI + + +An Introduction to Rose Leaf and Apple Leaf by Rennell Rodd, published by +J. M. Stoddart and Co., Philadelphia, 1882. + +Amongst the many young men in England who are seeking along with me to +continue and to perfect the English Renaissance--jeunes guerriers du +drapeau romantique, as Gautier would have called us--there is none whose +love of art is more flawless and fervent, whose artistic sense of beauty +is more subtle and more delicate--none, indeed, who is dearer to +myself--than the young poet whose verses I have brought with me to +America; verses full of sweet sadness, and yet full of joy; for the most +joyous poet is not he who sows the desolate highways of this world with +the barren seed of laughter, but he who makes his sorrow most musical, +this indeed being the meaning of joy in art--that incommunicable element +of artistic delight which, in poetry, for instance, comes from what Keats +called the 'sensuous life of verse,' the element of song in the singing, +made so pleasurable to us by that wonder of motion which often has its +origin in mere musical impulse, and in painting is to be sought for, from +the subject never, but from the pictorial charm only--the scheme and +symphony of the colour, the satisfying beauty of the design: so that the +ultimate expression of our artistic movement in painting has been, not in +the spiritual visions of the Pre-Raphaelites, for all their marvel of +Greek legend and their mystery of Italian song, but in the work of such +men as Whistler and Albert Moore, who have raised design and colour to +the ideal level of poetry and music. For the quality of their exquisite +painting comes from the mere inventive and creative handling of line and +colour, from a certain form and choice of beautiful workmanship, which, +rejecting all literary reminiscence and all metaphysical idea, is in +itself entirely satisfying to the aesthetic sense--is, as the Greeks +would say, an end in itself; the effect of their work being like the +effect given to us by music; for music is the art in which form and +matter are always one--the art whose subject cannot be separated from the +method of its expression; the art which most completely realises for us +the artistic ideal, and is the condition to which all the other arts are +constantly aspiring. + +Now, this increased sense of the absolutely satisfying value of beautiful +workmanship, this recognition of the primary importance of the sensuous +element in art, this love of art for art's sake, is the point in which we +of the younger school have made a departure from the teaching of Mr. +Ruskin,--a departure definite and different and decisive. + +Master indeed of the knowledge of all noble living and of the wisdom of +all spiritual things will he be to us ever, seeing that it was he who by +the magic of his presence and the music of his lips taught us at Oxford +that enthusiasm for beauty which is the secret of Hellenism, and that +desire for creation which is the secret of life, and filled some of us, +at least, with the lofty and passionate ambition to go forth into far and +fair lands with some message for the nations and some mission for the +world, and yet in his art criticism, his estimate of the joyous element +of art, his whole method of approaching art, we are no longer with him; +for the keystone to his aesthetic system is ethical always. He would +judge of a picture by the amount of noble moral ideas it expresses; but +to us the channels by which all noble work in painting can touch, and +does touch, the soul are not those of truths of life or metaphysical +truths. To him perfection of workmanship seems but the symbol of pride, +and incompleteness of technical resource the image of an imagination too +limitless to find within the limits of form its complete expression, or +of a love too simple not to stammer in its tale. But to us the rule of +art is not the rule of morals. In an ethical system, indeed, of any +gentle mercy good intentions will, one is fain to fancy, have their +recognition; but of those that would enter the serene House of Beauty the +question that we ask is not what they had ever meant to do, but what they +have done. Their pathetic intentions are of no value to us, but their +realised creations only. Pour moi je prefere les poetes qui font des +vers, les medecins qui sachent guerir, les peintres qui sachent peindre. + +Nor, in looking at a work of art, should we be dreaming of what it +symbolises, but rather loving it for what it is. Indeed, the +transcendental spirit is alien to the spirit of art. The metaphysical +mind of Asia may create for itself the monstrous and many-breasted idol, +but to the Greek, pure artist, that work is most instinct with spiritual +life which conforms most closely to the perfect facts of physical life +also. Nor, in its primary aspect, has a painting, for instance, any more +spiritual message or meaning for us than a blue tile from the wall of +Damascus, or a Hitzen vase. It is a beautifully coloured surface, +nothing more, and affects us by no suggestion stolen from philosophy, no +pathos pilfered from literature, no feeling filched from a poet, but by +its own incommunicable artistic essence--by that selection of truth which +we call style, and that relation of values which is the draughtsmanship +of painting, by the whole quality of the workmanship, the arabesque of +the design, the splendour of the colour, for these things are enough to +stir the most divine and remote of the chords which make music in our +soul, and colour, indeed, is of itself a mystical presence on things, and +tone a kind of sentiment. + +This, then--the new departure of our younger school--is the chief +characteristic of Mr. Rennell Rodd's poetry; for, while there is much in +his work that may interest the intellect, much that will excite the +emotions, and many-cadenced chords of sweet and simple sentiment--for to +those who love Art for its own sake all other things are added--yet, the +effect which they pre-eminently seek to produce is purely an artistic +one. Such a poem as The Sea-King's Grave, with all its majesty of melody +as sonorous and as strong as the sea by whose pine-fringed shores it was +thus nobly conceived and nobly fashioned; or the little poem that follows +it, whose cunning workmanship, wrought with such an artistic sense of +limitation, one might liken to the rare chasing of the mirror that is its +motive; or In a Church, pale flower of one of those exquisite moments +when all things except the moment itself seem so curiously real, and when +the old memories of forgotten days are touched and made tender, and the +familiar place grows fervent and solemn suddenly with a vision of the +undying beauty of the gods that died; or the scene in Chartres Cathedral, +sombre silence brooding on vault and arch, silent people kneeling on the +dust of the desolate pavement as the young priest lifts Lord Christ's +body in a crystal star, and then the sudden beams of scarlet light that +break through the blazoned window and smite on the carven screen, and +sudden organ peals of mighty music rolling and echoing from choir to +canopy, and from spire to shaft, and over all the clear glad voice of a +singing boy, affecting one as a thing over-sweet, and striking just the +right artistic keynote for one's emotions; or At Lanuvium, through the +music of whose lines one seems to hear again the murmur of the Mantuan +bees straying down from their own green valleys and inland streams to +find what honeyed amber the sea-flowers might be hiding; or the poem +written In the Coliseum, which gives one the same artistic joy that one +gets watching a handicraftsman at his work, a goldsmith hammering out his +gold into those thin plates as delicate as the petals of a yellow rose, +or drawing it out into the long wires like tangled sunbeams, so perfect +and precious is the mere handling of it; or the little lyric interludes +that break in here and there like the singing of a thrush, and are as +swift and as sure as the beating of a bird's wing, as light and bright as +the apple-blossoms that flutter fitfully down to the orchard grass after +a spring shower, and look the lovelier for the rain's tears lying on +their dainty veinings of pink and pearl; or the sonnets--for Mr. Rodd is +one of those qui sonnent le sonnet, as the Ronsardists used to say--that +one called On the Border Hills, with its fiery wonder of imagination and +the strange beauty of its eighth line; or the one which tells of the +sorrow of the great king for the little dead child--well, all these poems +aim, as I said, at producing a purely artistic effect, and have the rare +and exquisite quality that belongs to work of that kind; and I feel that +the entire subordination in our aesthetic movement of all merely +emotional and intellectual motives to the vital informing poetic +principle is the surest sign of our strength. + +But it is not enough that a work of art should conform to the aesthetic +demands of the age: there should be also about it, if it is to give us +any permanent delight, the impress of a distinct individuality. Whatever +work we have in the nineteenth century must rest on the two poles of +personality and perfection. And so in this little volume, by separating +the earlier and more simple work from the work that is later and stronger +and possesses increased technical power and more artistic vision, one +might weave these disconnected poems, these stray and scattered threads, +into one fiery-coloured strand of life, noting first a boy's mere +gladness of being young, with all its simple joy in field and flower, in +sunlight and in song, and then the bitterness of sudden sorrow at the +ending by Death of one of the brief and beautiful friendships of one's +youth, with all those unanswered longings and questionings unsatisfied by +which we vex, so uselessly, the marble face of death; the artistic +contrast between the discontented incompleteness of the spirit and the +complete perfection of the style that expresses it forming the chief +element of the aesthetic charm of these particular poems;--and then the +birth of Love, and all the wonder and the fear and the perilous delight +of one on whose boyish brows the little wings of love have beaten for the +first time; and the love-songs, so dainty and delicate, little swallow- +flights of music, and full of such fragrance and freedom that they might +all be sung in the open air and across moving water; and then autumn, +coming with its choirless woods and odorous decay and ruined loveliness, +Love lying dead; and the sense of the mere pity of it. + +One might stop there, for from a young poet one should ask for no deeper +chords of life than those that love and friendship make eternal for us; +and the best poems in the volume belong clearly to a later time, a time +when these real experiences become absorbed and gathered up into a form +which seems from such real experiences to be the most alien and the most +remote; when the simple expression of joy or sorrow suffices no longer, +and lives rather in the stateliness of the cadenced metre, in the music +and colour of the linked words, than in any direct utterance; lives, one +might say, in the perfection of the form more than in the pathos of the +feeling. And yet, after the broken music of love and the burial of love +in the autumn woods, we can trace that wandering among strange people, +and in lands unknown to us, by which we try so pathetically to heal the +hurts of the life we know, and that pure and passionate devotion to Art +which one gets when the harsh reality of life has too suddenly wounded +one, and is with discontent or sorrow marring one's youth, just as often, +I think, as one gets it from any natural joy of living; and that curious +intensity of vision by which, in moments of overmastering sadness and +despair ungovernable, artistic things will live in one's memory with a +vivid realism caught from the life which they help one to forget--an old +grey tomb in Flanders with a strange legend on it, making one think how, +perhaps, passion does live on after death; a necklace of blue and amber +beads and a broken mirror found in a girl's grave at Rome, a marble image +of a boy habited like Eros, and with the pathetic tradition of a great +king's sorrow lingering about it like a purple shadow,--over all these +the tired spirit broods with that calm and certain joy that one gets when +one has found something that the ages never dull and the world cannot +harm; and with it comes that desire of Greek things which is often an +artistic method of expressing one's desire for perfection; and that +longing for the old dead days which is so modern, so incomplete, so +touching, being, in a way, the inverted torch of Hope, which burns the +hand it should guide; and for many things a little sadness, and for all +things a great love; and lastly, in the pinewood by the sea, once more +the quick and vital pulse of joyous youth leaping and laughing in every +line, the frank and fearless freedom of wave and wind waking into fire +life's burnt-out ashes and into song the silent lips of pain,--how +clearly one seems to see it all, the long colonnade of pines with sea and +sky peeping in here and there like a flitting of silver; the open place +in the green, deep heart of the wood with the little moss-grown altar to +the old Italian god in it; and the flowers all about, cyclamen in the +shadowy places, and the stars of the white narcissus lying like +snow-flakes over the grass, where the quick, bright-eyed lizard starts by +the stone, and the snake lies coiled lazily in the sun on the hot sand, +and overhead the gossamer floats from the branches like thin, tremulous +threads of gold,--the scene is so perfect for its motive, for surely +here, if anywhere, the real gladness of life might be revealed to one's +youth--the gladness that comes, not from the rejection, but from the +absorption, of all passion, and is like that serene calm that dwells in +the faces of the Greek statues, and which despair and sorrow cannot +touch, but intensify only. + +In some such way as this we could gather up these strewn and scattered +petals of song into one perfect rose of life, and yet, perhaps, in so +doing, we might be missing the true quality of the poems; one's real life +is so often the life that one does not lead; and beautiful poems, like +threads of beautiful silks, may be woven into many patterns and to suit +many designs, all wonderful and all different: and romantic poetry, too, +is essentially the poetry of impressions, being like that latest school +of painting, the school of Whistler and Albert Moore, in its choice of +situation as opposed to subject; in its dealing with the exceptions +rather than with the types of life; in its brief intensity; in what one +might call its fiery-coloured momentariness, it being indeed the +momentary situations of life, the momentary aspects of nature, which +poetry and painting now seek to render for us. Sincerity and constancy +will the artist, indeed, have always; but sincerity in art is merely that +plastic perfection of execution without which a poem or a painting, +however noble its sentiment or human its origin, is but wasted and unreal +work, and the constancy of the artist cannot be to any definite rule or +system of living, but to that principle of beauty only through which the +inconstant shadows of his life are in their most fleeting moment arrested +and made permanent. He will not, for instance, in intellectual matters +acquiesce in that facile orthodoxy of our day which is so reasonable and +so artistically uninteresting, nor yet will he desire that fiery faith of +the antique time which, while it intensified, yet limited the vision; +still less will he allow the calm of his culture to be marred by the +discordant despair of doubt or the sadness of a sterile scepticism; for +the Valley Perilous, where ignorant armies clash by night, is no resting- +place meet for her to whom the gods have assigned the clear upland, the +serene height, and the sunlit air,--rather will he be always curiously +testing new forms of belief, tinging his nature with the sentiment that +still lingers about some beautiful creeds, and searching for experience +itself, and not for the fruits of experience; when he has got its secret, +he will leave without regret much that was once very precious to him. 'I +am always insincere,' says Emerson somewhere, 'as knowing that there are +other moods': 'Les emotions,' wrote Theophile Gautier once in a review of +Arsene Houssaye, 'Les emotions ne se ressemblent pas, mais etre emu--voila +l'important.' + +Now, this is the secret of the art of the modern romantic school, and +gives one the right keynote for its apprehension; but the real quality of +all work which, like Mr. Rodd's, aims, as I said, at a purely artistic +effect, cannot be described in terms of intellectual criticism; it is too +intangible for that. One can perhaps convey it best in terms of the +other arts, and by reference to them; and, indeed, some of these poems +are as iridescent and as exquisite as a lovely fragment of Venetian +glass; others as delicate in perfect workmanship and as single in natural +motive as an etching by Whistler is, or one of those beautiful little +Greek figures which in the olive woods round Tanagra men can still find, +with the faint gilding and the fading crimson not yet fled from hair and +lips and raiment; and many of them seem like one of Corot's twilights +just passing into music; for not merely in visible colour, but in +sentiment also--which is the colour of poetry--may there be a kind of +tone. + +But I think that the best likeness to the quality of this young poet's +work I ever saw was in the landscape by the Loire. We were staying once, +he and I, at Amboise, that little village with its grey slate roofs and +steep streets and gaunt, grim gateway, where the quiet cottages nestle +like white pigeons into the sombre clefts of the great bastioned rock, +and the stately Renaissance houses stand silent and apart--very desolate +now, but with some memory of the old days still lingering about the +delicately-twisted pillars, and the carved doorways, with their grotesque +animals, and laughing masks, and quaint heraldic devices, all reminding +one of a people who could not think life real till they had made it +fantastic. And above the village, and beyond the bend of the river, we +used to go in the afternoon, and sketch from one of the big barges that +bring the wine in autumn and the wood in winter down to the sea, or lie +in the long grass and make plans pour la gloire, et pour ennuyer les +philistins, or wander along the low, sedgy banks, 'matching our reeds in +sportive rivalry,' as comrades used in the old Sicilian days; and the +land was an ordinary land enough, and bare, too, when one thought of +Italy, and how the oleanders were robing the hillsides by Genoa in +scarlet, and the cyclamen filling with its purple every valley from +Florence to Rome; for there was not much real beauty, perhaps, in it, +only long, white dusty roads and straight rows of formal poplars; but, +now and then, some little breaking gleam of broken light would lend to +the grey field and the silent barn a secret and a mystery that were +hardly their own, would transfigure for one exquisite moment the peasants +passing down through the vineyard, or the shepherd watching on the hill, +would tip the willows with silver and touch the river into gold; and the +wonder of the effect, with the strange simplicity of the material, always +seemed to me to be a little like the quality of these the verses of my +friend. + + + + +MRS. LANGTRY AS HESTER GRAZEBROOK + + +(New York World, November 7, 1882.) + +It is only in the best Greek gems, on the silver coins of Syracuse, or +among the marble figures of the Parthenon frieze, that one can find the +ideal representation of the marvellous beauty of that face which laughed +through the leaves last night as Hester Grazebrook. + +Pure Greek it is, with the grave low forehead, the exquisitely arched +brow; the noble chiselling of the mouth, shaped as if it were the +mouthpiece of an instrument of music; the supreme and splendid curve of +the cheek; the augustly pillared throat which bears it all: it is Greek, +because the lines which compose it are so definite and so strong, and yet +so exquisitely harmonised that the effect is one of simple loveliness +purely: Greek, because its essence and its quality, as is the quality of +music and of architecture, is that of beauty based on absolutely +mathematical laws. + +But while art remains dumb and immobile in its passionless serenity, with +the beauty of this face it is different: the grey eyes lighten into blue +or deepen into violet as fancy succeeds fancy; the lips become flower- +like in laughter or, tremulous as a bird's wing, mould themselves at last +into the strong and bitter moulds of pain or scorn. And then motion +comes, and the statue wakes into life. But the life is not the ordinary +life of common days; it is life with a new value given to it, the value +of art: and the charm to me of Hester Grazebrook's acting in the first +scene of the play {43} last night was that mingling of classic grace with +absolute reality which is the secret of all beautiful art, of the plastic +work of the Greeks and of the pictures of Jean Francois Millet equally. + +I do not think that the sovereignty and empire of women's beauty has at +all passed away, though we may no longer go to war for them as the Greeks +did for the daughter of Leda. The greatest empire still remains for +them--the empire of art. And, indeed, this wonderful face, seen last +night for the first time in America, has filled and permeated with the +pervading image of its type the whole of our modern art in England. Last +century it was the romantic type which dominated in art, the type loved +by Reynolds and Gainsborough, of wonderful contrasts of colour, of +exquisite and varying charm of expression, but without that definite +plastic feeling which divides classic from romantic work. This type +degenerated into mere facile prettiness in the hands of lesser masters, +and, in protest against it, was created by the hands of the +Pre-Raphaelites a new type, with its rare combination of Greek form with +Florentine mysticism. But this mysticism becomes over-strained and a +burden, rather than an aid to expression, and a desire for the pure +Hellenic joy and serenity came in its place; and in all our modern work, +in the paintings of such men as Albert Moore and Leighton and Whistler, +we can trace the influence of this single face giving fresh life and +inspiration in the form of a new artistic ideal. + +As regards Hester Grazebrook's dresses, the first was a dress whose grace +depended entirely on the grace of the person who wore it. It was merely +the simple dress of a village girl in England. The second was a lovely +combination of blue and creamy lace. But the masterpiece was undoubtedly +the last, a symphony in silver-grey and pink, a pure melody of colour +which I feel sure Whistler would call a Scherzo, and take as its visible +motive the moonlight wandering in silver mist through a rose-garden; +unless indeed he saw this dress, in which case he would paint it and +nothing else, for it is a dress such as Velasquez only could paint, and +Whistler very wisely always paints those things which are within reach of +Velasquez only. + +The scenery was, of course, prepared in a hurry. Still, much of it was +very good indeed: the first scene especially, with its graceful trees and +open forge and cottage porch, though the roses were dreadfully out of +tone and, besides their crudity of colour, were curiously badly grouped. +The last scene was exceedingly clever and true to nature as well, being +that combination of lovely scenery and execrable architecture which is so +specially characteristic of a German spa. As for the drawing-room scene, +I cannot regard it as in any way a success. The heavy ebony doors are +entirely out of keeping with the satin panels; the silk hangings and +festoons of black and yellow are quite meaningless in their position and +consequently quite ugly; the carpet is out of all colour relation with +the rest of the room, and the table-cover is mauve. Still, to have +decorated ever so bad a room in six days must, I suppose, be a subject of +respectful wonder, though I should have fancied that Mr. Wallack had many +very much better sets in his own stock. + +But I am beginning to quarrel generally with most modern scene-painting. +A scene is primarily a decorative background for the actors, and should +always be kept subordinate, first to the players, their dress, gesture, +and action; and secondly, to the fundamental principle of decorative art, +which is not to imitate but to suggest nature. If the landscape is given +its full realistic value, the value of the figures to which it serves as +a background is impaired and often lost, and so the painted hangings of +the Elizabethan age were a far more artistic, and so a far more rational +form of scenery than most modern scene-painting is. From the same master- +hand which designed the curtain of Madison Square Theatre I should like +very much to see a good decorative landscape in scene-painting; for I +have seen no open-air scene in any theatre which did not really mar the +value of the actors. One must either, like Titian, make the landscape +subordinate to the figures, or, like Claude, the figures subordinate to +the landscape; for if we desire realistic acting we cannot have realistic +scene-painting. + +I need not describe, however, how the beauty of Hester Grazebrook +survived the crude roses and the mauve tablecloth triumphantly. That it +is a beauty that will be appreciated to the full in America I do not +doubt for a moment, for it is only countries which possess great beauty +that can appreciate beauty at all. It may also influence the art of +America as it has influenced the art of England, for of the rare Greek +type it is the most absolutely perfect example. + +The Philistine may, of course, object that to be absolutely perfect is +impossible. Well, that is so: but then it is only the impossible things +that are worth doing nowadays! + + + + +WOMAN'S DRESS + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, October 14, 1884.) + +Mr. Oscar Wilde, who asks us to permit him 'that most charming of all +pleasures, the pleasure of answering one's critics,' sends us the +following remarks:-- + +The 'Girl Graduate' must of course have precedence, not merely for her +sex but for her sanity: her letter is extremely sensible. She makes two +points: that high heels are a necessity for any lady who wishes to keep +her dress clean from the Stygian mud of our streets, and that without a +tight corset 'the ordinary number of petticoats and etceteras' cannot be +properly or conveniently held up. Now, it is quite true that as long as +the lower garments are suspended from the hips a corset is an absolute +necessity; the mistake lies in not suspending all apparel from the +shoulders. In the latter case a corset becomes useless, the body is left +free and unconfined for respiration and motion, there is more health, and +consequently more beauty. Indeed all the most ungainly and uncomfortable +articles of dress that fashion has ever in her folly prescribed, not the +tight corset merely, but the farthingale, the vertugadin, the hoop, the +crinoline, and that modern monstrosity the so-called 'dress improver' +also, all of them have owed their origin to the same error, the error of +not seeing that it is from the shoulders, and from the shoulders only, +that all garments should be hung. + +And as regards high heels, I quite admit that some additional height to +the shoe or boot is necessary if long gowns are to be worn in the street; +but what I object to is that the height should be given to the heel only, +and not to the sole of the foot also. The modern high-heeled boot is, in +fact, merely the clog of the time of Henry VI., with the front prop left +out, and its inevitable effect is to throw the body forward, to shorten +the steps, and consequently to produce that want of grace which always +follows want of freedom. + +Why should clogs be despised? Much art has been expended on clogs. They +have been made of lovely woods, and delicately inlaid with ivory, and +with mother-of-pearl. A clog might be a dream of beauty, and, if not too +high or too heavy, most comfortable also. But if there be any who do not +like clogs, let them try some adaptation of the trouser of the Turkish +lady, which is loose round the limb and tight at the ankle. + +The 'Girl Graduate,' with a pathos to which I am not insensible, entreats +me not to apotheosise 'that awful, befringed, beflounced, and bekilted +divided skirt.' Well, I will acknowledge that the fringes, the flounces, +and the kilting do certainly defeat the whole object of the dress, which +is that of ease and liberty; but I regard these things as mere wicked +superfluities, tragic proofs that the divided skirt is ashamed of its own +division. The principle of the dress is good, and, though it is not by +any means perfection, it is a step towards it. + +Here I leave the 'Girl Graduate,' with much regret, for Mr. Wentworth +Huyshe. Mr. Huyshe makes the old criticism that Greek dress is unsuited +to our climate, and, to me the somewhat new assertion, that the men's +dress of a hundred years ago was preferable to that of the second part of +the seventeenth century, which I consider to have been the exquisite +period of English costume. + +Now, as regards the first of these two statements, I will say, to begin +with, that the warmth of apparel does not depend really on the number of +garments worn, but on the material of which they are made. One of the +chief faults of modern dress is that it is composed of far too many +articles of clothing, most of which are of the wrong substance; but over +a substratum of pure wool, such as is supplied by Dr. Jaeger under the +modern German system, some modification of Greek costume is perfectly +applicable to our climate, our country and our century. This important +fact has already been pointed out by Mr. E. W. Godwin in his excellent, +though too brief, handbook on Dress, contributed to the Health +Exhibition. I call it an important fact because it makes almost any form +of lovely costume perfectly practicable in our cold climate. Mr. Godwin, +it is true, points out that the English ladies of the thirteenth century +abandoned after some time the flowing garments of the early Renaissance +in favour of a tighter mode, such as Northern Europe seems to demand. +This I quite admit, and its significance; but what I contend, and what I +am sure Mr. Godwin would agree with me in, is that the principles, the +laws of Greek dress may be perfectly realised, even in a moderately tight +gown with sleeves: I mean the principle of suspending all apparel from +the shoulders, and of relying for beauty of effect not on the stiff ready- +made ornaments of the modern milliner--the bows where there should be no +bows, and the flounces where there should be no flounces--but on the +exquisite play of light and line that one gets from rich and rippling +folds. I am not proposing any antiquarian revival of an ancient costume, +but trying merely to point out the right laws of dress, laws which are +dictated by art and not by archaeology, by science and not by fashion; +and just as the best work of art in our days is that which combines +classic grace with absolute reality, so from a continuation of the Greek +principles of beauty with the German principles of health will come, I +feel certain, the costume of the future. + +And now to the question of men's dress, or rather to Mr. Huyshe's claim +of the superiority, in point of costume, of the last quarter of the +eighteenth century over the second quarter of the seventeenth. The broad- +brimmed hat of 1640 kept the rain of winter and the glare of summer from +the face; the same cannot be said of the hat of one hundred years ago, +which, with its comparatively narrow brim and high crown, was the +precursor of the modern 'chimney-pot': a wide turned-down collar is a +healthier thing than a strangling stock, and a short cloak much more +comfortable than a sleeved overcoat, even though the latter may have had +'three capes'; a cloak is easier to put on and off, lies lightly on the +shoulder in summer, and wrapped round one in winter keeps one perfectly +warm. A doublet, again, is simpler than a coat and waistcoat; instead of +two garments one has one; by not being open also it protects the chest +better. + +Short loose trousers are in every way to be preferred to the tight knee- +breeches which often impede the proper circulation of the blood; and +finally, the soft leather boots which could be worn above or below the +knee, are more supple, and give consequently more freedom, than the stiff +Hessian which Mr. Huyshe so praises. I say nothing about the question of +grace and picturesqueness, for I suppose that no one, not even Mr. +Huyshe, would prefer a maccaroni to a cavalier, a Lawrence to a Vandyke, +or the third George to the first Charles; but for ease, warmth and +comfort this seventeenth-century dress is infinitely superior to anything +that came after it, and I do not think it is excelled by any preceding +form of costume. I sincerely trust that we may soon see in England some +national revival of it. + + + + +MORE RADICAL IDEAS UPON DRESS REFORM + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 11, 1884.) + +I have been much interested at reading the large amount of correspondence +that has been called forth by my recent lecture on Dress. It shows me +that the subject of dress reform is one that is occupying many wise and +charming people, who have at heart the principles of health, freedom, and +beauty in costume, and I hope that 'H. B. T.' and 'Materfamilias' will +have all the real influence which their letters--excellent letters both +of them--certainly deserve. + +I turn first to Mr. Huyshe's second letter, and the drawing that +accompanies it; but before entering into any examination of the theory +contained in each, I think I should state at once that I have absolutely +no idea whether this gentleman wears his hair longer short, or his cuffs +back or forward, or indeed what he is like at all. I hope he consults +his own comfort and wishes in everything which has to do with his dress, +and is allowed to enjoy that individualism in apparel which he so +eloquently claims for himself, and so foolishly tries to deny to others; +but I really could not take Mr. Wentworth Huyshe's personal appearance as +any intellectual basis for an investigation of the principles which +should guide the costume of a nation. I am not denying the force, or +even the popularity, of the ''Eave arf a brick' school of criticism, but +I acknowledge it does not interest me. The gamin in the gutter may be a +necessity, but the gamin in discussion is a nuisance. So I will proceed +at once to the real point at issue, the value of the late +eighteenth-century costume over that worn in the second quarter of the +seventeenth: the relative merits, that is, of the principles contained in +each. Now, as regards the eighteenth-century costume, Mr. Wentworth +Huyshe acknowledges that he has had no practical experience of it at all; +in fact, he makes a pathetic appeal to his friends to corroborate him in +his assertion, which I do not question for a moment, that he has never +been 'guilty of the eccentricity' of wearing himself the dress which he +proposes for general adoption by others. There is something so naive and +so amusing about this last passage in Mr. Huyshe's letter that I am +really in doubt whether I am not doing him a wrong in regarding him as +having any serious, or sincere, views on the question of a possible +reform in dress; still, as irrespective of any attitude of Mr. Huyshe's +in the matter, the subject is in itself an interesting one, I think it is +worth continuing, particularly as I have myself worn this late eighteenth- +century dress many times, both in public and in private, and so may claim +to have a very positive right to speak on its comfort and suitability. +The particular form of the dress I wore was very similar to that given in +Mr. Godwin's handbook, from a print of Northcote's, and had a certain +elegance and grace about it which was very charming; still, I gave it up +for these reasons:--After a further consideration of the laws of dress I +saw that a doublet is a far simpler and easier garment than a coat and +waistcoat, and, if buttoned from the shoulder, far warmer also, and that +tails have no place in costume, except on some Darwinian theory of +heredity; from absolute experience in the matter I found that the +excessive tightness of knee-breeches is not really comfortable if one +wears them constantly; and, in fact, I satisfied myself that the dress is +not one founded on any real principles. The broad-brimmed hat and loose +cloak, which, as my object was not, of course, historical accuracy but +modern ease, I had always worn with the costume in question, I have still +retained, and find them most comfortable. + +Well, although Mr. Huyshe has no real experience of the dress he +proposes, he gives us a drawing of it, which he labels, somewhat +prematurely, 'An ideal dress.' An ideal dress of course it is not; +'passably picturesque,' he says I may possibly think it; well, passably +picturesque it may be, but not beautiful, certainly, simply because it is +not founded on right principles, or, indeed, on any principles at all. +Picturesqueness one may get in a variety of ways; ugly things that are +strange, or unfamiliar to us, for instance, may be picturesque, such as a +late sixteenth-century costume, or a Georgian house. Ruins, again, may +be picturesque, but beautiful they never can be, because their lines are +meaningless. Beauty, in fact, is to be got only from the perfection of +principles; and in 'the ideal dress' of Mr. Huyshe there are no ideas or +principles at all, much less the perfection of either. Let us examine +it, and see its faults; they are obvious to any one who desires more than +a 'Fancy-dress ball' basis for costume. To begin with, the hat and boots +are all wrong. Whatever one wears on the extremities, such as the feet +and head, should, for the sake of comfort, be made of a soft material, +and for the sake of freedom should take its shape from the way one +chooses to wear it, and not from any stiff, stereotyped design of hat or +boot maker. In a hat made on right principles one should be able to turn +the brim up or down according as the day is dark or fair, dry or wet; but +the hat brim of Mr. Huyshe's drawing is perfectly stiff, and does not +give much protection to the face, or the possibility of any at all to the +back of the head or the ears, in case of a cold east wind; whereas the +bycocket, a hat made in accordance with the right laws, can be turned +down behind and at the sides, and so give the same warmth as a hood. The +crown, again, of Mr. Huyshe's hat is far too high; a high crown +diminishes the stature of a small person, and in the case of any one who +is tall is a great inconvenience when one is getting in and out of +hansoms and railway carriages, or passing under a street awning: in no +case is it of any value whatsoever, and being useless it is of course +against the principles of dress. + +As regards the boots, they are not quite so ugly or so uncomfortable as +the hat; still they are evidently made of stiff leather, as otherwise +they would fall down to the ankle, whereas the boot should be made of +soft leather always, and if worn high at all must be either laced up the +front or carried well over the knee: in the latter case one combines +perfect freedom for walking together with perfect protection against +rain, neither of which advantages a short stiff boot will ever give one, +and when one is resting in the house the long soft boot can be turned +down as the boot of 1640 was. Then there is the overcoat: now, what are +the right principles of an overcoat? To begin with, it should be capable +of being easily put on or off, and worn over any kind of dress; +consequently it should never have narrow sleeves, such as are shown in +Mr. Huyshe's drawing. If an opening or slit for the arm is required it +should be made quite wide, and may be protected by a flap, as in that +excellent overall the modern Inverness cape; secondly, it should not be +too tight, as otherwise all freedom of walking is impeded. If the young +gentleman in the drawing buttons his overcoat he may succeed in being +statuesque, though that I doubt very strongly, but he will never succeed +in being swift; his super-totus is made for him on no principle +whatsoever; a super-totus, or overall, should be capable of being worn +long or short, quite loose or moderately tight, just as the wearer +wishes; he should be able to have one arm free and one arm covered, or +both arms free or both arms covered, just as he chooses for his +convenience in riding, walking, or driving; an overall again should never +be heavy, and should always be warm: lastly, it should be capable of +being easily carried if one wants to take it off; in fact, its principles +are those of freedom and comfort, and a cloak realises them all, just as +much as an overcoat of the pattern suggested by Mr. Huyshe violates them. + +The knee-breeches are of course far too tight; any one who has worn them +for any length of time--any one, in fact, whose views on the subject are +not purely theoretical--will agree with me there; like everything else in +the dress, they are a great mistake. The substitution of the jacket for +the coat and waistcoat of the period is a step in the right direction, +which I am glad to see; it is, however, far too tight over the hips for +any possible comfort. Whenever a jacket or doublet comes below the waist +it should be slit at each side. In the seventeenth century the skirt of +the jacket was sometimes laced on by points and tags, so that it could be +removed at will, sometimes it was merely left open at the sides: in each +case it exemplified what are always the true principles of dress, I mean +freedom and adaptability to circumstances. + +Finally, as regards drawings of this kind, I would point out that there +is absolutely no limit at all to the amount of 'passably picturesque' +costumes which can be either revived or invented for us; but that unless +a costume is founded on principles and exemplified laws, it never can be +of any real value to us in the reform of dress. This particular drawing +of Mr. Huyshe's, for instance, proves absolutely nothing, except that our +grandfathers did not understand the proper laws of dress. There is not a +single rule of right costume which is not violated in it, for it gives us +stiffness, tightness and discomfort instead of comfort, freedom and ease. + +Now here, on the other hand, is a dress which, being founded on +principles, can serve us as an excellent guide and model; it has been +drawn for me, most kindly, by Mr. Godwin from the Duke of Newcastle's +delightful book on horsemanship, a book which is one of our best +authorities on our best era of costume. I do not of course propose it +necessarily for absolute imitation; that is not the way in which one +should regard it; it is not, I mean, a revival of a dead costume, but a +realisation of living laws. I give it as an example of a particular +application of principles which are universally right. This rationally +dressed young man can turn his hat brim down if it rains, and his loose +trousers and boots down if he is tired--that is, he can adapt his costume +to circumstances; then he enjoys perfect freedom, the arms and legs are +not made awkward or uncomfortable by the excessive tightness of narrow +sleeves and knee-breeches, and the hips are left quite untrammelled, +always an important point; and as regards comfort, his jacket is not too +loose for warmth, nor too close for respiration; his neck is well +protected without being strangled, and even his ostrich feathers, if any +Philistine should object to them, are not merely dandyism, but fan him +very pleasantly, I am sure, in summer, and when the weather is bad they +are no doubt left at home, and his cloak taken out. _The value of the +dress is simply that every separate article of it expresses a law_. My +young man is consequently apparelled with ideas, while Mr. Huyshe's young +man is stiffened with facts; the latter teaches one nothing; from the +former one learns everything. I need hardly say that this dress is good, +not because it is seventeenth century, but because it is constructed on +the true principles of costume, just as a square lintel or a pointed arch +is good, not because one may be Greek and the other Gothic, but because +each of them is the best method of spanning a certain-sized opening, or +resisting a certain weight. The fact, however, that this dress was +generally worn in England two centuries and a half ago shows at least +this, that the right laws of dress have been understood and realised in +our country, and so in our country may be realised and understood again. +As regards the absolute beauty of this dress and its meaning, I should +like to say a few words more. Mr. Wentworth Huyshe solemnly announces +that 'he and those who think with him' cannot permit this question of +beauty to be imported into the question of dress; that he and those who +think with him take 'practical views on the subject,' and so on. Well, I +will not enter here into a discussion as to how far any one who does not +take beauty and the value of beauty into account can claim to be +practical at all. The word practical is nearly always the last refuge of +the uncivilised. Of all misused words it is the most evilly treated. But +what I want to point out is that beauty is essentially organic; that is, +it comes, not from without, but from within, not from any added +prettiness, but from the perfection of its own being; and that +consequently, as the body is beautiful, so all apparel that rightly +clothes it must be beautiful also in its construction and in its lines. + +I have no more desire to define ugliness than I have daring to define +beauty; but still I would like to remind those who mock at beauty as +being an unpractical thing of this fact, that an ugly thing is merely a +thing that is badly made, or a thing that does not serve its purpose; +that ugliness is want of fitness; that ugliness is failure; that ugliness +is uselessness, such as ornament in the wrong place, while beauty, as +some one finely said, is the purgation of all superfluities. There is a +divine economy about beauty; it gives us just what is needful and no +more, whereas ugliness is always extravagant; ugliness is a spendthrift +and wastes its material; in fine, ugliness--and I would commend this +remark to Mr. Wentworth Huyshe--ugliness, as much in costume as in +anything else, is always the sign that somebody has been unpractical. So +the costume of the future in England, if it is founded on the true laws +of freedom, comfort, and adaptability to circumstances, cannot fail to be +most beautiful also, because beauty is the sign always of the rightness +of principles, the mystical seal that is set upon what is perfect, and +upon what is perfect only. + +As for your other correspondent, the first principle of dress that all +garments should be hung from the shoulders and not from the waist seems +to me to be generally approved of, although an 'Old Sailor' declares that +no sailors or athletes ever suspend their clothes from the shoulders, but +always from the hips. My own recollection of the river and running +ground at Oxford--those two homes of Hellenism in our little Gothic +town--is that the best runners and rowers (and my own college turned out +many) wore always a tight jersey, with short drawers attached to it, the +whole costume being woven in one piece. As for sailors it is true, I +admit, and the bad custom seems to involve that constant 'hitching up' of +the lower garments which, however popular in transpontine dramas, cannot, +I think, but be considered an extremely awkward habit; and as all +awkwardness comes from discomfort of some kind, I trust that this point +in our sailor's dress will be looked to in the coming reform of our navy, +for, in spite of all protests, I hope we are about to reform everything, +from torpedoes to top-hats, and from crinolettes to cruises. + +Then as regards clogs, my suggestion of them seems to have aroused a +great deal of terror. Fashion in her high-heeled boots has screamed, and +the dreadful word 'anachronism' has been used. Now, whatever is useful +cannot be an anachronism. Such a word is applicable only to the revival +of some folly; and, besides, in the England of our own day clogs are +still worn in many of our manufacturing towns, such as Oldham. I fear +that in Oldham they may not be dreams of beauty; in Oldham the art of +inlaying them with ivory and with pearl may possibly be unknown; yet in +Oldham they serve their purpose. Nor is it so long since they were worn +by the upper classes of this country generally. Only a few days ago I +had the pleasure of talking to a lady who remembered with affectionate +regret the clogs of her girlhood; they were, according to her, not too +high nor too heavy, and were provided, besides, with some kind of spring +in the sole so as to make them the more supple for the foot in walking. +Personally, I object to all additional height being given to a boot or +shoe; it is really against the proper principles of dress, although, if +any such height is to be given it should be by means of two props, not +one; but what I should prefer to see is some adaptation of the divided +skirt or long and moderately loose knickerbockers. If, however, the +divided skirt is to be of any positive value, it must give up all idea of +'being identical in appearance with an ordinary skirt'; it must diminish +the moderate width of each of its divisions, and sacrifice its foolish +frills and flounces; the moment it imitates a dress it is lost; but let +it visibly announce itself as what it actually is, and it will go far +towards solving a real difficulty. I feel sure that there will be found +many graceful and charming girls ready to adopt a costume founded on +these principles, in spite of Mr. Wentworth Huyshe's terrible threat that +he will not propose to them as long as they wear it, for all charges of a +want of womanly character in these forms of dress are really meaningless; +every right article of apparel belongs equally to both sexes, and there +is absolutely no such thing as a definitely feminine garment. One word +of warning I should like to be allowed to give: The over-tunic should be +made full and moderately loose; it may, if desired, be shaped more or +less to the figure, but in no case should it be confined at the waist by +any straight band or belt; on the contrary, it should fall from the +shoulder to the knee, or below it, in fine curves and vertical lines, +giving more freedom and consequently more grace. Few garments are so +absolutely unbecoming as a belted tunic that reaches to the knees, a fact +which I wish some of our Rosalinds would consider when they don doublet +and hose; indeed, to the disregard of this artistic principle is due the +ugliness, the want of proportion, in the Bloomer costume, a costume which +in other respects is sensible. + + + + +MR. WHISTLER'S TEN O'CLOCK + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, February 21, 1885.) + +Last night, at Prince's Hall, Mr. Whistler made his first public +appearance as a lecturer on art, and spoke for more than an hour with +really marvellous eloquence on the absolute uselessness of all lectures +of the kind. Mr. Whistler began his lecture with a very pretty aria on +prehistoric history, describing how in earlier times hunter and warrior +would go forth to chase and foray, while the artist sat at home making +cup and bowl for their service. Rude imitations of nature they were +first, like the gourd bottle, till the sense of beauty and form developed +and, in all its exquisite proportions, the first vase was fashioned. Then +came a higher civilisation of architecture and armchairs, and with +exquisite design, and dainty diaper, the useful things of life were made +lovely; and the hunter and the warrior lay on the couch when they were +tired, and, when they were thirsty, drank from the bowl, and never cared +to lose the exquisite proportion of the one, or the delightful ornament +of the other; and this attitude of the primitive anthropophagous +Philistine formed the text of the lecture and was the attitude which Mr. +Whistler entreated his audience to adopt towards art. Remembering, no +doubt, many charming invitations to wonderful private views, this +fashionable assemblage seemed somewhat aghast, and not a little amused, +at being told that the slightest appearance among a civilised people of +any joy in beautiful things is a grave impertinence to all painters; but +Mr. Whistler was relentless, and, with charming ease and much grace of +manner, explained to the public that the only thing they should cultivate +was ugliness, and that on their permanent stupidity rested all the hopes +of art in the future. + +The scene was in every way delightful; he stood there, a miniature +Mephistopheles, mocking the majority! He was like a brilliant surgeon +lecturing to a class composed of subjects destined ultimately for +dissection, and solemnly assuring them how valuable to science their +maladies were, and how absolutely uninteresting the slightest symptoms of +health on their part would be. In fairness to the audience, however, I +must say that they seemed extremely gratified at being rid of the +dreadful responsibility of admiring anything, and nothing could have +exceeded their enthusiasm when they were told by Mr. Whistler that no +matter how vulgar their dresses were, or how hideous their surroundings +at home, still it was possible that a great painter, if there was such a +thing, could, by contemplating them in the twilight and half closing his +eyes, see them under really picturesque conditions, and produce a picture +which they were not to attempt to understand, much less dare to enjoy. +Then there were some arrows, barbed and brilliant, shot off, with all the +speed and splendour of fireworks, and the archaeologists, who spend their +lives in verifying the birthplaces of nobodies, and estimate the value of +a work of art by its date or its decay; at the art critics who always +treat a picture as if it were a novel, and try and find out the plot; at +dilettanti in general and amateurs in particular; and (O mea culpa!) at +dress reformers most of all. 'Did not Velasquez paint crinolines? What +more do you want?' + +Having thus made a holocaust of humanity, Mr. Whistler turned to nature, +and in a few moments convicted her of the Crystal Palace, Bank holidays, +and a general overcrowding of detail, both in omnibuses and in +landscapes, and then, in a passage of singular beauty, not unlike one +that occurs in Corot's letters, spoke of the artistic value of dim dawns +and dusks, when the mean facts of life are lost in exquisite and +evanescent effects, when common things are touched with mystery and +transfigured with beauty, when the warehouses become as palaces and the +tall chimneys of the factory seem like campaniles in the silver air. + +Finally, after making a strong protest against anybody but a painter +judging of painting, and a pathetic appeal to the audience not to be +lured by the aesthetic movement into having beautiful things about them, +Mr. Whistler concluded his lecture with a pretty passage about Fusiyama +on a fan, and made his bow to an audience which he had succeeded in +completely fascinating by his wit, his brilliant paradoxes, and, at +times, his real eloquence. Of course, with regard to the value of +beautiful surroundings I differ entirely from Mr. Whistler. An artist is +not an isolated fact; he is the resultant of a certain milieu and a +certain entourage, and can no more be born of a nation that is devoid of +any sense of beauty than a fig can grow from a thorn or a rose blossom +from a thistle. That an artist will find beauty in ugliness, le beau +dans l'horrible, is now a commonplace of the schools, the argot of the +atelier, but I strongly deny that charming people should be condemned to +live with magenta ottomans and Albert-blue curtains in their rooms in +order that some painter may observe the side-lights on the one and the +values of the other. Nor do I accept the dictum that only a painter is a +judge of painting. I say that only an artist is a judge of art; there is +a wide difference. As long as a painter is a painter merely, he should +not be allowed to talk of anything but mediums and megilp, and on those +subjects should be compelled to hold his tongue; it is only when he +becomes an artist that the secret laws of artistic creation are revealed +to him. For there are not many arts, but one art merely--poem, picture +and Parthenon, sonnet and statue--all are in their essence the same, and +he who knows one knows all. But the poet is the supreme artist, for he +is the master of colour and of form, and the real musician besides, and +is lord over all life and all arts; and so to the poet beyond all others +are these mysteries known; to Edgar Allan Poe and to Baudelaire, not to +Benjamin West and Paul Delaroche. However, I should not enjoy anybody +else's lectures unless in a few points I disagreed with them, and Mr. +Whistler's lecture last night was, like everything that he does, a +masterpiece. Not merely for its clever satire and amusing jests will it +be remembered, but for the pure and perfect beauty of many of its +passages--passages delivered with an earnestness which seemed to amaze +those who had looked on Mr. Whistler as a master of persiflage merely, +and had not known him as we do, as a master of painting also. For that +he is indeed one of the very greatest masters of painting is my opinion. +And I may add that in this opinion Mr. Whistler himself entirely concurs. + + + + +THE RELATION OF DRESS TO ART: A NOTE IN BLACK AND WHITE ON MR. WHISTLER'S +LECTURE + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, February 28, 1885.) + +'How can you possibly paint these ugly three-cornered hats?' asked a +reckless art critic once of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 'I see light and shade +in them,' answered the artist. 'Les grands coloristes,' says Baudelaire, +in a charming article on the artistic value of frock coats, 'les grands +coloristes savent faire de la couleur avec un habit noir, une cravate +blanche, et un fond gris.' + +'Art seeks and finds the beautiful in all times, as did her high priest +Rembrandt, when he saw the picturesque grandeur of the Jews' quarter of +Amsterdam, and lamented not that its inhabitants were not Greeks,' were +the fine and simple words used by Mr. Whistler in one of the most +valuable passages of his lecture. The most valuable, that is, to the +painter: for there is nothing of which the ordinary English painter needs +more to be reminded than that the true artist does not wait for life to +be made picturesque for him, but sees life under picturesque conditions +always--under conditions, that is to say, which are at once new and +delightful. But between the attitude of the painter towards the public +and the attitude of a people towards art, there is a wide difference. +That, under certain conditions of light and shade, what is ugly in fact +may in its effect become beautiful, is true; and this, indeed, is the +real modernite of art: but these conditions are exactly what we cannot be +always sure of, as we stroll down Piccadilly in the glaring vulgarity of +the noonday, or lounge in the park with a foolish sunset as a background. +Were we able to carry our chiaroscuro about with us, as we do our +umbrellas, all would be well; but this being impossible, I hardly think +that pretty and delightful people will continue to wear a style of dress +as ugly as it is useless and as meaningless as it is monstrous, even on +the chance of such a master as Mr. Whistler spiritualising them into a +symphony or refining them into a mist. For the arts are made for life, +and not life for the arts. + +Nor do I feel quite sure that Mr. Whistler has been himself always true +to the dogma he seems to lay down, that a painter should paint only the +dress of his age and of his actual surroundings: far be it from me to +burden a butterfly with the heavy responsibility of its past: I have +always been of opinion that consistency is the last refuge of the +unimaginative: but have we not all seen, and most of us admired, a +picture from his hand of exquisite English girls strolling by an opal sea +in the fantastic dresses of Japan? Has not Tite Street been thrilled +with the tidings that the models of Chelsea were posing to the master, in +peplums, for pastels? + +Whatever comes from Mr Whistler's brush is far too perfect in its +loveliness to stand or fall by any intellectual dogmas on art, even by +his own: for Beauty is justified of all her children, and cares nothing +for explanations: but it is impossible to look through any collection of +modern pictures in London, from Burlington House to the Grosvenor +Gallery, without feeling that the professional model is ruining painting +and reducing it to a condition of mere pose and pastiche. + +Are we not all weary of him, that venerable impostor fresh from the steps +of the Piazza di Spagna, who, in the leisure moments that he can spare +from his customary organ, makes the round of the studios and is waited +for in Holland Park? Do we not all recognise him, when, with the gay +insouciance of his nation, he reappears on the walls of our summer +exhibitions as everything that he is not, and as nothing that he is, +glaring at us here as a patriarch of Canaan, here beaming as a brigand +from the Abruzzi? Popular is he, this poor peripatetic professor of +posing, with those whose joy it is to paint the posthumous portrait of +the last philanthropist who in his lifetime had neglected to be +photographed,--yet he is the sign of the decadence, the symbol of decay. + +For all costumes are caricatures. The basis of Art is not the Fancy +Ball. Where there is loveliness of dress, there is no dressing up. And +so, were our national attire delightful in colour, and in construction +simple and sincere; were dress the expression of the loveliness that it +shields and of the swiftness and motion that it does not impede; did its +lines break from the shoulder instead of bulging from the waist; did the +inverted wineglass cease to be the ideal of form; were these things +brought about, as brought about they will be, then would painting be no +longer an artificial reaction against the ugliness of life, but become, +as it should be, the natural expression of life's beauty. Nor would +painting merely, but all the other arts also, be the gainers by a change +such as that which I propose; the gainers, I mean, through the increased +atmosphere of Beauty by which the artists would be surrounded and in +which they would grow up. For Art is not to be taught in Academies. It +is what one looks at, not what one listens to, that makes the artist. The +real schools should be the streets. There is not, for instance, a single +delicate line, or delightful proportion, in the dress of the Greeks, +which is not echoed exquisitely in their architecture. A nation arrayed +in stove-pipe hats and dress-improvers might have built the Pantechnichon +possibly, but the Parthenon never. And finally, there is this to be +said: Art, it is true, can never have any other claim but her own +perfection, and it may be that the artist, desiring merely to contemplate +and to create, is wise in not busying himself about change in others: yet +wisdom is not always the best; there are times when she sinks to the +level of common-sense; and from the passionate folly of those--and there +are many--who desire that Beauty shall be confined no longer to the bric- +a-brac of the collector and the dust of the museum, but shall be, as it +should be, the natural and national inheritance of all,--from this noble +unwisdom, I say, who knows what new loveliness shall be given to life, +and, under these more exquisite conditions, what perfect artist born? Le +milieu se renouvelant, l'art se renouvelle. + +Speaking, however, from his own passionless pedestal, Mr. Whistler, in +pointing out that the power of the painter is to be found in his power of +vision, not in his cleverness of hand, has expressed a truth which needed +expression, and which, coming from the lord of form and colour, cannot +fail to have its influence. His lecture, the Apocrypha though it be for +the people, yet remains from this time as the Bible for the painter, the +masterpiece of masterpieces, the song of songs. It is true he has +pronounced the panegyric of the Philistine, but I fancy Ariel praising +Caliban for a jest: and, in that he has read the Commination Service over +the critics, let all men thank him, the critics themselves, indeed, most +of all, for he has now relieved them from the necessity of a tedious +existence. Considered, again, merely as an orator, Mr. Whistler seems to +me to stand almost alone. Indeed, among all our public speakers I know +but few who can combine so felicitously as he does the mirth and malice +of Puck with the style of the minor prophets. + + + + +KEATS'S SONNET ON BLUE + + +(Century Guild Hobby Horse, July 1886.) + +During my tour in America I happened one evening to find myself in +Louisville, Kentucky. The subject I had selected to speak on was the +Mission of Art in the Nineteenth Century, and in the course of my lecture +I had occasion to quote Keats's Sonnet on Blue as an example of the +poet's delicate sense of colour-harmonies. When my lecture was concluded +there came round to see me a lady of middle age, with a sweet gentle +manner and a most musical voice. She introduced herself to me as Mrs. +Speed, the daughter of George Keats, and invited me to come and examine +the Keats manuscripts in her possession. I spent most of the next day +with her, reading the letters of Keats to her father, some of which were +at that time unpublished, poring over torn yellow leaves and faded scraps +of paper, and wondering at the little Dante in which Keats had written +those marvellous notes on Milton. Some months afterwards, when I was in +California, I received a letter from Mrs. Speed asking my acceptance of +the original manuscript of the sonnet which I had quoted in my lecture. +This manuscript I have had reproduced here, as it seems to me to possess +much psychological interest. It shows us the conditions that preceded +the perfected form, the gradual growth, not of the conception but of the +expression, and the workings of that spirit of selection which is the +secret of style. In the case of poetry, as in the case of the other +arts, what may appear to be simply technicalities of method are in their +essence spiritual, not mechanical, and although, in all lovely work, what +concerns us is the ultimate form, not the conditions that necessitate +that form, yet the preference that precedes perfection, the evolution of +the beauty, and the mere making of the music, have, if not their artistic +value, at least their value to the artist. + +It will be remembered that this sonnet was first published in 1848 by +Lord Houghton in his Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of John Keats. +Lord Houghton does not definitely state where he found it, but it was +probably among the Keats manuscripts belonging to Mr. Charles Brown. It +is evidently taken from a version later than that in my possession, as it +accepts all the corrections, and makes three variations. As in my +manuscript the first line is torn away, I give the sonnet here as it +appears in Lord Houghton's edition. + + ANSWER TO A SONNET ENDING THUS: + + Dark eyes are dearer far + Than those that make the hyacinthine bell. {74} + + By J. H. REYNOLDS. + + Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,--the domain + Of Cynthia,--the wide palace of the sun,-- + The tent of Hesperus and all his train,-- + The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey and dun. + Blue! 'Tis the life of waters--ocean + And all its vassal streams: pools numberless + May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can + Subside if not to dark-blue nativeness. + Blue! gentle cousin of the forest green, + Married to green in all the sweetest flowers, + Forget-me-not,--the blue-bell,--and, that queen + Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers + Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great, + When in an Eye thou art alive with fate! + + Feb. 1818. + +In the Athenaeum of the 3rd of June 1876, appeared a letter from Mr. A. +J. Horwood, stating that he had in his possession a copy of The Garden of +Florence in which this sonnet was transcribed. Mr. Horwood, who was +unaware that the sonnet had been already published by Lord Houghton, +gives the transcript at length. His version reads hue for life in the +first line, and bright for wide in the second, and gives the sixth line +thus: + + With all his tributary streams, pools numberless, + +a foot too long: it also reads to for of in the ninth line. Mr. Buxton +Forman is of opinion that these variations are decidedly genuine, but +indicative of an earlier state of the poem than that adopted in Lord +Houghton's edition. However, now that we have before us Keats's first +draft of his sonnet, it is difficult to believe that the sixth line in +Mr. Horwood's version is really a genuine variation. Keats may have +written, + + Ocean + His tributary streams, pools numberless, + +and the transcript may have been carelessly made, but having got his line +right in his first draft, Keats probably did not spoil it in his second. +The Athenaeum version inserts a comma after art in the last line, which +seems to me a decided improvement, and eminently characteristic of +Keats's method. I am glad to see that Mr. Buxton Forman has adopted it. + +As for the corrections that Lord Houghton's version shows Keats to have +made in the eighth and ninth lines of this sonnet, it is evident that +they sprang from Keats's reluctance to repeat the same word in +consecutive lines, except in cases where a word's music or meaning was to +be emphasised. The substitution of 'its' for 'his' in the sixth line is +more difficult of explanation. It was due probably to a desire on +Keats's part not to mar by any echo the fine personification of Hesperus. + +It may be noticed that Keats's own eyes were brown, and not blue, as +stated by Mrs. Proctor to Lord Houghton. Mrs. Speed showed me a note to +that effect written by Mrs. George Keats on the margin of the page in +Lord Houghton's Life (p. 100, vol. i.), where Mrs. Proctor's description +is given. Cowden Clarke made a similar correction in his Recollections, +and in some of the later editions of Lord Houghton's book the word 'blue' +is struck out. In Severn's portraits of Keats also the eyes are given as +brown. + +The exquisite sense of colour expressed in the ninth and tenth lines may +be paralleled by + + The Ocean with its vastness, its blue green, + +of the sonnet to George Keats. + + + + +THE AMERICAN INVASION + + +(Court and Society Review, March 23, 1887.) + +A terrible danger is hanging over the Americans in London. Their future +and their reputation this season depend entirely on the success of +Buffalo Bill and Mrs. Brown-Potter. The former is certain to draw; for +English people are far more interested in American barbarism than they +are in American civilisation. When they sight Sandy Hook they look to +their rifles and ammunition; and, after dining once at Delmonico's, start +off for Colorado or California, for Montana or the Yellow Stone Park. +Rocky Mountains charm them more than riotous millionaires; they have been +known to prefer buffaloes to Boston. Why should they not? The cities of +America are inexpressibly tedious. The Bostonians take their learning +too sadly; culture with them is an accomplishment rather than an +atmosphere; their 'Hub,' as they call it, is the paradise of prigs. +Chicago is a sort of monster-shop, full of bustle and bores. Political +life at Washington is like political life in a suburban vestry. Baltimore +is amusing for a week, but Philadelphia is dreadfully provincial; and +though one can dine in New York one could not dwell there. Better the +Far West with its grizzly bears and its untamed cow-boys, its free open- +air life and its free open-air manners, its boundless prairie and its +boundless mendacity! This is what Buffalo Bill is going to bring to +London; and we have no doubt that London will fully appreciate his show. + +With regard to Mrs. Brown-Potter, as acting is no longer considered +absolutely essential for success on the English stage, there is really no +reason why the pretty bright-eyed lady who charmed us all last June by +her merry laugh and her nonchalant ways, should not--to borrow an +expression from her native language--make a big boom and paint the town +red. We sincerely hope she will; for, on the whole, the American +invasion has done English society a great deal of good. American women +are bright, clever, and wonderfully cosmopolitan. Their patriotic +feelings are limited to an admiration for Niagara and a regret for the +Elevated Railway; and, unlike the men, they never bore us with Bunkers +Hill. They take their dresses from Paris and their manners from +Piccadilly, and wear both charmingly. They have a quaint pertness, a +delightful conceit, a native self-assertion. They insist on being paid +compliments and have almost succeeded in making Englishmen eloquent. For +our aristocracy they have an ardent admiration; they adore titles and are +a permanent blow to Republican principles. In the art of amusing men +they are adepts, both by nature and education, and can actually tell a +story without forgetting the point--an accomplishment that is extremely +rare among the women of other countries. It is true that they lack +repose and that their voices are somewhat harsh and strident when they +land first at Liverpool; but after a time one gets to love these pretty +whirlwinds in petticoats that sweep so recklessly through society and are +so agitating to all duchesses who have daughters. There is something +fascinating in their funny, exaggerated gestures and their petulant way +of tossing the head. Their eyes have no magic nor mystery in them, but +they challenge us for combat; and when we engage we are always worsted. +Their lips seem made for laughter and yet they never grimace. As for +their voices, they soon get them into tune. Some of them have been known +to acquire a fashionable drawl in two seasons; and after they have been +presented to Royalty they all roll their R's as vigorously as a young +equerry or an old lady-in-waiting. Still, they never really lose their +accent; it keeps peeping out here and there, and when they chatter +together they are like a bevy of peacocks. Nothing is more amusing than +to watch two American girls greeting each other in a drawing-room or in +the Row. They are like children with their shrill staccato cries of +wonder, their odd little exclamations. Their conversation sounds like a +series of exploding crackers; they are exquisitely incoherent and use a +sort of primitive, emotional language. After five minutes they are left +beautifully breathless and look at each other half in amusement and half +in affection. If a stolid young Englishman is fortunate enough to be +introduced to them he is amazed at their extraordinary vivacity, their +electric quickness of repartee, their inexhaustible store of curious +catchwords. He never really understands them, for their thoughts flutter +about with the sweet irresponsibility of butterflies; but he is pleased +and amused and feels as if he were in an aviary. On the whole, American +girls have a wonderful charm and, perhaps, the chief secret of their +charm is that they never talk seriously except about amusements. They +have, however, one grave fault--their mothers. Dreary as were those old +Pilgrim Fathers who left our shores more than two centuries ago to found +a New England beyond seas, the Pilgrim Mothers who have returned to us in +the nineteenth century are drearier still. + +Here and there, of course, there are exceptions, but as a class they are +either dull, dowdy or dyspeptic. It is only fair to the rising +generation of America to state that they are not to blame for this. +Indeed, they spare no pains at all to bring up their parents properly and +to give them a suitable, if somewhat late, education. From its earliest +years every American child spends most of its time in correcting the +faults of its father and mother; and no one who has had the opportunity +of watching an American family on the deck of an Atlantic steamer, or in +the refined seclusion of a New York boarding-house, can fail to have been +struck by this characteristic of their civilisation. In America the +young are always ready to give to those who are older than themselves the +full benefits of their inexperience. A boy of only eleven or twelve +years of age will firmly but kindly point out to his father his defects +of manner or temper; will never weary of warning him against +extravagance, idleness, late hours, unpunctuality, and the other +temptations to which the aged are so particularly exposed; and sometimes, +should he fancy that he is monopolising too much of the conversation at +dinner, will remind him, across the table, of the new child's adage, +'Parents should be seen, not heard.' Nor does any mistaken idea of +kindness prevent the little American girl from censuring her mother +whenever it is necessary. Often, indeed, feeling that a rebuke conveyed +in the presence of others is more truly efficacious than one merely +whispered in the quiet of the nursery, she will call the attention of +perfect strangers to her mother's general untidiness, her want of +intellectual Boston conversation, immoderate love of iced water and green +corn, stinginess in the matter of candy, ignorance of the usages of the +best Baltimore society, bodily ailments and the like. In fact, it may be +truly said that no American child is ever blind to the deficiencies of +its parents, no matter how much it may love them. + +Yet, somehow, this educational system has not been so successful as it +deserved. In many cases, no doubt, the material with which the children +had to deal was crude and incapable of real development; but the fact +remains that the American mother is a tedious person. The American +father is better, for he is never seen in London. He passes his life +entirely in Wall Street and communicates with his family once a month by +means of a telegram in cipher. The mother, however, is always with us, +and, lacking the quick imitative faculty of the younger generation, +remains uninteresting and provincial to the last. In spite of her, +however, the American girl is always welcome. She brightens our dull +dinner parties for us and makes life go pleasantly by for a season. In +the race for coronets she often carries off the prize; but, once she has +gained the victory, she is generous and forgives her English rivals +everything, even their beauty. + +Warned by the example of her mother that American women do not grow old +gracefully, she tries not to grow old at all and often succeeds. She has +exquisite feet and hands, is always bien chaussee et bien gantee and can +talk brilliantly upon any subject, provided that she knows nothing about +it. + +Her sense of humour keeps her from the tragedy of a grande passion, and, +as there is neither romance nor humility in her love, she makes an +excellent wife. What her ultimate influence on English life will be it +is difficult to estimate at present; but there can be no doubt that, of +all the factors that have contributed to the social revolution of London, +there are few more important, and none more delightful, than the American +Invasion. + + + + +SERMONS IN STONES AT BLOOMSBURY: THE NEW SCULPTURE ROOM AT THE BRITISH +MUSEUM + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, October 15, 1887.) + +Through the exertions of Sir Charles Newton, to whom every student of +classic art should be grateful, some of the wonderful treasures so long +immured in the grimy vaults of the British Museum have at last been +brought to light, and the new Sculpture Room now opened to the public +will amply repay the trouble of a visit, even from those to whom art is a +stumbling-block and a rock of offence. For setting aside the mere beauty +of form, outline and mass, the grace and loveliness of design and the +delicacy of technical treatment, here we have shown to us what the Greeks +and Romans thought about death; and the philosopher, the preacher, the +practical man of the world, and even the Philistine himself, cannot fail +to be touched by these 'sermons in stones,' with their deep significance, +their fertile suggestion, their plain humanity. Common tombstones they +are, most of them, the work not of famous artists but of simple +handicraftsmen, only they were wrought in days when every handicraft was +an art. The finest specimens, from the purely artistic point of view, +are undoubtedly the two stelai found at Athens. They are both the +tombstones of young Greek athletes. In one the athlete is represented +handing his strigil to his slave, in the other the athlete stands alone, +strigil in hand. They do not belong to the greatest period of Greek art, +they have not the grand style of the Phidian age, but they are beautiful +for all that, and it is impossible not to be fascinated by their +exquisite grace and by the treatment which is so simple in its means, so +subtle in its effect. All the tombstones, however, are full of interest. +Here is one of two ladies of Smyrna who were so remarkable in their day +that the city voted them honorary crowns; here is a Greek doctor +examining a little boy who is suffering from indigestion; here is the +memorial of Xanthippus who, probably, was a martyr to gout, as he is +holding in his hand the model of a foot, intended, no doubt, as a votive +offering to some god. A lovely stele from Rhodes gives us a family +group. The husband is on horseback and is bidding farewell to his wife, +who seems as if she would follow him but is being held back by a little +child. The pathos of parting from those we love is the central motive of +Greek funeral art. It is repeated in every possible form, and each mute +marble stone seems to murmur [Greek]. Roman art is different. It +introduces vigorous and realistic portraiture and deals with pure family +life far more frequently than Greek art does. They are very ugly, those +stern-looking Roman men and women whose portraits are exhibited on their +tombs, but they seem to have been loved and respected by their children +and their servants. Here is the monument of Aphrodisius and Atilia, a +Roman gentleman and his wife, who died in Britain many centuries ago, and +whose tombstone was found in the Thames; and close by it stands a stele +from Rome with the busts of an old married couple who are certainly +marvellously ill-favoured. The contrast between the abstract Greek +treatment of the idea of death and the Roman concrete realisation of the +individuals who have died is extremely curious. + +Besides the tombstones, the new Sculpture Room contains some most +fascinating examples of Roman decorative art under the Emperors. The +most wonderful of all, and this alone is worth a trip to Bloomsbury, is a +bas-relief representing a marriage scene. Juno Pronuba is joining the +hands of a handsome young noble and a very stately lady. There is all +the grace of Perugino in this marble, all the grace of Raphael even. The +date of it is uncertain, but the particular cut of the bridegroom's beard +seems to point to the time of the Emperor Hadrian. It is clearly the +work of Greek artists and is one of the most beautiful bas-reliefs in the +whole Museum. There is something in it which reminds one of the music +and the sweetness of Propertian verse. Then we have delightful friezes +of children. One representing children playing on musical instruments +might have suggested much of the plastic art of Florence. Indeed, as we +view these marbles it is not difficult to see whence the Renaissance +sprang and to what we owe the various forms of Renaissance art. The +frieze of the Muses, each of whom wears in her hair a feather plucked +from the wings of the vanquished sirens, is extremely fine; there is a +lovely little bas-relief of two cupids racing in chariots; and the frieze +of recumbent Amazons has some splendid qualities of design. A frieze of +children playing with the armour of the god Mars should also be +mentioned. It is full of fancy and delicate humour. + +On the whole, Sir Charles Newton and Mr. Murray are warmly to be +congratulated on the success of the new room. We hope, however, that +some more of the hidden treasures will shortly be catalogued and shown. +In the vaults at present there is a very remarkable bas-relief of the +marriage of Cupid and Psyche, and another representing the professional +mourners weeping over the body of the dead. The fine cast of the Lion of +Chaeronea should also be brought up, and so should the stele with the +marvellous portrait of the Roman slave. Economy is an excellent public +virtue, but the parsimony that allows valuable works of art to remain in +the grime and gloom of a damp cellar is little short of a detestable +public vice. + + + + +THE UNITY OF THE ARTS: A LECTURE AND A FIVE O'CLOCK + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, December 12, 1887.) + +Last Saturday afternoon, at Willis's Rooms, Mr. Selwyn Image delivered +the first of a series of four lectures on Modern Art before a select and +distinguished audience. The chief point on which he dwelt was the +absolute unity of all the arts and, in order to convey this idea, he +framed a definition wide enough to include Shakespeare's King Lear and +Michael Angelo's Creation, Paul Veronese's picture of Alexander and +Darius, and Gibbon's description of the entry of Heliogabalus into Rome. +All these he regarded as so many expressions of man's thoughts and +emotions on fine things, conveyed through visible or audible modes; and +starting from this point he approached the question of the true relation +of literature to painting, always keeping in view the central motive of +his creed, Credo in unam artem multipartitam, indivisibilem, and dwelling +on resemblances rather than differences. The result at which he +ultimately arrived was this: the Impressionists, with their frank +artistic acceptance of form and colour as things absolutely satisfying in +themselves, have produced very beautiful work, but painting has something +more to give us than the mere visible aspect of things. The lofty +spiritual visions of William Blake, and the marvellous romance of Dante +Gabriel Rossetti, can find their perfect expression in painting; every +mood has its colour and every dream has its form. The chief quality of +Mr. Image's lecture was its absolute fairness, but this was, to a certain +portion of the audience, its chief defect. 'Sweet reasonableness,' said +one, 'is always admirable in a spectator, but from a leader we want +something more.' 'It is only an auctioneer who should admire all schools +of art,' said another; while a third sighed over what he called 'the +fatal sterility of the judicial mind,' and expressed a perfectly +groundless fear that the Century Guild was becoming rational. For, with +a courtesy and a generosity that we strongly recommend to other +lecturers, Mr. Image provided refreshments for his audience after his +address was over, and it was extremely interesting to listen to the +various opinions expressed by the great Five-o'clock-tea School of +Criticism which was largely represented. For our own part, we found Mr. +Image's lecture extremely suggestive. It was sometimes difficult to +understand in what exact sense he was using the word 'literary,' and we +do not think that a course of drawing from the plaster cast of the Dying +Gaul would in the slightest degree improve the ordinary art critic. The +true unity of the arts is to be found, not in any resemblance of one art +to another, but in the fact that to the really artistic nature all the +arts have the same message and speak the same language though with +different tongues. No amount of daubing on a cellar wall will make a man +understand the mystery of Michael Angelo's Sybils, nor is it necessary to +write a blank verse drama before one can appreciate the beauty of Hamlet. +It is essential that an art critic should have a nature receptive of +beautiful impressions, and sufficient intuition to recognise style when +he meets with it, and truth when it is shown to him; but, if he does not +possess these qualities, a reckless career of water-colour painting will +not give them to him, for, if from the incompetent critic all things be +hidden, to the bad painter nothing shall be revealed. + + + + +ART AT WILLIS'S ROOMS + + +(Sunday Times, December 25, 1887.) + +Accepting a suggestion made by a friendly critic last week, Mr. Selwyn +Image began his second lecture by explaining more fully what he meant by +literary art, and pointed out the difference between an ordinary +illustration to a book and such creative and original works as Michael +Angelo's fresco of The Expulsion from Eden and Rossetti's Beata Beatrix. +In the latter case the artist treats literature as if it were life +itself, and gives a new and delightful form to what seer or singer has +shown us; in the former we have merely a translation which misses the +music and adds no marvel. As for subject, Mr. Image protested against +the studio-slang that no subject is necessary, defining subject as the +thought, emotion or impression which a man desires to embody in form and +colour, and admitting Mr. Whistler's fireworks as readily as Giotto's +angels, and Van Huysum's roses no less than Mantegna's gods. Here, we +think that Mr. Image might have pointed out more clearly the contrast +between the purely pictorial subject and the subject that includes among +its elements such things as historical associations or poetic memories; +the contrast, in fact, between impressive art and the art that is +expressive also. However, the topics he had to deal with were so varied +that it was, no doubt, difficult for him to do more than suggest. From +subject he passed to style, which he described as 'that masterful but +restrained individuality of manner by which one artist is differentiated +from another.' The true qualities of style he found in restraint which +is submission to law; simplicity which is unity of vision; and severity, +for le beau est toujours severe. + +The realist he defined as one who aims at reproducing the external +phenomena of nature, while the idealist is the man who 'imagines things +of fine interest.' Yet, while he defined them he would not separate +them. The true artist is a realist, for he recognises an external world +of truth; an idealist, for he has selection, abstraction and the power of +individualisation. To stand apart from the world of nature is fatal, but +it is no less fatal merely to reproduce facts. + +Art, in a word, must not content itself simply with holding the mirror up +to nature, for it is a re-creation more than a reflection, and not a +repetition but rather a new song. As for finish, it must not be confused +with elaboration. A picture, said Mr. Image, is finished when the means +of form and colour employed by the artist are adequate to convey the +artist's intention; and, with this definition and a peroration suitable +to the season, he concluded his interesting and intellectual lecture. + +Light refreshments were then served to the audience, and the five-o'clock- +tea school of criticism came very much to the front. Mr. Image's entire +freedom from dogmatism and self-assertion was in some quarters rather +severely commented on, and one young gentleman declared that such +virtuous modesty as the lecturer's might easily become a most vicious +mannerism. Everybody, however, was extremely pleased to learn that it is +no longer the duty of art to hold the mirror up to nature, and the few +Philistines who dissented from this view received that most terrible of +all punishments--the contempt of the highly cultured. + +Mr. Image's third lecture will be delivered on January 21 and will, no +doubt, be largely attended, as the subjects advertised are full of +interest, and though 'sweet reasonableness' may not convert, it always +charms. + + + + +MR. MORRIS ON TAPESTRY + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 2, 1888.) + +Yesterday evening Mr. William Morris delivered a most interesting and +fascinating lecture on Carpet and Tapestry Weaving at the Arts and Crafts +Exhibition now held at the New Gallery. Mr. Morris had small practical +models of the two looms used, the carpet loom where the weaver sits in +front of his work; the more elaborate tapestry loom where the weaver sits +behind, at the back of the stuff, has his design outlined on the upright +threads and sees in a mirror the shadow of the pattern and picture as it +grows gradually to perfection. He spoke at much length on the question +of dyes--praising madder and kermes for reds, precipitate of iron or +ochre for yellows, and for blue either indigo or woad. At the back of +the platform hung a lovely Flemish tapestry of the fourteenth century, +and a superb Persian carpet about two hundred and fifty years old. Mr. +Morris pointed out the loveliness of the carpet--its delicate suggestion +of hawthorn blossom, iris and rose, its rejection of imitation and +shading; and showed how it combined the great quality of decorative +design--being at once clear and well defined in form: each outline +exquisitely traced, each line deliberate in its intention and its beauty, +and the whole effect being one of unity, of harmony, almost of mystery, +the colours being so perfectly harmonised together and the little bright +notes of colour being so cunningly placed either for tone or brilliancy. + +Tapestries, he said, were to the North of Europe what fresco was to the +South--our climate, amongst other reasons, guiding us in our choice of +material for wall-covering. England, France, and Flanders were the three +great tapestry countries--Flanders with its great wool trade being the +first in splendid colours and superb Gothic design. The keynote of +tapestry, the secret of its loveliness, was, he told the audience, the +complete filling up of every corner and square inch of surface with +lovely and fanciful and suggestive design. Hence the wonder of those +great Gothic tapestries where the forest trees rise in different places, +one over the other, each leaf perfect in its shape and colour and +decorative value, while in simple raiment of beautiful design knights and +ladies wandered in rich flower gardens, and rode with hawk on wrist +through long green arcades, and sat listening to lute and viol in blossom- +starred bowers or by cool gracious water springs. Upon the other hand, +when the Gothic feeling died away, and Boucher and others began to +design, they gave us wide expanses of waste sky, elaborate perspective, +posing nymphs and shallow artificial treatment. Indeed, Boucher met with +scant mercy at Mr. Morris's vigorous hands and was roundly abused, and +modern Gobelins, with M. Bougereau's cartoons, fared no better. + +Mr. Morris told some delightful stories about old tapestry work from the +days when in the Egyptian tombs the dead were laid wrapped in picture +cloths, some of which are now in the South Kensington Museum, to the time +of the great Turk Bajazet who, having captured some Christian knights, +would accept nothing for their ransom but the 'storied tapestries of +France' and gerfalcons. As regards the use of tapestry in modern days, +he pointed out that we were richer than the middle ages, and so should be +better able to afford this form of lovely wall-covering, which for +artistic tone is absolutely without rival. He said that the very +limitation of material and form forced the imaginative designer into +giving us something really beautiful and decorative. 'What is the use of +setting an artist in a twelve-acre field and telling him to design a +house? Give him a limited space and he is forced by its limitation to +concentrate, and to fill with pure loveliness the narrow surface at his +disposal.' The worker also gives to the original design a very perfect +richness of detail, and the threads with their varying colours and +delicate reflections convey into the work a new source of delight. Here, +he said, we found perfect unity between the imaginative artist and the +handicraftsman. The one was not too free, the other was not a slave. The +eye of the artist saw, his brain conceived, his imagination created, but +the hand of the weaver had also its opportunity for wonderful work, and +did not copy what was already made, but re-created and put into a new and +delightful form a design that for its perfection needed the loom to aid, +and had to pass into a fresh and marvellous material before its beauty +came to its real flower and blossom of absolutely right expression and +artistic effect. But, said Mr. Morris in conclusion, to have great work +we must be worthy of it. Commercialism, with its vile god cheapness, its +callous indifference to the worker, its innate vulgarity of temper, is +our enemy. To gain anything good we must sacrifice something of our +luxury--must think more of others, more of the State, the commonweal: 'We +cannot have riches and wealth both,' he said; we must choose between +them. + +The lecture was listened to with great attention by a very large and +distinguished audience, and Mr. Morris was loudly applauded. + +The next lecture will be on Sculpture by Mr. George Simonds, and if it is +half so good as Mr. Morris it will well repay a visit to the +lecture-room. Mr. Crane deserves great credit for his exertions in +making this exhibition what it should be, and there is no doubt but that +it will exercise an important and a good influence on all the handicrafts +of our country. + + + + +SCULPTURE AT THE ARTS AND CRAFTS + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 9, 1888.) + +The most satisfactory thing in Mr. Simonds' lecture last night was the +peroration, in which he told the audience that 'an artist cannot be +made.' But for this well-timed warning some deluded people might have +gone away under the impression that sculpture was a sort of mechanical +process within the reach of the meanest capabilities. For it must be +confessed that Mr. Simonds' lecture was at once too elementary and too +elaborately technical. The ordinary art student, even the ordinary +studio-loafer, could not have learned anything from it, while the +'cultured person,' of whom there were many specimens present, could not +but have felt a little bored at the careful and painfully clear +descriptions given by the lecturer of very well-known and uninteresting +methods of work. However, Mr. Simonds did his best. He described +modelling in clay and wax; casting in plaster and in metal; how to +enlarge and how to diminish to scale; bas-reliefs and working in the +round; the various kinds of marble, their qualities and characteristics; +how to reproduce in marble the plaster or clay bust; how to use the +point, the drill, the wire and the chisel; and the various difficulties +attending each process. He exhibited a clay bust of Mr. Walter Crane on +which he did some elementary work; a bust of Mr. Parsons; a small +statuette; several moulds, and an interesting diagram of the furnace used +by Balthasar Keller for casting a great equestrian statue of Louis XIV. +in 1697-8. + +What his lecture lacked were ideas. Of the artistic value of each +material; of the correspondence between material or method and the +imaginative faculty seeking to find expression; of the capacities for +realism and idealism that reside in each material; of the historical and +human side of the art--he said nothing. He showed the various +instruments and how they are used, but he treated them entirely as +instruments for the hand. He never once brought his subject into any +relation either with art or with life. He explained forms of labour and +forms of saving labour. He showed the various methods as they might be +used by an artisan. Mr. Morris, last week, while explaining the +technical processes of weaving, never forgot that he was lecturing on an +art. He not merely taught his audience, but he charmed them. However, +the audience gathered together last night at the Arts and Crafts +Exhibition seemed very much interested; at least, they were very +attentive; and Mr. Walter Crane made a short speech at the conclusion, in +which he expressed his satisfaction that in spite of modern machinery +sculpture had hardly altered one of its tools. For our own part we +cannot help regretting the extremely commonplace character of the +lecture. If a man lectures on poets he should not confine his remarks +purely to grammar. + +Next week Mr. Emery Walker lectures on Printing. We hope--indeed we are +sure, that he will not forget that it is an art, or rather it was an art +once, and can be made so again. + + + + +PRINTING AND PRINTERS + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 16, 1888.) + +Nothing could have been better than Mr. Emery Walker's lecture on +Letterpress Printing and Illustration, delivered last night at the Arts +and Crafts. A series of most interesting specimens of old printed books +and manuscripts was displayed on the screen by means of the +magic-lantern, and Mr. Walker's explanations were as clear and simple as +his suggestions were admirable. He began by explaining the different +kinds of type and how they are made, and showed specimens of the old +block-printing which preceded the movable type and is still used in +China. He pointed out the intimate connection between printing and +handwriting--as long as the latter was good the printers had a living +model to go by, but when it decayed printing decayed also. He showed on +the screen a page from Gutenberg's Bible (the first printed book, date +about 1450-5) and a manuscript of Columella; a printed Livy of 1469, with +the abbreviations of handwriting, and a manuscript of the History of +Pompeius by Justin of 1451. The latter he regarded as an example of the +beginning of the Roman type. The resemblance between the manuscripts and +the printed books was most curious and suggestive. He then showed a page +out of John of Spier's edition of Cicero's Letters, the first book +printed at Venice, an edition of the same book by Nicholas Jansen in +1470, and a wonderful manuscript Petrarch of the sixteenth century. He +told the audience about Aldus, who was the first publisher to start cheap +books, who dropped abbreviations and had his type cut by Francia pictor +et aurifex, who was said to have taken it from Petrarch's handwriting. He +exhibited a page of the copy-book of Vicentino, the great Venetian +writing-master, which was greeted with a spontaneous round of applause, +and made some excellent suggestions about improving modern copy-books and +avoiding slanting writing. + +A superb Plautus printed at Florence in 1514 for Lorenzo di Medici, +Polydore Virgil's History with the fine Holbein designs, printed at Basle +in 1556, and other interesting books, were also exhibited on the screen, +the size, of course, being very much enlarged. He spoke of Elzevir in +the seventeenth century when handwriting began to fall off, and of the +English printer Caslon, and of Baskerville whose type was possibly +designed by Hogarth, but is not very good. Latin, he remarked, was a +better language to print than English, as the tails of the letters did +not so often fall below the line. The wide spacing between lines, +occasioned by the use of a lead, he pointed out, left the page in stripes +and made the blanks as important as the lines. Margins should, of +course, be wide except the inner margins, and the headlines often robbed +the page of its beauty of design. The type used by the Pall Mall was, we +are glad to say, rightly approved of. + +With regard to illustration, the essential thing, Mr. Walker said, is to +have harmony between the type and the decoration. He pleaded for true +book ornament as opposed to the silly habit of putting pictures where +they are not wanted, and pointed out that mechanical harmony and artistic +harmony went hand in hand. No ornament or illustration should be used in +a book which cannot be printed in the same way as the type. For his +warnings he produced Rogers's Italy with a steel-plate engraving, and a +page from an American magazine which being florid, pictorial and bad, was +greeted with some laughter. For examples we had a lovely Boccaccio +printed at Ulm, and a page out of La Mer des Histoires printed in 1488. +Blake and Bewick were also shown, and a page of music designed by Mr. +Horne. + +The lecture was listened to with great attention by a large audience, and +was certainly most attractive. Mr. Walker has the keen artistic instinct +that comes out of actually working in the art of which he spoke. His +remarks about the pictorial character of modern illustration were well +timed, and we hope that some of the publishers in the audience will take +them to heart. + +Next Thursday Mr. Cobden-Sanderson lectures on Bookbinding, a subject on +which few men in England have higher qualifications for speaking. We are +glad to see these lectures are so well attended. + + + + +THE BEAUTIES OF BOOKBINDING + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 23, 1888.) + +'The beginning of art,' said Mr. Cobden-Sanderson last night in his +charming lecture on Bookbinding, 'is man thinking about the universe.' He +desires to give expression to the joy and wonder that he feels at the +marvels that surround him, and invents a form of beauty through which he +utters the thought or feeling that is in him. And bookbinding ranks +amongst the arts: 'through it a man expresses himself.' + +This elegant and pleasantly exaggerated exordium preceded some very +practical demonstrations. 'The apron is the banner of the future!' +exclaimed the lecturer, and he took his coat off and put his apron on. He +spoke a little about old bindings for the papyrus roll, about the ivory +or cedar cylinders round which old manuscripts were wound, about the +stained covers and the elaborate strings, till binding in the modern +sense began with literature in a folded form, with literature in pages. A +binding, he pointed out, consists of two boards, originally of wood, now +of mill-board, covered with leather, silk or velvet. The use of these +boards is to protect the 'world's written wealth.' The best material is +leather, decorated with gold. The old binders used to be given forests +that they might always have a supply of the skins of wild animals; the +modern binder has to content himself with importing morocco, which is far +the best leather there is, and is very much to be preferred to calf. + +Mr. Sanderson mentioned by name a few of the great binders such as Le +Gascon, and some of the patrons of bookbinding like the Medicis, Grolier, +and the wonderful women who so loved books that they lent them some of +the perfume and grace of their own strange lives. However, the +historical part of the lecture was very inadequate, possibly necessarily +so through the limitations of time. The really elaborate part of the +lecture was the practical exposition. Mr. Sanderson described and +illustrated the various processes of smoothing, pressing, cutting, +paring, and the like. He divided bindings into two classes, the useful +and the beautiful. Among the former he reckoned paper covers such as the +French use, paper boards and cloth boards, and half leather or calf +bindings. Cloth he disliked as a poor material, the gold on which soon +fades away. As for beautiful bindings, in them 'decoration rises into +enthusiasm.' A beautiful binding is 'a homage to genius.' It has its +ethical value, its spiritual effect. 'By doing good work we raise life +to a higher plane,' said the lecturer, and he dwelt with loving sympathy +on the fact that a book is 'sensitive by nature,' that it is made by a +human being for a human being, that the design must 'come from the man +himself, and express the moods of his imagination, the joy of his soul.' +There must, consequently, be no division of labour. 'I make my own paste +and enjoy doing it,' said Mr. Sanderson as he spoke of the necessity for +the artist doing the whole work with his own hands. But before we have +really good bookbinding we must have a social revolution. As things are +now, the worker diminished to a machine is the slave of the employer, and +the employer bloated into a millionaire is the slave of the public, and +the public is the slave of its pet god, cheapness. The bookbinder of the +future is to be an educated man who appreciates literature and has +freedom for his fancy and leisure for his thought. + +All this is very good and sound. But in treating bookbinding as an +imaginative, expressive human art we must confess that we think that Mr. +Sanderson made something of an error. Bookbinding is essentially +decorative, and good decoration is far more often suggested by material +and mode of work than by any desire on the part of the designer to tell +us of his joy in the world. Hence it comes that good decoration is +always traditional. Where it is the expression of the individual it is +usually either false or capricious. These handicrafts are not primarily +expressive arts; they are impressive arts. If a man has any message for +the world he will not deliver it in a material that always suggests and +always conditions its own decoration. The beauty of bookbinding is +abstract decorative beauty. It is not, in the first instance, a mode of +expression for a man's soul. Indeed, the danger of all these lofty +claims for handicraft is simply that they show a desire to give crafts +the province and motive of arts such as poetry, painting and sculpture. +Such province and such motive they have not got. Their aim is different. +Between the arts that aim at annihilating their material and the arts +that aim at glorifying it there is a wide gulf. + +However, it was quite right of Mr. Cobden-Sanderson to extol his own art, +and though he seemed often to confuse expressive and impressive modes of +beauty, he always spoke with great sincerity. + +Next week Mr. Crane delivers the final lecture of this admirable 'Arts +and Crafts' series and, no doubt, he will have much to say on a subject +to which he has devoted the whole of his fine artistic life. For +ourselves, we cannot help feeling that in bookbinding art expresses +primarily not the feeling of the worker but simply itself, its own +beauty, its own wonder. + + + + +THE CLOSE OF THE ARTS AND CRAFTS + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, November 30, 1888.) + +Mr. Walter Crane, the President of the Society of Arts and Crafts, was +greeted last night by such an enormous audience that at one time the +honorary secretary became alarmed for the safety of the cartoons, and +many people were unable to gain admission at all. However, order was +soon established, and Mr. Cobden-Sanderson stepped up on to the platform +and in a few pleasantly sententious phrases introduced Mr. Crane as one +who had always been 'the advocate of great and unpopular causes,' and the +aim of whose art was 'joy in widest commonalty spread.' Mr. Crane began +his lecture by pointing out that Art had two fields, aspect and +adaptation, and that it was primarily with the latter that the designer +was concerned, his object being not literal fact but ideal beauty. With +the unstudied and accidental effects of Nature the designer had nothing +to do. He sought for principles and proceeded by geometric plan and +abstract line and colour. Pictorial art is isolated and unrelated, and +the frame is the last relic of the old connection between painting and +architecture. But the designer does not desire primarily to produce a +picture. He aims at making a pattern and proceeds by selection; he +rejects the 'hole in the wall' idea, and will have nothing to do with the +'false windows of a picture.' + +Three things differentiate designs. First, the spirit of the artist, +that mode and manner by which Durer is separated from Flaxman, by which +we recognise the soul of a man expressing itself in the form proper to +it. Next comes the constructive idea, the filling of spaces with lovely +work. Last is the material which, be it leather or clay, ivory or wood, +often suggests and always controls the pattern. As for naturalism, we +must remember that we see not with our eyes alone but with our whole +faculties. Feeling and thought are part of sight. Mr. Crane then drew +on a blackboard the naturalistic oak-tree of the landscape painter and +the decorative oak-tree of the designer. He showed that each artist is +looking for different things, and that the designer always makes +appearance subordinate to decorative motive. He showed also the field +daisy as it is in Nature and the same flower treated for panel +decoration. The designer systematises and emphasises, chooses and +rejects, and decorative work bears the same relation to naturalistic +presentation that the imaginative language of the poetic drama bears to +the language of real life. The decorative capabilities of the square and +the circle were then shown on the board, and much was said about +symmetry, alternation and radiation, which last principle Mr. Crane +described as 'the Home Rule of design, the perfection of local +self-government,' and which, he pointed out, was essentially organic, +manifesting itself in the bird's wing as well as in the Tudor vaulting of +Gothic architecture. Mr. Crane then passed to the human figure, 'that +expressive unit of design,' which contains all the principles of +decoration, and exhibited a design of a nude figure with an axe couched +in an architectural spandrel, a figure which he was careful to explain +was, in spite of the axe, not that of Mr. Gladstone. The designer then +leaving chiaroscuro, shading and other 'superficial facts of life' to +take care of themselves, and keeping the idea of space limitation always +before him, then proceeds to emphasise the beauty of his material, be it +metal with its 'agreeable bossiness,' as Ruskin calls it, or leaded glass +with its fine dark lines, or mosaic with its jewelled tesserae, or the +loom with its crossed threads, or wood with its pleasant crispness. Much +bad art comes from one art trying to borrow from another. We have +sculptors who try to be pictorial, painters who aim at stage effects, +weavers who seek for pictorial motives, carvers who make Life and not Art +their aim, cotton printers 'who tie up bunches of artificial flowers with +streamers of artificial ribbons' and fling them on the unfortunate +textile. + +Then came the little bit of Socialism, very sensible and very quietly +put. 'How can we have fine art when the worker is condemned to +monotonous and mechanical labour in the midst of dull or hideous +surroundings, when cities and nature are sacrificed to commercial greed, +when cheapness is the god of Life?' In old days the craftsman was a +designer; he had his 'prentice days of quiet study; and even the painter +began by grinding colours. Some little old ornament still lingers, here +and there, on the brass rosettes of cart-horses, in the common milk-cans +of Antwerp, in the water-vessels of Italy. But even this is +disappearing. 'The tourist passes by' and creates a demand that commerce +satisfies in an unsatisfactory manner. We have not yet arrived at a +healthy state of things. There is still the Tottenham Court Road and a +threatened revival of Louis Seize furniture, and the 'popular pictorial +print struggles through the meshes of the antimacassar.' Art depends on +Life. We cannot get it from machines. And yet machines are bad only +when they are our masters. The printing press is a machine that Art +values because it obeys her. True art must have the vital energy of life +itself, must take its colours from life's good or evil, must follow +angels of light or angels of darkness. The art of the past is not to be +copied in a servile spirit. For a new age we require a new form. + +Mr. Crane's lecture was most interesting and instructive. On one point +only we would differ from him. Like Mr. Morris he quite underrates the +art of Japan, and looks on the Japanese as naturalists and not as +decorative artists. It is true that they are often pictorial, but by the +exquisite finesse of their touch, the brilliancy and beauty of their +colour, their perfect knowledge of how to make a space decorative without +decorating it (a point on which Mr. Crane said nothing, though it is one +of the most important things in decoration), and by their keen instinct +of where to place a thing, the Japanese are decorative artists of a high +order. Next year somebody must lecture the Arts and Crafts on Japanese +art. In the meantime, we congratulate Mr. Crane and Mr. Cobden-Sanderson +on the admirable series of lectures that has been delivered at this +exhibition. Their influence for good can hardly be over-estimated. The +exhibition, we are glad to hear, has been a financial success. It closes +tomorrow, but is to be only the first of many to come. + + + + +ENGLISH POETESSES + + +(Queen, December 8, 1888.) + +England has given to the world one great poetess, Elizabeth Barrett +Browning. By her side Mr. Swinburne would place Miss Christina Rossetti, +whose New Year hymn he describes as so much the noblest of sacred poems +in our language, that there is none which comes near it enough to stand +second. 'It is a hymn,' he tells us, 'touched as with the fire, and +bathed as in the light of sunbeams, tuned as to chords and cadences of +refluent sea-music beyond reach of harp and organ, large echoes of the +serene and sonorous tides of heaven.' Much as I admire Miss Rossetti's +work, her subtle choice of words, her rich imagery, her artistic naivete, +wherein curious notes of strangeness and simplicity are fantastically +blended together, I cannot but think that Mr. Swinburne has, with noble +and natural loyalty, placed her on too lofty a pedestal. To me, she is +simply a very delightful artist in poetry. This is indeed something so +rare that when we meet it we cannot fail to love it, but it is not +everything. Beyond it and above it are higher and more sunlit heights of +song, a larger vision, and an ampler air, a music at once more passionate +and more profound, a creative energy that is born of the spirit, a winged +rapture that is born of the soul, a force and fervour of mere utterance +that has all the wonder of the prophet, and not a little of the +consecration of the priest. + +Mrs. Browning is unapproachable by any woman who has ever touched lyre or +blown through reed since the days of the great AEolian poetess. But +Sappho, who, to the antique world was a pillar of flame, is to us but a +pillar of shadow. Of her poems, burnt with other most precious work by +Byzantine Emperor and by Roman Pope, only a few fragments remain. +Possibly they lie mouldering in the scented darkness of an Egyptian tomb, +clasped in the withered hands of some long-dead lover. Some Greek monk +at Athos may even now be poring over an ancient manuscript, whose crabbed +characters conceal lyric or ode by her whom the Greeks spoke of as 'the +Poetess' just as they termed Homer 'the Poet,' who was to them the tenth +Muse, the flower of the Graces, the child of Eros, and the pride of +Hellas--Sappho, with the sweet voice, the bright, beautiful eyes, the +dark hyacinth-coloured hair. But, practically, the work of the +marvellous singer of Lesbos is entirely lost to us. + +We have a few rose-leaves out of her garden, that is all. Literature +nowadays survives marble and bronze, but in old days, in spite of the +Roman poet's noble boast, it was not so. The fragile clay vases of the +Greeks still keep for us pictures of Sappho, delicately painted in black +and red and white; but of her song we have only the echo of an echo. + +Of all the women of history, Mrs. Browning is the only one that we could +name in any possible or remote conjunction with Sappho. + +Sappho was undoubtedly a far more flawless and perfect artist. She +stirred the whole antique world more than Mrs. Browning ever stirred our +modern age. Never had Love such a singer. Even in the few lines that +remain to us the passion seems to scorch and burn. But, as unjust Time, +who has crowned her with the barren laurels of fame, has twined with them +the dull poppies of oblivion, let us turn from the mere memory of a +poetess to one whose song still remains to us as an imperishable glory to +our literature; to her who heard the cry of the children from dark mine +and crowded factory, and made England weep over its little ones; who, in +the feigned sonnets from the Portuguese, sang of the spiritual mystery of +Love, and of the intellectual gifts that Love brings to the soul; who had +faith in all that is worthy, and enthusiasm for all that is great, and +pity for all that suffers; who wrote the Vision of Poets and Casa Guidi +Windows and Aurora Leigh. + +As one, to whom I owe my love of poetry no less than my love of country, +has said of her: + + Still on our ears + The clear 'Excelsior' from a woman's lip + Rings out across the Apennines, although + The woman's brow lies pale and cold in death + With all the mighty marble dead in Florence. + For while great songs can stir the hearts of men, + Spreading their full vibrations through the world + In ever-widening circles till they reach + The Throne of God, and song becomes a prayer, + And prayer brings down the liberating strength + That kindles nations to heroic deeds, + She lives--the great-souled poetess who saw + From Casa Guidi windows Freedom dawn + On Italy, and gave the glory back + In sunrise hymns to all Humanity! + +She lives indeed, and not alone in the heart of Shakespeare's England, +but in the heart of Dante's Italy also. To Greek literature she owed her +scholarly culture, but modern Italy created her human passion for +Liberty. When she crossed the Alps she became filled with a new ardour, +and from that fine, eloquent mouth, that we can still see in her +portraits, broke forth such a noble and majestic outburst of lyrical song +as had not been heard from woman's lips for more than two thousand years. +It is pleasant to think that an English poetess was to a certain extent a +real factor in bringing about that unity of Italy that was Dante's dream, +and if Florence drove her great singer into exile, she at least welcomed +within her walls the later singer that England had sent to her. + +If one were asked the chief qualities of Mrs. Browning's work, one would +say, as Mr. Swinburne said of Byron's, its sincerity and its strength. +Faults it, of course, possesses. 'She would rhyme moon to table,' used +to be said of her in jest; and certainly no more monstrous rhymes are to +be found in all literature than some of those we come across in Mrs. +Browning's poems. But her ruggedness was never the result of +carelessness. It was deliberate, as her letters to Mr. Horne show very +clearly. She refused to sandpaper her muse. She disliked facile +smoothness and artificial polish. In her very rejection of art she was +an artist. She intended to produce a certain effect by certain means, +and she succeeded; and her indifference to complete assonance in rhyme +often gives a splendid richness to her verse, and brings into it a +pleasurable element of surprise. + +In philosophy she was a Platonist, in politics an Opportunist. She +attached herself to no particular party. She loved the people when they +were king-like, and kings when they showed themselves to be men. Of the +real value and motive of poetry she had a most exalted idea. 'Poetry,' +she says, in the preface of one of her volumes, 'has been as serious a +thing to me as life itself; and life has been a very serious thing. There +has been no playing at skittles for me in either. I never mistook +pleasure for the final cause of poetry, nor leisure for the hour of the +poet. I have done my work so far, not as mere hand and head work apart +from the personal being, but as the completest expression of that being +to which I could attain.' + +It certainly is her completest expression, and through it she realises +her fullest perfection. 'The poet,' she says elsewhere, 'is at once +richer and poorer than he used to be; he wears better broadcloth, but +speaks no more oracles.' These words give us the keynote to her view of +the poet's mission. He was to utter Divine oracles, to be at once +inspired prophet and holy priest; and as such we may, I think, without +exaggeration, conceive her. She was a Sibyl delivering a message to the +world, sometimes through stammering lips, and once at least with blinded +eyes, yet always with the true fire and fervour of lofty and unshaken +faith, always with the great raptures of a spiritual nature, the high +ardours of an impassioned soul. As we read her best poems we feel that, +though Apollo's shrine be empty and the bronze tripod overthrown, and the +vale of Delphi desolate, still the Pythia is not dead. In our own age +she has sung for us, and this land gave her new birth. Indeed, Mrs. +Browning is the wisest of the Sibyls, wiser even than that mighty figure +whom Michael Angelo has painted on the roof of the Sistine Chapel at +Rome, poring over the scroll of mystery, and trying to decipher the +secrets of Fate; for she realised that, while knowledge is power, +suffering is part of knowledge. + +To her influence, almost as much as to the higher education of women, I +would be inclined to attribute the really remarkable awakening of woman's +song that characterises the latter half of our century in England. No +country has ever had so many poetesses at once. Indeed, when one +remembers that the Greeks had only nine muses, one is sometimes apt to +fancy that we have too many. And yet the work done by women in the +sphere of poetry is really of a very high standard of excellence. In +England we have always been prone to underrate the value of tradition in +literature. In our eagerness to find a new voice and a fresh mode of +music, we have forgotten how beautiful Echo may be. We look first for +individuality and personality, and these are, indeed, the chief +characteristics of the masterpieces of our literature, either in prose or +verse; but deliberate culture and a study of the best models, if united +to an artistic temperament and a nature susceptible of exquisite +impressions, may produce much that is admirable, much that is worthy of +praise. It would be quite impossible to give a complete catalogue of all +the women who since Mrs. Browning's day have tried lute and lyre. Mrs. +Pfeiffer, Mrs. Hamilton King, Mrs. Augusta Webster, Graham Tomson, Miss +Mary Robinson, Jean Ingelow, Miss May Kendall, Miss Nesbit, Miss May +Probyn, Mrs. Craik, Mrs. Meynell, Miss Chapman, and many others have done +really good work in poetry, either in the grave Dorian mode of thoughtful +and intellectual verse, or in the light and graceful forms of old French +song, or in the romantic manner of antique ballad, or in that 'moment's +monument,' as Rossetti called it, the intense and concentrated sonnet. +Occasionally one is tempted to wish that the quick, artistic faculty that +women undoubtedly possess developed itself somewhat more in prose and +somewhat less in verse. Poetry is for our highest moods, when we wish to +be with the gods, and in our poetry nothing but the very best should +satisfy us; but prose is for our daily bread, and the lack of good prose +is one of the chief blots on our culture. French prose, even in the +hands of the most ordinary writers, is always readable, but English prose +is detestable. We have a few, a very few, masters, such as they are. We +have Carlyle, who should not be imitated; and Mr. Pater, who, through the +subtle perfection of his form, is inimitable absolutely; and Mr. Froude, +who is useful; and Matthew Arnold, who is a model; and Mr. George +Meredith, who is a warning; and Mr. Lang, who is the divine amateur; and +Mr. Stevenson, who is the humane artist; and Mr. Ruskin, whose rhythm and +colour and fine rhetoric and marvellous music of words are entirely +unattainable. But the general prose that one reads in magazines and in +newspapers is terribly dull and cumbrous, heavy in movement and uncouth +or exaggerated in expression. Possibly some day our women of letters +will apply themselves more definitely to prose. + +Their light touch, and exquisite ear, and delicate sense of balance and +proportion would be of no small service to us. I can fancy women +bringing a new manner into our literature. + +However, we have to deal here with women as poetesses, and it is +interesting to note that, though Mrs. Browning's influence undoubtedly +contributed very largely to the development of this new song-movement, if +I may so term it, still there seems to have been never a time during the +last three hundred years when the women of this kingdom did not +cultivate, if not the art, at least the habit, of writing poetry. + +Who the first English poetess was I cannot say. I believe it was the +Abbess Juliana Berners, who lived in the fifteenth century; but I have no +doubt that Mr. Freeman would be able at a moment's notice to produce some +wonderful Saxon or Norman poetess, whose works cannot be read without a +glossary, and even with its aid are completely unintelligible. For my +own part, I am content with the Abbess Juliana, who wrote +enthusiastically about hawking; and after her I would mention Anne Askew, +who in prison and on the eve of her fiery martyrdom wrote a ballad that +has, at any rate, a pathetic and historical interest. Queen Elizabeth's +'most sweet and sententious ditty' on Mary Stuart is highly praised by +Puttenham, a contemporary critic, as an example of 'Exargasia, or the +Gorgeous in Literature,' which somehow seems a very suitable epithet for +such a great Queen's poems. The term she applies to the unfortunate +Queen of Scots, 'the daughter of debate,' has, of course, long since +passed into literature. The Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney's +sister, was much admired as a poetess in her day. + +In 1613 the 'learned, virtuous, and truly noble ladie,' Elizabeth Carew, +published a Tragedie of Marian, the Faire Queene of Jewry, and a few +years later the 'noble ladie Diana Primrose' wrote A Chain of Pearl, +which is a panegyric on the 'peerless graces' of Gloriana. Mary Morpeth, +the friend and admirer of Drummond of Hawthornden; Lady Mary Wroth, to +whom Ben Jonson dedicated The Alchemist; and the Princess Elizabeth, the +sister of Charles I., should also be mentioned. + +After the Restoration women applied themselves with still greater ardour +to the study of literature and the practice of poetry. Margaret, Duchess +of Newcastle, was a true woman of letters, and some of her verses are +extremely pretty and graceful. Mrs. Aphra Behn was the first +Englishwoman who adopted literature as a regular profession. Mrs. +Katharine Philips, according to Mr. Gosse, invented sentimentality. As +she was praised by Dryden, and mourned by Cowley, let us hope she may be +forgiven. Keats came across her poems at Oxford when he was writing +Endymion, and found in one of them 'a most delicate fancy of the Fletcher +kind'; but I fear nobody reads the Matchless Orinda now. Of Lady +Winchelsea's Nocturnal Reverie Wordsworth said that, with the exception +of Pope's Windsor Forest, it was the only poem of the period intervening +between Paradise Lost and Thomson's Seasons that contained a single new +image of external nature. Lady Rachel Russell, who may be said to have +inaugurated the letter-writing literature of England; Eliza Haywood, who +is immortalised by the badness of her work, and has a niche in The +Dunciad; and the Marchioness of Wharton, whose poems Waller said he +admired, are very remarkable types, the finest of them being, of course, +the first named, who was a woman of heroic mould and of a most noble +dignity of nature. + +Indeed, though the English poetesses up to the time of Mrs. Browning +cannot be said to have produced any work of absolute genius, they are +certainly interesting figures, fascinating subjects for study. Amongst +them we find Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who had all the caprice of +Cleopatra, and whose letters are delightful reading; Mrs. Centlivre, who +wrote one brilliant comedy; Lady Anne Barnard, whose Auld Robin Gray was +described by Sir Walter Scott as 'worth all the dialogues Corydon and +Phillis have together spoken from the days of Theocritus downwards,' and +is certainly a very beautiful and touching poem; Esther Vanhomrigh and +Hester Johnson, the Vanessa and the Stella of Dean Swift's life; Mrs. +Thrale, the friend of the great lexicographer; the worthy Mrs. Barbauld; +the excellent Mrs. Hannah More; the industrious Joanna Baillie; the +admirable Mrs. Chapone, whose Ode to Solitude always fills me with the +wildest passion for society, and who will at least be remembered as the +patroness of the establishment at which Becky Sharp was educated; Miss +Anna Seward, who was called 'The Swan of Lichfield'; poor L. E. L., whom +Disraeli described in one of his clever letters to his sister as 'the +personification of Brompton--pink satin dress, white satin shoes, red +cheeks, snub nose, and her hair a la Sappho'; Mrs. Ratcliffe, who +introduced the romantic novel, and has consequently much to answer for; +the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire, of whom Gibbon said that she was +'made for something better than a Duchess'; the two wonderful sisters, +Lady Dufferin and Mrs. Norton; Mrs. Tighe, whose Psyche Keats read with +pleasure; Constantia Grierson, a marvellous blue-stocking in her time; +Mrs. Hemans; pretty, charming 'Perdita,' who flirted alternately with +poetry and the Prince Regent, played divinely in the Winter's Tale, was +brutally attacked by Gifford, and has left us a pathetic little poem on +the Snowdrop; and Emily Bronte, whose poems are instinct with tragic +power, and seem often on the verge of being great. + +Old fashions in literature are not so pleasant as old fashions in dress. +I like the costume of the age of powder better than the poetry of the age +of Pope. But if one adopts the historical standpoint--and this is, +indeed, the only standpoint from which we can ever form a fair estimate +of work that is not absolutely of the highest order--we cannot fail to +see that many of the English poetesses who preceded Mrs. Browning were +women of no ordinary talent, and that if the majority of them looked upon +poetry simply as a department of belles lettres, so in most cases did +their contemporaries. Since Mrs. Browning's day our woods have become +full of singing birds, and if I venture to ask them to apply themselves +more to prose and less to song, it is not that I like poetical prose, but +that I love the prose of poets. + + + + +LONDON MODELS + + +(English Illustrated Magazine, January 1889.) + +Professional models are a purely modern invention. To the Greeks, for +instance, they were quite unknown. Mr. Mahaffy, it is true, tells us +that Pericles used to present peacocks to the great ladies of Athenian +society in order to induce them to sit to his friend Phidias, and we know +that Polygnotus introduced into his picture of the Trojan women the face +of Elpinice, the celebrated sister of the great Conservative leader of +the day, but these grandes dames clearly do not come under our category. +As for the old masters, they undoubtedly made constant studies from their +pupils and apprentices, and even their religious pictures are full of the +portraits of their friends and relations, but they do not seem to have +had the inestimable advantage of the existence of a class of people whose +sole profession is to pose. In fact the model, in our sense of the word, +is the direct creation of Academic Schools. + +Every country now has its own models, except America. In New York, and +even in Boston, a good model is so great a rarity that most of the +artists are reduced to painting Niagara and millionaires. In Europe, +however, it is different. Here we have plenty of models, and of every +nationality. The Italian models are the best. The natural grace of +their attitudes, as well as the wonderful picturesqueness of their +colouring, makes them facile--often too facile--subjects for the +painter's brush. The French models, though not so beautiful as the +Italian, possess a quickness of intellectual sympathy, a capacity, in +fact, of understanding the artist, which is quite remarkable. They have +also a great command over the varieties of facial expression, are +peculiarly dramatic, and can chatter the argot of the atelier as cleverly +as the critic of the Gil Bias. The English models form a class entirely +by themselves. They are not so picturesque as the Italian, nor so clever +as the French, and they have absolutely no tradition, so to speak, of +their order. Now and then some old veteran knocks at a studio door, and +proposes to sit as Ajax defying the lightning, or as King Lear upon the +blasted heath. One of them some time ago called on a popular painter +who, happening at the moment to require his services, engaged him, and +told him to begin by kneeling down in the attitude of prayer. 'Shall I +be Biblical or Shakespearean, sir?' asked the veteran. +'Well--Shakespearean,' answered the artist, wondering by what subtle +nuance of expression the model would convey the difference. 'All right, +sir,' said the professor of posing, and he solemnly knelt down and began +to wink with his left eye! This class, however, is dying out. As a rule +the model, nowadays, is a pretty girl, from about twelve to twenty-five +years of age, who knows nothing about art, cares less, and is merely +anxious to earn seven or eight shillings a day without much trouble. +English models rarely look at a picture, and never venture on any +aesthetic theories. In fact, they realise very completely Mr. Whistler's +idea of the function of an art critic, for they pass no criticisms at +all. They accept all schools of art with the grand catholicity of the +auctioneer, and sit to a fantastic young impressionist as readily as to a +learned and laborious academician. They are neither for the Whistlerites +nor against them; the quarrel between the school of facts and the school +of effects touches them not; idealistic and naturalistic are words that +convey no meaning to their ears; they merely desire that the studio shall +be warm, and the lunch hot, for all charming artists give their models +lunch. + +As to what they are asked to do they are equally indifferent. On Monday +they will don the rags of a beggar-girl for Mr. Pumper, whose pathetic +pictures of modern life draw such tears from the public, and on Tuesday +they will pose in a peplum for Mr. Phoebus, who thinks that all really +artistic subjects are necessarily B.C. They career gaily through all +centuries and through all costumes, and, like actors, are interesting +only when they are not themselves. They are extremely good-natured, and +very accommodating. 'What do you sit for?' said a young artist to a +model who had sent him in her card (all models, by the way, have cards +and a small black bag). 'Oh, for anything you like, sir,' said the girl, +'landscape if necessary!' + +Intellectually, it must be acknowledged, they are Philistines, but +physically they are perfect--at least some are. Though none of them can +talk Greek, many can look Greek, which to a nineteenth-century painter is +naturally of great importance. If they are allowed, they chatter a great +deal, but they never say anything. Their observations are the only +banalites heard in Bohemia. However, though they cannot appreciate the +artist as artist, they are quite ready to appreciate the artist as a man. +They are very sensitive to kindness, respect and generosity. A beautiful +model who had sat for two years to one of our most distinguished English +painters, got engaged to a street vendor of penny ices. On her marriage +the painter sent her a pretty wedding present, and received in return a +nice letter of thanks with the following remarkable postscript: 'Never +eat the green ices!' + +When they are tired a wise artist gives them a rest. Then they sit in a +chair and read penny dreadfuls, till they are roused from the tragedy of +literature to take their place again in the tragedy of art. A few of +them smoke cigarettes. This, however, is regarded by the other models as +showing a want of seriousness, and is not generally approved of. They +are engaged by the day and by the half-day. The tariff is a shilling an +hour, to which great artists usually add an omnibus fare. The two best +things about them are their extraordinary prettiness, and their extreme +respectability. As a class they are very well behaved, particularly +those who sit for the figure, a fact which is curious or natural +according to the view one takes of human nature. They usually marry +well, and sometimes they marry the artist. For an artist to marry his +model is as fatal as for a gourmet to marry his cook: the one gets no +sittings, and the other gets no dinners. + +On the whole the English female models are very naive, very natural, and +very good-humoured. The virtues which the artist values most in them are +prettiness and punctuality. Every sensible model consequently keeps a +diary of her engagements, and dresses neatly. The bad season is, of +course, the summer, when the artists are out of town. However, of late +years some artists have engaged their models to follow them, and the wife +of one of our most charming painters has often had three or four models +under her charge in the country, so that the work of her husband and his +friends should not be interrupted. In France the models migrate en masse +to the little seaport villages or forest hamlets where the painters +congregate. The English models, however, wait patiently in London, as a +rule, till the artists come back. Nearly all of them live with their +parents, and help to support the house. They have every qualification +for being immortalised in art except that of beautiful hands. The hands +of the English model are nearly always coarse and red. + +As for the male models, there is the veteran whom we have mentioned +above. He has all the traditions of the grand style, and is rapidly +disappearing with the school he represents. An old man who talks about +Fuseli is, of course, unendurable, and, besides, patriarchs have ceased +to be fashionable subjects. Then there is the true Academy model. He is +usually a man of thirty, rarely good-looking, but a perfect miracle of +muscles. In fact he is the apotheosis of anatomy, and is so conscious of +his own splendour that he tells you of his tibia and his thorax, as if no +one else had anything of the kind. Then come the Oriental models. The +supply of these is limited, but there are always about a dozen in London. +They are very much sought after as they can remain immobile for hours, +and generally possess lovely costumes. However, they have a very poor +opinion of English art, which they regard as something between a vulgar +personality and a commonplace photograph. Next we have the Italian youth +who has come over specially to be a model, or takes to it when his organ +is out of repair. He is often quite charming with his large melancholy +eyes, his crisp hair, and his slim brown figure. It is true he eats +garlic, but then he can stand like a faun and couch like a leopard, so he +is forgiven. He is always full of pretty compliments, and has been known +to have kind words of encouragement for even our greatest artists. As +for the English lad of the same age, he never sits at all. Apparently he +does not regard the career of a model as a serious profession. In any +case he is rarely, if ever, to be got hold of. English boys, too, are +difficult to find. Sometimes an ex-model who has a son will curl his +hair, and wash his face, and bring him the round of the studios, all soap +and shininess. The young school don't like him, but the older school do, +and when he appears on the walls of the Royal Academy he is called The +Infant Samuel. Occasionally also an artist catches a couple of gamins in +the gutter and asks them to come to his studio. The first time they +always appear, but after that they don't keep their appointments. They +dislike sitting still, and have a strong and perhaps natural objection to +looking pathetic. Besides, they are always under the impression that the +artist is laughing at them. It is a sad fact, but there is no doubt that +the poor are completely unconscious of their own picturesqueness. Those +of them who can be induced to sit do so with the idea that the artist is +merely a benevolent philanthropist who has chosen an eccentric method of +distributing alms to the undeserving. Perhaps the School Board will +teach the London gamin his own artistic value, and then they will be +better models than they are now. One remarkable privilege belongs to the +Academy model, that of extorting a sovereign from any newly elected +Associate or R.A. They wait at Burlington House till the announcement is +made, and then race to the hapless artist's house. The one who arrives +first receives the money. They have of late been much troubled at the +long distances they have had to run, and they look with disfavour on the +election of artists who live at Hampstead or at Bedford Park, for it is +considered a point of honour not to employ the underground railway, +omnibuses, or any artificial means of locomotion. The race is to the +swift. + +Besides the professional posers of the studio there are posers of the +Row, the posers at afternoon teas, the posers in politics and the circus +posers. All four classes are delightful, but only the last class is ever +really decorative. Acrobats and gymnasts can give the young painter +infinite suggestions, for they bring into their art an element of +swiftness of motion and of constant change that the studio model +necessary lacks. What is interesting in these 'slaves of the ring' is +that with them Beauty is an unconscious result not a conscious aim, the +result in fact of the mathematical calculation of curves and distances, +of absolute precision of eye, of the scientific knowledge of the +equilibrium of forces, and of perfect physical training. A good acrobat +is always graceful, though grace is never his object; he is graceful +because he does what he has to do in the best way in which it can be +done--graceful because he is natural. If an ancient Greek were to come +to life now, which considering the probable severity of his criticisms +would be rather trying to our conceit, he would be found far oftener at +the circus than at the theatre. A good circus is an oasis of Hellenism +in a world that reads too much to be wise, and thinks too much to be +beautiful. If it were not for the running-ground at Eton, the towing- +path at Oxford, the Thames swimming-baths, and the yearly circuses, +humanity would forget the plastic perfection of its own form, and +degenerate into a race of short-sighted professors and spectacled +precieuses. Not that the circus proprietors are, as a rule, conscious of +their high mission. Do they not bore us with the haute ecole, and weary +us with Shakespearean clowns?--Still, at least, they give us acrobats, +and the acrobat is an artist. The mere fact that he never speaks to the +audience shows how well he appreciates the great truth that the aim of +art is not to reveal personality but to please. The clown may be +blatant, but the acrobat is always beautiful. He is an interesting +combination of the spirit of Greek sculpture with the spangles of the +modern costumier. He has even had his niche in the novels of our age, +and if Manette Salomon be the unmasking of the model, Les Freres Zemganno +is the apotheosis of the acrobat. + +As regards the influence of the ordinary model on our English school of +painting, it cannot be said that it is altogether good. It is, of +course, an advantage for the young artist sitting in his studio to be +able to isolate 'a little corner of life,' as the French say, from +disturbing surroundings, and to study it under certain effects of light +and shade. But this very isolation leads often to mere mannerism in the +painter, and robs him of that broad acceptance of the general facts of +life which is the very essence of art. Model-painting, in a word, while +it may be the condition of art, is not by any means its aim. It is +simply practice, not perfection. Its use trains the eye and the hand of +the painter, its abuse produces in his work an effect of mere posing and +prettiness. It is the secret of much of the artificiality of modern art, +this constant posing of pretty people, and when art becomes artificial it +becomes monotonous. Outside the little world of the studio, with its +draperies and its bric-a-brac, lies the world of life with its infinite, +its Shakespearean variety. We must, however, distinguish between the two +kinds of models, those who sit for the figure and those who sit for the +costume. The study of the first is always excellent, but the costume- +model is becoming rather wearisome in modern pictures. It is really of +very little use to dress up a London girl in Greek draperies and to paint +her as a goddess. The robe may be the robe of Athens, but the face is +usually the face of Brompton. Now and then, it is true, one comes across +a model whose face is an exquisite anachronism, and who looks lovely and +natural in the dress of any century but her own. This, however, is +rather rare. As a rule models are absolutely de notre siecle, and should +be painted as such. Unfortunately they are not, and, as a consequence, +we are shown every year a series of scenes from fancy dress balls which +are called historical pictures, but are little more than mediocre +representations of modern people masquerading. In France they are wiser. +The French painter uses the model simply for study; for the finished +picture he goes direct to life. + +However, we must not blame the sitters for the shortcomings of the +artists. The English models are a well-behaved and hard-working class, +and if they are more interested in artists than in art, a large section +of the public is in the same condition, and most of our modern +exhibitions seem to justify its choice. + + + + +LETTER TO JOAQUIN MILLER + + +Written to Mr. Joaquin Miller in reply to a letter, dated February 9, +1882, in reference to the behaviour of a section of the audience at +Wilde's lecture on the English Renaissance at the Grand Opera House, +Rochester, New York State, on February 7. It was first published in a +volume called Decorative Art in America, containing unauthorised reprints +of certain reviews and letters contributed by Wilde to English +newspapers. (New York: Brentano's, 1906.) + +St. Louis, February 28, 1882. + +MY DEAR JOAQUIN MILLER,--I thank you for your chivalrous and courteous +letter. Believe me, I would as lief judge of the strength and splendour +of sun and sea by the dust that dances in the beam and the bubble that +breaks on the wave, as take the petty and profitless vulgarity of one or +two insignificant towns as any test or standard of the real spirit of a +sane, strong and simple people, or allow it to affect my respect for the +many noble men or women whom it has been my privilege in this great +country to know. + +For myself and the cause which I represent I have no fears as regards the +future. Slander and folly have their way for a season, but for a season +only; while, as touching the few provincial newspapers which have so +vainly assailed me, or that ignorant and itinerant libeller of New +England who goes lecturing from village to village in such open and +ostentatious isolation, be sure I have no time to waste on them. Youth +being so glorious, art so godlike, and the very world about us so full of +beautiful things, and things worthy of reverence, and things honourable, +how should one stop to listen to the lucubrations of a literary gamin, to +the brawling and mouthing of a man whose praise would be as insolent as +his slander is impotent, or to the irresponsible and irrepressible +chatter of the professionally unproductive? + +It is a great advantage, I admit, to have done nothing, but one must not +abuse even that advantage. + +Who, after all, that I should write of him, is this scribbling +anonymuncule in grand old Massachusetts who scrawls and screams so glibly +about what he cannot understand? This apostle of inhospitality, who +delights to defile, to desecrate, and to defame the gracious courtesies +he is unworthy to enjoy? Who are these scribes who, passing with +purposeless alacrity from the Police News to the Parthenon, and from +crime to criticism, sway with such serene incapacity the office which +they so lately swept? 'Narcissuses of imbecility,' what should they see +in the clear waters of Beauty and in the well undefiled of Truth but the +shifting and shadowy image of their own substantial stupidity? Secure of +that oblivion for which they toil so laboriously and, I must acknowledge, +with such success, let them peer at us through their telescopes and +report what they like of us. But, my dear Joaquin, should we put them +under the microscope there would be really nothing to be seen. + +I look forward to passing another delightful evening with you on my +return to New York, and I need not tell you that whenever you visit +England you will be received with that courtesy with which it is our +pleasure to welcome all Americans, and that honour with which it is our +privilege to greet all poets.--Most sincerely and affectionately yours, + +OSCAR WILDE. + + + + +NOTES ON WHISTLER + + +I. +(World, November 14, 1883.) + + +From Oscar Wilde, Exeter, to J. M'Neill Whistler, Tite Street.--Punch too +ridiculous--when you and I are together we never talk about anything +except ourselves. + + + +II. +(World, February 25, 1885.) + + +DEAR BUTTERFLY,--By the aid of a biographical dictionary I made the +discovery that there were once two painters, called Benjamin West and +Paul Delaroche, who rashly lectured upon Art. As of their works nothing +at all remains, I conclude that they explained themselves away. + +Be warned in time, James; and remain, as I do, incomprehensible. To be +great is to be misunderstood.--Tout a vous, OSCAR WILDE. + + + +III. +(World, November 24,1886.) + + +ATLAS,--This is very sad! With our James vulgarity begins at home, and +should be allowed to stay there.--A vous, OSCAR WILDE. + + + + +REPLY TO WHISTLER + + +(Truth, January 9, 1890.) + +To the Editor of Truth. + +SIR,--I can hardly imagine that the public is in the very smallest degree +interested in the shrill shrieks of 'Plagiarism' that proceed from time +to time out of the lips of silly vanity or incompetent mediocrity. + +However, as Mr. James Whistler has had the impertinence to attack me with +both venom and vulgarity in your columns, I hope you will allow me to +state that the assertions contained in his letter are as deliberately +untrue as they are deliberately offensive. + +The definition of a disciple as one who has the courage of the opinions +of his master is really too old even for Mr. Whistler to be allowed to +claim it, and as for borrowing Mr. Whistler's ideas about art, the only +thoroughly original ideas I have ever heard him express have had +reference to his own superiority as a painter over painters greater than +himself. + +It is a trouble for any gentleman to have to notice the lucubrations of +so ill-bred and ignorant a person as Mr. Whistler, but your publication +of his insolent letter left me no option in the matter.--I remain, sir, +faithfully yours, OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, S. W. + + + + +LETTERS ON DORIAN GRAY + + +I. MR. WILDE'S BAD CASE + + +(St. James's Gazette, June 26, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the St. James's Gazette. + +SIR,--I have read your criticism of my story, The Picture of Dorian Gray; +and I need hardly say that I do not propose to discuss its merits or +demerits, its personalities or its lack of personality. England is a +free country, and ordinary English criticism is perfectly free and easy. +Besides, I must admit that, either from temperament or taste, or from +both, I am quite incapable of understanding how any work of art can be +criticised from a moral standpoint. The sphere of art and the sphere of +ethics are absolutely distinct and separate; and it is to the confusion +between the two that we owe the appearance of Mrs. Grundy, that amusing +old lady who represents the only original form of humour that the middle +classes of this country have been able to produce. + +What I do object to most strongly is that you should have placarded the +town with posters on which was printed in large letters:-- + + MR. OSCAR WILDE'S + LATEST ADVERTISEMENT: + A BAD CASE. + +Whether the expression 'A Bad Case' refers to my book or to the present +position of the Government, I cannot tell. What was silly and +unnecessary was the use of the term 'advertisement.' + +I think I may say without vanity--though I do not wish to appear to run +vanity down--that of all men in England I am the one who requires least +advertisement. I am tired to death of being advertised--I feel no thrill +when I see my name in a paper. The chronicle does not interest me any +more. I wrote this book entirely for my own pleasure, and it gave me +very great pleasure to write it. Whether it becomes popular or not is a +matter of absolute indifference to me. I am afraid, Sir, that the real +advertisement is your cleverly written article. The English public, as a +mass, takes no interest in a work of art until it is told that the work +in question is immoral, and your reclame will, I have no doubt, largely +increase the sale of the magazine; in which sale I may mention with some +regret, I have no pecuniary interest.--I remain, Sir, your obedient +servant, OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, June 25. + + + +II. MR. OSCAR WILDE AGAIN + + +(St. James's Gazette, June 27, 1890.) + +SIR,--In your issue of today you state that my brief letter published in +your columns is the 'best reply' I can make to your article upon Dorian +Gray. This is not so. I do not propose to discuss fully the matter +here, but I feel bound to say that your article contains the most +unjustifiable attack that has been made upon any man of letters for many +years. + +The writer of it, who is quite incapable of concealing his personal +malice, and so in some measure destroys the effect he wishes to produce, +seems not to have the slightest idea of the temper in which a work of art +should be approached. To say that such a book as mine should be 'chucked +into the fire' is silly. That is what one does with newspapers. + +Of the value of pseudo-ethical criticism in dealing with artistic work I +have spoken already. But as your writer has ventured into the perilous +grounds of literary criticism I ask you to allow me, in fairness not +merely to myself but to all men to whom literature is a fine art, to say +a few words about his critical method. + +He begins by assailing me with much ridiculous virulence because the +chief personages in my story are puppies. They _are_ puppies. Does he +think that literature went to the dogs when Thackeray wrote about +puppydom? I think that puppies are extremely interesting from an +artistic as well as from a psychological point of view. + +They seem to me to be certainly far more interesting than prigs; and I am +of opinion that Lord Henry Wotton is an excellent corrective of the +tedious ideal shadowed forth in the semi-theological novels of our age. + +He then makes vague and fearful insinuations about my grammar and my +erudition. Now, as regards grammar, I hold that, in prose at any rate, +correctness should always be subordinate to artistic effect and musical +cadence; and any peculiarities of syntax that may occur in Dorian Gray +are deliberately intended, and are introduced to show the value of the +artistic theory in question. Your writer gives no instance of any such +peculiarity. This I regret, because I do not think that any such +instances occur. + +As regards erudition, it is always difficult, even for the most modest of +us, to remember that other people do not know quite as much as one does +one's self. I myself frankly admit I cannot imagine how a casual +reference to Suetonius and Petronius Arbiter can be construed into +evidence of a desire to impress an unoffending and ill-educated public by +an assumption of superior knowledge. I should fancy that the most +ordinary of scholars is perfectly well acquainted with the Lives of the +Caesars and with the Satyricon. + +The Lives of the Caesars, at any rate, forms part of the curriculum at +Oxford for those who take the Honour School of Literae Humaniores; and as +for the Satyricon it is popular even among pass-men, though I suppose +they are obliged to read it in translations. + +The writer of the article then suggests that I, in common with that great +and noble artist Count Tolstoi, take pleasure in a subject because it is +dangerous. About such a suggestion there is this to be said. Romantic +art deals with the exception and with the individual. Good people, +belonging as they do to the normal, and so, commonplace, type, are +artistically uninteresting. + +Bad people are, from the point of view of art, fascinating studies. They +represent colour, variety and strangeness. Good people exasperate one's +reason; bad people stir one's imagination. Your critic, if I must give +him so honourable a title, states that the people in my story have no +counterpart in life; that they are, to use his vigorous if somewhat +vulgar phrase, 'mere catchpenny revelations of the non-existent.' Quite +so. + +If they existed they would not be worth writing about. The function of +the artist is to invent, not to chronicle. There are no such people. If +there were I would not write about them. Life by its realism is always +spoiling the subject-matter of art. + +The superior pleasure in literature is to realise the non-existent. + +And finally, let me say this. You have reproduced, in a journalistic +form, the comedy of Much Ado about Nothing and have, of course, spoilt it +in your reproduction. + +The poor public, hearing, from an authority so high as your own, that +this is a wicked book that should be coerced and suppressed by a Tory +Government, will, no doubt, rush to it and read it. But, alas! they will +find that it is a story with a moral. And the moral is this: All excess, +as well as all renunciation, brings its own punishment. + +The painter, Basil Hallward, worshipping physical beauty far too much, as +most painters do, dies by the hand of one in whose soul he has created a +monstrous and absurd vanity. Dorian Gray, having led a life of mere +sensation and pleasure, tries to kill conscience, and at that moment +kills himself. Lord Henry Wotton seeks to be merely the spectator of +life. He finds that those who reject the battle are more deeply wounded +than those who take part in it. + +Yes, there is a terrible moral in Dorian Gray--a moral which the prurient +will not be able to find in it, but it will be revealed to all whose +minds are healthy. Is this an artistic error? I fear it is. It is the +only error in the book.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR +WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, June 26. + + + +III. MR. OSCAR WILDE'S DEFENCE + + +(St. James's Gazette, June 28, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the St. James's Gazette. + +SIR,--As you still keep up, though in a somewhat milder form than before, +your attacks on me and my book, you not only confer on me the right, but +you impose upon me the duty of reply. + +You state, in your issue of today, that I misrepresented you when I said +that you suggested that a book so wicked as mine should be 'suppressed +and coerced by a Tory Government.' Now, you did not propose this, but +you did suggest it. When you declare that you do not know whether or not +the Government will take action about my book, and remark that the +authors of books much less wicked have been proceeded against in law, the +suggestion is quite obvious. + +In your complaint of misrepresentation you seem to me, Sir, to have been +not quite candid. + +However, as far as I am concerned, this suggestion is of no importance. +What is of importance is that the editor of a paper like yours should +appear to countenance the monstrous theory that the Government of a +country should exercise a censorship over imaginative literature. This +is a theory against which I, and all men of letters of my acquaintance, +protest most strongly; and any critic who admits the reasonableness of +such a theory shows at once that he is quite incapable of understanding +what literature is, and what are the rights that literature possesses. A +Government might just as well try to teach painters how to paint, or +sculptors how to model, as attempt to interfere with the style, treatment +and subject-matter of the literary artist, and no writer, however eminent +or obscure, should ever give his sanction to a theory that would degrade +literature far more than any didactic or so-called immoral book could +possibly do. + +You then express your surprise that 'so experienced a literary gentleman' +as myself should imagine that your critic was animated by any feeling of +personal malice towards him. The phrase 'literary gentleman' is a vile +phrase, but let that pass. + +I accept quite readily your assurance that your critic was simply +criticising a work of art in the best way that he could, but I feel that +I was fully justified in forming the opinion of him that I did. He +opened his article by a gross personal attack on myself. This, I need +hardly say, was an absolutely unpardonable error of critical taste. + +There is no excuse for it except personal malice; and you, Sir, should +not have sanctioned it. A critic should be taught to criticise a work of +art without making any reference to the personality of the author. This, +in fact, is the beginning of criticism. However, it was not merely his +personal attack on me that made me imagine that he was actuated by +malice. What really confirmed me in my first impression was his +reiterated assertion that my book was tedious and dull. + +Now, if I were criticising my book, which I have some thoughts of doing, +I think I would consider it my duty to point out that it is far too +crowded with sensational incident, and far too paradoxical in style, as +far, at any rate, as the dialogue goes. I feel that from a standpoint of +art these are true defects in the book. But tedious and dull the book is +not. + +Your critic has cleared himself of the charge of personal malice, his +denial and yours being quite sufficient in the matter; but he has done so +only by a tacit admission that he has really no critical instinct about +literature and literary work, which, in one who writes about literature, +is, I need hardly say, a much graver fault than malice of any kind. + +Finally, Sir, allow me to say this. Such an article as you have +published really makes me despair of the possibility of any general +culture in England. Were I a French author, and my book brought out in +Paris, there is not a single literary critic in France on any paper of +high standing who would think for a moment of criticising it from an +ethical standpoint. If he did so he would stultify himself, not merely +in the eyes of all men of letters, but in the eyes of the majority of the +public. + +You have yourself often spoken against Puritanism. Believe me, Sir, +Puritanism is never so offensive and destructive as when it deals with +art matters. It is there that it is radically wrong. It is this +Puritanism, to which your critic has given expression, that is always +marring the artistic instinct of the English. So far from encouraging +it, you should set yourself against it, and should try to teach your +critics to recognise the essential difference between art and life. + +The gentleman who criticised my book is in a perfectly hopeless confusion +about it, and your attempt to help him out by proposing that the subject- +matter of art should be limited does not mend matters. It is proper that +limitation should be placed on action. It is not proper that limitation +should be placed on art. To art belong all things that are and all +things that are not, and even the editor of a London paper has no right +to restrain the freedom of art in the selection of subject-matter. I now +trust, Sir, that these attacks on me and on my book will cease. There +are forms of advertisement that are unwarranted and unwarrantable.--I am, +Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, S. W., June 27. + + + +IV. (St. James's Gazette, June 30, 1890.) + + +To the Editor of the St. James's Gazette. + +SIR,--In your issue of this evening you publish a letter from 'A London +Editor' which clearly insinuates in the last paragraph that I have in +some way sanctioned the circulation of an expression of opinion, on the +part of the proprietors of Lippincott's Magazine, of the literary and +artistic value of my story of The Picture of Dorian Gray. + +Allow me, Sir, to state that there are no grounds for this insinuation. I +was not aware that any such document was being circulated; and I have +written to the agents, Messrs. Ward and Lock--who cannot, I feel sure, be +primarily responsible for its appearance--to ask them to withdraw it at +once. No publisher should ever express an opinion of the value of what +he publishes. That is a matter entirely for the literary critic to +decide. + +I must admit, as one to whom contemporary literature is constantly +submitted for criticism, that the only thing that ever prejudices me +against a book is the lack of literary style; but I can quite understand +how any ordinary critic would be strongly prejudiced against a work that +was accompanied by a premature and unnecessary panegyric from the +publisher. A publisher is simply a useful middleman. It is not for him +to anticipate the verdict of criticism. + +I may, however, while expressing my thanks to the 'London Editor' for +drawing my attention to this, I trust, purely American method of +procedure, venture to differ from him in one of his criticisms. He +states that he regards the expression 'complete' as applied to a story, +as a specimen of the 'adjectival exuberance of the puffer.' Here, it +seems to me, he sadly exaggerates. What my story is is an interesting +problem. What my story is not is a 'novelette'--a term which you have +more than once applied to it. There is no such word in the English +language as novelette. It should not be used. It is merely part of the +slang of Fleet Street. + +In another part of your paper, Sir, you state that I received your +assurance of the lack of malice in your critic 'somewhat grudgingly.' +This is not so. I frankly said that I accepted that assurance 'quite +readily,' and that your own denial and that of your own critic were +'sufficient.' + +Nothing more generous could have been said. What I did feel was that you +saved your critic from the charge of malice by convicting him of the +unpardonable crime of lack of literary instinct. I still feel that. To +call my book an ineffective attempt at allegory, that in the hands of Mr. +Anstey might have been made striking, is absurd. + +Mr. Anstey's sphere in literature and my sphere are different. + +You then gravely ask me what rights I imagine literature possesses. That +is really an extraordinary question for the editor of a newspaper such as +yours to ask. The rights of literature, Sir, are the rights of +intellect. + +I remember once hearing M. Renan say that he would sooner live under a +military despotism than under the despotism of the Church, because the +former merely limited the freedom of action, while the latter limited the +freedom of mind. + +You say that a work of art is a form of action. It is not. It is the +highest mode of thought. + +In conclusion, Sir, let me ask you not to force on me this continued +correspondence by daily attacks. It is a trouble and a nuisance. + +As you assailed me first, I have a right to the last word. Let that last +word be the present letter, and leave my book, I beg you, to the +immortality that it deserves.--I am, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, S.W., June 28. + + + +V. 'DORIAN GRAY' + + +(Daily Chronicle, July 2, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the Daily Chronicle. + +SIR,--Will you allow me to correct some errors into which your critic has +fallen in his review of my story, The Picture of Dorian Gray, published +in today's issue of your paper? + +Your critic states, to begin with, that I make desperate attempts to +'vamp up' a moral in my story. Now, I must candidly confess that I do +not know what 'vamping' is. I see, from time to time, mysterious +advertisements in the newspapers about 'How to Vamp,' but what vamping +really means remains a mystery to me--a mystery that, like all other +mysteries, I hope some day to explore. + +However, I do not propose to discuss the absurd terms used by modern +journalism. What I want to say is that, so far from wishing to emphasise +any moral in my story, the real trouble I experienced in writing the +story was that of keeping the extremely obvious moral subordinate to the +artistic and dramatic effect. + +When I first conceived the idea of a young man selling his soul in +exchange for eternal youth--an idea that is old in the history of +literature, but to which I have given new form--I felt that, from an +aesthetic point of view, it would be difficult to keep the moral in its +proper secondary place; and even now I do not feel quite sure that I have +been able to do so. I think the moral too apparent. When the book is +published in a volume I hope to correct this defect. + +As for what the moral is, your critic states that it is this--that when a +man feels himself becoming 'too angelic' he should rush out and make a +'beast of himself.' I cannot say that I consider this a moral. The real +moral of the story is that all excess, as well as all renunciation, +brings its punishment, and this moral is so far artistically and +deliberately suppressed that it does not enunciate its law as a general +principle, but realises itself purely in the lives of individuals, and so +becomes simply a dramatic element in a work of art, and not the object of +the work of art itself. + +Your critic also falls into error when he says that Dorian Gray, having a +'cool, calculating, conscienceless character,' was inconsistent when he +destroyed the picture of his own soul, on the ground that the picture did +not become less hideous after he had done what, in his vanity, he had +considered his first good action. Dorian Gray has not got a cool, +calculating, conscienceless character at all. On the contrary, he is +extremely impulsive, absurdly romantic, and is haunted all through his +life by an exaggerated sense of conscience which mars his pleasures for +him and warns him that youth and enjoyment are not everything in the +world. It is finally to get rid of the conscience that had dogged his +steps from year to year that he destroys the picture; and thus in his +attempt to kill conscience Dorian Gray kills himself. + +Your critic then talks about 'obtrusively cheap scholarship.' Now, +whatever a scholar writes is sure to display scholarship in the +distinction of style and the fine use of language; but my story contains +no learned or pseudo-learned discussions, and the only literary books +that it alludes to are books that any fairly educated reader may be +supposed to be acquainted with, such as the Satyricon of Petronius +Arbiter, or Gautier's Emaux et Camees. Such books as Le Conso's +Clericalis Disciplina belong not to culture, but to curiosity. Anybody +may be excused for not knowing them. + +Finally, let me say this--the aesthetic movement produced certain curious +colours, subtle in their loveliness and fascinating in their almost +mystical tone. They were, and are, our reaction against the crude +primaries of a doubtless more respectable but certainly less cultivated +age. My story is an essay on decorative art. It reacts against the +crude brutality of plain realism. It is poisonous if you like, but you +cannot deny that it is also perfect, and perfection is what we artists +aim at.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, June 30. + + + +VI. MR. WILDE'S REJOINDER + + +(Scots Observer, July 12, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the Scots Observer. + +SIR,--You have published a review of my story, The Picture of Dorian +Gray. As this review is grossly unjust to me as an artist, I ask you to +allow me to exercise in your columns my right of reply. + +Your reviewer, Sir, while admitting that the story in question is +'plainly the work of a man of letters,' the work of one who has 'brains, +and art, and style,' yet suggests, and apparently in all seriousness, +that I have written it in order that it should be read by the most +depraved members of the criminal and illiterate classes. Now, Sir, I do +not suppose that the criminal and illiterate classes ever read anything +except newspapers. They are certainly not likely to be able to +understand anything of mine. So let them pass, and on the broad question +of why a man of letters writes at all let me say this. + +The pleasure that one has in creating a work of art is a purely personal +pleasure, and it is for the sake of this pleasure that one creates. The +artist works with his eye on the object. Nothing else interests him. +What people are likely to say does not even occur to him. + +He is fascinated by what he has in hand. He is indifferent to others. I +write because it gives me the greatest possible artistic pleasure to +write. If my work pleases the few I am gratified. If it does not, it +causes me no pain. As for the mob, I have no desire to be a popular +novelist. It is far too easy. + +Your critic then, Sir, commits the absolutely unpardonable crime of +trying to confuse the artist with his subject-matter. For this, Sir, +there is no excuse at all. + +Of one who is the greatest figure in the world's literature since Greek +days, Keats remarked that he had as much pleasure in conceiving the evil +as he had in conceiving the good. Let your reviewer, Sir, consider the +bearings of Keats's fine criticism, for it is under these conditions that +every artist works. One stands remote from one's subject-matter. One +creates it and one contemplates it. The further away the subject-matter +is, the more freely can the artist work. + +Your reviewer suggests that I do not make it sufficiently clear whether I +prefer virtue to wickedness or wickedness to virtue. An artist, Sir, has +no ethical sympathies at all. Virtue and wickedness are to him simply +what the colours on his palette are to the painter. They are no more and +they are no less. He sees that by their means a certain artistic effect +can be produced and he produces it. Iago may be morally horrible and +Imogen stainlessly pure. Shakespeare, as Keats said, had as much delight +in creating the one as he had in creating the other. + +It was necessary, Sir, for the dramatic development of this story to +surround Dorian Gray with an atmosphere of moral corruption. Otherwise +the story would have had no meaning and the plot no issue. To keep this +atmosphere vague and indeterminate and wonderful was the aim of the +artist who wrote the story. I claim, Sir, that he has succeeded. Each +man sees his own sin in Dorian Gray. What Dorian Gray's sins are no one +knows. He who finds them has brought them. + +In conclusion, Sir, let me say how really deeply I regret that you should +have permitted such a notice as the one I feel constrained to write on to +have appeared in your paper. That the editor of the St. James's Gazette +should have employed Caliban as his art-critic was possibly natural. The +editor of the Scots Observer should not have allowed Thersites to make +mows in his review. It is unworthy of so distinguished a man of +letters.--I am, etc., + +OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, July 9. + + + +VII. ART AND MORALITY + + +(Scots Observer, August 2, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the Scots Observer. + +SIR,--In a letter dealing with the relations of art to morals recently +published in your columns--a letter which I may say seems to me in many +respects admirable, especially in its insistence on the right of the +artist to select his own subject-matter--Mr. Charles Whibley suggests +that it must be peculiarly painful for me to find that the ethical import +of Dorian Gray has been so strongly recognised by the foremost Christian +papers of England and America that I have been greeted by more than one +of them as a moral reformer. + +Allow me, Sir, to reassure, on this point, not merely Mr. Charles Whibley +himself but also your, no doubt, anxious readers. I have no hesitation +in saying that I regard such criticisms as a very gratifying tribute to +my story. For if a work of art is rich, and vital and complete, those +who have artistic instincts will see its beauty, and those to whom ethics +appeal more strongly than aesthetics will see its moral lesson. It will +fill the cowardly with terror, and the unclean will see in it their own +shame. It will be to each man what he is himself. It is the spectator, +and not life, that art really mirrors. + +And so in the case of Dorian Gray the purely literary critic, as in the +Speaker and elsewhere, regards it as a 'serious' and 'fascinating' work +of art: the critic who deals with art in its relation to conduct, as the +Christian Leader and the Christian World, regards it as an ethical +parable: Light, which I am told is the organ of the English mystics, +regards it as a work of high spiritual import; the St. James's Gazette, +which is seeking apparently to be the organ of the prurient, sees or +pretends to see in it all kinds of dreadful things, and hints at Treasury +prosecutions; and your Mr. Charles Whibley genially says that he +discovers in it 'lots of morality.' + +It is quite true that he goes on to say that he detects no art in it. But +I do not think that it is fair to expect a critic to be able to see a +work of art from every point of view. Even Gautier had his limitations +just as much as Diderot had, and in modern England Goethes are rare. I +can only assure Mr. Charles Whibley that no moral apotheosis to which he +has added the most modest contribution could possibly be a source of +unhappiness to an artist.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, July 1890. + + + +VIII. + + +(Scots Observer, August 16, 1890.) + +To the Editor of the Scots Observer. + +SIR,--I am afraid I cannot enter into any newspaper discussion on the +subject of art with Mr. Whibley, partly because the writing of letters is +always a trouble to me, and partly because I regret to say that I do not +know what qualifications Mr. Whibley possesses for the discussion of so +important a topic. I merely noticed his letter because, I am sure +without in any way intending it, he made a suggestion about myself +personally that was quite inaccurate. His suggestion was that it must +have been painful to me to find that a certain section of the public, as +represented by himself and the critics of some religious publications, +had insisted on finding what he calls 'lots of morality' in my story of +The Picture of Dorian Gray. + +Being naturally desirous of setting your readers right on a question of +such vital interest to the historian, I took the opportunity of pointing +out in your columns that I regarded all such criticisms as a very +gratifying tribute to the ethical beauty of the story, and I added that I +was quite ready to recognise that it was not really fair to ask of any +ordinary critic that he should be able to appreciate a work of art from +every point of view. + +I still hold this opinion. If a man sees the artistic beauty of a thing, +he will probably care very little for its ethical import. If his +temperament is more susceptible to ethical than to aesthetic influences, +he will be blind to questions of style, treatment and the like. It takes +a Goethe to see a work of art fully, completely and perfectly, and I +thoroughly agree with Mr. Whibley when he says that it is a pity that +Goethe never had an opportunity of reading Dorian Gray. I feel quite +certain that he would have been delighted by it, and I only hope that +some ghostly publisher is even now distributing shadowy copies in the +Elysian fields, and that the cover of Gautier's copy is powdered with +gilt asphodels. + +You may ask me, Sir, why I should care to have the ethical beauty of my +story recognised. I answer, Simply because it exists, because the thing +is there. + +The chief merit of Madame Bovary is not the moral lesson that can be +found in it, any more than the chief merit of Salammbo is its archaeology; +but Flaubert was perfectly right in exposing the ignorance of those who +called the one immoral and the other inaccurate; and not merely was he +right in the ordinary sense of the word, but he was artistically right, +which is everything. The critic has to educate the public; the artist +has to educate the critic. + +Allow me to make one more correction, Sir, and I will have done with Mr. +Whibley. He ends his letter with the statement that I have been +indefatigable in my public appreciation of my own work. I have no doubt +that in saying this he means to pay me a compliment, but he really +overrates my capacity, as well as my inclination for work. I must +frankly confess that, by nature and by choice, I am extremely indolent. + +Cultivated idleness seems to me to be the proper occupation for man. I +dislike newspaper controversies of any kind, and of the two hundred and +sixteen criticisms of Dorian Gray that have passed from my library table +into the wastepaper basket I have taken public notice of only three. One +was that which appeared in the Scots Observer. I noticed it because it +made a suggestion, about the intention of the author in writing the book, +which needed correction. The second was an article in the St. James's +Gazette. It was offensively and vulgarly written, and seemed to me to +require immediate and caustic censure. The tone of the article was an +impertinence to any man of letters. + +The third was a meek attack in a paper called the Daily Chronicle. I +think my writing to the Daily Chronicle was an act of pure wilfulness. In +fact, I feel sure it was. I quite forget what they said. I believe they +said that Dorian Gray was poisonous, and I thought that, on alliterative +grounds, it would be kind to remind them that, however that may be, it is +at any rate perfect. That was all. Of the other two hundred and +thirteen criticisms I have taken no notice. Indeed, I have not read more +than half of them. It is a sad thing, but one wearies even of praise. + +As regards Mr. Brown's letter, it is interesting only in so far as it +exemplifies the truth of what I have said above on the question of the +two obvious schools of critics. Mr. Brown says frankly that he considers +morality to be the 'strong point' of my story. Mr. Brown means well, and +has got hold of a half truth, but when he proceeds to deal with the book +from the artistic standpoint he, of course, goes sadly astray. To class +Dorian Gray with M. Zola's La Terre is as silly as if one were to class +Musset's Fortunio with one of the Adelphi melodramas. Mr. Brown should +be content with ethical appreciation. There he is impregnable. + +Mr. Cobban opens badly by describing my letter, setting Mr. Whibley right +on a matter of fact, as an 'impudent paradox.' The term 'impudent' is +meaningless, and the word 'paradox' is misplaced. I am afraid that +writing to newspapers has a deteriorating influence on style. People get +violent and abusive and lose all sense of proportion, when they enter +that curious journalistic arena in which the race is always to the +noisiest. 'Impudent paradox' is neither violent nor abusive, but it is +not an expression that should have been used about my letter. However, +Mr. Cobban makes full atonement afterwards for what was, no doubt, a mere +error of manner, by adopting the impudent paradox in question as his own, +and pointing out that, as I had previously said, the artist will always +look at the work of art from the standpoint of beauty of style and beauty +of treatment, and that those who have not got the sense of beauty, or +whose sense of beauty is dominated by ethical considerations, will always +turn their attention to the subject-matter and make its moral import the +test and touchstone of the poem or novel or picture that is presented to +them, while the newspaper critic will sometimes take one side and +sometimes the other, according as he is cultured or uncultured. In fact, +Mr. Cobban converts the impudent paradox into a tedious truism, and, I +dare say, in doing so does good service. + +The English public likes tediousness, and likes things to be explained to +it in a tedious way. + +Mr. Cobban has, I have no doubt, already repented of the unfortunate +expression with which he has made his debut, so I will say no more about +it. As far as I am concerned he is quite forgiven. + +And finally, Sir, in taking leave of the Scots Observer I feel bound to +make a candid confession to you. + +It has been suggested to me by a great friend of mine, who is a charming +and distinguished man of letters, and not unknown to you personally, that +there have been really only two people engaged in this terrible +controversy, and that those two people are the editor of the Scots +Observer and the author of Dorian Gray. At dinner this evening, over +some excellent Chianti, my friend insisted that under assumed and +mysterious names you had simply given dramatic expression to the views of +some of the semi-educated classes of our community, and that the letters +signed 'H.' were your own skilful, if somewhat bitter, caricature of the +Philistine as drawn by himself. I admit that something of the kind had +occurred to me when I read 'H.'s' first letter--the one in which he +proposes that the test of art should be the political opinions of the +artist, and that if one differed from the artist on the question of the +best way of misgoverning Ireland, one should always abuse his work. +Still, there are such infinite varieties of Philistines, and North +Britain is so renowned for seriousness, that I dismissed the idea as one +unworthy of the editor of a Scotch paper. I now fear that I was wrong, +and that you have been amusing yourself all the time by inventing little +puppets and teaching them how to use big words. Well, Sir, if it be +so--and my friend is strong upon the point--allow me to congratulate you +most sincerely on the cleverness with which you have reproduced that lack +of literary style which is, I am told, essential for any dramatic and +lifelike characterisation. I confess that I was completely taken in; but +I bear no malice; and as you have, no doubt, been laughing at me up your +sleeve, let me now join openly in the laugh, though it be a little +against myself. A comedy ends when the secret is out. Drop your curtain +and put your dolls to bed. I love Don Quixote, but I do not wish to +fight any longer with marionettes, however cunning may be the master-hand +that works their wires. Let them go, Sir, on the shelf. The shelf is +the proper place for them. On some future occasion you can re-label them +and bring them out for our amusement. They are an excellent company, and +go well through their tricks, and if they are a little unreal, I am not +the one to object to unreality in art. The jest was really a good one. +The only thing that I cannot understand is why you gave your marionettes +such extraordinary and improbable names.--I remain, Sir, your obedient +servant, OSCAR WILDE. + +16 TITE STREET, CHELSEA, August 13. + + + + +AN ANGLO-INDIAN'S COMPLAINT + + +(Times, September 26, 1891.) + +To the Editor of the Times. + +SIR,--The writer of a letter signed 'An Indian Civilian' that appears in +your issue of today makes a statement about me which I beg you to allow +me to correct at once. + +He says I have described the Anglo-Indians as being vulgar. This is not +the case. Indeed, I have never met a vulgar Anglo-Indian. There may be +many, but those whom I have had the pleasure of meeting here have been +chiefly scholars, men interested in art and thought, men of cultivation; +nearly all of them have been exceedingly brilliant talkers; some of them +have been exceedingly brilliant writers. + +What I did say--I believe in the pages of the Nineteenth Century +{158}--was that vulgarity is the distinguishing note of those +Anglo-Indians whom Mr. Rudyard Kipling loves to write about, and writes +about so cleverly. This is quite true, and there is no reason why Mr. +Rudyard Kipling should not select vulgarity as his subject-matter, or as +part of it. For a realistic artist, certainly, vulgarity is a most +admirable subject. How far Mr. Kipling's stories really mirror Anglo- +Indian society I have no idea at all, nor, indeed, am I ever much +interested in any correspondence between art and nature. It seems to me +a matter of entirely secondary importance. I do not wish, however, that +it should be supposed that I was passing a harsh and saugrenu judgment on +an important and in many ways distinguished class, when I was merely +pointing out the characteristic qualities of some puppets in a +prose-play.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. +September 25. + + + + +A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES + + +I. + + +(Speaker, December 5, 1891.) + +SIR.--I have just purchased, at a price that for any other English +sixpenny paper I would have considered exorbitant, a copy of the Speaker +at one of the charming kiosks that decorate Paris; institutions, by the +way, that I think we should at once introduce into London. The kiosk is +a delightful object, and, when illuminated at night from within, as +lovely as a fantastic Chinese lantern, especially when the transparent +advertisements are from the clever pencil of M. Cheret. In London we +have merely the ill-clad newsvendor, whose voice, in spite of the +admirable efforts of the Royal College of Music to make England a really +musical nation, is always out of tune, and whose rags, badly designed and +badly worn, merely emphasise a painful note of uncomely misery, without +conveying that impression of picturesqueness which is the only thing that +makes the poverty of others at all bearable. + +It is not, however, about the establishment of kiosks in London that I +wish to write to you, though I am of opinion that it is a thing that the +County Council should at once take in hand. The object of my letter is +to correct a statement made in a paragraph of your interesting paper. + +The writer of the paragraph in question states that the decorative +designs that make lovely my book, A House of Pomegranates, are by the +hand of Mr. Shannon, while the delicate dreams that separate and herald +each story are by Mr. Ricketts. The contrary is the case. Mr. Shannon +is the drawer of the dreams, and Mr. Ricketts is the subtle and fantastic +decorator. Indeed, it is to Mr. Ricketts that the entire decorative +design of the book is due, from the selection of the type and the placing +of the ornamentation, to the completely beautiful cover that encloses the +whole. The writer of the paragraph goes on to state that he does not +'like the cover.' This is, no doubt, to be regretted, though it is not a +matter of much importance, as there are only two people in the world whom +it is absolutely necessary that the cover should please. One is Mr. +Ricketts, who designed it, the other is myself, whose book it binds. We +both admire it immensely! The reason, however, that your critic gives +for his failure to gain from the cover any impression of beauty seems to +me to show a lack of artistic instinct on his part, which I beg you will +allow me to try to correct. + +He complains that a portion of the design on the left-hand side of the +cover reminds him of an Indian club with a house-painter's brush on top +of it, while a portion of the design on the right-hand side suggests to +him the idea of 'a chimney-pot hat with a sponge in it.' Now, I do not +for a moment dispute that these are the real impressions your critic +received. It is the spectator, and the mind of the spectator, as I +pointed out in the preface to The Picture of Dorian Gray, that art really +mirrors. What I want to indicate is this: the artistic beauty of the +cover of my book resides in the delicate tracing, arabesques, and massing +of many coral-red lines on a ground of white ivory, the colour effect +culminating in certain high gilt notes, and being made still more +pleasurable by the overlapping band of moss-green cloth that holds the +book together. + +What the gilt notes suggest, what imitative parallel may be found to them +in that chaos that is termed Nature, is a matter of no importance. They +may suggest, as they do sometimes to me, peacocks and pomegranates and +splashing fountains of gold water, or, as they do to your critic, sponges +and Indian clubs and chimney-pot hats. Such suggestions and evocations +have nothing whatsoever to do with the aesthetic quality and value of the +design. A thing in Nature becomes much lovelier if it reminds us of a +thing in Art, but a thing in Art gains no real beauty through reminding +us of a thing in Nature. The primary aesthetic impression of a work of +art borrows nothing from recognition or resemblance. These belong to a +later and less perfect stage of apprehension. + +Properly speaking, they are no part of a real aesthetic impression at +all, and the constant preoccupation with subject-matter that +characterises nearly all our English art-criticism, is what makes our art- +criticisms, especially as regards literature, so sterile, so profitless, +so much beside the mark, and of such curiously little account.--I remain, +Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE. + +BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS. + + + +II. + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, December 11, 1891.) + +To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. + +SIR,--I have just had sent to me from London a copy of the Pall Mall +Gazette, containing a review of my book A House of Pomegranates. {163} +The writer of this review makes a certain suggestion which I beg you will +allow me to correct at once. + +He starts by asking an extremely silly question, and that is, whether or +not I have written this book for the purpose of giving pleasure to the +British child. Having expressed grave doubts on this subject, a subject +on which I cannot conceive any fairly educated person having any doubts +at all, he proceeds, apparently quite seriously, to make the extremely +limited vocabulary at the disposal of the British child the standard by +which the prose of an artist is to be judged! Now, in building this +House of Pomegranates, I had about as much intention of pleasing the +British child as I had of pleasing the British public. Mamilius is as +entirely delightful as Caliban is entirely detestable, but neither the +standard of Mamilius nor the standard of Caliban is my standard. No +artist recognises any standard of beauty but that which is suggested by +his own temperament. The artist seeks to realise, in a certain material, +his immaterial idea of beauty, and thus to transform an idea into an +ideal. That is the way an artist makes things. That is why an artist +makes things. The artist has no other object in making things. Does +your reviewer imagine that Mr. Shannon, for instance, whose delicate and +lovely illustrations he confesses himself quite unable to see, draws for +the purpose of giving information to the blind?--I remain, Sir, your +obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. +BOULEVARD DES CAPUCINES, PARIS. + + + + +PUPPETS AND ACTORS + + +(Daily Telegraph, February 20, 1892.) + +To the Editor of the Daily Telegraph. + +SIR,--I have just been sent an article that seems to have appeared in +your paper some days ago, {164} in which it is stated that, in the course +of some remarks addressed to the Playgoers' Club on the occasion of my +taking the chair at their last meeting, I laid it down as an axiom that +the stage is only 'a frame furnished with a set of puppets.' + +Now, it is quite true that I hold that the stage is to a play no more +than a picture-frame is to a painting, and that the actable value of a +play has nothing whatsoever to do with its value as a work of art. In +this century, in England, to take an obvious example, we have had only +two great plays--one is Shelley's Cenci, the other Mr. Swinburne's +Atalanta in Calydon, and neither of them is in any sense of the word an +actable play. Indeed, the mere suggestion that stage representation is +any test of a work of art is quite ridiculous. In the production of +Browning's plays, for instance, in London and at Oxford, what was being +tested was obviously the capacity of the modern stage to represent, in +any adequate measure or degree, works of introspective method and strange +or sterile psychology. But the artistic value of Strqfford or In a +Balcony was settled when Robert Browning wrote their last lines. It is +not, Sir, by the mimes that the muses are to be judged. + +So far, the writer of the article in question is right. Where he goes +wrong is in saying that I describe this frame--the stage--as being +furnished with a set of puppets. He admits that he speaks only by +report, but he should have remembered, Sir, that report is not merely a +lying jade, which, personally, I would willingly forgive her, but a jade +who lies without lovely invention is a thing that I, at any rate, can +forgive her, never. + +What I really said was that the frame we call the stage was 'peopled with +either living actors or moving puppets,' and I pointed out briefly, of +necessity, that the personality of the actor is often a source of danger +in the perfect presentation of a work of art. It may distort. It may +lead astray. It may be a discord in the tone or symphony. For anybody +can act. Most people in England do nothing else. To be conventional is +to be a comedian. To act a particular part, however, is a very different +thing, and a very difficult thing as well. The actor's aim is, or should +be, to convert his own accidental personality into the real and essential +personality of the character he is called upon to personate, whatever +that character may be; or perhaps I should say that there are two schools +of action--the school of those who attain their effect by exaggeration of +personality, and the school of those who attain it by suppression. It +would be too long to discuss these schools, or to decide which of them +the dramatist loves best. Let me note the danger of personality, and +pass to my puppets. + +There are many advantages in puppets. They never argue. They have no +crude views about art. They have no private lives. We are never +bothered by accounts of their virtues, or bored by recitals of their +vices; and when they are out of an engagement they never do good in +public or save people from drowning, nor do they speak more than is set +down for them. They recognise the presiding intellect of the dramatist, +and have never been known to ask for their parts to be written up. They +are admirably docile, and have no personalities at all. I saw lately, in +Paris, a performance by certain puppets of Shakespeare's Tempest, in M. +Maurice Boucher's translation. Miranda was the mirage of Miranda, +because an artist has so fashioned her; and Ariel was true Ariel, because +so had she been made. Their gestures were quite sufficient, and the +words that seemed to come from their little lips were spoken by poets who +had beautiful voices. It was a delightful performance, and I remember it +still with delight, though Miranda took no notice of the flowers I sent +her after the curtain fell. For modern plays, however, perhaps we had +better have living players, for in modern plays actuality is everything. +The charm--the ineffable charm--of the unreal is here denied us, and +rightly. + +Suffer me one more correction. Your writer describes the author of the +brilliant fantastic lecture on 'The Modern Actor' as a protege of mine. +Allow me to state that my acquaintance with Mr. John Gray is, I regret to +say, extremely recent, and that I sought it because he had already a +perfected mode of expression both in prose and verse. All artists in +this vulgar age need protection certainly. Perhaps they have always +needed it. But the nineteenth-century artist finds it not in Prince, or +Pope, or Patron, but in high indifference of temper, in the pleasure of +the creation of beautiful things, and the long contemplation of them, in +disdain of what in life is common and ignoble and in such felicitous +sense of humour as enables one to see how vain and foolish is all popular +opinion, and popular judgment, upon the wonderful things of art. These +qualities Mr. John Gray possesses in a marked degree. He needs no other +protection, nor, indeed, would he accept it.--I remain, Sir, your +obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE. + + + + +LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN: AN EXPLANATION + + +(St. James's Gazette, February 27, 1892.) + +To the Editor of the St. James's Gazette. + +SIR,--Allow me to correct a statement put forward in your issue of this +evening to the effect that I have made a certain alteration in my play in +consequence of the criticism of some journalists who write very +recklessly and very foolishly in the papers about dramatic art. This +statement is entirely untrue and grossly ridiculous. + +The facts are as follows. On last Saturday night, after the play was +over, and the author, cigarette in hand, had delivered a delightful and +immortal speech, I had the pleasure of entertaining at supper a small +number of personal friends; and as none of them was older than myself I, +naturally, listened to their artistic views with attention and pleasure. +The opinions of the old on matters of Art are, of course, of no value +whatsoever. The artistic instincts of the young are invariably +fascinating; and I am bound to state that all my friends, without +exception, were of opinion that the psychological interest of the second +act would be greatly increased by the disclosure of the actual +relationship existing between Lady Windermere and Mrs. Erlynne--an +opinion, I may add, that had previously been strongly held and urged by +Mr. Alexander. + +As to those of us who do not look on a play as a mere question of +pantomime and clowning psychological interest is everything, I +determined, consequently, to make a change in the precise moment of +revelation. This determination, however, was entered into long before I +had the opportunity of studying the culture, courtesy, and critical +faculty displayed in such papers as the Referee, Reynolds', and the +Sunday Sun. + +When criticism becomes in England a real art, as it should be, and when +none but those of artistic instinct and artistic cultivation is allowed +to write about works of art, artists will, no doubt, read criticisms with +a certain amount of intellectual interest. As things are at present, the +criticisms of ordinary newspapers are of no interest whatsoever, except +in so far as they display, in its crudest form, the Boeotianism of a +country that has produced some Athenians, and in which some Athenians +have come to dwell.--I am, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. +February 26. + + + + +SALOME + + +(Times, March 2, 1893.) + +To the Editor of the Times. + +SIR,--My attention has been drawn to a review of Salome which was +published in your columns last week. {170} The opinions of English +critics on a French work of mine have, of course, little, if any, +interest for me. I write simply to ask you to allow me to correct a +misstatement that appears in the review in question. + +The fact that the greatest tragic actress of any stage now living saw in +my play such beauty that she was anxious to produce it, to take herself +the part of the heroine, to lend to the entire poem the glamour of her +personality, and to my prose the music of her flute-like voice--this was +naturally, and always will be, a source of pride and pleasure to me, and +I look forward with delight to seeing Mme. Bernhardt present my play in +Paris, that vivid centre of art, where religious dramas are often +performed. But my play was in no sense of the words written for this +great actress. I have never written a play for any actor or actress, nor +shall I ever do so. Such work is for the artisan in literature--not for +the artist.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. + + + + +THE THIRTEEN CLUB + + +(Times, January 16, 1894.) + +At a dinner of the Thirteen Club held at the Holborn Restaurant on +January 13, 1894, the Chairman (Mr. Harry Furniss) announced that from +Mr. Oscar Wilde the following letter had been received:-- + +I have to thank the members of your Club for their kind invitation, for +which convey to them, I beg you, my sincere thanks. But I love +superstitions. They are the colour element of thought and imagination. +They are the opponents of common sense. Common sense is the enemy of +romance. The aim of your Society seems to be dreadful. Leave us some +unreality. Do not make us too offensively sane. I love dining out, but +with a Society with so wicked an object as yours I cannot dine. I regret +it. I am sure you will all be charming, but I could not come, though 13 +is a lucky number. + + + + +THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM + + +I. + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, September 20, 1894.) + +To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. + +SIR,--Will you allow me to draw your attention to a very interesting +example of the ethics of modern journalism, a quality of which we have +all heard so much and seen so little? + +About a month ago Mr. T. P. O'Connor published in the Sunday Sun some +doggerel verses entitled 'The Shamrock,' and had the amusing impertinence +to append my name to them as their author. As for some years past all +kinds of scurrilous personal attacks had been made on me in Mr. +O'Connor's newspapers, I determined to take no notice at all of the +incident. + +Enraged, however, by my courteous silence, Mr. O'Connor returns to the +charge this week. He now solemnly accuses me of plagiarising the poem he +had the vulgarity to attribute to me. {172} + +This seems to me to pass beyond even those bounds of coarse humour and +coarser malice that are, by the contempt of all, conceded to the ordinary +journalist, and it is really very distressing to find so low a standard +of ethics in a Sunday newspaper.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. +September 18. + + + +II. + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, September 25, 1894.) + +To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. + +SIR,--The assistant editor of the Sunday Sun, on whom seems to devolve +the arduous duty of writing Mr. T. P. O'Connor's apologies for him, does +not, I observe with regret, place that gentleman's conduct in any more +attractive or more honourable light by the attempted explanation that +appears in the letter published in your issue of today. For the future +it would be much better if Mr. O'Connor would always write his own +apologies. That he can do so exceedingly well no one is more ready to +admit than myself. I happen to possess one from him. + +The assistant editor's explanation, stripped of its unnecessary verbiage, +amounts to this: It is now stated that some months ago, somebody, whose +name, observe, is not given, forwarded to the office of the Sunday Sun a +manuscript in his own handwriting, containing some fifth-rate verses with +my name appended to them as their author. The assistant editor frankly +admits that they had grave doubts about my being capable of such an +astounding production. To me, I must candidly say, it seems more +probable that they never for a single moment believed that the verses +were really from my pen. Literary instinct is, of course, a very rare +thing, and it would be too much to expect any true literary instinct to +be found among the members of the staff of an ordinary newspaper; but had +Mr. O'Connor really thought that the production, such as it is, was mine, +he would naturally have asked my permission before publishing it. Great +licence of comment and attack of every kind is allowed nowadays to +newspapers, but no respectable editor would dream of printing and +publishing a man's work without first obtaining his consent. + +Mr. O'Connor's subsequent conduct in accusing me of plagiarism, when it +was proved to him on unimpeachable authority that the verses he had +vulgarly attributed to me were not by me at all, I have already commented +on. It is perhaps best left to the laughter of the gods and the sorrow +of men. I would like, however, to point out that when Mr. O'Connor, with +the kind help of his assistant editor, states, as a possible excuse for +his original sin, that he and the members of his staff 'took refuge' in +the belief that the verses in question might conceivably be some very +early and useful work of mine, he and the members of his staff showed a +lamentable ignorance of the nature of the artistic temperament. Only +mediocrities progress. An artist revolves in a cycle of masterpieces, +the first of which is no less perfect than the last. + +In conclusion, allow me to thank you for your courtesy in opening to me +the columns of your valuable paper, and also to express the hope that the +painful expose of Mr. O'Connor's conduct that I have been forced to make +will have the good result of improving the standard of journalistic +ethics in England.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, + +OSCAR WILDE. +WORTHING, September 22. + + + + +THE GREEN CARNATION + + +(Pall Mall Gazette, October 2, 1894.) + +To the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. + +SIR,--Kindly allow me to contradict, in the most emphatic manner, the +suggestion, made in your issue of Thursday last, and since then copied +into many other newspapers, that I am the author of The Green Carnation. + +I invented that magnificent flower. But with the middle-class and +mediocre book that usurps its strangely beautiful name I have, I need +hardly say, nothing whatsoever to do. The flower is a work of art. The +book is not.--I remain, Sir, your obedient servant, OSCAR WILDE. + +WORTHING, October 1. + + + + +PHRASES AND PHILOSOPHIES FOR THE USE OF THE YOUNG + + +(Chameleon, December 1894 ) + +The first duty in life is to be as artificial as possible. What the +second duty is no one has as yet discovered. + +Wickedness is a myth invented by good people to account for the curious +attractiveness of others. + +If the poor only had profiles there would be no difficulty in solving the +problem of poverty. + +Those who see any difference between soul and body have neither. + +A really well-made buttonhole is the only link between Art and Nature. + +Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the record of +dead religions. + +The well-bred contradict other people. The wise contradict themselves. + +Nothing that actually occurs is of the smallest importance. + +Dulness is the coming of age of seriousness. + +In all unimportant matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential. In +all important matters, style, not sincerity, is the essential. + +If one tells the truth one is sure, sooner or later, to be found out. + +Pleasure is the only thing one should live for. Nothing ages like +happiness. + +It is only by not paying one's bills that one can hope to live in the +memory of the commercial classes. + +No crime is vulgar, but all vulgarity is crime. Vulgarity is the conduct +of others. + +Only the shallow know themselves. + +Time is waste of money. + +One should always be a little improbable. + +There is a fatality about all good resolutions. They are invariably made +too soon. + +The only way to atone for being occasionally a little overdressed is by +being always absolutely over-educated. + +To be premature is to be perfect. + +Any preoccupation with ideas of what is right or wrong in conduct shows +an arrested intellectual development. + +Ambition is the last refuge of the failure. + +A truth ceases to be true when more than one person believes in it. + +In examinations the foolish ask questions that the wise cannot answer. + +Greek dress was in its essence inartistic. Nothing should reveal the +body but the body. + +One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art. + +It is only the superficial qualities that last. Man's deeper nature is +soon found out. + +Industry is the root of all ugliness. + +The ages live in history through their anachronisms. + +It is only the gods who taste of death. Apollo has passed away, but +Hyacinth, whom men say he slew, lives on. Nero and Narcissus are always +with us. + +The old believe everything: the middle-aged suspect everything: the young +know everything. + +The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is youth. + +Only the great masters of style ever succeed in being obscure. + +There is something tragic about the enormous number of young men there +are in England at the present moment who start life with perfect +profiles, and end by adopting some useful profession. + +To love oneself is the beginning of a life-long romance. + + + + +THE RISE OF HISTORICAL CRITICISM + + +The first portion of this essay is given at the end of the volume +containing Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and Other Prose Pieces. Recently +the remainder of the original manuscript has been discovered, and is here +published for the first time. It was written for the Chancellor's +English Essay Prize at Oxford in 1879, the subject being 'Historical +Criticism among the Ancients.' The prize was not awarded. To Professor +J. W. Mackail thanks are due for revising the proofs. + + + +IV. + + +It is evident that here Thucydides is ready to admit the variety of +manifestations which external causes bring about in their workings on the +uniform character of the nature of man. Yet, after all is said, these +are perhaps but very general statements: the ordinary effects of peace +and war are dwelt on, but there is no real analysis of the immediate +causes and general laws of the phenomena of life, nor does Thucydides +seem to recognise the truth that if humanity proceeds in circles, the +circles are always widening. + +Perhaps we may say that with him the philosophy of history is partly in +the metaphysical stage, and see, in the progress of this idea from +Herodotus to Polybius, the exemplification of the Comtian law of the +three stages of thought, the theological, the metaphysical, and the +scientific: for truly out of the vagueness of theological mysticism this +conception which we call the Philosophy of History was raised to a +scientific principle, according to which the past was explained and the +future predicted by reference to general laws. + +Now, just as the earliest account of the nature of the progress of +humanity is to be found in Plato, so in him we find the first explicit +attempt to found a universal philosophy of history upon wide rational +grounds. Having created an ideally perfect state, the philosopher +proceeds to give an elaborate theory of the complex causes which produce +revolutions of the moral effects of various forms of government and +education, of the rise of the criminal classes and their connection with +pauperism, and, in a word, to create history by the deductive method and +to proceed from a priori psychological principles to discover the +governing laws of the apparent chaos of political life. + +There have been many attempts since Plato to deduce from a single +philosophical principle all the phenomena which experience subsequently +verifies for us. Fichte thought he could predict the world-plan from the +idea of universal time. Hegel dreamed he had found the key to the +mysteries of life in the development of freedom, and Krause in the +categories of being. But the one scientific basis on which the true +philosophy of history must rest is the complete knowledge of the laws of +human nature in all its wants, its aspirations, its powers and its +tendencies: and this great truth, which Thucydides may be said in some +measure to have apprehended, was given to us first by Plato. + +Now, it cannot be accurately said of this philosopher that either his +philosophy or his history is entirely and simply a priori. On est de son +siecle meme quand on y proteste, and so we find in him continual +references to the Spartan mode of life, the Pythagorean system, the +general characteristics of Greek tyrannies and Greek democracies. For +while, in his account of the method of forming an ideal state, he says +that the political artist is indeed to fix his gaze on the sun of +abstract truth in the heavens of the pure reason, but is sometimes to +turn to the realisation of the ideals on earth: yet, after all, the +general character of the Platonic method, which is what we are specially +concerned with, is essentially deductive and a priori. And he himself, +in the building up of his Nephelococcygia, certainly starts with a +[Greek], making a clean sweep of all history and all experience; and it +was essentially as an a priori theorist that he is criticised by +Aristotle, as we shall see later. + +To proceed to closer details regarding the actual scheme of the laws of +political revolutions as drawn out by Plato, we must first note that the +primary cause of the decay of the ideal state is the general principle, +common to the vegetable and animal worlds as well as to the world of +history, that all created things are fated to decay--a principle which, +though expressed in the terms of a mere metaphysical abstraction, is yet +perhaps in its essence scientific. For we too must hold that a +continuous redistribution of matter and motion is the inevitable result +of the normal persistence of Force, and that perfect equilibrium is as +impossible in politics as it certainly is in physics. + +The secondary causes which mar the perfection of the Platonic 'city of +the sun' are to be found in the intellectual decay of the race consequent +on injudicious marriages and in the Philistine elevation of physical +achievements over mental culture; while the hierarchical succession of +Timocracy and Oligarchy, Democracy and Tyranny, is dwelt on at great +length and its causes analysed in a very dramatic and psychological +manner, if not in that sanctioned by the actual order of history. + +And indeed it is apparent at first sight that the Platonic succession of +states represents rather the succession of ideas in the philosophic mind +than any historical succession of time. + +Aristotle meets the whole simply by an appeal to facts. If the theory of +the periodic decay of all created things, he urges, be scientific, it +must be universal, and so true of all the other states as well as of the +ideal. Besides, a state usually changes into its contrary and not to the +form next to it; so the ideal state would not change into Timocracy; +while Oligarchy, more often than Tyranny, succeeds Democracy. Plato, +besides, says nothing of what a Tyranny would change to. According to +the cycle theory it ought to pass into the ideal state again, but as a +fact one Tyranny is changed into another as at Sicyon, or into a +Democracy as at Syracuse, or into an Aristocracy as at Carthage. The +example of Sicily, too, shows that an Oligarchy is often followed by a +Tyranny, as at Leontini and Gela. Besides, it is absurd to represent +greed as the chief motive of decay, or to talk of avarice as the root of +Oligarchy, when in nearly all true oligarchies money-making is forbidden +by law. And finally the Platonic theory neglects the different kinds of +democracies and of tyrannies. + +Now nothing can be more important than this passage in Aristotle's +Politics (v. 12.), which may be said to mark an era in the evolution of +historical criticism. For there is nothing on which Aristotle insists so +strongly as that the generalisations from facts ought to be added to the +data of the a priori method--a principle which we know to be true not +merely of deductive speculative politics but of physics also: for are not +the residual phenomena of chemists a valuable source of improvement in +theory? + +His own method is essentially historical though by no means empirical. On +the contrary, this far-seeing thinker, rightly styled il maestro di color +che sanno, may be said to have apprehended clearly that the true method +is neither exclusively empirical nor exclusively speculative, but rather +a union of both in the process called Analysis or the Interpretation of +Facts, which has been defined as the application to facts of such general +conceptions as may fix the important characteristics of the phenomena, +and present them permanently in their true relations. He too was the +first to point out, what even in our own day is incompletely appreciated, +that nature, including the development of man, is not full of incoherent +episodes like a bad tragedy, that inconsistency and anomaly are as +impossible in the moral as they are in the physical world, and that where +the superficial observer thinks he sees a revolution the philosophical +critic discerns merely the gradual and rational evolution of the +inevitable results of certain antecedents. + +And while admitting the necessity of a psychological basis for the +philosophy of history, he added to it the important truth that man, to be +apprehended in his proper position in the universe as well as in his +natural powers, must be studied from below in the hierarchical +progression of higher function from the lower forms of life. The +important maxim, that to obtain a clear conception of anything we must +'study it in its growth from the very beginning' is formally set down in +the opening of the Politics, where, indeed, we shall find the other +characteristic features of the modern Evolutionary theory, such as the +'Differentiation of Function' and the 'Survival of the Fittest' +explicitly set forth. + +What a valuable step this was in the improvement of the method of +historical criticism it is needless to point out. By it, one may say, +the true thread was given to guide one's steps through the bewildering +labyrinth of facts. For history (to use terms with which Aristotle has +made us familiar) may be looked at from two essentially different +standpoints; either as a work of art whose [Greek] or final cause is +external to it and imposed on it from without; or as an organism +containing the law of its own development in itself, and working out its +perfection merely by the fact of being what it is. Now, if we adopt the +former, which we may style the theological view, we shall be in continual +danger of tripping into the pitfall of some a priori conclusion--that +bourne from which, it has been truly said, no traveller ever returns. + +The latter is the only scientific theory and was apprehended in its +fulness by Aristotle, whose application of the inductive method to +history, and whose employment of the evolutionary theory of humanity, +show that he was conscious that the philosophy of history is nothing +separate from the facts of history but is contained in them, and that the +rational law of the complex phenomena of life, like the ideal in the +world of thought, is to be reached through the facts, not superimposed on +them-- [Greek] not [Greek]. + +And finally, in estimating the enormous debt which the science of +historical criticism owes to Aristotle, we must not pass over his +attitude towards those two great difficulties in the formation of a +philosophy of history on which I have touched above. I mean the +assertion of extra-natural interference with the normal development of +the world and of the incalculable influence exercised by the power of +free will. + +Now, as regards the former, he may be said to have neglected it entirely. +The special acts of providence proceeding from God's immediate government +of the world, which Herodotus saw as mighty landmarks in history, would +have been to him essentially disturbing elements in that universal reign +of law, the extent of whose limitless empire he of all the great thinkers +of antiquity was the first explicitly to recognise. + +Standing aloof from the popular religion as well as from the deeper +conceptions of Herodotus and the Tragic School, he no longer thought of +God as of one with fair limbs and treacherous face haunting wood and +glade, nor would he see in him a jealous judge continually interfering in +the world's history to bring the wicked to punishment and the proud to a +fall. God to him was the incarnation of the pure Intellect, a being +whose activity was the contemplation of his own perfection, one whom +Philosophy might imitate but whom prayers could never move, to the +sublime indifference of whose passionless wisdom what were the sons of +men, their desires or their sins? While, as regards the other difficulty +and the formation of a philosophy of history, the conflict of free will +with general laws appears first in Greek thought in the usual theological +form in which all great ideas seem to be cradled at their birth. + +It was such legends as those of OEdipus and Adrastus, exemplifying the +struggles of individual humanity against the overpowering force of +circumstances and necessity, which gave to the early Greeks those same +lessons which we of modern days draw, in somewhat less artistic fashion, +from the study of statistics and the laws of physiology. + +In Aristotle, of course, there is no trace of supernatural influence. The +Furies, which drive their victim into sin first and then punishment, are +no longer 'viper-tressed goddesses with eyes and mouth aflame,' but those +evil thoughts which harbour within the impure soul. In this, as in all +other points, to arrive at Aristotle is to reach the pure atmosphere of +scientific and modern thought. + +But while he rejected pure necessitarianism in its crude form as +essentially a reductio ad absurdum of life, he was fully conscious of the +fact that the will is not a mysterious and ultimate unit of force beyond +which we cannot go and whose special characteristic is inconsistency, but +a certain creative attitude of the mind which is, from the first, +continually influenced by habits, education and circumstance; so +absolutely modifiable, in a word, that the good and the bad man alike +seem to lose the power of free will; for the one is morally unable to +sin, the other physically incapacitated for reformation. + +And of the influence of climate and temperature in forming the nature of +man (a conception perhaps pressed too far in modern days when the 'race +theory' is supposed to be a sufficient explanation of the Hindoo, and the +latitude and longitude of a country the best guide to its morals {188}) +Aristotle is completely unaware. I do not allude to such smaller points +as the oligarchical tendencies of a horse-breeding country and the +democratic influence of the proximity of the sea (important though they +are for the consideration of Greek history), but rather to those wider +views in the seventh book of his Politics, where he attributes the happy +union in the Greek character of intellectual attainments with the spirit +of progress to the temperate climate they enjoyed, and points out how the +extreme cold of the north dulls the mental faculties of its inhabitants +and renders them incapable of social organisation or extended empire; +while to the enervating heat of eastern countries was due that want of +spirit and bravery which then, as now, was the characteristic of the +population in that quarter of the globe. + +Thucydides has shown the causal connection between political revolutions +and the fertility of the soil, but goes a step farther and points out the +psychological influences on a people's character exercised by the various +extremes of climate--in both cases the first appearance of a most +valuable form of historical criticism. + +To the development of Dialectic, as to God, intervals of time are of no +account. From Plato and Aristotle we pass direct to Polybius. + +The progress of thought from the philosopher of the Academe to the +Arcadian historian may be best illustrated by a comparison of the method +by which each of the three writers, whom I have selected as the highest +expressions of the rationalism of his respective age, attained to his +ideal state: for the latter conception may be in a measure regarded as +representing the most spiritual principle which they could discern in +history. + +Now, Plato created his on a priori principles: Aristotle formed his by an +analysis of existing constitutions; Polybius found his realised for him +in the actual world of fact. Aristotle criticised the deductive +speculations of Plato by means of inductive negative instances, but +Polybius will not take the 'Cloud City' of the Republic into account at +all. He compares it to an athlete who has never run on 'Constitution +Hill,' to a statue so beautiful that it is entirely removed from the +ordinary conditions of humanity, and consequently from the canons of +criticism. + +The Roman state had attained in his eyes, by means of the mutual +counteraction of three opposing forces, {190} that stable equilibrium in +politics which was the ideal of all the theoretical writers of antiquity. +And in connection with this point it will be convenient to notice here +how much truth there is contained in the accusation so often brought +against the ancients that they knew nothing of the idea of Progress, for +the meaning of many of their speculations will be hidden from us if we do +not try and comprehend first what their aim was, and secondly why it was +so. + +Now, like all wide generalities, this statement is at least inaccurate. +The prayer of Plato's ideal city--[Greek], might be written as a text +over the door of the last Temple to Humanity raised by the disciples of +Fourier and Saint Simon, but it is certainly true that their ideal +principle was order and permanence, not indefinite progress. For, +setting aside the artistic prejudices which would have led the Greeks to +reject this idea of unlimited improvement, we may note that the modern +conception of progress rests partly on the new enthusiasm and worship of +humanity, partly on the splendid hopes of material improvements in +civilisation which applied science has held out to us, two influences +from which ancient Greek thought seems to have been strangely free. For +the Greeks marred the perfect humanism of the great men whom they +worshipped, by imputing to them divinity and its supernatural powers; +while their science was eminently speculative and often almost mystic in +its character, aiming at culture and not utility, at higher spirituality +and more intense reverence for law, rather than at the increased +facilities of locomotion and the cheap production of common things about +which our modern scientific school ceases not to boast. And lastly, and +perhaps chiefly, we must remember that the 'plague spot of all Greek +states,' as one of their own writers has called it, was the terrible +insecurity to life and property which resulted from the factions and +revolutions which ceased not to trouble Greece at all times, raising a +spirit of fanaticism such as religion raised in the middle ages of +Europe. + +These considerations, then, will enable us to understand first how it was +that, radical and unscrupulous reformers as the Greek political theorists +were, yet, their end once attained, no modern conservatives raised such +outcry against the slightest innovation. Even acknowledged improvements +in such things as the games of children or the modes of music were +regarded by them with feelings of extreme apprehension as the herald of +the drapeau rouge of reform. And secondly, it will show us how it was +that Polybius found his ideal in the commonwealth of Rome, and Aristotle, +like Mr. Bright, in the middle classes. Polybius, however, is not +content merely with pointing out his ideal state, but enters at +considerable length into the question of those general laws whose +consideration forms the chief essential of the philosophy of history. + +He starts by accepting the general principle that all things are fated to +decay (which I noticed in the case of Plato), and that 'as iron produces +rust and as wood breeds the animals that destroy it, so every state has +in it the seeds of its own corruption.' He is not, however, content to +rest there, but proceeds to deal with the more immediate causes of +revolutions, which he says are twofold in nature, either external or +internal. Now, the former, depending as they do on the synchronous +conjunction of other events outside the sphere of scientific estimation, +are from their very character incalculable; but the latter, though +assuming many forms, always result from the over-great preponderance of +any single element to the detriment of the others, the rational law lying +at the base of all varieties of political changes being that stability +can result only from the statical equilibrium produced by the +counteraction of opposing parts, since the more simple a constitution is +the more it is insecure. Plato had pointed out before how the extreme +liberty of a democracy always resulted in despotism, but Polybius +analyses the law and shows the scientific principles on which it rests. + +The doctrine of the instability of pure constitutions forms an important +era in the philosophy of history. Its special applicability to the +politics of our own day has been illustrated in the rise of the great +Napoleon, when the French state had lost those divisions of caste and +prejudice, of landed aristocracy and moneyed interest, institutions in +which the vulgar see only barriers to Liberty but which are indeed the +only possible defences against the coming of that periodic Sirius of +politics, the [Greek] + +There is a principle which Tocqueville never wearies of explaining, and +which has been subsumed by Mr. Herbert Spencer under that general law +common to all organic bodies which we call the Instability of the +Homogeneous. The various manifestations of this law, as shown in the +normal, regular revolutions and evolutions of the different forms of +government, {193a} are expounded with great clearness by Polybius, who +claimed for his theory in the Thucydidean spirit, that it is a [Greek], +not a mere [Greek], and that a knowledge of it will enable the impartial +observer {193b} to discover at any time what period of its constitutional +evolution any particular state has already reached and into what form it +will be next differentiated, though possibly the exact time of the +changes may be more or less uncertain. {193c} + +Now in this necessarily incomplete account of the laws of political +revolutions as expounded by Polybius enough perhaps has been said to show +what is his true position in the rational development of the 'Idea' which +I have called the Philosophy of History, because it is the unifying of +history. Seen darkly as it is through the glass of religion in the pages +of Herodotus, more metaphysical than scientific with Thucydides, Plato +strove to seize it by the eagle-flight of speculation, to reach it with +the eager grasp of a soul impatient of those slower and surer inductive +methods which Aristotle, in his trenchant criticism of his great master, +showed were more brilliant than any vague theory, if the test of +brilliancy is truth. + +What then is the position of Polybius? Does any new method remain for +him? Polybius was one of those many men who are born too late to be +original. To Thucydides belongs the honour of being the first in the +history of Greek thought to discern the supreme calm of law and order +underlying the fitful storms of life, and Plato and Aristotle each +represents a great new principle. To Polybius belongs the office--how +noble an office he made it his writings show--of making more explicit the +ideas which were implicit in his predecessors, of showing that they were +of wider applicability and perhaps of deeper meaning than they had seemed +before, of examining with more minuteness the laws which they had +discovered, and finally of pointing out more clearly than any one had +done the range of science and the means it offered for analysing the +present and predicting what was to come. His office thus was to gather +up what they had left, to give their principles new life by a wider +application. + +Polybius ends this great diapason of Greek thought. When the Philosophy +of history appears next, as in Plutarch's tract on 'Why God's anger is +delayed,' the pendulum of thought had swung back to where it began. His +theory was introduced to the Romans under the cultured style of Cicero, +and was welcomed by them as the philosophical panegyric of their state. +The last notice of it in Latin literature is in the pages of Tacitus, who +alludes to the stable polity formed out of these elements as a +constitution easier to commend than to produce and in no case lasting. +Yet Polybius had seen the future with no uncertain eye, and had +prophesied the rise of the Empire from the unbalanced power of the +ochlocracy fifty years and more before there was joy in the Julian +household over the birth of that boy who, borne to power as the champion +of the people, died wearing the purple of a king. + +No attitude of historical criticism is more important than the means by +which the ancients attained to the philosophy of history. The principle +of heredity can be exemplified in literature as well as in organic life: +Aristotle, Plato and Polybius are the lineal ancestors of Fichte and +Hegel, of Vico and Cousin, of Montesquieu and Tocqueville. + +As my aim is not to give an account of historians but to point out those +great thinkers whose methods have furthered the advance of this spirit of +historical criticism, I shall pass over those annalists and chroniclers +who intervened between Thucydides and Polybius. Yet perhaps it may serve +to throw new light on the real nature of this spirit and its intimate +connection with all other forms of advanced thought if I give some +estimate of the character and rise of those many influences prejudicial +to the scientific study of history which cause such a wide gap between +these two historians. + +Foremost among these is the growing influence of rhetoric and the +Isocratean school, which seems to have regarded history as an arena for +the display of either pathos or paradoxes, not a scientific investigation +into laws. + +The new age is the age of style. The same spirit of exclusive attention +to form which made Euripides often, like Swinburne, prefer music to +meaning and melody to morality, which gave to the later Greek statues +that refined effeminacy, that overstrained gracefulness of attitude, was +felt in the sphere of history. The rules laid down for historical +composition are those relating to the aesthetic value of digressions, the +legality of employing more than one metaphor in the same sentence, and +the like; and historians are ranked not by their power of estimating +evidence but by the goodness of the Greek they write. + +I must note also the important influence on literature exercised by +Alexander the Great; for while his travels encouraged the more accurate +research of geography, the very splendour of his achievements seems to +have brought history again into the sphere of romance. The appearance of +all great men in the world is followed invariably by the rise of that +mythopoeic spirit and that tendency to look for the marvellous, which is +so fatal to true historical criticism. An Alexander, a Napoleon, a +Francis of Assisi and a Mahomet are thought to be outside the limiting +conditions of rational law, just as comets were supposed to be not very +long ago. While the founding of that city of Alexandria, in which +Western and Eastern thought met with such strange result to both, +diverted the critical tendencies of the Greek spirit into questions of +grammar, philology and the like, the narrow, artificial atmosphere of +that University town (as we may call it) was fatal to the development of +that independent and speculative spirit of research which strikes out new +methods of inquiry, of which historical criticism is one. + +The Alexandrines combined a great love of learning with an ignorance of +the true principles of research, an enthusiastic spirit for accumulating +materials with a wonderful incapacity to use them. Not among the hot +sands of Egypt, or the Sophists of Athens, but from the very heart of +Greece rises the man of genius on whose influence in the evolution of the +philosophy of history I have a short time ago dwelt. Born in the serene +and pure air of the clear uplands of Arcadia, Polybius may be said to +reproduce in his work the character of the place which gave him birth. +For, of all the historians--I do not say of antiquity but of all +time--none is more rationalistic than he, none more free from any belief +in the 'visions and omens, the monstrous legends, the grovelling +superstitions and unmanly craving for the supernatural' ([Greek] {197a}) +which he is compelled to notice himself as the characteristics of some of +the historians who preceded him. Fortunate in the land which bore him, +he was no less blessed in the wondrous time of his birth. For, +representing in himself the spiritual supremacy of the Greek intellect +and allied in bonds of chivalrous friendship to the world-conqueror of +his day, he seems led as it were by the hand of Fate 'to comprehend,' as +has been said, 'more clearly than the Romans themselves the historical +position of Rome,' and to discern with greater insight than all other men +could those two great resultants of ancient civilisation, the material +empire of the city of the seven hills, and the intellectual sovereignty +of Hellas. + +Before his own day, he says, {197b} the events of the world were +unconnected and separate and the histories confined to particular +countries. Now, for the first time the universal empire of the Romans +rendered a universal history possible. {198a} This, then, is the august +motive of his work: to trace the gradual rise of this Italian city from +the day when the first legion crossed the narrow strait of Messina and +landed on the fertile fields of Sicily to the time when Corinth in the +East and Carthage in the West fell before the resistless wave of empire +and the eagles of Rome passed on the wings of universal victory from +Calpe and the Pillars of Hercules to Syria and the Nile. At the same +time he recognised that the scheme of Rome's empire was worked out under +the aegis of God's will. {198b} For, as one of the Middle Age scribes +most truly says, the [Greek] of Polybius is that power which we +Christians call God; the second aim, as one may call it, of his history +is to point out the rational and human and natural causes which brought +this result, distinguishing, as we should say, between God's mediate and +immediate government of the world. + +With any direct intervention of God in the normal development of Man, he +will have nothing to do: still less with any idea of chance as a factor +in the phenomena of life. Chance and miracles, he says, are mere +expressions for our ignorance of rational causes. The spirit of +rationalism which we recognised in Herodotus as a vague uncertain +attitude and which appears in Thucydides as a consistent attitude of mind +never argued about or even explained, is by Polybius analysed and +formulated as the great instrument of historical research. + +Herodotus, while believing on principle in the supernatural, yet was +sceptical at times. Thucydides simply ignored the supernatural. He did +not discuss it, but he annihilated it by explaining history without it. +Polybius enters at length into the whole question and explains its origin +and the method of treating it. Herodotus would have believed in Scipio's +dream. Thucydides would have ignored it entirely. Polybius explains it. +He is the culmination of the rational progression of Dialectic. +'Nothing,' he says, 'shows a foolish mind more than the attempt to +account for any phenomena on the principle of chance or supernatural +intervention. History is a search for rational causes, and there is +nothing in the world--even those phenomena which seem to us the most +remote from law and improbable--which is not the logical and inevitable +result of certain rational antecedents.' + +Some things, of course, are to be rejected a priori without entering into +the subject: 'As regards such miracles,' he says, {199} 'as that on a +certain statue of Artemis rain or snow never falls though the statue +stands in the open air, or that those who enter God's shrine in Arcadia +lose their natural shadows, I cannot really be expected to argue upon the +subject. For these things are not only utterly improbable but absolutely +impossible.' + +'For us to argue reasonably on an acknowledged absurdity is as vain a +task as trying to catch water in a sieve; it is really to admit the +possibility of the supernatural, which is the very point at issue.' + +What Polybius felt was that to admit the possibility of a miracle is to +annihilate the possibility of history: for just as scientific and +chemical experiments would be either impossible or useless if exposed to +the chance of continued interference on the part of some foreign body, so +the laws and principles which govern history, the causes of phenomena, +the evolution of progress, the whole science, in a word, of man's +dealings with his own race and with nature, will remain a sealed book to +him who admits the possibility of extra-natural interference. + +The stories of miracles, then, are to be rejected on a priori rational +grounds, but in the case of events which we know to have happened the +scientific historian will not rest till he has discovered their natural +causes which, for instance, in the case of the wonderful rise of the +Roman Empire--the most marvellous thing, Polybius says, which God ever +brought about {200a}--are to be found in the excellence of their +constitution ([Greek]), the wisdom of their advisers, their splendid +military arrangements, and their superstition ([Greek]). For while +Polybius regarded the revealed religion as, of course, objective reality +of truth, {200b} he laid great stress on its moral subjective influence, +going, in one passage on the subject, even so far as almost to excuse the +introduction of the supernatural in very small quantities into history on +account of the extremely good effect it would have on pious people. + +But perhaps there is no passage in the whole of ancient and modern +history which breathes such a manly and splendid spirit of rationalism as +one preserved to us in the Vatican--strange resting-place for it!--in +which he treats of the terrible decay of population which had fallen on +his native land in his own day, and which by the general orthodox public +was regarded as a special judgment of God, sending childlessness on women +as a punishment for the sins of the people. For it was a disaster quite +without parallel in the history of the land, and entirely unforeseen by +any of its political-economy writers who, on the contrary, were always +anticipating that danger would arise from an excess of population +overrunning its means of subsistence, and becoming unmanageable through +its size. Polybius, however, will have nothing to do with either priest +or worker of miracles in this matter. He will not even seek that 'sacred +Heart of Greece,' Delphi, Apollo's shrine, whose inspiration even +Thucydides admitted and before whose wisdom Socrates bowed. How foolish, +he says, were the man who on this matter would pray to God. We must +search for the rational causes, and the causes are seen to be clear, and +the method of prevention also. He then proceeds to notice how all this +arose from the general reluctance to marriage and to bearing the expense +of educating a large family which resulted from the carelessness and +avarice of the men of his day, and he explains on entirely rational +principles the whole of this apparently supernatural judgment. + +Now, it is to be borne in mind that while his rejection of miracles as +violation of inviolable laws is entirely a priori--for, discussion of +such a matter is, of course, impossible for a rational thinker--yet his +rejection of supernatural intervention rests entirely on the scientific +grounds of the necessity of looking for natural causes. And he is quite +logical in maintaining his position on these principles. For, where it +is either difficult or impossible to assign any rational cause for +phenomena, or to discover their laws, he acquiesces reluctantly in the +alternative of admitting some extra-natural interference which his +essentially scientific method of treating the matter has logically forced +on him, approving, for instance, of prayers for rain, on the express +ground that the laws of meteorology had not yet been ascertained. He +would, of course, have been the first to welcome our modern discoveries +in the matter. The passage in question is in every way one of the most +interesting in his whole work, not, of course, as signifying any +inclination on his part to acquiesce in the supernatural, but because it +shows how essentially logical and rational his method of argument was, +and how candid and fair his mind. + +Having now examined Polybius's attitude towards the supernatural and the +general ideas which guided his research, I will proceed to examine the +method he pursued in his scientific investigation of the complex +phenomena of life. For, as I have said before in the course of this +essay, what is important in all great writers is not so much the results +they arrive at as the methods they pursue. The increased knowledge of +facts may alter any conclusion in history as in physical science, and the +canons of speculative historical credibility must be acknowledged to +appeal rather to that subjective attitude of mind which we call the +historic sense than to any formulated objective rules. But a scientific +method is a gain for all time, and the true if not the only progress of +historical criticism consists in the improvement of the instruments of +research. + +Now first, as regards his conception of history, I have already pointed +out that it was to him essentially a search for causes, a problem to be +solved, not a picture to be painted, a scientific investigation into laws +and tendencies, not a mere romantic account of startling incident and +wondrous adventure. Thucydides, in the opening of his great work, had +sounded the first note of the scientific conception of history. 'The +absence of romance in my pages,' he says, 'will, I fear, detract somewhat +from its value, but I have written my work not to be the exploit of a +passing hour but as the possession of all time.' {203} Polybius follows +with words almost entirely similar. If, he says, we banish from history +the consideration of causes, methods and motives ([Greek]), and refuse to +consider how far the result of anything is its rational consequent, what +is left is a mere [Greek], not a [Greek], an oratorical essay which may +give pleasure for the moment, but which is entirely without any +scientific value for the explanation of the future. Elsewhere he says +that 'history robbed of the exposition of its causes and laws is a +profitless thing, though it may allure a fool.' And all through his +history the same point is put forward and exemplified in every fashion. + +So far for the conception of history. Now for the groundwork. As +regards the character of the phenomena to be selected by the scientific +investigator, Aristotle had laid down the general formula that nature +should be studied in her normal manifestations. Polybius, true to his +character of applying explicitly the principles implicit in the work of +others, follows out the doctrine of Aristotle, and lays particular stress +on the rational and undisturbed character of the development of the Roman +constitution as affording special facilities for the discovery of the +laws of its progress. Political revolutions result from causes either +external or internal. The former are mere disturbing forces which lie +outside the sphere of scientific calculation. It is the latter which are +important for the establishing of principles and the elucidation of the +sequences of rational evolution. + +He thus may be said to have anticipated one of the most important truths +of the modern methods of investigation: I mean that principle which lays +down that just as the study of physiology should precede the study of +pathology, just as the laws of disease are best discovered by the +phenomena presented in health, so the method of arriving at all great +social and political truths is by the investigation of those cases where +development has been normal, rational and undisturbed. + +The critical canon that the more a people has been interfered with, the +more difficult it becomes to generalise the laws of its progress and to +analyse the separate forces of its civilisation, is one the validity of +which is now generally recognised by those who pretend to a scientific +treatment of all history: and while we have seen that Aristotle +anticipated it in a general formula, to Polybius belongs the honour of +being the first to apply it explicitly in the sphere of history. + +I have shown how to this great scientific historian the motive of his +work was essentially the search for causes; and true to his analytical +spirit he is careful to examine what a cause really is and in what part +of the antecedents of any consequent it is to be looked for. To give an +illustration: As regards the origin of the war with Perseus, some +assigned as causes the expulsion of Abrupolis by Perseus, the expedition +of the latter to Delphi, the plot against Eumenes and the seizure of the +ambassadors in Boeotia; of these incidents the two former, Polybius +points out, were merely the pretexts, the two latter merely the occasions +of the war. The war was really a legacy left to Perseus by his father, +who was determined to fight it out with Rome. {205} + +Here as elsewhere he is not originating any new idea. Thucydides had +pointed out the difference between the real and the alleged cause, and +the Aristotelian dictum about revolutions, [Greek], draws the distinction +between cause and occasion with the brilliancy of an epigram. But the +explicit and rational investigation of the difference between [Greek] and +[Greek] was reserved for Polybius. No canon of historical criticism can +be said to be of more real value than that involved in this distinction, +and the overlooking of it has filled our histories with the contemptible +accounts of the intrigues of courtiers and of kings and the petty +plottings of backstairs influence--particulars interesting, no doubt, to +those who would ascribe the Reformation to Anne Boleyn's pretty face, the +Persian war to the influence of a doctor or a curtain-lecture from +Atossa, or the French Revolution to Madame de Maintenon, but without any +value for those who aim at any scientific treatment of history. + +But the question of method, to which I am compelled always to return, is +not yet exhausted. There is another aspect in which it may be regarded, +and I shall now proceed to treat of it. + +One of the greatest difficulties with which the modern historian has to +contend is the enormous complexity of the facts which come under his +notice: D'Alembert's suggestion that at the end of every century a +selection of facts should be made and the rest burned (if it was really +intended seriously) could not, of course, be entertained for a moment. A +problem loses all its value when it becomes simplified, and the world +would be all the poorer if the Sybil of History burned her volumes. +Besides, as Gibbon pointed out, 'a Montesquieu will detect in the most +insignificant fact relations which the vulgar overlook.' + +Nor can the scientific investigator of history isolate the particular +elements, which he desires to examine, from disturbing and extraneous +causes, as the experimental chemist can do (though sometimes, as in the +case of lunatic asylums and prisons, he is enabled to observe phenomena +in a certain degree of isolation). So he is compelled either to use the +deductive mode of arguing from general laws or to employ the method of +abstraction which gives a fictitious isolation to phenomena never so +isolated in actual existence. And this is exactly what Polybius has done +as well as Thucydides. For, as has been well remarked, there is in the +works of these two writers a certain plastic unity of type and motive; +whatever they write is penetrated through and through with a specific +quality, a singleness and concentration of purpose, which we may contrast +with the more comprehensive width as manifested not merely in the modern +mind, but also in Herodotus. Thucydides, regarding society as influenced +entirely by political motives, took no account of forces of a different +nature, and consequently his results, like those of most modern political +economists, have to be modified largely {207} before they come to +correspond with what we know was the actual state of fact. Similarly, +Polybius will deal only with those forces which tended to bring the +civilised world under the dominion of Rome (ix. 1), and in the +Thucydidean spirit points out the want of picturesqueness and romance in +his pages which is the result of the abstract method ([Greek]), being +careful also to tell us that his rejection of all other forces is +essentially deliberate and the result of a preconceived theory and by no +means due to carelessness of any kind. + +Now, of the general value of the abstract method and the legality of its +employment in the sphere of history, this is perhaps not the suitable +occasion for any discussion. It is, however, in all ways worthy of note +that Polybius is not merely conscious of, but dwells with particular +weight on, the fact which is usually urged as the strongest objection to +the employment of the abstract method--I mean the conception of a society +as a sort of human organism whose parts are indissolubly connected with +one another and all affected when one member is in any way agitated. This +conception of the organic nature of society appears first in Plato and +Aristotle, who apply it to cities. Polybius, as his wont is, expands it +to be a general characteristic of all history. It is an idea of the very +highest importance, especially to a man like Polybius whose thoughts are +continually turned towards the essential unity of history and the +impossibility of isolation. + +Farther, as regards the particular method of investigating that group of +phenomena obtained for him by the abstract method, he will adopt, he +tells us, neither the purely deductive nor the purely inductive mode but +the union of both. In other words, he formally adopts that method of +analysis upon the importance of which I have dwelt before. + +And lastly, while, without doubt, enormous simplicity in the elements +under consideration is the result of the employment of the abstract +method, even within the limit thus obtained a certain selection must be +made, and a selection involves a theory. For the facts of life cannot be +tabulated with as great an ease as the colours of birds and insects can +be tabulated. Now, Polybius points out that those phenomena particularly +are to be dwelt on which may serve as a [Greek] or sample, and show the +character of the tendencies of the age as clearly as 'a single drop from +a full cask will be enough to disclose the nature of the whole contents.' +This recognition of the importance of single facts, not in themselves but +because of the spirit they represent, is extremely scientific; for we +know that from the single bone, or tooth even, the anatomist can recreate +entirely the skeleton of the primeval horse, and the botanist tell the +character of the flora and fauna of a district from a single specimen. + +Regarding truth as 'the most divine thing in Nature,' the very 'eye and +light of history without which it moves a blind thing,' Polybius spared +no pains in the acquisition of historical materials or in the study of +the sciences of politics and war, which he considered were so essential +to the training of the scientific historian, and the labour he took is +mirrored in the many ways in which he criticises other authorities. + +There is something, as a rule, slightly contemptible about ancient +criticism. The modern idea of the critic as the interpreter, the +expounder of the beauty and excellence of the work he selects, seems +quite unknown. Nothing can be more captious or unfair, for instance, +than the method by which Aristotle criticised the ideal state of Plato in +his ethical works, and the passages quoted by Polybius from Timaeus show +that the latter historian fully deserved the punning name given to him. +But in Polybius there is, I think, little of that bitterness and +pettiness of spirit which characterises most other writers, and an +incidental story he tells of his relations with one of the historians +whom he criticised shows that he was a man of great courtesy and +refinement of taste--as, indeed, befitted one who had lived always in the +society of those who were of great and noble birth. + +Now, as regards the character of the canons by which he criticises the +works of other authors, in the majority of cases he employs simply his +own geographical and military knowledge, showing, for instance, the +impossibility in the accounts given of Nabis's march from Sparta simply +by his acquaintance with the spots in question; or the inconsistency of +those of the battle of Issus; or of the accounts given by Ephorus of the +battles of Leuctra and Mantinea. In the latter case he says, if any one +will take the trouble to measure out the ground of the site of the battle +and then test the manoeuvres given, he will find how inaccurate the +accounts are. + +In other cases he appeals to public documents, the importance of which he +was always foremost in recognising; showing, for instance, by a document +in the public archives of Rhodes how inaccurate were the accounts given +of the battle of Lade by Zeno and Antisthenes. Or he appeals to +psychological probability, rejecting, for instance, the scandalous +stories told of Philip of Macedon, simply from the king's general +greatness of character, and arguing that a boy so well educated and so +respectably connected as Demochares (xii. 14) could never have been +guilty of that of which evil rumour accused him. + +But the chief object of his literary censure is Timaeus, who had been so +unsparing of his strictures on others. The general point which he makes +against him, impugning his accuracy as a historian, is that he derived +his knowledge of history not from the dangerous perils of a life of +action but in the secure indolence of a narrow scholastic life. There +is, indeed, no point on which he is so vehement as this. 'A history,' he +says, 'written in a library gives as lifeless and as inaccurate a picture +of history as a painting which is copied not from a living animal but +from a stuffed one.' + +There is more difference, he says in another place, between the history +of an eye-witness and that of one whose knowledge comes from books, than +there is between the scenes of real life and the fictitious landscapes of +theatrical scenery. Besides this, he enters into somewhat elaborate +detailed criticism of passages where he thought Timaeus was following a +wrong method and perverting truth, passages which it will be worth while +to examine in detail. + +Timaeus, from the fact of there being a Roman custom to shoot a war-horse +on a stated day, argued back to the Trojan origin of that people. +Polybius, on the other hand, points out that the inference is quite +unwarrantable, because horse-sacrifices are ordinary institutions common +to all barbarous tribes. Timaeus here, as was so common with Greek +writers, is arguing back from some custom of the present to an historical +event in the past. Polybius really is employing the comparative method, +showing how the custom was an ordinary step in the civilisation of every +early people. + +In another place, {211} he shows how illogical is the scepticism of +Timaeus as regards the existence of the Bull of Phalaris simply by +appealing to the statue of the Bull, which was still to be seen in +Carthage; pointing out how impossible it was, on any other theory except +that it belonged to Phalaris, to account for the presence in Carthage of +a bull of this peculiar character with a door between his shoulders. But +one of the great points which he uses against this Sicilian historian is +in reference to the question of the origin of the Locrian colony. In +accordance with the received tradition on the subject, Aristotle had +represented the Locrian colony as founded by some Parthenidae or slaves' +children, as they were called, a statement which seems to have roused the +indignation of Timaeus, who went to a good deal of trouble to confute +this theory. He does so on the following grounds:-- + +First of all, he points out that in the ancient days the Greeks had no +slaves at all, so the mention of them in the matter is an anachronism; +and next he declares that he was shown in the Greek city of Locris +certain ancient inscriptions in which their relation to the Italian city +was expressed in terms of the position between parent and child, which +showed also that mutual rights of citizenship were accorded to each city. +Besides this, he appeals to various questions of improbability as regards +their international relationship, on which Polybius takes diametrically +opposite grounds which hardly call for discussion. And in favour of his +own view he urges two points more: first, that the Lacedaemonians being +allowed furlough for the purpose of seeing their wives at home, it was +unlikely that the Locrians should not have had the same privilege; and +next, that the Italian Locrians knew nothing of the Aristotelian version +and had, on the contrary, very severe laws against adulterers, runaway +slaves and the like. Now, most of these questions rest on mere +probability, which is always such a subjective canon that an appeal to it +is rarely conclusive. I would note, however, as regards the inscriptions +which, if genuine, would of course have settled the matter, that Polybius +looks on them as a mere invention on the part of Timaeus, who, he +remarks, gives no details about them, though, as a rule, he is so over- +anxious to give chapter and verse for everything. A somewhat more +interesting point is that where he attacks Timaeus for the introduction +of fictitious speeches into his narrative; for on this point Polybius +seems to be far in advance of the opinions held by literary men on the +subject not merely in his own day, but for centuries after. Herodotus +had introduced speeches avowedly dramatic and fictitious. Thucydides +states clearly that, where he was unable to find out what people really +said, he put down what they ought to have said. Sallust alludes, it is +true, to the fact of the speech he puts into the mouth of the tribune +Memmius being essentially genuine, but the speeches given in the senate +on the occasion of the Catilinarian conspiracy are very different from +the same orations as they appear in Cicero. Livy makes his ancient +Romans wrangle and chop logic with all the subtlety of a Hortensius or a +Scaevola. And even in later days, when shorthand reporters attended the +debates of the senate and a Daily News was published in Rome, we find +that one of the most celebrated speeches in Tacitus (that in which the +Emperor Claudius gives the Gauls their freedom) is shown, by an +inscription discovered recently at Lugdunum, to be entirely fabulous. + +Upon the other hand, it must be borne in mind that these speeches were +not intended to deceive; they were regarded merely as a certain dramatic +element which it was allowable to introduce into history for the purpose +of giving more life and reality to the narration, and were to be +criticised, not as we should, by arguing how in an age before shorthand +was known such a report was possible or how, in the failure of written +documents, tradition could bring down such an accurate verbal account, +but by the higher test of their psychological probability as regards the +persons in whose mouths they are placed. An ancient historian in answer +to modern criticism would say, probably, that these fictitious speeches +were in reality more truthful than the actual ones, just as Aristotle +claimed for poetry a higher degree of truth in comparison to history. The +whole point is interesting as showing how far in advance of his age +Polybius may be said to have been. + +The last scientific historian, it is possible to gather from his writings +what he considered were the characteristics of the ideal writer of +history; and no small light will be thrown on the progress of historical +criticism if we strive to collect and analyse what in Polybius are more +or less scattered expressions. The ideal historian must be contemporary +with the events he describes, or removed from them by one generation +only. Where it is possible, he is to be an eye-witness of what he writes +of; where that is out of his power he is to test all traditions and +stories carefully and not to be ready to accept what is plausible in +place of what is true. He is to be no bookworm living aloof from the +experiences of the world in the artificial isolation of a university +town, but a politician, a soldier, and a traveller, a man not merely of +thought but of action, one who can do great things as well as write of +them, who in the sphere of history could be what Byron and AEschylus were +in the sphere of poetry, at once le chantre et le heros. + +He is to keep before his eyes the fact that chance is merely a synonym +for our ignorance; that the reign of law pervades the domain of history +as much as it does that of political science. He is to accustom himself +to look on all occasions for rational and natural causes. And while he +is to recognise the practical utility of the supernatural, in an +educational point of view, he is not himself to indulge in such +intellectual beating of the air as to admit the possibility of the +violation of inviolable laws, or to argue in a sphere wherein argument is +a priori annihilated. He is to be free from all bias towards friend and +country; he is to be courteous and gentle in criticism; he is not to +regard history as a mere opportunity for splendid and tragic writing; nor +is he to falsify truth for the sake of a paradox or an epigram. + +While acknowledging the importance of particular facts as samples of +higher truths, he is to take a broad and general view of humanity. He is +to deal with the whole race and with the world, not with particular +tribes or separate countries. He is to bear in mind that the world is +really an organism wherein no one part can be moved without the others +being affected also. He is to distinguish between cause and occasion, +between the influence of general laws and particular fancies, and he is +to remember that the greatest lessons of the world are contained in +history and that it is the historian's duty to manifest them so as to +save nations from following those unwise policies which always lead to +dishonour and ruin, and to teach individuals to apprehend by the +intellectual culture of history those truths which else they would have +to learn in the bitter school of experience. + +Now, as regards his theory of the necessity of the historian's being +contemporary with the events he describes, so far as the historian is a +mere narrator the remark is undoubtedly true. But to appreciate the +harmony and rational position of the facts of a great epoch, to discover +its laws, the causes which produced it and the effects which it +generates, the scene must be viewed from a certain height and distance to +be completely apprehended. A thoroughly contemporary historian such as +Lord Clarendon or Thucydides is in reality part of the history he +criticises; and, in the case of such contemporary historians as Fabius +and Philistus, Polybius is compelled to acknowledge that they are misled +by patriotic and other considerations. Against Polybius himself no such +accusation can be made. He indeed of all men is able, as from some lofty +tower, to discern the whole tendency of the ancient world, the triumph of +Roman institutions and of Greek thought which is the last message of the +old world and, in a more spiritual sense, has become the Gospel of the +new. + +One thing indeed he did not see, or if he saw it, he thought but little +of it--how from the East there was spreading over the world, as a wave +spreads, a spiritual inroad of new religions from the time when the +Pessinuntine mother of the gods, a shapeless mass of stone, was brought +to the eternal city by her holiest citizen, to the day when the ship +Castor and Pollux stood in at Puteoli, and St. Paul turned his face +towards martyrdom and victory at Rome. Polybius was able to predict, +from his knowledge of the causes of revolutions and the tendencies of the +various forms of governments, the uprising of that democratic tone of +thought which, as soon as a seed is sown in the murder of the Gracchi and +the exile of Marius, culminated as all democratic movements do culminate, +in the supreme authority of one man, the lordship of the world under the +world's rightful lord, Caius Julius Caesar. This, indeed, he saw in no +uncertain way. But the turning of all men's hearts to the East, the +first glimmering of that splendid dawn which broke over the hills of +Galilee and flooded the earth like wine, was hidden from his eyes. + +There are many points in the description of the ideal historian which one +may compare to the picture which Plato has given us of the ideal +philosopher. They are both 'spectators of all time and all existence.' +Nothing is contemptible in their eyes, for all things have a meaning, and +they both walk in august reasonableness before all men, conscious of the +workings of God yet free from all terror of mendicant priest or vagrant +miracle-worker. But the parallel ends here. For the one stands aloof +from the world-storm of sleet and hail, his eyes fixed on distant and +sunlit heights, loving knowledge for the sake of knowledge and wisdom for +the joy of wisdom, while the other is an eager actor in the world ever +seeking to apply his knowledge to useful things. Both equally desire +truth, but the one because of its utility, the other for its beauty. The +historian regards it as the rational principle of all true history, and +no more. To the other it comes as an all-pervading and mystic +enthusiasm, 'like the desire of strong wine, the craving of ambition, the +passionate love of what is beautiful.' + +Still, though we miss in the historian those higher and more spiritual +qualities which the philosopher of the Academe alone of all men +possessed, we must not blind ourselves to the merits of that great +rationalist who seems to have anticipated the very latest words of modern +science. Nor yet is he to be regarded merely in the narrow light in +which he is estimated by most modern critics, as the explicit champion of +rationalism and nothing more. For he is connected with another idea, the +course of which is as the course of that great river of his native +Arcadia which, springing from some arid and sun-bleached rock, gathers +strength and beauty as it flows till it reaches the asphodel meadows of +Olympia and the light and laughter of Ionian waters. + +For in him we can discern the first notes of that great cult of the seven- +hilled city which made Virgil write his epic and Livy his history, which +found in Dante its highest exponent, which dreamed of an Empire where the +Emperor would care for the bodies and the Pope for the souls of men, and +so has passed into the conception of God's spiritual empire and the +universal brotherhood of man and widened into the huge ocean of universal +thought as the Peneus loses itself in the sea. + +Polybius is the last scientific historian of Greece. The writer who +seems fittingly to complete the progress of thought is a writer of +biographies only. I will not here touch on Plutarch's employment of the +inductive method as shown in his constant use of inscription and statue, +of public document and building and the like, because they involve no new +method. It is his attitude towards miracles of which I desire to treat. + +Plutarch is philosophic enough to see that in the sense of a violation of +the laws of nature a miracle is impossible. It is absurd, he says, to +imagine that the statue of a saint can speak, and that an inanimate +object not possessing the vocal organs should be able to utter an +articulate sound. Upon the other hand, he protests against science +imagining that, by explaining the natural causes of things, it has +explained away their transcendental meaning. 'When the tears on the +cheek of some holy statue have been analysed into the moisture which +certain temperatures produce on wood and marble, it yet by no means +follows that they were not a sign of grief and mourning set there by God +Himself.' When Lampon saw in the prodigy of the one-horned ram the omen +of the supreme rule of Pericles, and when Anaxagoras showed that the +abnormal development was the rational resultant of the peculiar formation +of the skull, the dreamer and the man of science were both right; it was +the business of the latter to consider how the prodigy came about, of the +former to show why it was so formed and what it so portended. The +progression of thought is exemplified in all particulars. Herodotus had +a glimmering sense of the impossibility of a violation of nature. +Thucydides ignored the supernatural. Polybius rationalised it. Plutarch +raises it to its mystical heights again, though he bases it on law. In a +word, Plutarch felt that while science brings the supernatural down to +the natural, yet ultimately all that is natural is really supernatural. +To him, as to many of our own day, religion was that transcendental +attitude of the mind which, contemplating a world resting on inviolable +law, is yet comforted and seeks to worship God not in the violation but +in the fulfilment of nature. + +It may seem paradoxical to quote in connection with the priest of +Chaeronea such a pure rationalist as Mr. Herbert Spencer; yet when we +read as the last message of modern science that 'when the equation of +life has been reduced to its lowest terms the symbols are symbols still,' +mere signs, that is, of that unknown reality which underlies all matter +and all spirit, we may feel how over the wide strait of centuries thought +calls to thought and how Plutarch has a higher position than is usually +claimed for him in the progress of the Greek intellect. + +And, indeed, it seems that not merely the importance of Plutarch himself +but also that of the land of his birth in the evolution of Greek +civilisation has been passed over by modern critics. To us, indeed, the +bare rock to which the Parthenon serves as a crown, and which lies +between Colonus and Attica's violet hills, will always be the holiest +spot in the land of Greece: and Delphi will come next, and then the +meadows of Eurotas where that noble people lived who represented in +Hellenic thought the reaction of the law of duty against the law of +beauty, the opposition of conduct to culture. Yet, as one stands on the +[Greek] of Cithaeron and looks out on the great double plain of Boeotia, +the enormous importance of the division of Hellas comes to one's mind +with great force. To the north is Orchomenus and the Minyan treasure +house, seat of those merchant princes of Phoenicia who brought to Greece +the knowledge of letters and the art of working in gold. Thebes is at +our feet with the gloom of the terrible legends of Greek tragedy still +lingering about it, the birthplace of Pindar, the nurse of Epaminondas +and the Sacred Band. + +And from out of the plain where 'Mars loved to dance,' rises the Muses' +haunt, Helicon, by whose silver streams Corinna and Hesiod sang. While +far away under the white aegis of those snow-capped mountains lies +Chaeronea and the Lion plain where with vain chivalry the Greeks strove +to check Macedon first and afterwards Rome; Chaeronea, where in the +Martinmas summer of Greek civilisation Plutarch rose from the drear waste +of a dying religion as the aftermath rises when the mowers think they +have left the field bare. + +Greek philosophy began and ended in scepticism: the first and the last +word of Greek history was Faith. + +Splendid thus in its death, like winter sunsets, the Greek religion +passed away into the horror of night. For the Cimmerian darkness was at +hand, and when the schools of Athens were closed and the statue of Athena +broken, the Greek spirit passed from the gods and the history of its own +land to the subtleties of defining the doctrine of the Trinity and the +mystical attempts to bring Plato into harmony with Christ and to +reconcile Gethsemane and the Sermon on the Mount with the Athenian prison +and the discussion in the woods of Colonus. The Greek spirit slept for +wellnigh a thousand years. When it woke again, like Antaeus it had +gathered strength from the earth where it lay, like Apollo it had lost +none of its divinity through its long servitude. + +In the history of Roman thought we nowhere find any of those +characteristics of the Greek Illumination which I have pointed out are +the necessary concomitants of the rise of historical criticism. The +conservative respect for tradition which made the Roman people delight in +the ritual and formulas of law, and is as apparent in their politics as +in their religion, was fatal to any rise of that spirit of revolt against +authority the importance of which, as a factor in intellectual progress, +we have already seen. + +The whitened tables of the Pontifices preserved carefully the records of +the eclipses and other atmospherical phenomena, and what we call the art +of verifying dates was known to them at an early time; but there was no +spontaneous rise of physical science to suggest by its analogies of law +and order a new method of research, nor any natural springing up of the +questioning spirit of philosophy with its unification of all phenomena +and all knowledge. At the very time when the whole tide of Eastern +superstition was sweeping into the heart of the Capitol the Senate +banished the Greek philosophers from Rome. And of the three systems +which did at length take some root in the city those of Zeno and Epicurus +were merely used as the rule for the ordering of life, while the dogmatic +scepticism of Carneades, by its very principles, annihilated the +possibility of argument and encouraged a perfect indifference to +research. + +Nor were the Romans ever fortunate enough like the Greeks to have to face +the incubus of any dogmatic system of legends and myths, the immoralities +and absurdities of which might excite a revolutionary outbreak of +sceptical criticism. For the Roman religion became as it were +crystallised and isolated from progress at an early period of its +evolution. Their gods remained mere abstractions of commonplace virtues +or uninteresting personifications of the useful things of life. The old +primitive creed was indeed always upheld as a state institution on +account of the enormous facilities it offered for cheating in politics, +but as a spiritual system of belief it was unanimously rejected at a very +early period both by the common people and the educated classes, for the +sensible reason that it was so extremely dull. The former took refuge in +the mystic sensualities of the worship of Isis, the latter in the Stoical +rules of life. The Romans classified their gods carefully in their order +of precedence, analysed their genealogies in the laborious spirit of +modern heraldry, fenced them round with a ritual as intricate as their +law, but never quite cared enough about them to believe in them. So it +was of no account with them when the philosophers announced that Minerva +was merely memory. She had never been much else. Nor did they protest +when Lucretius dared to say of Ceres and of Liber that they were only the +corn of the field and the fruit of the vine. For they had never mourned +for the daughter of Demeter in the asphodel meadows of Sicily, nor +traversed the glades of Cithaeron with fawn-skin and with spear. + +This brief sketch of the condition of Roman thought will serve to prepare +us for the almost total want of scientific historical criticism which we +shall discern in their literature, and has, besides, afforded fresh +corroborations of the conditions essential to the rise of this spirit, +and of the modes of thought which it reflects and in which it is always +to be found. Roman historical composition had its origin in the +pontifical college of ecclesiastical lawyers, and preserved to its close +the uncritical spirit which characterised its fountain-head. It +possessed from the outset a most voluminous collection of the materials +of history, which, however, produced merely antiquarians, not historians. +It is so hard to use facts, so easy to accumulate them. + +Wearied of the dull monotony of the pontifical annals, which dwelt on +little else but the rise and fall in provisions and the eclipses of the +sun, Cato wrote out a history with his own hand for the instruction of +his child, to which he gave the name of Origines, and before his time +some aristocratic families had written histories in Greek much in the +same spirit in which the Germans of the eighteenth century used French as +the literary language. But the first regular Roman historian is Sallust. +Between the extravagant eulogies passed on this author by the French +(such as De Closset), and Dr. Mommsen's view of him as merely a political +pamphleteer, it is perhaps difficult to reach the via media of unbiassed +appreciation. He has, at any rate, the credit of being a purely +rationalistic historian, perhaps the only one in Roman literature. Cicero +had a good many qualifications for a scientific historian, and (as he +usually did) thought very highly of his own powers. On passages of +ancient legend, however, he is rather unsatisfactory, for while he is too +sensible to believe them he is too patriotic to reject them. And this is +really the attitude of Livy, who claims for early Roman legend a certain +uncritical homage from the rest of the subject world. His view in his +history is that it is not worth while to examine the truth of these +stories. + +In his hands the history of Rome unrolls before our eyes like some +gorgeous tapestry, where victory succeeds victory, where triumph treads +on the heels of triumph, and the line of heroes seems never to end. It +is not till we pass behind the canvas and see the slight means by which +the effect is produced that we apprehend the fact that like most +picturesque writers Livy is an indifferent critic. As regards his +attitude towards the credibility of early Roman history he is quite as +conscious as we are of its mythical and unsound nature. He will not, for +instance, decide whether the Horatii were Albans or Romans; who was the +first dictator; how many tribunes there were, and the like. His method, +as a rule, is merely to mention all the accounts and sometimes to decide +in favour of the most probable, but usually not to decide at all. No +canons of historical criticism will ever discover whether the Roman women +interviewed the mother of Coriolanus of their own accord or at the +suggestion of the senate; whether Remus was killed for jumping over his +brother's wall or because they quarrelled about birds; whether the +ambassadors found Cincinnatus ploughing or only mending a hedge. Livy +suspends his judgment over these important facts and history when +questioned on their truth is dumb. If he does select between two +historians he chooses the one who is nearer to the facts he describes. +But he is no critic, only a conscientious writer. It is mere vain waste +to dwell on his critical powers, for they do not exist. + +* * * * * + +In the case of Tacitus imagination has taken the place of history. The +past lives again in his pages, but through no laborious criticism; rather +through a dramatic and psychological faculty which he specially +possessed. + +In the philosophy of history he has no belief. He can never make up his +mind what to believe as regards God's government of the world. There is +no method in him and none elsewhere in Roman literature. + +Nations may not have missions but they certainly have functions. And the +function of ancient Italy was not merely to give us what is statical in +our institutions and rational in our law, but to blend into one elemental +creed the spiritual aspirations of Aryan and of Semite. Italy was not a +pioneer in intellectual progress, nor a motive power in the evolution of +thought. The owl of the goddess of Wisdom traversed over the whole land +and found nowhere a resting-place. The dove, which is the bird of +Christ, flew straight to the city of Rome and the new reign began. It +was the fashion of early Italian painters to represent in mediaeval +costume the soldiers who watched over the tomb of Christ, and this, which +was the result of the frank anachronism of all true art, may serve to us +as an allegory. For it was in vain that the middle ages strove to guard +the buried spirit of progress. When the dawn of the Greek spirit arose, +the sepulchre was empty, the grave-clothes laid aside. Humanity had +risen from the dead. + +The study of Greek, it has been well said, implies the birth of +criticism, comparison and research. At the opening of that education of +modern by ancient thought which we call the Renaissance, it was the words +of Aristotle which sent Columbus sailing to the New World, while a +fragment of Pythagorean astronomy set Copernicus thinking on that train +of reasoning which has revolutionised the whole position of our planet in +the universe. Then it was seen that the only meaning of progress is a +return to Greek modes of thought. The monkish hymns which obscured the +pages of Greek manuscripts were blotted out, the splendours of a new +method were unfolded to the world, and out of the melancholy sea of +mediaevalism rose the free spirit of man in all that splendour of glad +adolescence, when the bodily powers seem quickened by a new vitality, +when the eye sees more clearly than its wont and the mind apprehends what +was beforetime hidden from it. To herald the opening of the sixteenth +century, from the little Venetian printing press came forth all the great +authors of antiquity, each bearing on the title-page the words [Greek] +words which may serve to remind us with what wondrous prescience Polybius +saw the world's fate when he foretold the material sovereignty of Roman +institutions and exemplified in himself the intellectual empire of +Greece. + +The course of the study of the spirit of historical criticism has not +been a profitless investigation into modes and forms of thought now +antiquated and of no account. The only spirit which is entirely removed +from us is the mediaeval; the Greek spirit is essentially modern. The +introduction of the comparative method of research which has forced +history to disclose its secrets belongs in a measure to us. Ours, too, +is a more scientific knowledge of philology and the method of survival. +Nor did the ancients know anything of the doctrine of averages or of +crucial instances, both of which methods have proved of such importance +in modern criticism, the one adding a most important proof of the +statical elements of history, and exemplifying the influences of all +physical surroundings on the life of man; the other, as in the single +instance of the Moulin Quignon skull, serving to create a whole new +science of prehistoric archaeology and to bring us back to a time when +man was coeval with the stone age, the mammoth and the woolly rhinoceros. +But, except these, we have added no new canon or method to the science of +historical criticism. Across the drear waste of a thousand years the +Greek and the modern spirit join hands. + +In the torch race which the Greek boys ran from the Cerameician field of +death to the home of the goddess of Wisdom, not merely he who first +reached the goal but he also who first started with the torch aflame +received a prize. In the Lampadephoria of civilisation and free thought +let us not forget to render due meed of honour to those who first lit +that sacred flame, the increasing splendour of which lights our footsteps +to the far-off divine event of the attainment of perfect truth. + + + + +LA SAINTE COURTISANE; OR, THE WOMAN COVERED WITH JEWELS + + +The scene represents a corner of a valley in the Thebaid. On the right +hand of the stage is a cavern. In front of the cavern stands a great +crucifix. + +On the left [sand dunes]. + +The sky is blue like the inside of a cup of lapis lazuli. The hills are +of red sand. Here and there on the hills there are clumps of thorns. + +FIRST MAN. Who is she? She makes me afraid. She has a purple cloak and +her hair is like threads of gold. I think she must be the daughter of +the Emperor. I have heard the boatmen say that the Emperor has a +daughter who wears a cloak of purple. + +SECOND MAN. She has birds' wings upon her sandals, and her tunic is of +the colour of green corn. It is like corn in spring when she stands +still. It is like young corn troubled by the shadows of hawks when she +moves. The pearls on her tunic are like many moons. + +FIRST MAN. They are like the moons one sees in the water when the wind +blows from the hills. + +SECOND MAN. I think she is one of the gods. I think she comes from +Nubia. + +FIRST MAN. I am sure she is the daughter of the Emperor. Her nails are +stained with henna. They are like the petals of a rose. She has come +here to weep for Adonis. + +SECOND MAN. She is one of the gods. I do not know why she has left her +temple. The gods should not leave their temples. If she speaks to us +let us not answer and she will pass by. + +FIRST MAN. She will not speak to us. She is the daughter of the +Emperor. + +MYRRHINA. Dwells he not here, the beautiful young hermit, he who will +not look on the face of woman? + +FIRST MAN. Of a truth it is here the hermit dwells. + +MYRRHINA. Why will he not look on the face of woman? + +SECOND MAN. We do not know. + +MYRRHINA. Why do ye yourselves not look at me? + +FIRST MAN. You are covered with bright stones, and you dazzle our eyes. + +SECOND MAN. He who looks at the sun becomes blind. You are too bright +to look at. It is not wise to look at things that are very bright. Many +of the priests in the temples are blind, and have slaves to lead them. + +MYRRHINA. Where does he dwell, the beautiful young hermit who will not +look on the face of woman? Has he a house of reeds or a house of burnt +clay or does he lie on the hillside? Or does he make his bed in the +rushes? + +FIRST MAN. He dwells in that cavern yonder. + +MYRRHINA. What a curious place to dwell in. + +FIRST MAN. Of old a centaur lived there. When the hermit came the +centaur gave a shrill cry, wept and lamented, and galloped away. + +SECOND MAN. No. It was a white unicorn who lived in the cave. When it +saw the hermit coming the unicorn knelt down and worshipped him. Many +people saw it worshipping him. + +FIRST MAN. I have talked with people who saw it. + +. . . . . + +SECOND MAN. Some say he was a hewer of wood and worked for hire. But +that may not be true. + +. . . . . + +MYRRHINA. What gods then do ye worship? Or do ye worship any gods? +There are those who have no gods to worship. The philosophers who wear +long beards and brown cloaks have no gods to worship. They wrangle with +each other in the porticoes. The [ ] laugh at them. + +FIRST MAN. We worship seven gods. We may not tell their names. It is a +very dangerous thing to tell the names of the gods. No one should ever +tell the name of his god. Even the priests who praise the gods all day +long, and eat of their food with them, do not call them by their right +names. + +MYRRHINA. Where are these gods ye worship? + +FIRST MAN. We hide them in the folds of our tunics. We do not show them +to any one. If we showed them to any one they might leave us. + +MYRRHINA. Where did ye meet with them? + +FIRST MAN. They were given to us by an embalmer of the dead who had +found them in a tomb. We served him for seven years. + +MYRRHINA. The dead are terrible. I am afraid of Death. + +FIRST MAN. Death is not a god. He is only the servant of the gods. + +MYRRHINA. He is the only god I am afraid of. Ye have seen many of the +gods? + +FIRST MAN. We have seen many of them. One sees them chiefly at night +time. They pass one by very swiftly. Once we saw some of the gods at +daybreak. They were walking across a plain. + +MYRRHINA. Once as I was passing through the market place I heard a +sophist from Cilicia say that there is only one God. He said it before +many people. + +FIRST MAN. That cannot be true. We have ourselves seen many, though we +are but common men and of no account. When I saw them I hid myself in a +bush. They did me no harm. + +MYRRHINA. Tell me more about the beautiful young hermit. Talk to me +about the beautiful young hermit who will not look on the face of woman. +What is the story of his days? What mode of life has he? + +FIRST MAN. We do not understand you. + +MYRRHINA. What does he do, the beautiful young hermit? Does he sow or +reap? Does he plant a garden or catch fish in a net? Does he weave +linen on a loom? Does he set his hand to the wooden plough and walk +behind the oxen? + +SECOND MAN. He being a very holy man does nothing. We are common men +and of no account. We toil all day long in the sun. Sometimes the +ground is very hard. + +MYRRHINA. Do the birds of the air feed him? Do the jackals share their +booty with him? + +FIRST MAN. Every evening we bring him food. We do not think that the +birds of the air feed him. + +MYRRHINA. Why do ye feed him? What profit have ye in so doing? + +SECOND MAN. He is a very holy man. One of the gods whom he has offended +has made him mad. We think he has offended the moon. + +MYRRHINA. Go and tell him that one who has come from Alexandria desires +to speak with him. + +FIRST MAN. We dare not tell him. This hour he is praying to his God. We +pray thee to pardon us for not doing thy bidding. + +MYRRHINA. Are ye afraid of him? + +FIRST MAN. We are afraid of him. + +MYRRHINA. Why are ye afraid of him? + +FIRST MAN. We do not know. + +MYRRHINA. What is his name? + +FIRST MAN. The voice that speaks to him at night time in the cavern +calls to him by the name of Honorius. It was also by the name of +Honorius that the three lepers who passed by once called to him. We +think that his name is Honorius. + +MYRRHINA. Why did the three lepers call to him? + +FIRST MAN. That he might heal them. + +MYRRHINA. Did he heal them? + +SECOND MAN. No. They had committed some sin: it was for that reason +they were lepers. Their hands and faces were like salt. One of them +wore a mask of linen. He was a king's son. + +MYRRHINA. What is the voice that speaks to him at night time in his +cave? + +FIRST MAN. We do not know whose voice it is. We think it is the voice +of his God. For we have seen no man enter his cavern nor any come forth +from it. + +MYRRHINA. Honorius. + +HONORIUS (from within). Who calls Honorius? + +. . . . . + +MYRRHINA. Come forth, Honorius. + +. . . . . + +My chamber is ceiled with cedar and odorous with myrrh. The pillars of +my bed are of cedar and the hangings are of purple. My bed is strewn +with purple and the steps are of silver. The hangings are sewn with +silver pomegranates and the steps that are of silver are strewn with +saffron and with myrrh. My lovers hang garlands round the pillars of my +house. At night time they come with the flute players and the players of +the harp. They woo me with apples and on the pavement of my courtyard +they write my name in wine. + +From the uttermost parts of the world my lovers come to me. The kings of +the earth come to me and bring me presents. + +When the Emperor of Byzantium heard of me he left his porphyry chamber +and set sail in his galleys. His slaves bare no torches that none might +know of his coming. When the King of Cyprus heard of me he sent me +ambassadors. The two Kings of Libya who are brothers brought me gifts of +amber. + +I took the minion of Caesar from Caesar and made him my playfellow. He +came to me at night in a litter. He was pale as a narcissus, and his +body was like honey. + +The son of the Praefect slew himself in my honour, and the Tetrarch of +Cilicia scourged himself for my pleasure before my slaves. + +The King of Hierapolis who is a priest and a robber set carpets for me to +walk on. + +Sometimes I sit in the circus and the gladiators fight beneath me. Once +a Thracian who was my lover was caught in the net. I gave the signal for +him to die and the whole theatre applauded. Sometimes I pass through the +gymnasium and watch the young men wrestling or in the race. Their bodies +are bright with oil and their brows are wreathed with willow sprays and +with myrtle. They stamp their feet on the sand when they wrestle and +when they run the sand follows them like a little cloud. He at whom I +smile leaves his companions and follows me to my home. At other times I +go down to the harbour and watch the merchants unloading their vessels. +Those that come from Tyre have cloaks of silk and earrings of emerald. +Those that come from Massilia have cloaks of fine wool and earrings of +brass. When they see me coming they stand on the prows of their ships +and call to me, but I do not answer them. I go to the little taverns +where the sailors lie all day long drinking black wine and playing with +dice and I sit down with them. + +I made the Prince my slave, and his slave who was a Tyrian I made my Lord +for the space of a moon. + +I put a figured ring on his finger and brought him to my house. I have +wonderful things in my house. + +The dust of the desert lies on your hair and your feet are scratched with +thorns and your body is scorched by the sun. Come with me, Honorius, and +I will clothe you in a tunic of silk. I will smear your body with myrrh +and pour spikenard on your hair. I will clothe you in hyacinth and put +honey in your mouth. Love-- + +HONORIUS. There is no love but the love of God. + +MYRRHINA. Who is He whose love is greater than that of mortal men? + +HONORIUS. It is He whom thou seest on the cross, Myrrhina. He is the +Son of God and was born of a virgin. Three wise men who were kings +brought Him offerings, and the shepherds who were lying on the hills were +wakened by a great light. + +The Sibyls knew of His coming. The groves and the oracles spake of Him. +David and the prophets announced Him. There is no love like the love of +God nor any love that can be compared to it. + +The body is vile, Myrrhina. God will raise thee up with a new body which +will not know corruption, and thou wilt dwell in the Courts of the Lord +and see Him whose hair is like fine wool and whose feet are of brass. + +MYRRHINA. The beauty . . . + +HONORIUS. The beauty of the soul increases till it can see God. +Therefore, Myrrhina, repent of thy sins. The robber who was crucified +beside Him He brought into Paradise. [Exit. + +MYRRHINA. How strangely he spake to me. And with what scorn did he +regard me. I wonder why he spake to me so strangely. + +. . . . . + +HONORIUS. Myrrhina, the scales have fallen from my eyes and I see now +clearly what I did not see before. Take me to Alexandria and let me +taste of the seven sins. + +MYRRHINA. Do not mock me, Honorius, nor speak to me with such bitter +words. For I have repented of my sins and I am seeking a cavern in this +desert where I too may dwell so that my soul may become worthy to see +God. + +HONORIUS. The sun is setting, Myrrhina. Come with me to Alexandria. + +MYRRHINA. I will not go to Alexandria. + +HONORIUS. Farewell, Myrrhina. + +MYRRHINA. Honorius, farewell. No, no, do not go. + +. . . . . + +I have cursed my beauty for what it has done, and cursed the wonder of my +body for the evil that it has brought upon you. + +Lord, this man brought me to Thy feet. He told me of Thy coming upon +earth, and of the wonder of Thy birth, and the great wonder of Thy death +also. By him, O Lord, Thou wast revealed to me. + +HONORIUS. You talk as a child, Myrrhina, and without knowledge. Loosen +your hands. Why didst thou come to this valley in thy beauty? + +MYRRHINA. The God whom thou worshippest led me here that I might repent +of my iniquities and know Him as the Lord. + +HONORIUS. Why didst thou tempt me with words? + +MYRRHINA. That thou shouldst see Sin in its painted mask and look on +Death in its robe of Shame. + + + + +THE ENGLISH RENAISSANCE OF ART + + +'The English Renaissance of Art' was delivered as a lecture for the first +time in the Chickering Hall, New York, on January 9, 1882. A portion of +it was reported in the New York Tribune on the following day and in other +American papers subsequently. Since then this portion has been +reprinted, more or less accurately, from time to time, in unauthorised +editions, but not more than one quarter of the lecture has ever been +published. + +There are in existence no less than four copies of the lecture, the +earliest of which is entirely in the author's handwriting. The others +are type-written and contain many corrections and additions made by the +author in manuscript. These have all been collated and the text here +given contains, as nearly as possible, the lecture in its original form +as delivered by the author during his tour in the United States. + +Among the many debts which we owe to the supreme aesthetic faculty of +Goethe is that he was the first to teach us to define beauty in terms the +most concrete possible, to realise it, I mean, always in its special +manifestations. So, in the lecture which I have the honour to deliver +before you, I will not try to give you any abstract definition of +beauty--any such universal formula for it as was sought for by the +philosophy of the eighteenth century--still less to communicate to you +that which in its essence is incommunicable, the virtue by which a +particular picture or poem affects us with a unique and special joy; but +rather to point out to you the general ideas which characterise the great +English Renaissance of Art in this century, to discover their source, as +far as that is possible, and to estimate their future as far as that is +possible. + +I call it our English Renaissance because it is indeed a sort of new +birth of the spirit of man, like the great Italian Renaissance of the +fifteenth century, in its desire for a more gracious and comely way of +life, its passion for physical beauty, its exclusive attention to form, +its seeking for new subjects for poetry, new forms of art, new +intellectual and imaginative enjoyments: and I call it our romantic +movement because it is our most recent expression of beauty. + +It has been described as a mere revival of Greek modes of thought, and +again as a mere revival of mediaeval feeling. Rather I would say that to +these forms of the human spirit it has added whatever of artistic value +the intricacy and complexity and experience of modern life can give: +taking from the one its clearness of vision and its sustained calm, from +the other its variety of expression and the mystery of its vision. For +what, as Goethe said, is the study of the ancients but a return to the +real world (for that is what they did); and what, said Mazzini, is +mediaevalism but individuality? + +It is really from the union of Hellenism, in its breadth, its sanity of +purpose, its calm possession of beauty, with the adventive, the +intensified individualism, the passionate colour of the romantic spirit, +that springs the art of the nineteenth century in England, as from the +marriage of Faust and Helen of Troy sprang the beautiful boy Euphorion. + +Such expressions as 'classical' and 'romantic' are, it is true, often apt +to become the mere catchwords of schools. We must always remember that +art has only one sentence to utter: there is for her only one high law, +the law of form or harmony--yet between the classical and romantic spirit +we may say that there lies this difference at least, that the one deals +with the type and the other with the exception. In the work produced +under the modern romantic spirit it is no longer the permanent, the +essential truths of life that are treated of; it is the momentary +situation of the one, the momentary aspect of the other that art seeks to +render. In sculpture, which is the type of one spirit, the subject +predominates over the situation; in painting, which is the type of the +other, the situation predominates over the subject. + +There are two spirits, then: the Hellenic spirit and the spirit of +romance may be taken as forming the essential elements of our conscious +intellectual tradition, of our permanent standard of taste. As regards +their origin, in art as in politics there is but one origin for all +revolutions, a desire on the part of man for a nobler form of life, for a +freer method and opportunity of expression. Yet, I think that in +estimating the sensuous and intellectual spirit which presides over our +English Renaissance, any attempt to isolate it in any way from the +progress and movement and social life of the age that has produced it +would be to rob it of its true vitality, possibly to mistake its true +meaning. And in disengaging from the pursuits and passions of this +crowded modern world those passions and pursuits which have to do with +art and the love of art, we must take into account many great events of +history which seem to be the most opposed to any such artistic feeling. + +Alien then from any wild, political passion, or from the harsh voice of a +rude people in revolt, as our English Renaissance must seem, in its +passionate cult of pure beauty, its flawless devotion to form, its +exclusive and sensitive nature, it is to the French Revolution that we +must look for the most primary factor of its production, the first +condition of its birth: that great Revolution of which we are all the +children, though the voices of some of us be often loud against it; that +Revolution to which at a time when even such spirits as Coleridge and +Wordsworth lost heart in England, noble messages of love blown across +seas came from your young Republic. + +It is true that our modern sense of the continuity of history has shown +us that neither in politics nor in nature are there revolutions ever but +evolutions only, and that the prelude to that wild storm which swept over +France in '89 and made every king in Europe tremble for his throne, was +first sounded in literature years before the Bastille fell and the Palace +was taken. The way for those red scenes by Seine and Loire was paved by +that critical spirit of Germany and England which accustomed men to bring +all things to the test of reason or utility or both, while the discontent +of the people in the streets of Paris was the echo that followed the life +of Emile and of Werther. For Rousseau, by silent lake and mountain, had +called humanity back to the golden age that still lies before us and +preached a return to nature, in passionate eloquence whose music still +lingers about our keen northern air. And Goethe and Scott had brought +romance back again from the prison she had lain in for so many +centuries--and what is romance but humanity? + +Yet in the womb of the Revolution itself, and in the storm and terror of +that wild time, tendencies were hidden away that the artistic Renaissance +bent to her own service when the time came--a scientific tendency first, +which has borne in our own day a brood of somewhat noisy Titans, yet in +the sphere of poetry has not been unproductive of good. I do not mean +merely in its adding to enthusiasm that intellectual basis which is its +strength, or that more obvious influence about which Wordsworth was +thinking when he said very nobly that poetry was merely the impassioned +expression in the face of science, and that when science would put on a +form of flesh and blood the poet would lend his divine spirit to aid the +transfiguration. Nor do I dwell much on the great cosmical emotion and +deep pantheism of science to which Shelley has given its first and +Swinburne its latest glory of song, but rather on its influence on the +artistic spirit in preserving that close observation and the sense of +limitation as well as of clearness of vision which are the +characteristics of the real artist. + +The great and golden rule of art as well as of life, wrote William Blake, +is that the more distinct, sharp and defined the boundary line, the more +perfect is the work of art; and the less keen and sharp the greater is +the evidence of weak imitation, plagiarism and bungling. 'Great +inventors in all ages knew this--Michael Angelo and Albert Durer are +known by this and by this alone'; and another time he wrote, with all the +simple directness of nineteenth-century prose, 'to generalise is to be an +idiot.' + +And this love of definite conception, this clearness of vision, this +artistic sense of limit, is the characteristic of all great work and +poetry; of the vision of Homer as of the vision of Dante, of Keats and +William Morris as of Chaucer and Theocritus. It lies at the base of all +noble, realistic and romantic work as opposed to colourless and empty +abstractions of our own eighteenth-century poets and of the classical +dramatists of France, or of the vague spiritualities of the German +sentimental school: opposed, too, to that spirit of transcendentalism +which also was root and flower itself of the great Revolution, underlying +the impassioned contemplation of Wordsworth and giving wings and fire to +the eagle-like flight of Shelley, and which in the sphere of philosophy, +though displaced by the materialism and positiveness of our day, +bequeathed two great schools of thought, the school of Newman to Oxford, +the school of Emerson to America. Yet is this spirit of +transcendentalism alien to the spirit of art. For the artist can accept +no sphere of life in exchange for life itself. For him there is no +escape from the bondage of the earth: there is not even the desire of +escape. + +He is indeed the only true realist: symbolism, which is the essence of +the transcendental spirit, is alien to him. The metaphysical mind of +Asia will create for itself the monstrous, many-breasted idol of Ephesus, +but to the Greek, pure artist, that work is most instinct with spiritual +life which conforms most clearly to the perfect facts of physical life. + +'The storm of revolution,' as Andre Chenier said, 'blows out the torch of +poetry.' It is not for some little time that the real influence of such +a wild cataclysm of things is felt: at first the desire for equality +seems to have produced personalities of more giant and Titan stature than +the world had ever known before. Men heard the lyre of Byron and the +legions of Napoleon; it was a period of measureless passions and of +measureless despair; ambition, discontent, were the chords of life and +art; the age was an age of revolt: a phase through which the human spirit +must pass but one in which it cannot rest. For the aim of culture is not +rebellion but peace, the valley perilous where ignorant armies clash by +night being no dwelling-place meet for her to whom the gods have assigned +the fresh uplands and sunny heights and clear, untroubled air. + +And soon that desire for perfection, which lay at the base of the +Revolution, found in a young English poet its most complete and flawless +realisation. + +Phidias and the achievements of Greek art are foreshadowed in Homer: +Dante prefigures for us the passion and colour and intensity of Italian +painting: the modern love of landscape dates from Rousseau, and it is in +Keats that one discerns the beginning of the artistic renaissance of +England. + +Byron was a rebel and Shelley a dreamer; but in the calmness and +clearness of his vision, his perfect self-control, his unerring sense of +beauty and his recognition of a separate realm for the imagination, Keats +was the pure and serene artist, the forerunner of the pre-Raphaelite +school, and so of the great romantic movement of which I am to speak. + +Blake had indeed, before him, claimed for art a lofty, spiritual mission, +and had striven to raise design to the ideal level of poetry and music, +but the remoteness of his vision both in painting and poetry and the +incompleteness of his technical powers had been adverse to any real +influence. It is in Keats that the artistic spirit of this century first +found its absolute incarnation. + +And these pre-Raphaelites, what were they? If you ask nine-tenths of the +British public what is the meaning of the word aesthetics, they will tell +you it is the French for affectation or the German for a dado; and if you +inquire about the pre-Raphaelites you will hear something about an +eccentric lot of young men to whom a sort of divine crookedness and holy +awkwardness in drawing were the chief objects of art. To know nothing +about their great men is one of the necessary elements of English +education. + +As regards the pre-Raphaelites the story is simple enough. In the year +1847 a number of young men in London, poets and painters, passionate +admirers of Keats all of them, formed the habit of meeting together for +discussions on art, the result of such discussions being that the English +Philistine public was roused suddenly from its ordinary apathy by hearing +that there was in its midst a body of young men who had determined to +revolutionise English painting and poetry. They called themselves the +pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. + +In England, then as now, it was enough for a man to try and produce any +serious beautiful work to lose all his rights as a citizen; and besides +this, the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood--among whom the names of Dante +Rossetti, Holman Hunt and Millais will be familiar to you--had on their +side three things that the English public never forgives: youth, power +and enthusiasm. + +Satire, always as sterile as it is shameful and as impotent as it is +insolent, paid them that usual homage which mediocrity pays to +genius--doing, here as always, infinite harm to the public, blinding them +to what is beautiful, teaching them that irreverence which is the source +of all vileness and narrowness of life, but harming the artist not at +all, rather confirming him in the perfect rightness of his work and +ambition. For to disagree with three-fourths of the British public on +all points is one of the first elements of sanity, one of the deepest +consolations in all moments of spiritual doubt. + +As regards the ideas these young men brought to the regeneration of +English art, we may see at the base of their artistic creations a desire +for a deeper spiritual value to be given to art as well as a more +decorative value. + +Pre-Raphaelites they called themselves; not that they imitated the early +Italian masters at all, but that in their work, as opposed to the facile +abstractions of Raphael, they found a stronger realism of imagination, a +more careful realism of technique, a vision at once more fervent and more +vivid, an individuality more intimate and more intense. + +For it is not enough that a work of art should conform to the aesthetic +demands of its age: there must be also about it, if it is to affect us +with any permanent delight, the impress of a distinct individuality, an +individuality remote from that of ordinary men, and coming near to us +only by virtue of a certain newness and wonder in the work, and through +channels whose very strangeness makes us more ready to give them welcome. + +La personalite, said one of the greatest of modern French critics, voila +ce qui nous sauvera. + +But above all things was it a return to Nature--that formula which seems +to suit so many and such diverse movements: they would draw and paint +nothing but what they saw, they would try and imagine things as they +really happened. Later there came to the old house by Blackfriars +Bridge, where this young brotherhood used to meet and work, two young men +from Oxford, Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris--the latter +substituting for the simpler realism of the early days a more exquisite +spirit of choice, a more faultless devotion to beauty, a more intense +seeking for perfection: a master of all exquisite design and of all +spiritual vision. It is of the school of Florence rather than of that of +Venice that he is kinsman, feeling that the close imitation of Nature is +a disturbing element in imaginative art. The visible aspect of modern +life disturbs him not; rather is it for him to render eternal all that is +beautiful in Greek, Italian, and Celtic legend. To Morris we owe poetry +whose perfect precision and clearness of word and vision has not been +excelled in the literature of our country, and by the revival of the +decorative arts he has given to our individualised romantic movement the +social idea and the social factor also. + +But the revolution accomplished by this clique of young men, with +Ruskin's faultless and fervent eloquence to help them, was not one of +ideas merely but of execution, not one of conceptions but of creations. + +For the great eras in the history of the development of all the arts have +been eras not of increased feeling or enthusiasm in feeling for art, but +of new technical improvements primarily and specially. The discovery of +marble quarries in the purple ravines of Pentelicus and on the little low- +lying hills of the island of Paros gave to the Greeks the opportunity for +that intensified vitality of action, that more sensuous and simple +humanism, to which the Egyptian sculptor working laboriously in the hard +porphyry and rose-coloured granite of the desert could not attain. The +splendour of the Venetian school began with the introduction of the new +oil medium for painting. The progress in modern music has been due to +the invention of new instruments entirely, and in no way to an increased +consciousness on the part of the musician of any wider social aim. The +critic may try and trace the deferred resolutions of Beethoven {253} to +some sense of the incompleteness of the modern intellectual spirit, but +the artist would have answered, as one of them did afterwards, 'Let them +pick out the fifths and leave us at peace.' + +And so it is in poetry also: all this love of curious French metres like +the Ballade, the Villanelle, the Rondel; all this increased value laid on +elaborate alliterations, and on curious words and refrains, such as you +will find in Dante Rossetti and Swinburne, is merely the attempt to +perfect flute and viol and trumpet through which the spirit of the age +and the lips of the poet may blow the music of their many messages. + +And so it has been with this romantic movement of ours: it is a reaction +against the empty conventional workmanship, the lax execution of previous +poetry and painting, showing itself in the work of such men as Rossetti +and Burne-Jones by a far greater splendour of colour, a far more +intricate wonder of design than English imaginative art has shown before. +In Rossetti's poetry and the poetry of Morris, Swinburne and Tennyson a +perfect precision and choice of language, a style flawless and fearless, +a seeking for all sweet and precious melodies and a sustaining +consciousness of the musical value of each word are opposed to that value +which is merely intellectual. In this respect they are one with the +romantic movement of France of which not the least characteristic note +was struck by Theophile Gautier's advice to the young poet to read his +dictionary every day, as being the only book worth a poet's reading. + +While, then, the material of workmanship is being thus elaborated and +discovered to have in itself incommunicable and eternal qualities of its +own, qualities entirely satisfying to the poetic sense and not needing +for their aesthetic effect any lofty intellectual vision, any deep +criticism of life or even any passionate human emotion at all, the spirit +and the method of the poet's working--what people call his +inspiration--have not escaped the controlling influence of the artistic +spirit. Not that the imagination has lost its wings, but we have +accustomed ourselves to count their innumerable pulsations, to estimate +their limitless strength, to govern their ungovernable freedom. + +To the Greeks this problem of the conditions of poetic production, and +the places occupied by either spontaneity or self-consciousness in any +artistic work, had a peculiar fascination. We find it in the mysticism +of Plato and in the rationalism of Aristotle. We find it later in the +Italian Renaissance agitating the minds of such men as Leonardo da Vinci. +Schiller tried to adjust the balance between form and feeling, and Goethe +to estimate the position of self-consciousness in art. Wordsworth's +definition of poetry as 'emotion remembered in tranquillity' may be taken +as an analysis of one of the stages through which all imaginative work +has to pass; and in Keats's longing to be 'able to compose without this +fever' (I quote from one of his letters), his desire to substitute for +poetic ardour 'a more thoughtful and quiet power,' we may discern the +most important moment in the evolution of that artistic life. The +question made an early and strange appearance in your literature too; and +I need not remind you how deeply the young poets of the French romantic +movement were excited and stirred by Edgar Allan Poe's analysis of the +workings of his own imagination in the creating of that supreme +imaginative work which we know by the name of The Raven. + +In the last century, when the intellectual and didactic element had +intruded to such an extent into the kingdom which belongs to poetry, it +was against the claims of the understanding that an artist like Goethe +had to protest. 'The more incomprehensible to the understanding a poem +is the better for it,' he said once, asserting the complete supremacy of +the imagination in poetry as of reason in prose. But in this century it +is rather against the claims of the emotional faculties, the claims of +mere sentiment and feeling, that the artist must react. The simple +utterance of joy is not poetry any more than a mere personal cry of pain, +and the real experiences of the artist are always those which do not find +their direct expression but are gathered up and absorbed into some +artistic form which seems, from such real experiences, to be the farthest +removed and the most alien. + +'The heart contains passion but the imagination alone contains poetry,' +says Charles Baudelaire. This too was the lesson that Theophile Gautier, +most subtle of all modern critics, most fascinating of all modern poets, +was never tired of teaching--'Everybody is affected by a sunrise or a +sunset.' The absolute distinction of the artist is not his capacity to +feel nature so much as his power of rendering it. The entire +subordination of all intellectual and emotional faculties to the vital +and informing poetic principle is the surest sign of the strength of our +Renaissance. + +We have seen the artistic spirit working, first in the delightful and +technical sphere of language, the sphere of expression as opposed to +subject, then controlling the imagination of the poet in dealing with his +subject. And now I would point out to you its operation in the choice of +subject. The recognition of a separate realm for the artist, a +consciousness of the absolute difference between the world of art and the +world of real fact, between classic grace and absolute reality, forms not +merely the essential element of any aesthetic charm but is the +characteristic of all great imaginative work and of all great eras of +artistic creation--of the age of Phidias as of the age of Michael Angelo, +of the age of Sophocles as of the age of Goethe. + +Art never harms itself by keeping aloof from the social problems of the +day: rather, by so doing, it more completely realises for us that which +we desire. For to most of us the real life is the life we do not lead, +and thus, remaining more true to the essence of its own perfection, more +jealous of its own unattainable beauty, is less likely to forget form in +feeling or to accept the passion of creation as any substitute for the +beauty of the created thing. + +The artist is indeed the child of his own age, but the present will not +be to him a whit more real than the past; for, like the philosopher of +the Platonic vision, the poet is the spectator of all time and of all +existence. For him no form is obsolete, no subject out of date; rather, +whatever of life and passion the world has known, in desert of Judaea or +in Arcadian valley, by the rivers of Troy or the rivers of Damascus, in +the crowded and hideous streets of a modern city or by the pleasant ways +of Camelot--all lies before him like an open scroll, all is still +instinct with beautiful life. He will take of it what is salutary for +his own spirit, no more; choosing some facts and rejecting others with +the calm artistic control of one who is in possession of the secret of +beauty. + +There is indeed a poetical attitude to be adopted towards all things, but +all things are not fit subjects for poetry. Into the secure and sacred +house of Beauty the true artist will admit nothing that is harsh or +disturbing, nothing that gives pain, nothing that is debatable, nothing +about which men argue. He can steep himself, if he wishes, in the +discussion of all the social problems of his day, poor-laws and local +taxation, free trade and bimetallic currency, and the like; but when he +writes on these subjects it will be, as Milton nobly expressed it, with +his left hand, in prose and not in verse, in a pamphlet and not in a +lyric. This exquisite spirit of artistic choice was not in Byron: +Wordsworth had it not. In the work of both these men there is much that +we have to reject, much that does not give us that sense of calm and +perfect repose which should be the effect of all fine, imaginative work. +But in Keats it seemed to have been incarnate, and in his lovely Ode on a +Grecian Urn it found its most secure and faultless expression; in the +pageant of The Earthly Paradise and the knights and ladies of Burne-Jones +it is the one dominant note. + +It is to no avail that the Muse of Poetry be called, even by such a +clarion note as Whitman's, to migrate from Greece and Ionia and to +placard REMOVED and TO LET on the rocks of the snowy Parnassus. +Calliope's call is not yet closed, nor are the epics of Asia ended; the +Sphinx is not yet silent, nor the fountain of Castaly dry. For art is +very life itself and knows nothing of death; she is absolute truth and +takes no care of fact; she sees (as I remember Mr. Swinburne insisting on +at dinner) that Achilles is even now more actual and real than +Wellington, not merely more noble and interesting as a type and figure +but more positive and real. + +Literature must rest always on a principle, and temporal considerations +are no principle at all. For to the poet all times and places are one; +the stuff he deals with is eternal and eternally the same: no theme is +inept, no past or present preferable. The steam whistle will not +affright him nor the flutes of Arcadia weary him: for him there is but +one time, the artistic moment; but one law, the law of form; but one +land, the land of Beauty--a land removed indeed from the real world and +yet more sensuous because more enduring; calm, yet with that calm which +dwells in the faces of the Greek statues, the calm which comes not from +the rejection but from the absorption of passion, the calm which despair +and sorrow cannot disturb but intensify only. And so it comes that he +who seems to stand most remote from his age is he who mirrors it best, +because he has stripped life of what is accidental and transitory, +stripped it of that 'mist of familiarity which makes life obscure to us.' + +Those strange, wild-eyed sibyls fixed eternally in the whirlwind of +ecstasy, those mighty-limbed and Titan prophets, labouring with the +secret of the earth and the burden of mystery, that guard and glorify the +chapel of Pope Sixtus at Rome--do they not tell us more of the real +spirit of the Italian Renaissance, of the dream of Savonarola and of the +sin of Borgia, than all the brawling boors and cooking women of Dutch art +can teach us of the real spirit of the history of Holland? + +And so in our own day, also, the two most vital tendencies of the +nineteenth century--the democratic and pantheistic tendency and the +tendency to value life for the sake of art--found their most complete and +perfect utterance in the poetry of Shelley and Keats who, to the blind +eyes of their own time, seemed to be as wanderers in the wilderness, +preachers of vague or unreal things. And I remember once, in talking to +Mr. Burne-Jones about modern science, his saying to me, 'the more +materialistic science becomes, the more angels shall I paint: their wings +are my protest in favour of the immortality of the soul.' + +But these are the intellectual speculations that underlie art. Where in +the arts themselves are we to find that breadth of human sympathy which +is the condition of all noble work; where in the arts are we to look for +what Mazzini would call the social ideas as opposed to the merely +personal ideas? By virtue of what claim do I demand for the artist the +love and loyalty of the men and women of the world? I think I can answer +that. + +Whatever spiritual message an artist brings to his aid is a matter for +his own soul. He may bring judgment like Michael Angelo or peace like +Angelico; he may come with mourning like the great Athenian or with mirth +like the singer of Sicily; nor is it for us to do aught but accept his +teaching, knowing that we cannot smite the bitter lips of Leopardi into +laughter or burden with our discontent Goethe's serene calm. But for +warrant of its truth such message must have the flame of eloquence in the +lips that speak it, splendour and glory in the vision that is its +witness, being justified by one thing only--the flawless beauty and +perfect form of its expression: this indeed being the social idea, being +the meaning of joy in art. + +Not laughter where none should laugh, nor the calling of peace where +there is no peace; not in painting the subject ever, but the pictorial +charm only, the wonder of its colour, the satisfying beauty of its +design. + +You have most of you seen, probably, that great masterpiece of Rubens +which hangs in the gallery of Brussels, that swift and wonderful pageant +of horse and rider arrested in its most exquisite and fiery moment when +the winds are caught in crimson banner and the air lit by the gleam of +armour and the flash of plume. Well, that is joy in art, though that +golden hillside be trodden by the wounded feet of Christ and it is for +the death of the Son of Man that that gorgeous cavalcade is passing. + +But this restless modern intellectual spirit of ours is not receptive +enough of the sensuous element of art; and so the real influence of the +arts is hidden from many of us: only a few, escaping from the tyranny of +the soul, have learned the secret of those high hours when thought is +not. + +And this indeed is the reason of the influence which Eastern art is +having on us in Europe, and of the fascination of all Japanese work. +While the Western world has been laying on art the intolerable burden of +its own intellectual doubts and the spiritual tragedy of its own sorrows, +the East has always kept true to art's primary and pictorial conditions. + +In judging of a beautiful statue the aesthetic faculty is absolutely and +completely gratified by the splendid curves of those marble lips that are +dumb to our complaint, the noble modelling of those limbs that are +powerless to help us. In its primary aspect a painting has no more +spiritual message or meaning than an exquisite fragment of Venetian glass +or a blue tile from the wall of Damascus: it is a beautifully coloured +surface, nothing more. The channels by which all noble imaginative work +in painting should touch, and do touch the soul, are not those of the +truths of life, nor metaphysical truths. But that pictorial charm which +does not depend on any literary reminiscence for its effect on the one +hand, nor is yet a mere result of communicable technical skill on the +other, comes of a certain inventive and creative handling of colour. +Nearly always in Dutch painting and often in the works of Giorgione or +Titian, it is entirely independent of anything definitely poetical in the +subject, a kind of form and choice in workmanship which is itself +entirely satisfying, and is (as the Greeks would say) an end in itself. + +And so in poetry too, the real poetical quality, the joy of poetry, comes +never from the subject but from an inventive handling of rhythmical +language, from what Keats called the 'sensuous life of verse.' The +element of song in the singing accompanied by the profound joy of motion, +is so sweet that, while the incomplete lives of ordinary men bring no +healing power with them, the thorn-crown of the poet will blossom into +roses for our pleasure; for our delight his despair will gild its own +thorns, and his pain, like Adonis, be beautiful in its agony; and when +the poet's heart breaks it will break in music. + +And health in art--what is that? It has nothing to do with a sane +criticism of life. There is more health in Baudelaire than there is in +[Kingsley]. Health is the artist's recognition of the limitations of the +form in which he works. It is the honour and the homage which he gives +to the material he uses--whether it be language with its glories, or +marble or pigment with their glories--knowing that the true brotherhood +of the arts consists not in their borrowing one another's method, but in +their producing, each of them by its own individual means, each of them +by keeping its objective limits, the same unique artistic delight. The +delight is like that given to us by music--for music is the art in which +form and matter are always one, the art whose subject cannot be separated +from the method of its expression, the art which most completely realises +the artistic ideal, and is the condition to which all the other arts are +constantly aspiring. + +And criticism--what place is that to have in our culture? Well, I think +that the first duty of an art critic is to hold his tongue at all times, +and upon all subjects: C'est une grande avantage de n'avoir rien fait, +mais il ne faut pas en abuser. + +It is only through the mystery of creation that one can gain any +knowledge of the quality of created things. You have listened to +Patience for a hundred nights and you have heard me only for one. It +will make, no doubt, that satire more piquant by knowing something about +the subject of it, but you must not judge of aestheticism by the satire +of Mr. Gilbert. As little should you judge of the strength and splendour +of sun or sea by the dust that dances in the beam, or the bubble that +breaks on the wave, as take your critic for any sane test of art. For +the artists, like the Greek gods, are revealed only to one another, as +Emerson says somewhere; their real value and place time only can show. In +this respect also omnipotence is with the ages. The true critic +addresses not the artist ever but the public only. His work lies with +them. Art can never have any other claim but her own perfection: it is +for the critic to create for art the social aim, too, by teaching the +people the spirit in which they are to approach all artistic work, the +love they are to give it, the lesson they are to draw from it. + +All these appeals to art to set herself more in harmony with modern +progress and civilisation, and to make herself the mouthpiece for the +voice of humanity, these appeals to art 'to have a mission,' are appeals +which should be made to the public. The art which has fulfilled the +conditions of beauty has fulfilled all conditions: it is for the critic +to teach the people how to find in the calm of such art the highest +expression of their own most stormy passions. 'I have no reverence,' +said Keats, 'for the public, nor for anything in existence but the +Eternal Being, the memory of great men and the principle of Beauty.' + +Such then is the principle which I believe to be guiding and underlying +our English Renaissance, a Renaissance many-sided and wonderful, +productive of strong ambitions and lofty personalities, yet for all its +splendid achievements in poetry and in the decorative arts and in +painting, for all the increased comeliness and grace of dress, and the +furniture of houses and the like, not complete. For there can be no +great sculpture without a beautiful national life, and the commercial +spirit of England has killed that; no great drama without a noble +national life, and the commercial spirit of England has killed that too. + +It is not that the flawless serenity of marble cannot bear the burden of +the modern intellectual spirit, or become instinct with the fire of +romantic passion--the tomb of Duke Lorenzo and the chapel of the Medici +show us that--but it is that, as Theophile Gautier used to say, the +visible world is dead, le monde visible a disparu. + +Nor is it again that the novel has killed the play, as some critics would +persuade us--the romantic movement of France shows us that. The work of +Balzac and of Hugo grew up side by side together; nay, more, were +complementary to each other, though neither of them saw it. While all +other forms of poetry may flourish in an ignoble age, the splendid +individualism of the lyrist, fed by its own passion, and lit by its own +power, may pass as a pillar of fire as well across the desert as across +places that are pleasant. It is none the less glorious though no man +follow it--nay, by the greater sublimity of its loneliness it may be +quickened into loftier utterance and intensified into clearer song. From +the mean squalor of the sordid life that limits him, the dreamer or the +idyllist may soar on poesy's viewless wings, may traverse with fawn-skin +and spear the moonlit heights of Cithaeron though Faun and Bassarid dance +there no more. Like Keats he may wander through the old-world forests of +Latmos, or stand like Morris on the galley's deck with the Viking when +king and galley have long since passed away. But the drama is the +meeting-place of art and life; it deals, as Mazzini said, not merely with +man, but with social man, with man in his relation to God and to +Humanity. It is the product of a period of great national united energy; +it is impossible without a noble public, and belongs to such ages as the +age of Elizabeth in London and of Pericles at Athens; it is part of such +lofty moral and spiritual ardour as came to Greek after the defeat of the +Persian fleet, and to Englishman after the wreck of the Armada of Spain. + +Shelley felt how incomplete our movement was in this respect, and has +shown in one great tragedy by what terror and pity he would have purified +our age; but in spite of The Cenci the drama is one of the artistic forms +through which the genius of the England of this century seeks in vain to +find outlet and expression. He has had no worthy imitators. + +It is rather, perhaps, to you that we should turn to complete and perfect +this great movement of ours, for there is something Hellenic in your air +and world, something that has a quicker breath of the joy and power of +Elizabeth's England about it than our ancient civilisation can give us. +For you, at least, are young; 'no hungry generations tread you down,' and +the past does not weary you with the intolerable burden of its memories +nor mock you with the ruins of a beauty, the secret of whose creation you +have lost. That very absence of tradition, which Mr. Ruskin thought +would rob your rivers of their laughter and your flowers of their light, +may be rather the source of your freedom and your strength. + +To speak in literature with the perfect rectitude and insouciance of the +movements of animals, and the unimpeachableness of the sentiment of trees +in the woods and grass by the roadside, has been defined by one of your +poets as a flawless triumph of art. It is a triumph which you above all +nations may be destined to achieve. For the voices that have their +dwelling in sea and mountain are not the chosen music of Liberty only; +other messages are there in the wonder of wind-swept height and the +majesty of silent deep--messages that, if you will but listen to them, +may yield you the splendour of some new imagination, the marvel of some +new beauty. + +'I foresee,' said Goethe, 'the dawn of a new literature which all people +may claim as their own, for all have contributed to its foundation.' If, +then, this is so, and if the materials for a civilisation as great as +that of Europe lie all around you, what profit, you will ask me, will all +this study of our poets and painters be to you? I might answer that the +intellect can be engaged without direct didactic object on an artistic +and historical problem; that the demand of the intellect is merely to +feel itself alive; that nothing which has ever interested men or women +can cease to be a fit subject for culture. + +I might remind you of what all Europe owes to the sorrow of a single +Florentine in exile at Verona, or to the love of Petrarch by that little +well in Southern France; nay, more, how even in this dull, materialistic +age the simple expression of an old man's simple life, passed away from +the clamour of great cities amid the lakes and misty hills of Cumberland, +has opened out for England treasures of new joy compared with which the +treasures of her luxury are as barren as the sea which she has made her +highway, and as bitter as the fire which she would make her slave. + +But I think it will bring you something besides this, something that is +the knowledge of real strength in art: not that you should imitate the +works of these men; but their artistic spirit, their artistic attitude, I +think you should absorb that. + +For in nations, as in individuals, if the passion for creation be not +accompanied by the critical, the aesthetic faculty also, it will be sure +to waste its strength aimlessly, failing perhaps in the artistic spirit +of choice, or in the mistaking of feeling for form, or in the following +of false ideals. + +For the various spiritual forms of the imagination have a natural +affinity with certain sensuous forms of art--and to discern the qualities +of each art, to intensify as well its limitations as its powers of +expression, is one of the aims that culture sets before us. It is not an +increased moral sense, an increased moral supervision that your +literature needs. Indeed, one should never talk of a moral or an immoral +poem--poems are either well written or badly written, that is all. And, +indeed, any element of morals or implied reference to a standard of good +or evil in art is often a sign of a certain incompleteness of vision, +often a note of discord in the harmony of an imaginative creation; for +all good work aims at a purely artistic effect. 'We must be careful,' +said Goethe, 'not to be always looking for culture merely in what is +obviously moral. Everything that is great promotes civilisation as soon +as we are aware of it.' + +But, as in your cities so in your literature, it is a permanent canon and +standard of taste, an increased sensibility to beauty (if I may say so) +that is lacking. All noble work is not national merely, but universal. +The political independence of a nation must not be confused with any +intellectual isolation. The spiritual freedom, indeed, your own generous +lives and liberal air will give you. From us you will learn the +classical restraint of form. + +For all great art is delicate art, roughness having very little to do +with strength, and harshness very little to do with power. 'The artist,' +as Mr. Swinburne says, 'must be perfectly articulate.' + +This limitation is for the artist perfect freedom: it is at once the +origin and the sign of his strength. So that all the supreme masters of +style--Dante, Sophocles, Shakespeare--are the supreme masters of +spiritual and intellectual vision also. + +Love art for its own sake, and then all things that you need will be +added to you. + +This devotion to beauty and to the creation of beautiful things is the +test of all great civilised nations. Philosophy may teach us to bear +with equanimity the misfortunes of our neighbours, and science resolve +the moral sense into a secretion of sugar, but art is what makes the life +of each citizen a sacrament and not a speculation, art is what makes the +life of the whole race immortal. + +For beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Philosophies fall +away like sand, and creeds follow one another like the withered leaves of +autumn; but what is beautiful is a joy for all seasons and a possession +for all eternity. + +Wars and the clash of armies and the meeting of men in battle by trampled +field or leagured city, and the rising of nations there must always be. +But I think that art, by creating a common intellectual atmosphere +between all countries, might--if it could not overshadow the world with +the silver wings of peace--at least make men such brothers that they +would not go out to slay one another for the whim or folly of some king +or minister, as they do in Europe. Fraternity would come no more with +the hands of Cain, nor Liberty betray freedom with the kiss of Anarchy; +for national hatreds are always strongest where culture is lowest. + +'How could I?' said Goethe, when reproached for not writing like Korner +against the French. 'How could I, to whom barbarism and culture alone +are of importance, hate a nation which is among the most cultivated of +the earth, a nation to which I owe a great part of my own cultivation?' + +Mighty empires, too, there must always be as long as personal ambition +and the spirit of the age are one, but art at least is the only empire +which a nation's enemies cannot take from her by conquest, but which is +taken by submission only. The sovereignty of Greece and Rome is not yet +passed away, though the gods of the one be dead and the eagles of the +other tired. + +And we in our Renaissance are seeking to create a sovereignty that will +still be England's when her yellow leopards have grown weary of wars and +the rose of her shield is crimsoned no more with the blood of battle; and +you, too, absorbing into the generous heart of a great people this +pervading artistic spirit, will create for yourselves such riches as you +have never yet created, though your land be a network of railways and +your cities the harbours for the galleys of the world. + +I know, indeed, that the divine natural prescience of beauty which is the +inalienable inheritance of Greek and Italian is not our inheritance. For +such an informing and presiding spirit of art to shield us from all harsh +and alien influences, we of the Northern races must turn rather to that +strained self-consciousness of our age which, as it is the key-note of +all our romantic art, must be the source of all or nearly all our +culture. I mean that intellectual curiosity of the nineteenth century +which is always looking for the secret of the life that still lingers +round old and bygone forms of culture. It takes from each what is +serviceable for the modern spirit--from Athens its wonder without its +worship, from Venice its splendour without its sin. The same spirit is +always analysing its own strength and its own weakness, counting what it +owes to East and to West, to the olive-trees of Colonus and to the palm- +trees of Lebanon, to Gethsemane and to the garden of Proserpine. + +And yet the truths of art cannot be taught: they are revealed only, +revealed to natures which have made themselves receptive of all beautiful +impressions by the study and worship of all beautiful things. And hence +the enormous importance given to the decorative arts in our English +Renaissance; hence all that marvel of design that comes from the hand of +Edward Burne-Jones, all that weaving of tapestry and staining of glass, +that beautiful working in clay and metal and wood which we owe to William +Morris, the greatest handicraftsman we have had in England since the +fourteenth century. + +So, in years to come there will be nothing in any man's house which has +not given delight to its maker and does not give delight to its user. The +children, like the children of Plato's perfect city, will grow up 'in a +simple atmosphere of all fair things'--I quote from the passage in the +Republic--'a simple atmosphere of all fair things, where beauty, which is +the spirit of art, will come on eye and ear like a fresh breath of wind +that brings health from a clear upland, and insensibly and gradually draw +the child's soul into harmony with all knowledge and all wisdom, so that +he will love what is beautiful and good, and hate what is evil and ugly +(for they always go together) long before he knows the reason why; and +then when reason comes will kiss her on the cheek as a friend.' + +That is what Plato thought decorative art could do for a nation, feeling +that the secret not of philosophy merely but of all gracious existence +might be externally hidden from any one whose youth had been passed in +uncomely and vulgar surroundings, and that the beauty of form and colour +even, as he says, in the meanest vessels of the house, will find its way +into the inmost places of the soul and lead the boy naturally to look for +that divine harmony of spiritual life of which art was to him the +material symbol and warrant. + +Prelude indeed to all knowledge and all wisdom will this love of +beautiful things be for us; yet there are times when wisdom becomes a +burden and knowledge is one with sorrow: for as every body has its shadow +so every soul has its scepticism. In such dread moments of discord and +despair where should we, of this torn and troubled age, turn our steps if +not to that secure house of beauty where there is always a little +forgetfulness, always a great joy; to that citta divina, as the old +Italian heresy called it, the divine city where one can stand, though +only for a brief moment, apart from the division and terror of the world +and the choice of the world too? + +This is that consolation des arts which is the keynote of Gautier's +poetry, the secret of modern life foreshadowed--as indeed what in our +century is not?--by Goethe. You remember what he said to the German +people: 'Only have the courage,' he said, 'to give yourselves up to your +impressions, allow yourselves to be delighted, moved, elevated, nay +instructed, inspired for something great.' The courage to give +yourselves up to your impressions: yes, that is the secret of the +artistic life--for while art has been defined as an escape from the +tyranny of the senses, it is an escape rather from the tyranny of the +soul. But only to those who worship her above all things does she ever +reveal her true treasure: else will she be as powerless to aid you as the +mutilated Venus of the Louvre was before the romantic but sceptical +nature of Heine. + +And indeed I think it would be impossible to overrate the gain that might +follow if we had about us only what gave pleasure to the maker of it and +gives pleasure to its user, that being the simplest of all rules about +decoration. One thing, at least, I think it would do for us: there is no +surer test of a great country than how near it stands to its own poets; +but between the singers of our day and the workers to whom they would +sing there seems to be an ever-widening and dividing chasm, a chasm which +slander and mockery cannot traverse, but which is spanned by the luminous +wings of love. + +And of such love I think that the abiding presence in our houses of noble +imaginative work would be the surest seed and preparation. I do not mean +merely as regards that direct literary expression of art by which, from +the little red-and-black cruse of oil or wine, a Greek boy could learn of +the lionlike splendour of Achilles, of the strength of Hector and the +beauty of Paris and the wonder of Helen, long before he stood and +listened in crowded market-place or in theatre of marble; or by which an +Italian child of the fifteenth century could know of the chastity of +Lucrece and the death of Camilla from carven doorway and from painted +chest. For the good we get from art is not what we learn from it; it is +what we become through it. Its real influence will be in giving the mind +that enthusiasm which is the secret of Hellenism, accustoming it to +demand from art all that art can do in rearranging the facts of common +life for us--whether it be by giving the most spiritual interpretation of +one's own moments of highest passion or the most sensuous expression of +those thoughts that are the farthest removed from sense; in accustoming +it to love the things of the imagination for their own sake, and to +desire beauty and grace in all things. For he who does not love art in +all things does not love it at all, and he who does not need art in all +things does not need it at all. + +I will not dwell here on what I am sure has delighted you all in our +great Gothic cathedrals. I mean how the artist of that time, +handicraftsman himself in stone or glass, found the best motives for his +art, always ready for his hand and always beautiful, in the daily work of +the artificers he saw around him--as in those lovely windows of +Chartres--where the dyer dips in the vat and the potter sits at the +wheel, and the weaver stands at the loom: real manufacturers these, +workers with the hand, and entirely delightful to look at, not like the +smug and vapid shopman of our time, who knows nothing of the web or vase +he sells, except that he is charging you double its value and thinking +you a fool for buying it. Nor can I but just note, in passing, the +immense influence the decorative work of Greece and Italy had on its +artists, the one teaching the sculptor that restraining influence of +design which is the glory of the Parthenon, the other keeping painting +always true to its primary, pictorial condition of noble colour which is +the secret of the school of Venice; for I wish rather, in this lecture at +least, to dwell on the effect that decorative art has on human life--on +its social not its purely artistic effect. + +There are two kinds of men in the world, two great creeds, two different +forms of natures: men to whom the end of life is action, and men to whom +the end of life is thought. As regards the latter, who seek for +experience itself and not for the fruits of experience, who must burn +always with one of the passions of this fiery-coloured world, who find +life interesting not for its secret but for its situations, for its +pulsations and not for its purpose; the passion for beauty engendered by +the decorative arts will be to them more satisfying than any political or +religious enthusiasm, any enthusiasm for humanity, any ecstasy or sorrow +for love. For art comes to one professing primarily to give nothing but +the highest quality to one's moments, and for those moments' sake. So +far for those to whom the end of life is thought. As regards the others, +who hold that life is inseparable from labour, to them should this +movement be specially dear: for, if our days are barren without industry, +industry without art is barbarism. + +Hewers of wood and drawers of water there must be always indeed among us. +Our modern machinery has not much lightened the labour of man after all: +but at least let the pitcher that stands by the well be beautiful and +surely the labour of the day will be lightened: let the wood be made +receptive of some lovely form, some gracious design, and there will come +no longer discontent but joy to the toiler. For what is decoration but +the worker's expression of joy in his work? And not joy merely--that is +a great thing yet not enough--but that opportunity of expressing his own +individuality which, as it is the essence of all life, is the source of +all art. 'I have tried,' I remember William Morris saying to me once, 'I +have tried to make each of my workers an artist, and when I say an artist +I mean a man.' For the worker then, handicraftsman of whatever kind he +is, art is no longer to be a purple robe woven by a slave and thrown over +the whitened body of a leprous king to hide and to adorn the sin of his +luxury, but rather the beautiful and noble expression of a life that has +in it something beautiful and noble. + +And so you must seek out your workman and give him, as far as possible, +the right surroundings, for remember that the real test and virtue of a +workman is not his earnestness nor his industry even, but his power of +design merely; and that 'design is not the offspring of idle fancy: it is +the studied result of accumulative observation and delightful habit.' All +the teaching in the world is of no avail if you do not surround your +workman with happy influences and with beautiful things. It is +impossible for him to have right ideas about colour unless he sees the +lovely colours of Nature unspoiled; impossible for him to supply +beautiful incident and action unless he sees beautiful incident and +action in the world about him. + +For to cultivate sympathy you must be among living things and thinking +about them, and to cultivate admiration you must be among beautiful +things and looking at them. 'The steel of Toledo and the silk of Genoa +did but give strength to oppression and lustre to pride,' as Mr. Ruskin +says; let it be for you to create an art that is made by the hands of the +people for the joy of the people, to please the hearts of the people, +too; an art that will be your expression of your delight in life. There +is nothing 'in common life too mean, in common things too trivial to be +ennobled by your touch'; nothing in life that art cannot sanctify. + +You have heard, I think, a few of you, of two flowers connected with the +aesthetic movement in England, and said (I assure you, erroneously) to be +the food of some aesthetic young men. Well, let me tell you that the +reason we love the lily and the sunflower, in spite of what Mr. Gilbert +may tell you, is not for any vegetable fashion at all. It is because +these two lovely flowers are in England the two most perfect models of +design, the most naturally adapted for decorative art--the gaudy leonine +beauty of the one and the precious loveliness of the other giving to the +artist the most entire and perfect joy. And so with you: let there be no +flower in your meadows that does not wreathe its tendrils around your +pillows, no little leaf in your Titan forests that does not lend its form +to design, no curving spray of wild rose or brier that does not live for +ever in carven arch or window or marble, no bird in your air that is not +giving the iridescent wonder of its colour, the exquisite curves of its +wings in flight, to make more precious the preciousness of simple +adornment. For the voices that have their dwelling in sea and mountain +are not the chosen music of liberty only. Other messages are there in +the wonder of wind-swept heights and the majesty of silent deep--messages +that, if you will listen to them, will give you the wonder of all new +imagination, the treasure of all new beauty. + +We spend our days, each one of us, in looking for the secret of life. +Well, the secret of life is in art. + + + + +HOUSE DECORATION + + +A lecture delivered in America during Wilde's tour in 1882. It was +announced as a lecture on 'The Practical Application of the Principles of +the AEsthetic Theory to Exterior and Interior House Decoration, With +Observations upon Dress and Personal Ornaments.' The earliest date on +which it is known to have been given is May 11, 1882. + +In my last lecture I gave you something of the history of Art in England. +I sought to trace the influence of the French Revolution upon its +development. I said something of the song of Keats and the school of the +pre-Raphaelites. But I do not want to shelter the movement, which I have +called the English Renaissance, under any palladium however noble, or any +name however revered. The roots of it have, indeed, to be sought for in +things that have long passed away, and not, as some suppose, in the fancy +of a few young men--although I am not altogether sure that there is +anything much better than the fancy of a few young men. + +When I appeared before you on a previous occasion, I had seen nothing of +American art save the Doric columns and Corinthian chimney-pots visible +on your Broadway and Fifth Avenue. Since then, I have been through your +country to some fifty or sixty different cities, I think. I find that +what your people need is not so much high imaginative art but that which +hallows the vessels of everyday use. I suppose that the poet will sing +and the artist will paint regardless whether the world praises or blames. +He has his own world and is independent of his fellow-men. But the +handicraftsman is dependent on your pleasure and opinion. He needs your +encouragement and he must have beautiful surroundings. Your people love +art but do not sufficiently honour the handicraftsman. Of course, those +millionaires who can pillage Europe for their pleasure need have no care +to encourage such; but I speak for those whose desire for beautiful +things is larger than their means. I find that one great trouble all +over is that your workmen are not given to noble designs. You cannot be +indifferent to this, because Art is not something which you can take or +leave. It is a necessity of human life. + +And what is the meaning of this beautiful decoration which we call art? +In the first place, it means value to the workman and it means the +pleasure which he must necessarily take in making a beautiful thing. The +mark of all good art is not that the thing done is done exactly or +finely, for machinery may do as much, but that it is worked out with the +head and the workman's heart. I cannot impress the point too frequently +that beautiful and rational designs are necessary in all work. I did not +imagine, until I went into some of your simpler cities, that there was so +much bad work done. I found, where I went, bad wall-papers horribly +designed, and coloured carpets, and that old offender the horse-hair +sofa, whose stolid look of indifference is always so depressing. I found +meaningless chandeliers and machine-made furniture, generally of +rosewood, which creaked dismally under the weight of the ubiquitous +interviewer. I came across the small iron stove which they always +persist in decorating with machine-made ornaments, and which is as great +a bore as a wet day or any other particularly dreadful institution. When +unusual extravagance was indulged in, it was garnished with two funeral +urns. + +It must always be remembered that what is well and carefully made by an +honest workman, after a rational design, increases in beauty and value as +the years go on. The old furniture brought over by the Pilgrims, two +hundred years ago, which I saw in New England, is just as good and as +beautiful today as it was when it first came here. Now, what you must do +is to bring artists and handicraftsmen together. Handicraftsmen cannot +live, certainly cannot thrive, without such companionship. Separate +these two and you rob art of all spiritual motive. + +Having done this, you must place your workman in the midst of beautiful +surroundings. The artist is not dependent on the visible and the +tangible. He has his visions and his dreams to feed on. But the workman +must see lovely forms as he goes to his work in the morning and returns +at eventide. And, in connection with this, I want to assure you that +noble and beautiful designs are never the result of idle fancy or +purposeless day-dreaming. They come only as the accumulation of habits +of long and delightful observation. And yet such things may not be +taught. Right ideas concerning them can certainly be obtained only by +those who have been accustomed to rooms that are beautiful and colours +that are satisfying. + +Perhaps one of the most difficult things for us to do is to choose a +notable and joyous dress for men. There would be more joy in life if we +were to accustom ourselves to use all the beautiful colours we can in +fashioning our own clothes. The dress of the future, I think, will use +drapery to a great extent and will abound with joyous colour. At present +we have lost all nobility of dress and, in doing so, have almost +annihilated the modern sculptor. And, in looking around at the figures +which adorn our parks, one could almost wish that we had completely +killed the noble art. To see the frockcoat of the drawing-room done in +bronze, or the double waistcoat perpetuated in marble, adds a new horror +to death. But indeed, in looking through the history of costume, seeking +an answer to the questions we have propounded, there is little that is +either beautiful or appropriate. One of the earliest forms is the Greek +drapery which is so exquisite for young girls. And then, I think we may +be pardoned a little enthusiasm over the dress of the time of Charles I., +so beautiful indeed, that in spite of its invention being with the +Cavaliers it was copied by the Puritans. And the dress for the children +of that time must not be passed over. It was a very golden age of the +little ones. I do not think that they have ever looked so lovely as they +do in the pictures of that time. The dress of the last century in +England is also peculiarly gracious and graceful. There is nothing +bizarre or strange about it, but it is full of harmony and beauty. In +these days, when we have suffered so dreadfully from the incursions of +the modern milliner, we hear ladies boast that they do not wear a dress +more than once. In the old days, when the dresses were decorated with +beautiful designs and worked with exquisite embroidery, ladies rather +took a pride in bringing out the garment and wearing it many times and +handing it down to their daughters--a process that would, I think, be +quite appreciated by a modern husband when called upon to settle his +wife's bills. + +And how shall men dress? Men say that they do not particularly care how +they dress, and that it is little matter. I am bound to reply that I do +not think that you do. In all my journeys through the country, the only +well-dressed men that I saw--and in saying this I earnestly deprecate the +polished indignation of your Fifth Avenue dandies--were the Western +miners. Their wide-brimmed hats, which shaded their faces from the sun +and protected them from the rain, and the cloak, which is by far the most +beautiful piece of drapery ever invented, may well be dwelt on with +admiration. Their high boots, too, were sensible and practical. They +wore only what was comfortable, and therefore beautiful. As I looked at +them I could not help thinking with regret of the time when these +picturesque miners would have made their fortunes and would go East to +assume again all the abominations of modern fashionable attire. Indeed, +so concerned was I that I made some of them promise that when they again +appeared in the more crowded scenes of Eastern civilisation they would +still continue to wear their lovely costume. But I do not believe they +will. + +Now, what America wants today is a school of rational art. Bad art is a +great deal worse than no art at all. You must show your workmen +specimens of good work so that they come to know what is simple and true +and beautiful. To that end I would have you have a museum attached to +these schools--not one of those dreadful modern institutions where there +is a stuffed and very dusty giraffe, and a case or two of fossils, but a +place where there are gathered examples of art decoration from various +periods and countries. Such a place is the South Kensington Museum in +London whereon we build greater hopes for the future than on any other +one thing. There I go every Saturday night, when the museum is open +later than usual, to see the handicraftsman, the wood-worker, the glass- +blower and the worker in metals. And it is here that the man of +refinement and culture comes face to face with the workman who ministers +to his joy. He comes to know more of the nobility of the workman, and +the workman, feeling the appreciation, comes to know more of the nobility +of his work. + +You have too many white walls. More colour is wanted. You should have +such men as Whistler among you to teach you the beauty and joy of colour. +Take Mr. Whistler's 'Symphony in White,' which you no doubt have imagined +to be something quite bizarre. It is nothing of the sort. Think of a +cool grey sky flecked here and there with white clouds, a grey ocean and +three wonderfully beautiful figures robed in white, leaning over the +water and dropping white flowers from their fingers. Here is no +extensive intellectual scheme to trouble you, and no metaphysics of which +we have had quite enough in art. But if the simple and unaided colour +strike the right keynote, the whole conception is made clear. I regard +Mr. Whistler's famous Peacock Room as the finest thing in colour and art +decoration which the world has known since Correggio painted that +wonderful room in Italy where the little children are dancing on the +walls. Mr. Whistler finished another room just before I came away--a +breakfast room in blue and yellow. The ceiling was a light blue, the +cabinet-work and the furniture were of a yellow wood, the curtains at the +windows were white and worked in yellow, and when the table was set for +breakfast with dainty blue china nothing can be conceived at once so +simple and so joyous. + +The fault which I have observed in most of your rooms is that there is +apparent no definite scheme of colour. Everything is not attuned to a +key-note as it should be. The apartments are crowded with pretty things +which have no relation to one another. Again, your artists must decorate +what is more simply useful. In your art schools I found no attempt to +decorate such things as the vessels for water. I know of nothing uglier +than the ordinary jug or pitcher. A museum could be filled with the +different kinds of water vessels which are used in hot countries. Yet we +continue to submit to the depressing jug with the handle all on one side. +I do not see the wisdom of decorating dinner-plates with sunsets and soup- +plates with moonlight scenes. I do not think it adds anything to the +pleasure of the canvas-back duck to take it out of such glories. Besides, +we do not want a soup-plate whose bottom seems to vanish in the distance. +One feels neither safe nor comfortable under such conditions. In fact, I +did not find in the art schools of the country that the difference was +explained between decorative and imaginative art. + +The conditions of art should be simple. A great deal more depends upon +the heart than upon the head. Appreciation of art is not secured by any +elaborate scheme of learning. Art requires a good healthy atmosphere. +The motives for art are still around about us as they were round about +the ancients. And the subjects are also easily found by the earnest +sculptor and the painter. Nothing is more picturesque and graceful than +a man at work. The artist who goes to the children's playground, watches +them at their sport and sees the boy stop to tie his shoe, will find the +same themes that engaged the attention of the ancient Greeks, and such +observation and the illustrations which follow will do much to correct +that foolish impression that mental and physical beauty are always +divorced. + +To you, more than perhaps to any other country, has Nature been generous +in furnishing material for art workers to work in. You have marble +quarries where the stone is more beautiful in colour than any the Greeks +ever had for their beautiful work, and yet day after day I am confronted +with the great building of some stupid man who has used the beautiful +material as if it were not precious almost beyond speech. Marble should +not be used save by noble workmen. There is nothing which gave me a +greater sense of barrenness in travelling through the country than the +entire absence of wood carving on your houses. Wood carving is the +simplest of the decorative arts. In Switzerland the little barefooted +boy beautifies the porch of his father's house with examples of skill in +this direction. Why should not American boys do a great deal more and +better than Swiss boys? + +There is nothing to my mind more coarse in conception and more vulgar in +execution than modern jewellery. This is something that can easily be +corrected. Something better should be made out of the beautiful gold +which is stored up in your mountain hollows and strewn along your river +beds. When I was at Leadville and reflected that all the shining silver +that I saw coming from the mines would be made into ugly dollars, it made +me sad. It should be made into something more permanent. The golden +gates at Florence are as beautiful today as when Michael Angelo saw them. + +We should see more of the workman than we do. We should not be content +to have the salesman stand between us--the salesman who knows nothing of +what he is selling save that he is charging a great deal too much for it. +And watching the workman will teach that most important lesson--the +nobility of all rational workmanship. + +I said in my last lecture that art would create a new brotherhood among +men by furnishing a universal language. I said that under its beneficent +influences war might pass away. Thinking this, what place can I ascribe +to art in our education? If children grow up among all fair and lovely +things, they will grow to love beauty and detest ugliness before they +know the reason why. If you go into a house where everything is coarse, +you find things chipped and broken and unsightly. Nobody exercises any +care. If everything is dainty and delicate, gentleness and refinement of +manner are unconsciously acquired. When I was in San Francisco I used to +visit the Chinese Quarter frequently. There I used to watch a great +hulking Chinese workman at his task of digging, and used to see him every +day drink his tea from a little cup as delicate in texture as the petal +of a flower, whereas in all the grand hotels of the land, where thousands +of dollars have been lavished on great gilt mirrors and gaudy columns, I +have been given my coffee or my chocolate in cups an inch and a quarter +thick. I think I have deserved something nicer. + +The art systems of the past have been devised by philosophers who looked +upon human beings as obstructions. They have tried to educate boys' +minds before they had any. How much better it would be in these early +years to teach children to use their hands in the rational service of +mankind. I would have a workshop attached to every school, and one hour +a day given up to the teaching of simple decorative arts. It would be a +golden hour to the children. And you would soon raise up a race of +handicraftsmen who would transform the face of your country. I have seen +only one such school in the United States, and this was in Philadelphia +and was founded by my friend Mr. Leyland. I stopped there yesterday and +have brought some of the work here this afternoon to show you. Here are +two discs of beaten brass: the designs on them are beautiful, the +workmanship is simple, and the entire result is satisfactory. The work +was done by a little boy twelve years old. This is a wooden bowl +decorated by a little girl of thirteen. The design is lovely and the +colouring delicate and pretty. Here you see a piece of beautiful wood +carving accomplished by a little boy of nine. In such work as this, +children learn sincerity in art. They learn to abhor the liar in art--the +man who paints wood to look like iron, or iron to look like stone. It is +a practical school of morals. No better way is there to learn to love +Nature than to understand Art. It dignifies every flower of the field. +And, the boy who sees the thing of beauty which a bird on the wing +becomes when transferred to wood or canvas will probably not throw the +customary stone. What we want is something spiritual added to life. +Nothing is so ignoble that Art cannot sanctify it. + + + + +ART AND THE HANDICRAFTSMAN + + +The fragments of which this lecture is composed are taken entirely from +the original manuscripts which have but recently been discovered. It is +not certain that they all belong to the same lecture, nor that all were +written at the same period. Some portions were written in Philadelphia +in 1882. + +People often talk as if there was an opposition between what is beautiful +and what is useful. There is no opposition to beauty except ugliness: +all things are either beautiful or ugly, and utility will be always on +the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration is always +on the side of the beautiful thing, because beautiful decoration is +always an expression of the use you put a thing to and the value placed +on it. No workman will beautifully decorate bad work, nor can you +possibly get good handicraftsmen or workmen without having beautiful +designs. You should be quite sure of that. If you have poor and +worthless designs in any craft or trade you will get poor and worthless +workmen only, but the minute you have noble and beautiful designs, then +you get men of power and intellect and feeling to work for you. By +having good designs you have workmen who work not merely with their hands +but with their hearts and heads too; otherwise you will get merely the +fool or the loafer to work for you. + +That the beauty of life is a thing of no moment, I suppose few people +would venture to assert. And yet most civilised people act as if it were +of none, and in so doing are wronging both themselves and those that are +to come after them. For that beauty which is meant by art is no mere +accident of human life which people can take or leave, but a positive +necessity of life if we are to live as nature meant us to, that is to say +unless we are content to be less than men. + +Do not think that the commercial spirit which is the basis of your life +and cities here is opposed to art. Who built the beautiful cities of the +world but commercial men and commercial men only? Genoa built by its +traders, Florence by its bankers, and Venice, most lovely of all, by its +noble and honest merchants. + +I do not wish you, remember, 'to build a new Pisa,' nor to bring 'the +life or the decorations of the thirteenth century back again.' 'The +circumstances with which you must surround your workmen are those' of +modern American life, 'because the designs you have now to ask for from +your workmen are such as will make modern' American 'life beautiful.' The +art we want is the art based on all the inventions of modern +civilisation, and to suit all the needs of nineteenth century life. + +Do you think, for instance, that we object to machinery? I tell you we +reverence it; we reverence it when it does its proper work, when it +relieves man from ignoble and soulless labour, not when it seeks to do +that which is valuable only when wrought by the hands and hearts of men. +Let us have no machine-made ornament at all; it is all bad and worthless +and ugly. And let us not mistake the means of civilisation for the end +of civilisation; steam-engine, telephone and the like, are all wonderful, +but remember that their value depends entirely on the noble uses we make +of them, on the noble spirit in which we employ them, not on the things +themselves. + +It is, no doubt, a great advantage to talk to a man at the Antipodes +through a telephone; its advantage depends entirely on the value of what +the two men have to say to one another. If one merely shrieks slander +through a tube and the other whispers folly into a wire, do not think +that anybody is very much benefited by the invention. + +The train that whirls an ordinary Englishman through Italy at the rate of +forty miles an hour and finally sends him home without any memory of that +lovely country but that he was cheated by a courier at Rome, or that he +got a bad dinner at Verona, does not do him or civilisation much good. +But that swift legion of fiery-footed engines that bore to the burning +ruins of Chicago the loving help and generous treasure of the world was +as noble and as beautiful as any golden troop of angels that ever fed the +hungry and clothed the naked in the antique times. As beautiful, yes; +all machinery may be beautiful when it is undecorated even. Do not seek +to decorate it. We cannot but think all good machinery is graceful, +also, the line of strength and the line of beauty being one. + +Give then, as I said, to your workmen of today the bright and noble +surroundings that you can yourself create. Stately and simple +architecture for your cities, bright and simple dress for your men and +women; those are the conditions of a real artistic movement. For the +artist is not concerned primarily with any theory of life but with life +itself, with the joy and loveliness that should come daily on eye and ear +for a beautiful external world. + +But the simplicity must not be barrenness nor the bright colour gaudy. +For all beautiful colours are graduated colours, the colours that seem +about to pass into one another's realm--colour without tone being like +music without harmony, mere discord. Barren architecture, the vulgar and +glaring advertisements that desecrate not merely your cities but every +rock and river that I have seen yet in America--all this is not enough. A +school of design we must have too in each city. It should be a stately +and noble building, full of the best examples of the best art of the +world. Furthermore, do not put your designers in a barren whitewashed +room and bid them work in that depressing and colourless atmosphere as I +have seen many of the American schools of design, but give them beautiful +surroundings. Because you want to produce a permanent canon and standard +of taste in your workman, he must have always by him and before him +specimens of the best decorative art of the world, so that you can say to +him: 'This is good work. Greek or Italian or Japanese wrought it so many +years ago, but it is eternally young because eternally beautiful.' Work +in this spirit and you will be sure to be right. Do not copy it, but +work with the same love, the same reverence, the same freedom of +imagination. You must teach him colour and design, how all beautiful +colours are graduated colours and glaring colours the essence of +vulgarity. Show him the quality of any beautiful work of nature like the +rose, or any beautiful work of art like an Eastern carpet--being merely +the exquisite graduation of colour, one tone answering another like the +answering chords of a symphony. Teach him how the true designer is not +he who makes the design and then colours it, but he who designs in +colour, creates in colour, thinks in colour too. Show him how the most +gorgeous stained glass windows of Europe are filled with white glass, and +the most gorgeous Eastern tapestry with toned colours--the primary +colours in both places being set in the white glass, and the tone colours +like brilliant jewels set in dusky gold. And then as regards design, +show him how the real designer will take first any given limited space, +little disk of silver, it may be, like a Greek coin, or wide expanse of +fretted ceiling or lordly wall as Tintoret chose at Venice (it does not +matter which), and to this limited space--the first condition of +decoration being the limitation of the size of the material used--he will +give the effect of its being filled with beautiful decoration, filled +with it as a golden cup will be filled with wine, so complete that you +should not be able to take away anything from it or add anything to it. +For from a good piece of design you can take away nothing, nor can you +add anything to it, each little bit of design being as absolutely +necessary and as vitally important to the whole effect as a note or chord +of music is for a sonata of Beethoven. + +But I said the effect of its being so filled, because this, again, is of +the essence of good design. With a simple spray of leaves and a bird in +flight a Japanese artist will give you the impression that he has +completely covered with lovely design the reed fan or lacquer cabinet at +which he is working, merely because he knows the exact spot in which to +place them. All good design depends on the texture of the utensil used +and the use you wish to put it to. One of the first things I saw in an +American school of design was a young lady painting a romantic moonlight +landscape on a large round dish, and another young lady covering a set of +dinner plates with a series of sunsets of the most remarkable colours. +Let your ladies paint moonlight landscapes and sunsets, but do not let +them paint them on dinner plates or dishes. Let them take canvas or +paper for such work, but not clay or china. They are merely painting the +wrong subjects on the wrong material, that is all. They have not been +taught that every material and texture has certain qualities of its own. +The design suitable for one is quite wrong for the other, just as the +design which you should work on a flat table-cover ought to be quite +different from the design you would work on a curtain, for the one will +always be straight, the other broken into folds; and the use too one puts +the object to should guide one in the choice of design. One does not +want to eat one's terrapins off a romantic moonlight nor one's clams off +a harrowing sunset. Glory of sun and moon, let them be wrought for us by +our landscape artist and be on the walls of the rooms we sit in to remind +us of the undying beauty of the sunsets that fade and die, but do not let +us eat our soup off them and send them down to the kitchen twice a day to +be washed and scrubbed by the handmaid. + +All these things are simple enough, yet nearly always forgotten. Your +school of design here will teach your girls and your boys, your +handicraftsmen of the future (for all your schools of art should be local +schools, the schools of particular cities). We talk of the Italian +school of painting, but there is no Italian school; there were the +schools of each city. Every town in Italy, from Venice itself, queen of +the sea, to the little hill fortress of Perugia, each had its own school +of art, each different and all beautiful. + +So do not mind what art Philadelphia or New York is having, but make by +the hands of your own citizens beautiful art for the joy of your own +citizens, for you have here the primary elements of a great artistic +movement. + +For, believe me, the conditions of art are much simpler than people +imagine. For the noblest art one requires a clear healthy atmosphere, +not polluted as the air of our English cities is by the smoke and grime +and horridness which comes from open furnace and from factory chimney. +You must have strong, sane, healthy physique among your men and women. +Sickly or idle or melancholy people do not do much in art. And lastly, +you require a sense of individualism about each man and woman, for this +is the essence of art--a desire on the part of man to express himself in +the noblest way possible. And this is the reason that the grandest art +of the world always came from a republic, Athens, Venice, and +Florence--there were no kings there and so their art was as noble and +simple as sincere. But if you want to know what kind of art the folly of +kings will impose on a country look at the decorative art of France under +the grand monarch, under Louis the Fourteenth; the gaudy gilt furniture +writhing under a sense of its own horror and ugliness, with a nymph +smirking at every angle and a dragon mouthing on every claw. Unreal and +monstrous art this, and fit only for such periwigged pomposities as the +nobility of France at that time, but not at all fit for you or me. We do +not want the rich to possess more beautiful things but the poor to create +more beautiful things; for every man is poor who cannot create. Nor +shall the art which you and I need be merely a purple robe woven by a +slave and thrown over the whitened body of some leprous king to adorn or +to conceal the sin of his luxury, but rather shall it be the noble and +beautiful expression of a people's noble and beautiful life. Art shall +be again the most glorious of all the chords through which the spirit of +a great nation finds its noblest utterance. + +All around you, I said, lie the conditions for a great artistic movement +for every great art. Let us think of one of them; a sculptor, for +instance. + +If a modern sculptor were to come and say, 'Very well, but where can one +find subjects for sculpture out of men who wear frock-coats and chimney- +pot hats?' I would tell him to go to the docks of a great city and watch +the men loading or unloading the stately ships, working at wheel or +windlass, hauling at rope or gangway. I have never watched a man do +anything useful who has not been graceful at some moment of his labour; +it is only the loafer and the idle saunterer who is as useless and +uninteresting to the artist as he is to himself. I would ask the +sculptor to go with me to any of your schools or universities, to the +running ground and gymnasium, to watch the young men start for a race, +hurling quoit or club, kneeling to tie their shoes before leaping, +stepping from the boat or bending to the oar, and to carve them; and when +he was weary of cities I would ask him to come to your fields and meadows +to watch the reaper with his sickle and the cattle driver with lifted +lasso. For if a man cannot find the noblest motives for his art in such +simple daily things as a woman drawing water from the well or a man +leaning with his scythe, he will not find them anywhere at all. Gods and +goddesses the Greek carved because he loved them; saint and king the Goth +because he believed in them. But you, you do not care much for Greek +gods and goddesses, and you are perfectly and entirely right; and you do +not think much of kings either, and you are quite right. But what you do +love are your own men and women, your own flowers and fields, your own +hills and mountains, and these are what your art should represent to you. + +Ours has been the first movement which has brought the handicraftsman and +the artist together, for remember that by separating the one from the +other you do ruin to both; you rob the one of all spiritual motive and +all imaginative joy, you isolate the other from all real technical +perfection. The two greatest schools of art in the world, the sculptor +at Athens and the school of painting at Venice, had their origin entirely +in a long succession of simple and earnest handicraftsmen. It was the +Greek potter who taught the sculptor that restraining influence of design +which was the glory of the Parthenon; it was the Italian decorator of +chests and household goods who kept Venetian painting always true to its +primary pictorial condition of noble colour. For we should remember that +all the arts are fine arts and all the arts decorative arts. The +greatest triumph of Italian painting was the decoration of a pope's +chapel in Rome and the wall of a room in Venice. Michael Angelo wrought +the one, and Tintoret, the dyer's son, the other. And the little 'Dutch +landscape, which you put over your sideboard today, and between the +windows tomorrow, is' no less a glorious 'piece of work than the extents +of field and forest with which Benozzo has made green and beautiful the +once melancholy arcade of the Campo Santo at Pisa,' as Ruskin says. + +Do not imitate the works of a nation, Greek or Japanese, Italian or +English; but their artistic spirit of design and their artistic attitude +today, their own world, you should absorb but imitate never, copy never. +Unless you can make as beautiful a design in painted china or embroidered +screen or beaten brass out of your American turkey as the Japanese does +out of his grey silver-winged stork, you will never do anything. Let the +Greek carve his lions and the Goth his dragons: buffalo and wild deer are +the animals for you. + +Golden rod and aster and rose and all the flowers that cover your valleys +in the spring and your hills in the autumn: let them be the flowers for +your art. Not merely has Nature given you the noblest motives for a new +school of decoration, but to you above all other countries has she given +the utensils to work in. + +You have quarries of marble richer than Pantelicus, more varied than +Paros, but do not build a great white square house of marble and think +that it is beautiful, or that you are using marble nobly. If you build +in marble you must either carve it into joyous decoration, like the lives +of dancing children that adorn the marble castles of the Loire, or fill +it with beautiful sculpture, frieze and pediment, as the Greeks did, or +inlay it with other coloured marbles as they did in Venice. Otherwise +you had better build in simple red brick as your Puritan fathers, with no +pretence and with some beauty. Do not treat your marble as if it was +ordinary stone and build a house of mere blocks of it. For it is indeed +a precious stone, this marble of yours, and only workmen of nobility of +invention and delicacy of hand should be allowed to touch it at all, +carving it into noble statues or into beautiful decoration, or inlaying +it with other coloured marbles: for the true colours of architecture are +those of natural stone, and I would fain see them taken advantage of to +the full. Every variety is here, from pale yellow to purple passing +through orange, red and brown, entirely at your command; nearly every +kind of green and grey also is attainable, and with these and with pure +white what harmony might you not achieve. Of stained and variegated +stone the quantity is unlimited, the kinds innumerable. Were brighter +colours required, let glass, and gold protected by glass, be used in +mosaic, a kind of work as durable as the solid stone and incapable of +losing its lustre by time. And let the painter's work be reserved for +the shadowed loggia and inner chamber. + +This is the true and faithful way of building. Where this cannot be, the +device of external colouring may indeed be employed without dishonour--but +it must be with the warning reflection that a time will come when such +aids will pass away and when the building will be judged in its +lifelessness, dying the death of the dolphin. Better the less bright, +more enduring fabric. The transparent alabasters of San Miniato and the +mosaics of Saint Mark's are more warmly filled and more brightly touched +by every return of morning and evening rays, while the hues of the Gothic +cathedrals have died like the iris out of the cloud, and the temples, +whose azure and purple once flamed above the Grecian promontory, stand in +their faded whiteness like snows which the sunset has left cold. + +* * * * * + +I do not know anything so perfectly commonplace in design as most modern +jewellery. How easy for you to change that and to produce goldsmiths' +work that would be a joy to all of us. The gold is ready for you in +unexhausted treasure, stored up in the mountain hollow or strewn on the +river sand, and was not given to you merely for barren speculation. There +should be some better record of it left in your history than the +merchant's panic and the ruined home. We do not remember often enough +how constantly the history of a great nation will live in and by its art. +Only a few thin wreaths of beaten gold remain to tell us of the stately +empire of Etruria; and, while from the streets of Florence the noble +knight and haughty duke have long since passed away, the gates which the +simple goldsmith Gheberti made for their pleasure still guard their +lovely house of baptism, worthy still of the praise of Michael Angelo who +called them worthy to be the Gates of Paradise. + +Have then your school of design, search out your workmen and, when you +find one who has delicacy of hand and that wonder of invention necessary +for goldsmiths' work, do not leave him to toil in obscurity and dishonour +and have a great glaring shop and two great glaring shop-boys in it (not +to take your orders: they never do that; but to force you to buy +something you do not want at all). When you want a thing wrought in +gold, goblet or shield for the feast, necklace or wreath for the women, +tell him what you like most in decoration, flower or wreath, bird in +flight or hound in the chase, image of the woman you love or the friend +you honour. Watch him as he beats out the gold into those thin plates +delicate as the petals of a yellow rose, or draws it into the long wires +like tangled sunbeams at dawn. Whoever that workman be help him, cherish +him, and you will have such lovely work from his hand as will be a joy to +you for all time. + +This is the spirit of our movement in England, and this is the spirit in +which we would wish you to work, making eternal by your art all that is +noble in your men and women, stately in your lakes and mountains, +beautiful in your own flowers and natural life. We want to see that you +have nothing in your houses that has not been a joy to the man who made +it, and is not a joy to those that use it. We want to see you create an +art made by the hands of the people to please the hearts of the people +too. Do you like this spirit or not? Do you think it simple and strong, +noble in its aim, and beautiful in its result? I know you do. + +Folly and slander have their own way for a little time, but for a little +time only. You now know what we mean: you will be able to estimate what +is said of us--its value and its motive. + +There should be a law that no ordinary newspaper should be allowed to +write about art. The harm they do by their foolish and random writing it +would be impossible to overestimate--not to the artist but to the public, +blinding them to all, but harming the artist not at all. Without them we +would judge a man simply by his work; but at present the newspapers are +trying hard to induce the public to judge a sculptor, for instance, never +by his statues but by the way he treats his wife; a painter by the amount +of his income and a poet by the colour of his necktie. I said there +should be a law, but there is really no necessity for a new law: nothing +could be easier than to bring the ordinary critic under the head of the +criminal classes. But let us leave such an inartistic subject and return +to beautiful and comely things, remembering that the art which would +represent the spirit of modern newspapers would be exactly the art which +you and I want to avoid--grotesque art, malice mocking you from every +gateway, slander sneering at you from every corner. + +Perhaps you may be surprised at my talking of labour and the workman. You +have heard of me, I fear, through the medium of your somewhat imaginative +newspapers as, if not a 'Japanese young man,' at least a young man to +whom the rush and clamour and reality of the modern world were +distasteful, and whose greatest difficulty in life was the difficulty of +living up to the level of his blue china--a paradox from which England +has not yet recovered. + +Well, let me tell you how it first came to me at all to create an +artistic movement in England, a movement to show the rich what beautiful +things they might enjoy and the poor what beautiful things they might +create. + +One summer afternoon in Oxford--'that sweet city with her dreaming +spires,' lovely as Venice in its splendour, noble in its learning as +Rome, down the long High Street that winds from tower to tower, past +silent cloister and stately gateway, till it reaches that long, grey +seven-arched bridge which Saint Mary used to guard (used to, I say, +because they are now pulling it down to build a tramway and a light cast- +iron bridge in its place, desecrating the loveliest city in +England)--well, we were coming down the street--a troop of young men, +some of them like myself only nineteen, going to river or tennis-court or +cricket-field--when Ruskin going up to lecture in cap and gown met us. He +seemed troubled and prayed us to go back with him to his lecture, which a +few of us did, and there he spoke to us not on art this time but on life, +saying that it seemed to him to be wrong that all the best physique and +strength of the young men in England should be spent aimlessly on cricket- +ground or river, without any result at all except that if one rowed well +one got a pewter-pot, and if one made a good score, a cane-handled bat. +He thought, he said, that we should be working at something that would do +good to other people, at something by which we might show that in all +labour there was something noble. Well, we were a good deal moved, and +said we would do anything he wished. So he went out round Oxford and +found two villages, Upper and Lower Hinksey, and between them there lay a +great swamp, so that the villagers could not pass from one to the other +without many miles of a round. And when we came back in winter he asked +us to help him to make a road across this morass for these village people +to use. So out we went, day after day, and learned how to lay levels and +to break stones, and to wheel barrows along a plank--a very difficult +thing to do. And Ruskin worked with us in the mist and rain and mud of +an Oxford winter, and our friends and our enemies came out and mocked us +from the bank. We did not mind it much then, and we did not mind it +afterwards at all, but worked away for two months at our road. And what +became of the road? Well, like a bad lecture it ended abruptly--in the +middle of the swamp. Ruskin going away to Venice, when we came back for +the next term there was no leader, and the 'diggers,' as they called us, +fell asunder. And I felt that if there was enough spirit amongst the +young men to go out to such work as road-making for the sake of a noble +ideal of life, I could from them create an artistic movement that might +change, as it has changed, the face of England. So I sought them +out--leader they would call me--but there was no leader: we were all +searchers only and we were bound to each other by noble friendship and by +noble art. There was none of us idle: poets most of us, so ambitious +were we: painters some of us, or workers in metal or modellers, +determined that we would try and create for ourselves beautiful work: for +the handicraftsman beautiful work, for those who love us poems and +pictures, for those who love us not epigrams and paradoxes and scorn. + +Well, we have done something in England and we will do something more. +Now, I do not want you, believe me, to ask your brilliant young men, your +beautiful young girls, to go out and make a road on a swamp for any +village in America, but I think you might each of you have some art to +practise. + +* * * * * + +We must have, as Emerson said, a mechanical craft for our culture, a +basis for our higher accomplishments in the work of our hands--the +uselessness of most people's hands seems to me one of the most +unpractical things. 'No separation from labour can be without some loss +of power or truth to the seer,' says Emerson again. The heroism which +would make on us the impression of Epaminondas must be that of a domestic +conqueror. The hero of the future is he who shall bravely and gracefully +subdue this Gorgon of fashion and of convention. + +When you have chosen your own part, abide by it, and do not weakly try +and reconcile yourself with the world. The heroic cannot be the common +nor the common the heroic. Congratulate yourself if you have done +something strange and extravagant and broken the monotony of a decorous +age. + +And lastly, let us remember that art is the one thing which Death cannot +harm. The little house at Concord may be desolate, but the wisdom of New +England's Plato is not silenced nor the brilliancy of that Attic genius +dimmed: the lips of Longfellow are still musical for us though his dust +be turning into the flowers which he loved: and as it is with the greater +artists, poet and philosopher and songbird, so let it be with you. + + + + +LECTURE TO ART STUDENTS + + +Delivered to the Art students of the Royal Academy at their Club in +Golden Square, Westminster, on June 30, 1883. The text is taken from the +original manuscript. + +In the lecture which it is my privilege to deliver before you to-night I +do not desire to give you any abstract definition of beauty at all. For, +we who are working in art cannot accept any theory of beauty in exchange +for beauty itself, and, so far from desiring to isolate it in a formula +appealing to the intellect, we, on the contrary, seek to materialise it +in a form that gives joy to the soul through the senses. We want to +create it, not to define it. The definition should follow the work: the +work should not adapt itself to the definition. + +Nothing, indeed, is more dangerous to the young artist than any +conception of ideal beauty: he is constantly led by it either into weak +prettiness or lifeless abstraction: whereas to touch the ideal at all you +must not strip it of vitality. You must find it in life and re-create it +in art. + +While, then, on the one hand I do not desire to give you any philosophy +of beauty--for, what I want to-night is to investigate how we can create +art, not how we can talk of it--on the other hand, I do not wish to deal +with anything like a history of English art. + +To begin with, such an expression as English art is a meaningless +expression. One might just as well talk of English mathematics. Art is +the science of beauty, and Mathematics the science of truth: there is no +national school of either. Indeed, a national school is a provincial +school, merely. Nor is there any such thing as a school of art even. +There are merely artists, that is all. + +And as regards histories of art, they are quite valueless to you unless +you are seeking the ostentatious oblivion of an art professorship. It is +of no use to you to know the date of Perugino or the birthplace of +Salvator Rosa: all that you should learn about art is to know a good +picture when you see it, and a bad picture when you see it. As regards +the date of the artist, all good work looks perfectly modern: a piece of +Greek sculpture, a portrait of Velasquez--they are always modern, always +of our time. And as regards the nationality of the artist, art is not +national but universal. As regards archaeology, then, avoid it +altogether: archaeology is merely the science of making excuses for bad +art; it is the rock on which many a young artist founders and shipwrecks; +it is the abyss from which no artist, old or young, ever returns. Or, if +he does return, he is so covered with the dust of ages and the mildew of +time, that he is quite unrecognisable as an artist, and has to conceal +himself for the rest of his days under the cap of a professor, or as a +mere illustrator of ancient history. How worthless archaeology is in art +you can estimate by the fact of its being so popular. Popularity is the +crown of laurel which the world puts on bad art. Whatever is popular is +wrong. + +As I am not going to talk to you, then, about the philosophy of the +beautiful, or the history of art, you will ask me what I am going to talk +about. The subject of my lecture to-night is what makes an artist and +what does the artist make; what are the relations of the artist to his +surroundings, what is the education the artist should get, and what is +the quality of a good work of art. + +Now, as regards the relations of the artist to his surroundings, by which +I mean the age and country in which he is born. All good art, as I said +before, has nothing to do with any particular century; but this +universality is the quality of the work of art; the conditions that +produce that quality are different. And what, I think, you should do is +to realise completely your age in order completely to abstract yourself +from it; remembering that if you are an artist at all, you will be not +the mouthpiece of a century, but the master of eternity; that all art +rests on a principle, and that mere temporal considerations are no +principle at all; and that those who advise you to make your art +representative of the nineteenth century are advising you to produce an +art which your children, when you have them, will think old-fashioned. +But you will tell me this is an inartistic age, and we are an inartistic +people, and the artist suffers much in this nineteenth century of ours. + +Of course he does. I, of all men, am not going to deny that. But +remember that there never has been an artistic age, or an artistic +people, since the beginning of the world. The artist has always been, +and will always be, an exquisite exception. There is no golden age of +art; only artists who have produced what is more golden than gold. + +_What_, you will say to me, the Greeks? were not they an artistic people? + +Well, the Greeks certainly not, but, perhaps, you mean the Athenians, the +citizens of one out of a thousand cities. + +Do you think that they were an artistic people? Take them even at the +time of their highest artistic development, the latter part of the fifth +century before Christ, when they had the greatest poets and the greatest +artists of the antique world, when the Parthenon rose in loveliness at +the bidding of a Phidias, and the philosopher spake of wisdom in the +shadow of the painted portico, and tragedy swept in the perfection of +pageant and pathos across the marble of the stage. Were they an artistic +people then? Not a bit of it. What is an artistic people but a people +who love their artists and understand their art? The Athenians could do +neither. + +How did they treat Phidias? To Phidias we owe the great era, not merely +in Greek, but in all art--I mean of the introduction of the use of the +living model. + +And what would you say if all the English bishops, backed by the English +people, came down from Exeter Hall to the Royal Academy one day and took +off Sir Frederick Leighton in a prison van to Newgate on the charge of +having allowed you to make use of the living model in your designs for +sacred pictures? + +Would you not cry out against the barbarism and the Puritanism of such an +idea? Would you not explain to them that the worst way to honour God is +to dishonour man who is made in His image, and is the work of His hands; +and, that if one wants to paint Christ one must take the most Christlike +person one can find, and if one wants to paint the Madonna, the purest +girl one knows? + +Would you not rush off and burn down Newgate, if necessary, and say that +such a thing was without parallel in history? + +Without parallel? Well, that is exactly what the Athenians did. + +In the room of the Parthenon marbles, in the British Museum, you will see +a marble shield on the wall. On it there are two figures; one of a man +whose face is half hidden, the other of a man with the godlike lineaments +of Pericles. For having done this, for having introduced into a bas +relief, taken from Greek sacred history, the image of the great statesman +who was ruling Athens at the time, Phidias was flung into prison and +there, in the common gaol of Athens, died, the supreme artist of the old +world. + +And do you think that this was an exceptional case? The sign of a +Philistine age is the cry of immorality against art, and this cry was +raised by the Athenian people against every great poet and thinker of +their day--AEschylus, Euripides, Socrates. It was the same with Florence +in the thirteenth century. Good handicrafts are due to guilds not to the +people. The moment the guilds lost their power and the people rushed in, +beauty and honesty of work died. + +And so, never talk of an artistic people; there never has been such a +thing. + +But, perhaps, you will tell me that the external beauty of the world has +almost entirely passed away from us, that the artist dwells no longer in +the midst of the lovely surroundings which, in ages past, were the +natural inheritance of every one, and that art is very difficult in this +unlovely town of ours, where, as you go to your work in the morning, or +return from it at eventide, you have to pass through street after street +of the most foolish and stupid architecture that the world has ever seen; +architecture, where every lovely Greek form is desecrated and defiled, +and every lovely Gothic form defiled and desecrated, reducing +three-fourths of the London houses to being, merely, like square boxes of +the vilest proportions, as gaunt as they are grimy, and as poor as they +are pretentious--the hall door always of the wrong colour, and the +windows of the wrong size, and where, even when wearied of the houses you +turn to contemplate the street itself, you have nothing to look at but +chimney-pot hats, men with sandwich boards, vermilion letterboxes, and do +that even at the risk of being run over by an emerald-green omnibus. + +Is not art difficult, you will say to me, in such surroundings as these? +Of course it is difficult, but then art was never easy; you yourselves +would not wish it to be easy; and, besides, nothing is worth doing except +what the world says is impossible. + +Still, you do not care to be answered merely by a paradox. What are the +relations of the artist to the external world, and what is the result of +the loss of beautiful surroundings to you, is one of the most important +questions of modern art; and there is no point on which Mr. Ruskin so +insists as that the decadence of art has come from the decadence of +beautiful things; and that when the artist can not feed his eye on +beauty, beauty goes from his work. + +I remember in one of his lectures, after describing the sordid aspect of +a great English city, he draws for us a picture of what were the artistic +surroundings long ago. + +Think, he says, in words of perfect and picturesque imagery, whose beauty +I can but feebly echo, think of what was the scene which presented +itself, in his afternoon walk, to a designer of the Gothic school of +Pisa--Nino Pisano or any of his men {317}: + + On each side of a bright river he saw rise a line of brighter palaces, + arched and pillared, and inlaid with deep red porphyry, and with + serpentine; along the quays before their gates were riding troops of + knights, noble in face and form, dazzling in crest and shield; horse + and man one labyrinth of quaint colour and gleaming light--the purple, + and silver, and scarlet fringes flowing over the strong limbs and + clashing mail, like sea-waves over rocks at sunset. Opening on each + side from the river were gardens, courts, and cloisters; long + successions of white pillars among wreaths of vine; leaping of + fountains through buds of pomegranate and orange: and still along the + garden-paths, and under and through the crimson of the pomegranate + shadows, moving slowly, groups of the fairest women that Italy ever + saw--fairest, because purest and thoughtfullest; trained in all high + knowledge, as in all courteous art--in dance, in song, in sweet wit, + in lofty learning, in loftier courage, in loftiest love--able alike to + cheer, to enchant, or save, the souls of men. Above all this scenery + of perfect human life, rose dome and bell-tower, burning with white + alabaster and gold: beyond dome and bell-tower the slopes of mighty + hills, hoary with olive; far in the north, above a purple sea of peaks + of solemn Apennine, the clear, sharp-cloven Carrara mountains sent up + their steadfast flames of marble summit into amber sky; the great sea + itself, scorching with expanse of light, stretching from their feet to + the Gorgonian isles; and over all these, ever present, near or + far--seen through the leaves of vine, or imaged with all its march of + clouds in the Arno's stream, or set with its depth of blue close + against the golden hair and burning cheek of lady and knight,--that + untroubled and sacred sky, which was to all men, in those days of + innocent faith, indeed the unquestioned abode of spirits, as the earth + was of men; and which opened straight through its gates of cloud and + veils of dew into the awfulness of the eternal world;--a heaven in + which every cloud that passed was literally the chariot of an angel, + and every ray of its Evening and Morning streamed from the throne of + God. + +What think you of that for a school of design? + +And then look at the depressing, monotonous appearance of any modern +city, the sombre dress of men and women, the meaningless and barren +architecture, the colourless and dreadful surroundings. Without a +beautiful national life, not sculpture merely, but all the arts will die. + +Well, as regards the religious feeling of the close of the passage, I do +not think I need speak about that. Religion springs from religious +feeling, art from artistic feeling: you never get one from the other; +unless you have the right root you will not get the right flower; and, if +a man sees in a cloud the chariot of an angel, he will probably paint it +very unlike a cloud. + +But, as regards the general idea of the early part of that lovely bit of +prose, is it really true that beautiful surroundings are necessary for +the artist? I think not; I am sure not. Indeed, to me the most +inartistic thing in this age of ours is not the indifference of the +public to beautiful things, but the indifference of the artist to the +things that are called ugly. For, to the real artist, nothing is +beautiful or ugly in itself at all. With the facts of the object he has +nothing to do, but with its appearance only, and appearance is a matter +of light and shade, of masses, of position, and of value. + +Appearance is, in fact, a matter of effect merely, and it is with the +effects of nature that you have to deal, not with the real condition of +the object. What you, as painters, have to paint is not things as they +are but things as they seem to be, not things as they are but things as +they are not. + +No object is so ugly that, under certain conditions of light and shade, +or proximity to other things, it will not look beautiful; no object is so +beautiful that, under certain conditions, it will not look ugly. I +believe that in every twenty-four hours what is beautiful looks ugly, and +what is ugly looks beautiful, once. + +And, the commonplace character of so much of our English painting seems +to me due to the fact that so many of our young artists look merely at +what we may call 'ready-made beauty,' whereas you exist as artists not to +copy beauty but to create it in your art, to wait and watch for it in +nature. + +What would you say of a dramatist who would take nobody but virtuous +people as characters in his play? Would you not say he was missing half +of life? Well, of the young artist who paints nothing but beautiful +things, I say he misses one half of the world. + +Do not wait for life to be picturesque, but try and see life under +picturesque conditions. These conditions you can create for yourself in +your studio, for they are merely conditions of light. In nature, you +must wait for them, watch for them, choose them; and, if you wait and +watch, come they will. + +In Gower Street at night you may see a letterbox that is picturesque; on +the Thames Embankment you may see picturesque policemen. Even Venice is +not always beautiful, nor France. + +To paint what you see is a good rule in art, but to see what is worth +painting is better. See life under pictorial conditions. It is better +to live in a city of changeable weather than in a city of lovely +surroundings. + +Now, having seen what makes the artist, and what the artist makes, who is +the artist? There is a man living amongst us who unites in himself all +the qualities of the noblest art, whose work is a joy for all time, who +is, himself, a master of all time. That man is Mr. Whistler. + +But, you will say, modern dress, that is bad. If you cannot paint black +cloth you could not have painted silken doublet. Ugly dress is better +for art--facts of vision, not of the object. + +What is a picture? Primarily, a picture is a beautifully coloured +surface, merely, with no more spiritual message or meaning for you than +an exquisite fragment of Venetian glass or a blue tile from the wall of +Damascus. It is, primarily, a purely decorative thing, a delight to look +at. + +All archaeological pictures that make you say 'How curious!' all +sentimental pictures that make you say 'How sad!' all historical pictures +that make you say 'How interesting!' all pictures that do not immediately +give you such artistic joy as to make you say 'How beautiful!' are bad +pictures. + +* * * * * + +We never know what an artist is going to do. Of course not. The artist +is not a specialist. All such divisions as animal painters, landscape +painters, painters of Scotch cattle in an English mist, painters of +English cattle in a Scotch mist, racehorse painters, bull-terrier +painters, all are shallow. If a man is an artist he can paint +everything. + +The object of art is to stir the most divine and remote of the chords +which make music in our soul; and colour is, indeed, of itself a mystical +presence on things, and tone a kind of sentinel. + +Am I pleading, then, for mere technique? No. As long as there are any +signs of technique at all, the picture is unfinished. What is finish? A +picture is finished when all traces of work, and of the means employed to +bring about the result, have disappeared. + +In the case of handicraftsmen--the weaver, the potter, the smith--on +their work are the traces of their hand. But it is not so with the +painter; it is not so with the artist. + +Art should have no sentiment about it but its beauty, no technique except +what you cannot observe. One should be able to say of a picture not that +it is 'well painted,' but that it is 'not painted.' + +What is the difference between absolutely decorative art and a painting? +Decorative art emphasises its material: imaginative art annihilates it. +Tapestry shows its threads as part of its beauty: a picture annihilates +its canvas; it shows nothing of it. Porcelain emphasises its glaze: +water-colours reject the paper. + +A picture has no meaning but its beauty, no message but its joy. That is +the first truth about art that you must never lose sight of. A picture +is a purely decorative thing. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY BY STUART MASON + + +NOTE + + +Part I. includes all the authorised editions published in England, and +the two French editions of Salome published in Paris. Authorised +editions of some of the works were issued in the United States of America +simultaneously with the English publication. + +Part II. contains the only two 'Privately Printed' editions which are +authorised. + +Part III. is a chronological list of all contributions (so far as at +present known) to magazines, periodicals, etc., the date given being that +of the first publication only. Those marked with an asterisk (*) were +published anonymously. Many of the poems have been included in +anthologies of modern verse, but no attempt has been made to give +particulars of such reprints in this Bibliography. + + + +I.--AUTHORISED ENGLISH EDITIONS + + +NEWDIGATE PRIZE POEM. RAVENNA. Recited in the Theatre, Oxford, June 26, +1878. By OSCAR WILDE, Magdalen College. Oxford: Thos. Shrimpton and +Son, 1878. + +POEMS. London: David Bogue, 1881 (June 30). + +Second and Third Editions, 1881. + +Fourth and Fifth Editions [Revised], 1882. + +220 copies (200 for sale) of the Fifth Edition, with a new title-page and +cover designed by Charles Ricketts. London: Elkin Mathews and John Lane, +1892 (May 26). + +THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES. ('The Happy Prince,' 'The Nightingale +and the Rose,' 'The Selfish Giant,' 'The Devoted Friend,' 'The Remarkable +Rocket.') Illustrated by Walter Crane and Jacomb Hood. London: David +Nutt, 1888 (May). + +Also 75 copies (65 for sale) on Large Paper, with the plates in two +states. + +Second Edition, January 1889. + +Third Edition, February 1902. + +Fourth Impression, September 1905. + +Fifth Impression, February 1907. + +INTENTIONS. ('The Decay of Lying,' 'Pen, Pencil, and Poison,' 'The +Critic as Artist,' 'The Truth of Masks.') London: James R. Osgood, +McIlvaine and Co., 1891 (May). New Edition, 1894. + +Edition for Continental circulation only. The English Library, No. 54. +Leipzig: Heinemann and Balestier, 1891. Frequently reprinted. + +THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. London: Ward, Lock and Co. [1891 (July 1).] + +Also 250 copies on Large Paper. Dated 1891. + +[Note.--July 1 is the official date of publication, but presentation +copies signed by the author and dated May 1891 are known.] + +New Edition [1894 (October 1).] London: Ward, Lock and Bowden. + +Reprinted. Paris: Charles Carrington, 1901, 1905, 1908 (January). + +Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard Tauchnitz, +vol. 4049. 1908 (July). + +LORD ARTHUR SAVILE'S CRIME AND OTHER STORIES. ('Lord Arthur Savile's +Crime,' 'The Sphinx Without a Secret,' 'The Canterville Ghost,' 'The +Model Millionaire.') London: James R. Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891 +(July). + +A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES. ('The Young King,' 'The Birthday of the +Infanta,' 'The Fisherman and His Soul,' 'The Star Child.') With Designs +and Decorations by Charles Ricketts and C. H. Shannon. London: James R. +Osgood, McIlvaine and Co., 1891 (November). + +SALOME. DRAME EN UN ACTE. Paris: Librairie de l'Art Independant. +Londres: Elkin Mathews et John Lane, 1893 (February 22). + +600 copies (500 for sale) and 25 on Large Paper. + +New Edition. With sixteen Illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley. Paris: +Edition a petit nombre imprimee pour les Souscripteurs. 1907. + +500 copies. + +[Note.--Several editions, containing only a portion of the text, have +been issued for the performance of the Opera by Richard Strauss. London: +Methuen and Co.; Berlin: Adolph Furstner. ] + +LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN. A PLAY ABOUT A GOOD WOMAN. London: Elkin Mathews +and John Lane, 1893 (November 8). + +500 copies and 50 on Large Paper. + +Acting Edition. London: Samuel French. (Text Incomplete.) + +SALOME. A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT. Translated from the French [by Lord +Alfred Bruce Douglas.] Pictured by Aubrey Beardsley. London: Elkin +Mathews and John Lane, 1894 (February 9). + +500 copies and 100 on Large Paper. + +With the two suppressed plates and extra title-page. Preface by Robert +Ross. London: John Lane, 1907 (September 1906). + +New Edition (without illustrations). London: John Lane, 1906 (June), +1908. + +THE SPHINX. With Decorations by Charles Ricketts. London: Elkin Mathews +and John Lane, 1894 (July). + +200 copies and 25 on Large Paper. + +A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE. London: John Lane, 1894 (October 9). + +500 copies and 50 on Large Paper. + +THE SOUL OF MAN. London: Privately Printed, 1895. + +[Reprinted from the Fortnightly Review (February 1891), by permission of +the Proprietors, and published by A. L. Humphreys.] + +New Edition. London: Arthur L. Humphreys, 1907. + +Reprinted in Sebastian Melmoth. London: Arthur L. Humphreys, 1904, 1905. + +THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL. By C.3.3. London: Leonard Smithers, 1898 +(February 13). + +800 copies and 30 on Japanese Vellum. + +Second Edition, March 1898. + +Third Edition, 1898. 99 copies only, signed by the author. + +Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Editions, 1898. + +Seventh Edition, 1899. {328a} + +[Note.--The above are printed at the Chiswick Press on handmade paper. +All reprints on ordinary paper are unauthorised.] + +THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST. A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR SERIOUS PEOPLE. BY +THE AUTHOR OF LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN. London: Leonard Smithers and Co., +1899 (February). + +1000 copies. Also 100 copies on Large Paper, and 12 on Japanese Vellum. + +Acting Edition. London: Samuel French. (Text Incomplete.) + +AN IDEAL HUSBAND. BY THE AUTHOR OF LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN. London: +Leonard Smithers and Co., 1889 (July). + +1000 copies. Also 100 copies on Large Paper, and 12 on Japanese Vellum. + +DE PROFUNDIS. London: Methuen and Co., 1905 (February 23). + +Also 200 copies on Large Paper, and 50 on Japanese Vellum. + +Second Edition, March 1905. + +Third Edition, March 1905. + +Fourth Edition, April 1905. + +Fifth Edition, September 1905. + +Sixth Edition, March 1906. + +Seventh Edition, January 1907. + +Eighth Edition, April 1907. + +Ninth Edition, July 1907. + +Tenth Edition, October 1907. + +Eleventh Edition, January 1908. {328b} + +THE WORKS OF OSCAR WILDE. London: Methuen and Co., 1908 (February 13). +In thirteen volumes. 1000 copies on Handmade Paper and 80 on Japanese +Vellum. + +THE DUCHESS OF PADUA. A PLAY. + +SALOME. A FLORENTINE TRAGEDY. VERA. + +LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN. A PLAY ABOUT A GOOD WOMAN. + +A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE. A PLAY. + +AN IDEAL HUSBAND. A PLAY. + +THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST. A TRIVIAL COMEDY FOR SERIOUS PEOPLE. + +LORD ARTHUR SAVILE'S CRIME AND OTHER PROSE PIECES. + +INTENTIONS AND THE SOUL OF MAN. + +THE POEMS. + +A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES, THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES. + +DE PROFUNDIS. + +REVIEWS. + +MISCELLANIES. + +Uniform with the above. Paris: Charles Carrington, 1908 (April 16). + +THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. + + + +II.--EDITIONS PRIVATELY PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR + + +VERA; OR, THE NIHILISTS. A DRAMA IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS. [New +York] 1882. + +THE DUCHESS OF PADUA: A TRAGEDY OF THE XVI CENTURY WRITTEN IN PARIS IN +THE XIX CENTURY. Privately Printed as Manuscript. [New York, 1883 +(March 15).] + + + +III.--MISCELLANEOUS CONTRIBUTIONS TO MAGAZINES, PERIODICALS, Etc. + + +1875 + +November. CHORUS OF CLOUD MAIDENS ([Greek], 275-287 and 295-307). Dublin +University Magazine, Vol. LXXXVI. No. 515, page 622. + +1876 + +January. FROM SPRING DAYS TO WINTER. (FOR MUSIC.) Dublin University +Magazine, Vol. LXXXVII. No. 517, page 47. + +March. GRAFFITI D'ITALIA. I. SAN MINIATO. (JUNE 15.) Dublin +University Magazine, Vol. LXXXVII. No. 519, page 297. + +June. THE DOLE OF THE KING'S DAUGHTER. Dublin University Magazine, Vol. +LXXXVII. No. 522, page 682. + +Trinity Term. [Greek]. (THE ROSE OF LOVE, AND WITH A ROSE'S THORNS.) +Kottabos, Vol. II. No. 10, page 268. + +September. [Greek]. Dublin University Magazine, Vol. LXXXVIII. No. 525, +page 291. + +September. THE TRUE KNOWLEDGE. Irish Monthly, Vol. IV. No. 39, page +594. + +September. GRAFFITI D'ITALIA. (ARONA. LAGO MAGGIORE.) Month and +Catholic Review, Vol. xxviii. No. 147, page 77. + +Michaelmas Term. [Greek]. Kottabos, Vol. II. No. 11, page 298. + +1877 + +February. LOTUS LEAVES. Irish Monthly, Vol. v. No. 44, page 133. + +Hilary Term. A FRAGMENT FROM THE AGAMEMNON OF AESCHYLOS. Kottabos, Vol. +II. No. 12, page 320. + +Hilary Term. A NIGHT VISION. Kottabos, Vol. II. No. 12, page 331. + +June. SALVE SATURNIA TELLUS. Irish Monthly, Vol. V. No. 48, page 415. + +June. URBS SACRA AETERNA. Illustrated Monitor, Vol. IV. No. 3, page +130. + +July. THE TOMB OF KEATS. Irish Monthly, Vol. V. No. 49, page 476. + +July. SONNET WRITTEN DURING HOLY WEEK. Illustrated Monitor, Vol. IV. +No. 4, page 186. + +July. THE GROSVENOR GALLERY. Dublin University Magazine, Vol. XC. No. +535, page 118. + +Michaelmas Term. WASTED DAYS. (FROM A PICTURE PAINTED BY MISS V. T.) +Kottabos, Vol. III. No. 2, page 56. + +December. [Greek]. Irish Monthly, Vol. V. No. 54, page 746. + +1878 + +April. MAGDALEN WALKS. Irish Monthly, Vol. VI. No. 58, page 211. + +1879 + +Hilary Term. 'LA BELLE MARGUERITE.' BALLADE DU MOYEN AGE. Kottabos, +Vol. III. No. 6, page 146. + +April. THE CONQUEROR OF TIME. Time, Vol. I. No. 1, page 30. + +May 5. GROSVENOR GALLERY (First Notice.) Saunders' Irish Daily News, +Vol. CXC. No. 42,886, page 5. + +June. EASTER DAY. Waifs and Strays, Vol. I. No. 1, page 2. + +June 11. TO SARAH BERNHARDT. World, No. 258, page 18. + +July. THE NEW HELEN. Time, Vol. I. No. 4, page 400. + +July 16. QUEEN HENRIETTA MARIA. (Charles I,, act iii.) World, No. 263, +page 18. + +Michaelmas Term. AVE! MARIA. Kottabos, Vol. III. No. 8, page 206. + +1880 + +January 14. PORTIA. World, No. 289, page 13. + +March. IMPRESSION DE VOYAGE. Waifs and Strays, Vol. I. No. 3, page 77. + +August 25. AVE IMPERATRIX! A POEM ON ENGLAND. World, No. 321, page 12. + +November 10. LIBERTATIS SACRA FAMES. World, No. 332, page 15. + +December. SEN ARTYSTY; OR, THE ARTIST'S DREAM. Translated from the +Polish of Madame Helena Modjeska. Routledge's Christmas Annual: The +Green Room, page 66. + +1881 + +January. THE GRAVE OF KEATS. Burlington, Vol. I. No. 1, page 35. + +March 2. IMPRESSION DE MATIN. World, No. 348, page 15. + +1882 + +February 15. IMPRESSIONS: I. LE JARDIN. II. LA MER. Our Continent +(Philadelphia), Vol. I. No. 1, page 9. + +November 7. MRS. LANGTRY AS HESTER GRAZEBROOK. New York World, page 5. + +L'ENVOI, An Introduction to Rose Leaf and Apple Leaf, by Rennell Rodd, +page 11. Philadelphia: J. M. Stoddart and Co. + +[Besides the ordinary edition a limited number of an edition de luxe was +issued printed in brown ink on one side only of a thin transparent +handmade parchment paper, the whole book being interleaved with green +tissue.] + +1883 + +November 14. TELEGRAM TO WHISTLER. World, No. 489, page 16. + +1884 + +May 29. UNDER THE BALCONY. Shaksperean Show-Book, page 23. + +(Set to Music by Lawrence Kellie as OH! BEAUTIFUL STAR. SERENADE. +London: Robert Cocks and Co., 1892.) + +October 14. MR. OSCAR WILDE ON WOMAN'S DRESS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XL. No. 6114, page 6. + +November 11. MORE RADICAL IDEAS UPON DRESS REFORM. (With two +illustrations.) Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XL. No. 6138, page 14. + +1885 + +February 21. MR. WHISTLER'S TEN O'CLOCK. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. +No. 6224, page 1. + +February 25. TENDERNESS IN TITE STREET. World, No. 556, page 14. + +February 28. THE RELATION OF DRESS TO ART. A NOTE IN BLACK AND WHITE ON +MR. WHISTLER'S LECTURE. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6230, page 4. + +March 7. *DINNERS AND DISHES. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6236, +page 5. + +March 13. *A MODERN EPIC. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6241, page +11. + +March 14. SHAKESPEARE ON SCENERY. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. 7, page +99. + +March 27. *A BEVY OF POETS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6253, page +5. + +April 1. *PARNASSUS VERSUS PHILOLOGY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. +6257, page 6. + +April 11. THE HARLOT'S HOUSE. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. 11, page +167. + +May. SHAKESPEARE AND STAGE COSTUME. Nineteenth Century, Vol. XVII. No. +99, page 800. + +May 9. HAMLET AT THE LYCEUM. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. 15, page 227. + +May 15. *TWO NEW NOVELS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6293, page 4. + +May 23. HENRY THE FOURTH AT OXFORD. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. 17, +page 264. + +May 27. *MODERN GREEK POETRY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLI. No. 6302, +page 5. + +May 30. OLIVIA AT THE LYCEUM. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. 18, page +278. + +June. LE JARDIN DES TUILERIES. (With an illustration by L. Troubridge.) +In a Good Cause, page 83. London: Wells Gardner, Darton and Co. + +June 6. AS YOU LIKE IT AT COOMBE HOUSE. Dramatic Review, Vol. I. No. +19, page 296. + +July. ROSES AND RUE. Midsummer Dreams, Summer Number of Society. + +(No copy of this is known to exist.) + +November 18. *A HANDBOOK TO MARRIAGE. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLII. No. +6452, page 5. + +1886 + +January 15. *HALF-HOURS WITH THE WORST AUTHORS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLIII. No. 6501, page 4. + +January 23. SONNET. ON THE RECENT SALE BY AUCTION OF KEATS' LOVE +LETTERS. Dramatic Review, Vol. II. No. 52, page 249. + +February 1. *ONE OF MR. CONWAY'S REMAINDERS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLIII. No. 6515, page 5. + +February 8. TO READ OR NOT TO READ. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. +6521, page 11. + +February 20. TWELFTH NIGHT AT OXFORD. Dramatic Review, Vol. III. No. +56, page 34. + +March 6. *THE LETTERS OF A GREAT WOMAN. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. +No. 6544, page 4. + +April 12. *NEWS FROM PARNASSUS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. +6575, page 5. + +April 14. *SOME NOVELS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. 6577, page +5. + +April 17. *A LITERARY PILGRIM. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. 6580, +page 5. + +April 21. *BERANGER IN ENGLAND. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. +6583, page 5. + +May 13. *THE POETRY OF THE PEOPLE. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIII. No. +6601, page 5. + +May 15. THE CENCI. Dramatic Review, Vol. III. No. 68, page 151. + +May 22. HELENA IN TROAS. Dramatic Review, Vol. III. No. 69, page 161. + +July. KEATS' SONNET ON BLUE. (With facsimile of original Manuscript.) +Century Guild Hobby Horse, Vol. I. No. 3, page 83. + +August 4. *PLEASING AND PRATTLING. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6672, page 5. + +September 13. *BALZAC IN ENGLISH. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6706, page 5. + +September 16. *TWO NEW NOVELS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. 6709, +page 5. + +September 20. *BEN JONSON. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. 6712, page +6. + +September 27. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6718, page 5. + +October 8. *A RIDE THROUGH MOROCCO. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6728, page 5. + +October 14. *THE CHILDREN OF THE POETS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. +No. 6733, page 5. + +October 28. *NEW NOVELS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. 6745, page +4. + +November 3. *A POLITICIAN'S POETRY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6750, page 4. + +November 10. *MR. SYMONDS' HISTORY OF THE RENAISSANCE. Pall Mall +Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. 6756, page 5. + +November 18. *A 'JOLLY' ART CRITIC. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. +6763, page 6. + +November 24. NOTE ON WHISTLER. World, No. 647, page 14. + +December 1. *A 'SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY' THROUGH LITERATURE. Pall Mall +Gazette, Vol. XLIV. No. 6774, page 5. + +December 11. *TWO BIOGRAPHIES OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. Pall Mall Gazette, +Vol. XLIV. No. 6783, page 5. + +1887 + +January 8. *COMMON SENSE IN ART. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6806, +page 5. + +February 1. *MINER AND MINOR POETS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. +6826, page 5. + +February 17. *A NEW CALENDAR. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6840, +page 5. + +February 23. THE CANTERVILLE GHOST--I. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. +Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. No. 138, page 193. + +March 2. THE CANTERVILLE GHOST--II. Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. +Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. No. 139, page 207. + +March 8. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6856, +page 5. + +March 23. *THE AMERICAN INVASION. Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. +No. 142, page 270. + +March 28. *GREAT WRITERS BY LITTLE MEN. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. +No. 6873, page 5. + +March 31. *A NEW BOOK ON DICKENS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. +6876, page 5. + +April 12. *OUR BOOK SHELF. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6885, page +5. + +April 18. *A CHEAP EDITION OF A GREAT MAN. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. +No. 6890, page 5. + +April 26. *MR. MORRIS'S ODYSSEY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6897, +page 5. + +May 2. *A BATCH OF NOVELS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6902, page +11. + +May 7. *SOME NOVELS. Saturday Review, Vol. LXIII. No. 1645, page 663. + +May 11. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE'S CRIME. A STORY OF CHEIROMANCY.--I. II. +Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. No. +149, page 447. + +May 18. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE'S CRIME. A STORY OF CHEIROMANCY.--III. IV. +Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. No. 150, page 471. + +May 25. LORD ARTHUR SAVILE'S CRIME. A STORY OF CHEIROMANCY.--V. VI. +Illustrated by F. H. Townsend. Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. No. +151, page 495. + +May 25. LADY ALROY. World, No. 673, page 18. + +May 30. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. No. 6926, page +5. + +June 11. *MR. PATER'S IMAGINARY PORTRAITS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLV. +No. 6937, page 2. + +June 22. THE MODEL MILLIONAIRE. World, No. 677, page 18. + +August 8. *A GOOD HISTORICAL NOVEL. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. No. +6986, page 3. + +August 20. *NEW NOVELS. Saturday Review, Vol. LXIV. No. 1660, page 264. + +September 27. *TWO BIOGRAPHIES OF KEATS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. +No. 7029, page 3. + +October 15. *SERMONS IN STONES AT BLOOMSBURY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLVI. No. 7045, page 5. + +October 24. *A SCOTCHMAN ON SCOTTISH POETRY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLVI. No. 7052, page 3. + +November. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. I. No. 1, page +36. + +November 9. *MR. MAHAFFY'S NEW BOOK. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. No. +7066, page 3. + +November 24. *MR. MORRIS'S COMPLETION OF THE ODYSSEY. Pall Mall +Gazette, Vol. XLVI. No. 7079, page 3. + +November 30. *SIR CHARLES BOWEN'S VIRGIL. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. +No. 7084, page 3. + +December. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. I. No. 2, page +81. + +December 12. *THE UNITY OF THE ARTS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. No. +7094, page 13. + +December 13. UN AMANT DE NOS JOURS. Court and Society Review, Vol. IV. +No. 180, page 587. + +December 16. *ARISTOTLE AT AFTERNOON TEA. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVI. +No. 7098, page 3. + +December 17. *EARLY CHRISTIAN ART IN IRELAND. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLVI. No. 7099, page 3. + +December 25. *ART AT WILLIS'S ROOMS. Sunday Times, No. 3376, page 7. + +December 25. FANTAISIES DECORATIVES. I. LE PANNEAU. II. LES BALLONS. +Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. Lady's Pictorial Christmas Number, +pages 2, 3. + +1888 + +January. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. I. No. 3, page +132. + +January 20. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVII. No. +7128, page 3. + +February. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. I. No. 4, page +180. + +February 15. THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVII. No. +7150, page 3. + +February 24. *VENUS OR VICTORY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVII. No. +7158, page 2. + +March. LITERARY AND OTHER NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. I. No. 5, page +229. + +April. CANZONET. Art and Letters, Vol. II. No. 1, page 46. + +April 6. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVII. No. 7193, +page 3. + +April 14. *M. CARO ON GEORGE SAND. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVII. No. +7200, page 3. + +October 24. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVIII. No. +7365, page 5. + +November. A FASCINATING BOOK. A NOTE BY THE EDITOR. Woman's World, +Vol. II. No. 13, page 53. + +November 2. *MR. MORRIS ON TAPESTRY. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVIII. +No. 7373, page 6. + +November 9. *SCULPTURE AT THE 'ARTS AND CRAFTS.' Pall Mall Gazette, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7379, page 3. + +November 16. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVIII. No. +7385, page 2. + +November 16. *PRINTING AND PRINTERS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVIII. +No. 7385, page 5. + +November 23. *THE BEAUTIES OF BOOKBINDING. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLVIII. No. 7391, page 3. + +November 30. *THE CLOSE OF THE 'ARTS AND CRAFTS.' Pall Mall Gazette, +Vol. XLVIII. No. 7397, page 3. + +December. A NOTE ON SOME MODERN POETS. Woman's World, Vol. II. No. 14, +page 108. + +December 8. ENGLISH POETESSES. Queen, Vol. LXXXIV. No. 2189, page 742. + +December 11. *SIR EDWIN ARNOLD'S LAST VOLUME. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLVIII. No. 7046, page 3. + +December 14. *AUSTRALIAN POETS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLVIII. No. +7409, page 3. + +December. THE YOUNG KING. Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. Lady's +Pictorial Christmas Number, page 1. + +1889 + +January. THE DECAY OF LYING: A DIALOGUE. Nineteenth Century, Vol. XXV. +No. 143, page 35. + +January. PEN, PENCIL, AND POISON: A STUDY. Fortnightly Review, Vol. +XLV. No. 265, page 41. + +January. LONDON MODELS. Illustrated by Harper Pennington. English +Illustrated Magazine, Vol. VI. No. 64, page 313. + +January. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. II. No. 15, page 164. + +January 3. *POETRY AND PRISON. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7425, +page 3. + +January 25. *THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO WALT WHITMAN. Pall Mall Gazette, +Vol. XLIX. No. 7444, page 3. + +January 26. *THE NEW PRESIDENT. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7445, +page 3. + +February. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. II. No. 16, page +221. + +February. SYMPHONY IN YELLOW. Centennial Magazine (Sydney), Vol. II. +No. 7, page 437. + +February 12. *ONE OF THE BIBLES OF THE WORLD. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLIX. No. 7459, page 3. + +February 15. *POETICAL SOCIALISTS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. +7462, page 3. + +February 27. *MR. BRANDER MATTHEWS' ESSAYS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. +XLIX. No. 7472, page 3. + +March. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. III. No. 17, page 277. + +March 2. *MR. WILLIAM MORRIS'S LAST BOOK. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. +No. 7475, page 3. + +March 25. *ADAM LINDSAY GORDON. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7494, +page 3. + +March 30. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7499, +page 3. + +April. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. II. No. 18, page 333. + +April 13. MR. FROUDE'S BLUE-BOOK. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. +7511, page 3. + +May. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. ii. No. 19, page 389. + +May 17. *OUIDA'S NEW NOVEL. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7539, +page 3. + +June. SOME LITERARY NOTES. Woman's World, Vol. II. No. 20, page 446. + +June 5. *A THOUGHT-READER'S NOVEL. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. +7555, page 2. + +June 24. *THE POETS' CORNER. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. No. 7571, +page 3. + +June 27. *MR. SWINBURNE'S LAST VOLUME. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. XLIX. +No. 7574, page 3. + +July. THE PORTRAIT OF MR. W. H. Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. +CXLVI. No. 885, page 1. + +July 12. *THREE NEW POETS. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. I. No. 7587, page 3. + +December. IN THE FOREST. Illustrated by Bernard Partridge. Lady's +Pictorial Christmas Number, page 9. + +(Set to music by Edwin Tilden and published by Miles and Thompson, +Boston, U.S.A., 1891.) + +1890 + +January 9. REPLY TO MR. WHISTLER. Truth, Vol. XXVII. No. 680, page 51. + +February 8. A CHINESE SAGE. Speaker, Vol. I. No. 6, page 144. + +March 22. MR. PATER'S LAST VOLUME. Speaker, Vol. I. No. 12, page 319. + +May 24. *PRIMAVERA. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. LI. No. 7856, page 3. + +June 20. THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY. Lippincott's Monthly Magazine +(July), Vol. XLVI. No. 271, page 3. + +(Containing thirteen chapters only.) + +June 26. MR. WILDE'S BAD CASE. St. James's Gazette, Vol. XX. No. 3135, +page 4. + +June 27. MR. OSCAR WILDE AGAIN. St. James's Gazette, Vol. XX. No. 3136, +page 5. + +June 28. MR. OSCAR WILDE'S DEFENCE. St. James's Gazette, Vol. XX. No. +3137, page 5. + +June 30. MR. OSCAR WILDE'S DEFENCE. St. James's Gazette, Vol. XX. No. +3138, page 5. + +July. THE TRUE FUNCTION AND VALUE OF CRITICISM; WITH SOME REMARKS ON THE +IMPORTANCE OF DOING NOTHING: A DIALOGUE. Nineteenth Century, Vol. +XXVIII. No. 161, page 123. + +July 2. 'DORIAN GRAY.' Daily Chronicle and Clerkenwell News, No. 8830, +page 5. + +July 12. MR. WILDE'S REJOINDER. Scots Observer, Vol. IV. No. 86, page +201. + +August 2. ART AND MORALITY. Scots Observer, Vol. IV. No. 89, page 279. + +August 16. ART AND MORALITY. Scots Observer, Vol. IV. No. 91, page 332. + +September. THE TRUE FUNCTION AND VALUE OF CRITICISM; WITH SOME REMARKS +ON THE IMPORTANCE OF DOING NOTHING: A DIALOGUE (concluded). Nineteenth +Century, Vol. XXVIII. No. 163, page 435. + +1891 + +February. THE SOUL OF MAN UNDER SOCIALISM. Fortnightly Review, Vol. +XLIX. No. 290, page 292. + +March. A PREFACE TO 'DORIAN GRAY.' Fortnightly Review, Vol. XLIX. No. +291, page 480. + +September 26. AN ANGLO-INDIAN'S COMPLAINT. Times, No. 33,440, page 10. + +December 5. 'A HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES.' Speaker, Vol. IV. No. 101, page +682. + +December 11. MR. OSCAR WILDE'S 'HOUSE OF POMEGRANATES.' Pall Mall +Gazette, Vol. LIII. No. 8339, page 2. + +1892 + +February 20. PUPPETS AND ACTORS. Daily Telegraph, No. 11,470, page 3. + +February 27. MR. OSCAR WILDE EXPLAINS. St. James's Gazette, Vol. XXIV. +No. 3654, page 4. + +December 6. THE NEW REMORSE. Spirit Lamp, Vol. II. No. 4, page 97. + +1893 + +February 17. THE HOUSE OF JUDGMENT. Spirit Lamp, Vol. III. No. 2, page +52. + +March 2. MR. OSCAR WILDE ON 'SALOME.' Times, No. 33,888, page 4. + +June 6. THE DISCIPLE. Spirit Lamp, Vol. IV. No. 2, page 49. + +TO MY WIFE: WITH A COPY OF MY POEMS; AND WITH A COPY OF 'THE HOUSE OF +POMEGRANATES.' Book-Song, An Anthology of Poems of Books and Bookmen +from Modern Authors. Edited by Gleeson White, pages 156, 157. London: +Elliot Stock. + +[This was the first publication of these two poems. Anthologies +containing reprints are not included in this list.] + +1894 + +January 15. LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE THIRTEEN CLUB. Times, No. +34,161, page 7. + +July. POEMS IN PROSE. ('The Artist,' 'The Doer of Good,' 'The +Disciple,' 'The Master,' 'The House of Judgment.') Fortnightly Review, +Vol. LIV. No. 331, page 22. + +September 20. THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. LIX. +No. 9202, page 3. + +September 25. THE ETHICS OF JOURNALISM. Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. LIX. +No. 9206, page 3. + +October 2. 'THE GREEN CARNATION.' Pall Mall Gazette, Vol. LIX. No. +9212, page 3. + +December. PHRASES AND PHILOSOPHIES FOR THE USE OF THE YOUNG. Chameleon, +Vol. I. No. 1, page 1. + +1895 + +April 6. LETTER ON THE QUEENSBERRY CASE. Evening News, No. 4226, page +3. + +1897 + +May 28. THE CASE OF WARDER MARTIN. SOME CRUELTIES OF PRISON LIFE. Daily +Chronicle, No. 10,992, page 9. + +1898 + +March 24. LETTER ON PRISON REFORM. Daily Chronicle, No. 11,249, page 5. + + + + +Footnotes. + + +{0a} See Lord Arthur Savile's Crime and other Prose Pieces in this +edition, page 223. + +{3} Reverently some well-meaning persons have placed a marble slab on +the wall of the cemetery with a medallion-profile of Keats on it and some +mediocre lines of poetry. The face is ugly, and rather hatchet-shaped, +with thick sensual lips, and is utterly unlike the poet himself, who was +very beautiful to look upon. 'His countenance,' says a lady who saw him +at one of Hazlitt's lectures, 'lives in my mind as one of singular beauty +and brightness; it had the expression as if he had been looking on some +glorious sight.' And this is the idea which Severn's picture of him +gives. Even Haydon's rough pen-and-ink sketch of him is better than this +'marble libel,' which I hope will soon be taken down. I think the best +representation of the poet would be a coloured bust, like that of the +young Rajah of Koolapoor at Florence, which is a lovely and lifelike work +of art. + +{19} It is perhaps not generally known that there is another and older +peacock ceiling in the world besides the one Mr. Whistler has done at +Kensington. I was surprised lately at Ravenna to come across a mosaic +ceiling done in the keynote of a peacock's tail--blue, green, purple, and +gold--and with four peacocks in the four spandrils. Mr. Whistler was +unaware of the existence of this ceiling at the time he did his own. + +{43} An Unequal Match, by Tom Taylor, at Wallack's Theatre, New York, +November 6, 1882. + +{74} 'Make' is of course a mere printer's error for 'mock,' and was +subsequently corrected by Lord Houghton. The sonnet as given in The +Garden of Florence reads 'orbs' for 'those.' + +{158} September 1890. See Intentions, page 214. + +{163} November 30, 1891. + +{164} February 12, 1892. + +{170} February 23, 1893. + +{172} The verses called 'The Shamrock' were printed in the Sunday Sun, +August 5, 1894, and the charge of plagiarism was made in the issue dated +September 16, 1894. + +{188} Cousin errs a good deal in this respect. To say, as he did, 'Give +me the latitude and the longitude of a country, its rivers and its +mountains, and I will deduce the race,' is surely a glaring exaggeration. + +{190} The monarchical, aristocratical, and democratic elements of the +Roman constitution are referred to. + +{193a} Polybius, vi. 9. [Greek]. + +{193b} [Greek]. + +{193c} The various stages are [Greek]. + +{197a} Polybius, xii. 24. + +{197b} Polybius, i. 4, viii. 4, specially; and really passim. + +{198a} He makes one exception. + +{198b} Polybius, viii. 4. + +{199} Polybius, xvi. 12. + +{200a} Polybius, viii. 4: [Greek]. + +{200b} Polybius resembled Gibbon in many respects. Like him he held +that all religions were to the philosopher equally false, to the vulgar +equally true, to the statesman equally useful. + +{203} Cf. Polybius, xii. 25, [Greek]. + +{205} Polybius, xxii. 22. + +{207} I mean particularly as regards his sweeping denunciation of the +complete moral decadence of Greek society during the Peloponnesian War +which, from what remains to us of Athenian literature, we know must have +been completely exaggerated. Or, rather, he is looking at men merely in +their political dealings: and in politics the man who is personally +honourable and refined will not scruple to do anything for his party. + +{211} Polybius, xii. 25. + +{253} As an instance of the inaccuracy of published reports of this +lecture, it may be mentioned that all previous versions give this passage +as The artist may trace the depressed revolution of Bunthorne simply to +the lack of technical means! + +{317} The Two Paths, Lect. III. p. 123 (1859 ed.). + +{328a} Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard +Tauchnitz, vol. 4056. 1908 (August). + +{328b} Edition for Continental circulation only. Leipzig: Bernhard +Tauchnitz, vol. 4056. 1908 (August). + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISCELLANIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 14062.txt or 14062.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/0/6/14062 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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