diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 08:03:18 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 08:03:18 -0800 |
| commit | 17d27ffe4684b59e677e6ed1bb64104f9982879a (patch) | |
| tree | b4c3a5f710ab39125d9851986e4d73e9757657f4 /old/51161-h/51161-h.htm | |
| parent | cd025434bb9a20426be4ee831f3f089ed260eac6 (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/51161-h/51161-h.htm')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/51161-h/51161-h.htm | 30784 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 30784 deletions
diff --git a/old/51161-h/51161-h.htm b/old/51161-h/51161-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d0af3db..0000000 --- a/old/51161-h/51161-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,30784 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Degeneration, by Max Nordau. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} -div.limit {max-width: 35em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} - -div.limit1 {max-width: 15em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - -.ln1 {position: absolute; text-align: right; top: auto; margin-left: -1em;} - -.vh {visibility: hidden;} - -.wn {font-weight: normal;} - -.font1 {font: 1em "Old English Text MT", serif;} - - h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} - -p {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 1.5em;} - -.pc {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pi4 {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 4em;} - -.pi4h {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - padding-left: 6em; - text-indent: -2em;} - -.pch {margin-top: 1.5em; - font-size: 115%; - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 1.5em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pc1 {margin-top: 1em; - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pc2 {margin-top: 2em; - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pc4 {margin-top: 4em; - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pad1 {margin-top: 0.7em; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em;} - -.pad2 {margin-top: 0em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - padding-left: 1em; - text-indent: -1em;} - -.pn {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pn1 {margin-top: 1em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em;} - -.pr2 {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: right; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-right: 2em;} - -.pp4s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -0.35em; - padding-left: 4em;} - -.pp6 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-left: 6em;} - -.pp6s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -0.35em; - padding-left: 6em;} - -.pp7 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-left: 7em;} - -.pp8 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-left: 8em;} - -.pp8s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -0.35em; - padding-left: 8em;} - -.pp9 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-left: 9em;} - -.pp10 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - padding-left: 10em;} - -.pp10s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -0.35em; - padding-left: 10em;} - -.pbq {margin-top: 0.2em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0; - text-indent: 1.2em; - font-size: 90%; - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 5%;} - -.pfn4 {margin-top: 1em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0; - text-indent: 0em; - margin-left: 4em; - margin-right: 1em;} - -.pfc4 {margin-top: 0.2em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 1.2em; - margin-left: 4em; - margin-right: 1em;} - -.pfp6 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - margin-left: 8em;} - -.pfp6s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0; - text-indent: -0.35em; - margin-left: 8em;} - -.pfp7 {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 0em; - margin-left: 9em;} - -.pfp10s {margin-top: 0em; - font-size: 90%; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -0.35em; - margin-left: 12em;} - -.ptn {margin-top: 0.3em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0; - text-indent: -1em; - margin-left: 2%;} - -.p1 {margin-top: 1em;} -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} - -.small {font-size: 75%;} -.reduct {font-size: 90%;} -.lmid {font-size: 110%;} -.mid {font-size: 125%;} -.large {font-size: 150%;} -.elarge {font-size: 175%;} -.xlarge {font-size: 200%;} - -hr {width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both;} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} - -hr.d1 {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} - -table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - - .tdc1 {text-align: center; text-indent: -3em;} - - .tdw {width: 14em;} - - .tch {text-align: center; - font-size: 125%; - padding-top: 0.7em; - letter-spacing: 0.1em;} - - .tbh {text-align: center; - font-size: 135%; - padding-top: 1em; - letter-spacing: 0.1em;} - -#toc {width: 60%; font-size: 90%; line-height: 1em; margin-top: 1em;} - -#tf1 {width: 70%; font-size: 90%; line-height: 1em; margin-top: 1em;margin-left: 7.5em;} - - -.pagenum { /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 94%; - color: gray; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - text-indent: 0em; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px; padding: 1em;} - -.label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor {vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: none; - font-style: normal; - font-weight: normal;} - -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Degeneration, by Max Nordau - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Degeneration - -Author: Max Nordau - -Release Date: February 9, 2016 [EBook #51161] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEGENERATION *** - - - - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="limit"> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote p4"> -<p class="pc large">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> -<p class="ptn">—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.</p> -<p class="ptn">—The transcriber of this project created the book cover -image using the title page of the original book. The image -is placed in the public domain.</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc4 elarge">DEGENERATION</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pc4 lmid"><span class="smcap">By the same Author.</span></p> - -<p class="pc1"><i>Uniform with this Volume.</i></p> - -<div class="limit1"> -<p class="pad1">CONVENTIONAL LIES OF<br /> -OUR CIVILIZATION.</p> -<p class="pad1">PARADOXES.</p> -</div> - -<p class="pc4"><span class="smcap">London: William Heinemann.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> - -<h1 class="p4">DEGENERATION</h1> - -<p class="pc4">BY<br /> -<span class="large">MAX NORDAU</span><br /> -AUTHOR OF<br /> -<span class="reduct">‘CONVENTIONAL LIES OF OUR CIVILIZATION,’ ‘PARADOXES,’ ETC.</span></p> - - -<p class="pc4">Translated from the Second Edition<br /> -of the German Work</p> - -<p class="pc4 font1 large">Popular Edition</p> - - -<p class="pc4 mid">LONDON<br /> -WILLIAM HEINEMANN<br /> -<span class="reduct">1898</span><br /> -<span class="small">[<i>All rights reserved</i>]</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> - -<div class="limit1"> - - -<p class="pc4"><i>First Edition</i><span class="vh">———</span><i>February, 1895.</i></p> -<p class="pad2"><i>New Impressions, March 4, 1895; -March 22, 1895; April, 1895; May, -1895; June, 1895; August, 1895; -November, 1895; (Popular Edition), -September, 1898.</i></p> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pc4"><span class="font1 large">Dedicated</span></p> -<p class="pc1">TO</p> -<p class="pc1"><span class="large">CÆSAR LOMBROSO,</span></p> -<p class="pc1"><span class="reduct">PROFESSOR OF PSYCHIATRY AND FORENSIC MEDICINE AT<br /> -THE ROYAL UNIVERSITY OF TURIN,</span></p> -<p class="pc1">BY</p> -<p class="pc1"><span class="lmid">THE AUTHOR.</span></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a><br /><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="cvii" id="cvii"><span class="wn">TO</span></a></h2> - -<p class="pc1 elarge">PROFESSOR CÆSAR LOMBROSO,</p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>TURIN</i>.</p> - -<p class="p4"><span class="smcap"><i>Dear and honoured Master</i></span>,</p> - -<p class="pi4"><i>I dedicate this book to you, in open and joyful recognition -of the fact that without your labours it could never have been -written.</i></p> - -<p><i>The notion of degeneracy, first introduced into science by Morel, -and developed with so much genius by yourself, has in your hands -already shown itself extremely fertile in the most diverse directions. -On numerous obscure points of psychiatry, criminal law, -politics, and sociology, you have poured a veritable flood of light, -which those alone have not perceived who obdurately close their eyes, -or who are too short-sighted to derive benefit from any enlightenment -whatsoever.</i></p> - -<p><i>But there is a vast and important domain into which neither you -nor your disciples have hitherto borne the torch of your method—the -domain of art and literature.</i></p> - -<p><i>Degenerates are not always criminals, prostitutes, anarchists, and -pronounced lunatics; they are often authors and artists. These, -however, manifest the same mental characteristics, and for the most -part the same somatic features, as the members of the above-mentioned -anthropological family, who satisfy their unhealthy impulses with -the knife of the assassin or the bomb of the dynamiter, instead of -with pen and pencil.</i></p> - -<p><i>Some among these degenerates in literature, music, and painting -have in recent years come into extraordinary prominence, and are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> -revered by numerous admirers as creators of a new art, and heralds -of the coming centuries.</i></p> - -<p><i>This phenomenon is not to be disregarded. Books and works of -art exercise a powerful suggestion on the masses. It is from these -productions that an age derives its ideals of morality and beauty. -If they are absurd and anti-social, they exert a disturbing and -corrupting influence on the views of a whole generation. Hence the -latter, especially the impressionable youth, easily excited to enthusiasm -for all that is strange and seemingly new, must be warned and enlightened -as to the real nature of the creations so blindly admired. -This warning the ordinary critic does not give. Exclusively literary -and æsthetic culture is, moreover, the worst preparation conceivable -for a true knowledge of the pathological character of the works of -degenerates. The verbose rhetorician exposes with more or less -grace, or cleverness, the subjective impressions received from the -works he criticises, but is incapable of judging if these works are the -productions of a shattered brain, and also the nature of the mental -disturbance expressing itself by them.</i></p> - -<p><i>Now I have undertaken the work of investigating (as much as -possible after your method), the tendencies of the fashions in art -and literature; of proving that they have their source in the degeneracy -of their authors, and that the enthusiasm of their admirers -is for manifestations of more or less pronounced moral insanity, -imbecility, and dementia.</i></p> - -<p><i>Thus, this book is an attempt at a really scientific criticism, which -does not base its judgment of a book upon the purely accidental, -capricious and variable emotions it awakens—emotions depending on -the temperament and mood of the individual reader—but upon the -psycho-physiological elements from which it sprang. At the same -time it ventures to fill a void still existing in your powerful -system.</i></p> - -<p><i>I have no doubt as to the consequences to myself of my initiative. -There is at the present day no danger in attacking the Church, for -it no longer has the stake at its disposal. To write against rulers -and governments is likewise nothing venturesome, for at the worst -nothing more than imprisonment could follow, with compensating -glory of martyrdom. But grievous is the fate of him who has the -audacity to characterize æsthetic fashions as forms of mental decay. -The author or artist attacked never pardons a man for recognising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> -in him a lunatic or a charlatan; the subjectively garrulous critics -are furious when it is pointed out how shallow and incompetent they -are, or how cowardly in swimming with the stream; and even the -public is angered when forced to see that it has been running after -fools, quack dentists, and mountebanks, as so many prophets. Now, -the graphomaniacs and their critical bodyguard dominate nearly the -entire press, and in the latter possess an instrument of torture by -which, in Indian fashion, they can rack the troublesome spoiler of -sport, to his life’s end.</i></p> - -<p><i>The danger, however, to which he exposes himself cannot deter a -man from doing that which he regards as his duty. When a scientific -truth has been discovered, he owes it to humanity, and has no right -to withhold it. Moreover, it is as little possible to do this as for a -woman voluntarily to prevent the birth of the mature fruit of her -womb.</i></p> - -<p><i>Without aspiring to the most distant comparison of myself with -you, one of the loftiest mental phenomena of the century, I may yet -take for my example the smiling serenity with which you pursue -your own way, indifferent to ingratitude, insult, and misunderstanding.</i></p> - -<p><i>Pray remain, dear and honoured master, ever favourably disposed -towards your gratefully devoted</i></p> - -<p class="pr2"><span class="smcap"><i>Max Nordau</i></span>.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a><br /><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="cxi" id="cxi">CONTENTS</a></h2> - -<table id="toc" summary="cont"> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tbh">BOOK I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch"><i>FIN-DE-SIÈCLE.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tdr"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE DUSK OF THE NATIONS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c1">1</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE SYMPTOMS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c7">7</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER III.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">DIAGNOSIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c15">15</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER IV.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">ETIOLOGY</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c34">34</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tbh">BOOK II.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch"><i>MYSTICISM.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MYSTICISM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c45">45</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE PRE-RAPHAELITES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c67">67</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER III.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii"><span class="small">[xii]</span></a></span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">SYMBOLISM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c100">100</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER IV.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">TOLSTOISM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c144">144</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER V.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE RICHARD WAGNER CULT</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c171">171</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER VI.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">PARODIES OF MYSTICISM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c214">214</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tbh">BOOK III.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch"><i>EGO-MANIA.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EGO-MANIA</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c241">241</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">PARNASSIANS AND DIABOLISTS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c266">266</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER III.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">DECADENTS AND ÆSTHETES</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c296">296</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER IV.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">IBSENISM</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c338">338</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER V.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c415">415</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tbh">BOOK IV.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii"><span class="small">[xiii]</span></a></span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch"><i>REALISM.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">ZOLA AND HIS SCHOOL</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c473">473</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THE ‘YOUNG GERMAN’ PLAGIARISTS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c506">506</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tbh">BOOK V.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch"><i>THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.</i></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER I.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">PROGNOSIS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c536">536</a></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2" class="tch">CHAPTER II.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">THERAPEUTICS</td> - <td class="tdr"><a href="#c550">550</a></td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[xiv]</a><br /><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc4 xlarge">DEGENERATION</p> - -<p class="pc2 large"><a name="c1" id="c1">BOOK I.</a></p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>FIN-DE-SIÈCLE</i>.</p> - -<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="pch">THE DUSK OF THE NATIONS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Fin-de-siècle</span> is a name covering both what is characteristic -of many modern phenomena, and also the underlying -mood which in them finds expression. Experience has long -shown that an idea usually derives its designation from the -language of the nation which first formed it. This, indeed, is a -law of constant application when historians of manners and -customs inquire into language, for the purpose of obtaining -some notion, through the origins of some verbal root, respecting -the home of the earliest inventions and the line of evolution -in different human races. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> is French, for it was -in France that the mental state so entitled was first consciously -realized. The word has flown from one hemisphere to the -other, and found its way into all civilized languages. A proof -this that the need of it existed. The <i>fin-de-siècle</i> state of -mind is to-day everywhere to be met with; nevertheless, it is -in many cases a mere imitation of a foreign fashion gaining -vogue, and not an organic evolution. It is in the land of its -birth that it appears in its most genuine form, and Paris is the -right place in which to observe its manifold expressions.</p> - -<p>No proof is needed of the extreme silliness of the term. -Only the brain of a child or of a savage could form the clumsy -idea that the century is a kind of living being, born like a beast -or a man, passing through all the stages of existence, gradually -ageing and declining after blooming childhood, joyous youth, -and vigorous maturity, to die with the expiration of the -hundredth year, after being afflicted in its last decade with all -the infirmities of mournful senility. Such a childish anthropomorphism -or zoomorphism never stops to consider that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -arbitrary division of time, rolling ever continuously along, is -not identical amongst all civilized beings, and that while this -nineteenth century of Christendom is held to be a creature -reeling to its death presumptively in dire exhaustion, the fourteenth -century of the Mahommedan world is tripping along in -the baby-shoes of its first decade, and the fifteenth century of -the Jews strides gallantly by in the full maturity of its fifty-second -year. Every day on our globe 130,000 human beings -are born, for whom the world begins with this same day, and -the young citizen of the world is neither feebler nor fresher for -leaping into life in the midst of the death-throes of 1900, nor -on the birthday of the twentieth century. But it is a habit of -the human mind to project externally its own subjective states. -And it is in accordance with this naïvely egoistic tendency -that the French ascribe their own senility to the century, and -speak of <i>fin-de-siècle</i> when they ought correctly to say <i>fin-de-race</i>.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>But however silly a term <i>fin-de-siècle</i> may be, the mental -constitution which it indicates is actually present in influential -circles. The disposition of the times is curiously confused, a -compound of feverish restlessness and blunted discouragement, -of fearful presage and hang-dog renunciation. The prevalent -feeling is that of imminent perdition and extinction. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> -is at once a confession and a complaint. The old -Northern faith contained the fearsome doctrine of the Dusk of -the Gods. In our days there have arisen in more highly-developed -minds vague qualms of a Dusk of the Nations, in -which all suns and all stars are gradually waning, and mankind -with all its institutions and creations is perishing in the midst -of a dying world.</p> - -<p>It is not for the first time in the course of history that the -horror of world-annihilation has laid hold of men’s minds. A -similar sentiment took possession of the Christian peoples at -the approach of the year 1000. But there is an essential -difference between chiliastic panic and <i>fin-de-siècle</i> excitement. -The despair at the turn of the first millennium of Christian -chronology proceeded from a feeling of fulness of life and joy of -life. Men were aware of throbbing pulses, they were conscious -of unweakened capacity for enjoyment, and found it unmitigatedly -appalling to perish together with the world, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -there were yet so many flagons to drain and so many lips to -kiss, and when they could yet rejoice so vigorously in both love -and wine. Of all this in the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> feeling there is nothing. -Neither has it anything in common with the impressive twilight-melancholy -of an aged Faust, surveying the work of a lifetime, -and who, proud of what has been achieved, and contemplating -what is begun but not completed, is seized with vehement -desire to finish his work, and, awakened from sleep by haunting -unrest, leaps up with the cry: ‘Was ich gedacht, ich eil’ es zu -vollbringen.’<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>Quite otherwise is the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> mood. It is the impotent -despair of a sick man, who feels himself dying by inches in the -midst of an eternally living nature blooming insolently for ever. -It is the envy of a rich, hoary voluptuary, who sees a pair of young -lovers making for a sequestered forest nook; it is the mortification -of the exhausted and impotent refugee from a Florentine -plague, seeking in an enchanted garden the experiences of a -Decamerone, but striving in vain to snatch one more pleasure -of sense from the uncertain hour. The reader of Turgenieff’s -<i>A Nest of Nobles</i> will remember the end of that beautiful -work. The hero, Lavretzky, comes as a man advanced in -years to visit at the house where, in his young days, he had -lived his romance of love. All is unchanged. The garden is -fragrant with flowers. In the great trees the happy birds are -chirping; on the fresh turf the children romp and shout. -Lavretzky alone has grown old, and contemplates, in mournful -exclusion, a scene where nature holds on its joyous way, caring -nought that Lisa the beloved is vanished, and Lavretzky, a -broken-down man, weary of life. Lavretzky’s admission that, -amidst all this ever-young, ever-blooming nature, for him alone -there comes no morrow; Alving’s dying cry for ‘The sun—the -sun!’ in Ibsen’s <i>Ghosts</i>—these express rightly the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> -attitude of to-day.</p> - -<p>This fashionable term has the necessary vagueness which -fits it to convey all the half-conscious and indistinct drift of -current ideas. Just as the words ‘freedom,’ ‘ideal,’ ‘progress’ -seem to express notions, but actually are only sounds, so in -itself <i>fin-de-siècle</i> means nothing, and receives a varying signification -according to the diverse mental horizons of those who -use it.</p> - -<p>The surest way of knowing what <i>fin-de-siècle</i> implies, is to -consider a series of particular instances where the word has -been applied. Those which I shall adduce are drawn from -French books and periodicals of the last two years.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> - -<p>A king abdicates, leaves his country, and takes up his -residence in Paris, having reserved certain political rights. -One day he loses much money at play, and is in a dilemma. -He therefore makes an agreement with the Government of his -country, by which, on receipt of a million francs, he renounces -for ever every title, official position and privilege remaining to -him. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> king.</p> - -<p>A bishop is prosecuted for insulting the minister of public -worship. The proceedings terminated, his attendant canons -distribute amongst the reporters in court a defence, copies of -which he has prepared beforehand. When condemned to pay -a fine, he gets up a public collection, which brings in tenfold the -amount of the penalty. He publishes a justificatory volume -containing all the expressions of support which have reached -him. He makes a tour through the country, exhibits himself -in every cathedral to the mob curious to see the celebrity of -the hour, and takes the opportunity of sending round the plate. -<i>Fin-de-siècle</i> bishop.</p> - -<p>The corpse of the murderer Pranzini after execution underwent -autopsy. The head of the secret police cuts off a large -piece of skin, has it tanned, and the leather made into cigar-cases -and card-cases for himself and some of his friends. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> -official.</p> - -<p>An American weds his bride in a gas-factory, then gets with -her into a balloon held in readiness, and enters on a honeymoon -in the clouds. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> wedding.</p> - -<p>An <i>attaché</i> of the Chinese Embassy publishes high-class works -in French under his own name. He negotiates with banks -respecting a large loan for his Government, and draws large -advances for himself on the unfinished contract. Later it -comes out that the books were composed by his French -secretary, and that he has swindled the banks. <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> -diplomatist.</p> - -<p>A public schoolboy walking with a chum passes the gaol -where his father, a rich banker, has repeatedly been imprisoned -for fraudulent bankruptcy, embezzlement and similar lucrative -misdemeanours. Pointing to the building, he tells his friend -with a smile: ‘Look, that’s the governor’s school.’ <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> -son.</p> - -<p>Two young ladies of good family, and school friends, are -chatting together. One heaves a sigh. ‘What’s the matter?’ -asks the other. ‘I’m in love with Raoul, and he with me.’ -‘Oh, that’s lovely! He’s handsome, young, elegant; and yet -you’re sad?’ ‘Yes, but he has nothing, and is nothing, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -my parents want me to marry the baron, who is fat, bald, and -ugly, but has a huge lot of money.’ ‘Well, marry the baron -without any fuss, and make Raoul acquainted with him, you -goose.’ <i>Fin-de-siècle</i> girls.</p> - -<p>Such test-cases show how the word is understood in the -land of its birth. Germans who ape Paris fashions, and apply -<i>fin-de-siècle</i> almost exclusively to mean what is indecent and -improper, misuse the word in their coarse ignorance as much -as, in a previous generation, they vulgarized the expression -<i>demi-monde</i>, misunderstanding its proper meaning, and giving -it the sense of <i>fille de joie</i>, whereas its creator Dumas intended -it to denote persons whose lives contained some dark period, -for which they were excluded from the circle to which they -belong by birth, education, or profession, but who do not by -their manner betray, at least to the inexperienced, that they -are no longer acknowledged as members of their own caste.</p> - -<p><i>Prima facie</i>, a king who sells his sovereign rights for a big -cheque seems to have little in common with a newly-wedded -pair who make their wedding-trip in a balloon, nor is the -connection at once obvious between an episcopal Barnum and -a well-brought-up young lady who advises her friend to a -wealthy marriage mitigated by a <i>cicisbeo</i>. All these <i>fin-de-siècle</i> -cases have, nevertheless, a common feature, to wit, a contempt -for traditional views of custom and morality.</p> - -<p>Such is the notion underlying the word <i>fin-de-siècle</i>. It -means a practical emancipation from traditional discipline, -which theoretically is still in force. To the voluptuary this -means unbridled lewdness, the unchaining of the beast in man; -to the withered heart of the egoist, disdain of all consideration -for his fellow-men, the trampling under foot of all barriers -which enclose brutal greed of lucre and lust of pleasure; to the -contemner of the world it means the shameless ascendency -of base impulses and motives, which were, if not virtuously -suppressed, at least hypocritically hidden; to the believer it -means the repudiation of dogma, the negation of a supersensuous -world, the descent into flat phenomenalism; to the -sensitive nature yearning for æsthetic thrills, it means the -vanishing of ideals in art, and no more power in its accepted -forms to arouse emotion. And to all, it means the end of an -established order, which for thousands of years has satisfied -logic, fettered depravity, and in every art matured something -of beauty.</p> - -<p>One epoch of history is unmistakably in its decline, and -another is announcing its approach. There is a sound of -rending in every tradition, and it is as though the morrow -would not link itself with to-day. Things as they are totter -and plunge, and they are suffered to reel and fall, because man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -is weary, and there is no faith that it is worth an effort to uphold -them. Views that have hitherto governed minds are dead -or driven hence like disenthroned kings, and for their inheritance -they that hold the titles and they that would usurp are locked -in struggle. Meanwhile interregnum in all its terrors prevails; -there is confusion among the powers that be; the million, -robbed of its leaders, knows not where to turn; the strong -work their will; false prophets arise, and dominion is divided -amongst those whose rod is the heavier because their time is -short. Men look with longing for whatever new things are at -hand, without presage whence they will come or what they -will be. They have hope that in the chaos of thought, art -may yield revelations of the order that is to follow on this -tangled web. The poet, the musician, is to announce, or -divine, or at least suggest in what forms civilization will further -be evolved. What shall be considered good to-morrow—what -shall be beautiful? What shall we know to-morrow—what -believe in? What shall inspire us? How shall we enjoy? So -rings the question from the thousand voices of the people, and -where a market-vendor sets up his booth and claims to give an -answer, where a fool or a knave suddenly begins to prophesy -in verse or prose, in sound or colour, or professes to practise -his art otherwise than his predecessors and competitors, there -gathers a great concourse, crowding around him to seek in -what he has wrought, as in oracles of the Pythia, some meaning -to be divined and interpreted. And the more vague and -insignificant they are, the more they seem to convey of the -future to the poor gaping souls gasping for revelations, and -the more greedily and passionately are they expounded.</p> - -<p>Such is the spectacle presented by the doings of men in -the reddened light of the Dusk of the Nations. Massed in -the sky the clouds are aflame in the weirdly beautiful glow -which was observed for the space of years after the eruption -of Krakatoa. Over the earth the shadows creep with deepening -gloom, wrapping all objects in a mysterious dimness, in -which all certainty is destroyed and any guess seems plausible. -Forms lose their outlines, and are dissolved in floating mist. -The day is over, the night draws on. The old anxiously watch -its approach, fearing they will not live to see the end. A few -amongst the young and strong are conscious of the vigour of -life in all their veins and nerves, and rejoice in the coming sunrise. -Dreams, which fill up the hours of darkness till the -breaking of the new day, bring to the former comfortless -memories, to the latter high-souled hopes. And in the artistic -products of the age we see the form in which these dreams -become sensible.</p> - -<p>Here is the place to forestall a possible misunderstanding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -The great majority of the middle and lower classes is naturally -not <i>fin-de-siècle</i>. It is true that the spirit of the times is stirring -the nations down to their lowest depths, and awaking even in -the most inchoate and rudimentary human being a wondrous -feeling of stir and upheaval. But this more or less slight touch -of moral sea-sickness does not excite in him the cravings of -travailing women, nor express itself in new æsthetic needs. -The Philistine or the Proletarian still finds undiluted satisfaction -in the old and oldest forms of art and poetry, if he knows -himself unwatched by the scornful eye of the votary of fashion, -and is free to yield to his own inclinations. He prefers Ohnet’s -novels to all the symbolists, and Mascagni’s <i>Cavalleria -Rusticana</i> to all Wagnerians and to Wagner himself; he -enjoys himself royally over slap-dash farces and music-hall -melodies, and yawns or is angered at Ibsen; he contemplates -gladly chromos of paintings depicting Munich beer-houses and -rustic taverns, and passes the open-air painters without a -glance. It is only a very small minority who honestly find -pleasure in the new tendencies, and announce them with -genuine conviction as that which alone is sound, a sure guide -for the future, a pledge of pleasure and of moral benefit. But -this minority has the gift of covering the whole visible surface -of society, as a little oil extends over a large area of the surface -of the sea. It consists chiefly of rich educated people, or of -fanatics. The former give the <i>ton</i> to all the snobs, the fools, -and the blockheads; the latter make an impression upon the -weak and dependent, and intimidate the nervous. All snobs -affect to have the same taste as the select and exclusive -minority, who pass by everything that once was considered -beautiful with an air of the greatest contempt. And thus it -appears as if the whole of civilized humanity were converted to -the æsthetics of the Dusk of the Nations.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c7" id="c7">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">THE SYMPTOMS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Let</span> us follow in the train frequenting the palaces of European -capitals, the highways of fashionable watering-places, the receptions -of the rich, and observe the figures of which it is -composed.</p> - -<p>Amongst the women, one wears her hair combed smoothly -back and down like Rafael’s Maddalena Doni in the Pitti at -Florence; another wears it drawn up high over the temples like -Julia, daughter of Titus, or Plotina, wife of Trajan, in the busts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -in the Louvre; a third has hers cut short in front on the brow -and long in the nape, waved and lightly puffed, after the fashion -of the fifteenth century, as may be seen in the pages and young -knights of Gentile Bellini, Botticelli and Mantegna. Many -have their hair dyed, and in such a fashion as to be startling in -its revolt against the law of organic harmony, and the effect of -a studied discord, only to be resolved into the higher polyphony -of the toilet taken as a whole. This swarthy, dark-eyed -woman snaps her fingers at nature by framing the brown tones -of her face in copper-red or golden-yellow; yonder blue-eyed -fair, with a complexion of milk and roses, intensifies the brightness -of her cheeks by a setting of artificially blue-black tresses. -Here is one who covers her head with a huge heavy felt hat, -an obvious imitation, in its brim turned up at the back, and its -trimming of large plush balls, of the sombrero of the Spanish -bull-fighters, who were displaying their skill in Paris at the -exhibition of 1889, and giving all kinds of <i>motifs</i> to modistes. -There is another who has stuck on her hair the emerald-green -or ruby-red biretta of the mediæval travelling student. The -costume is in keeping with the bizarre coiffure. Here is a -mantle reaching to the waist, slit up on one side, draping the -breast like a <i>portière</i>, and trimmed round the hem with little -silken bells, by the incessant clicking of which a sensitive -spectator would in a very short time either be hypnotized or -driven to take frantic fright. There is a Greek peplos, of which -the tailors speak as glibly as any venerable philologist. Next -to the stiff monumental trim of Catharine de Medicis, and the -high ruff of Mary, Queen of Scots, goes the flowing white -raiment of the angel of the Annunciation in Memling’s pictures, -and, by way of antithesis, that caricature of masculine array, -the fitting cloth coat, with widely opened lapels, waistcoat, -stiffened shirt-front, small stand-up collar, and necktie. The -majority, anxious to be inconspicuous in unimaginative mediocrity, -seems to have for its leading style a laboured rococo, -with bewildering oblique lines, incomprehensible swellings, -puffings, expansions and contractions, folds with irrational -beginning and aimless ending, in which all the outlines of the -human figure are lost, and which cause women’s bodies to -resemble now a beast of the Apocalypse, now an armchair, now -a triptych, or some other ornament.</p> - -<p>The children, strolling beside their mothers thus bedecked, -are embodiments of one of the most afflicting aberrations into -which the imagination of a spinster ever lapsed. They are -living copies of the pictures of Kate Greenaway, whose love of -children, diverted from its natural outlet, has sought gratification -in the most affected style of drawing, wherein the sacredness -of childhood is profaned under absurd disguises. Here is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -an imp dressed from head to foot in the blood-red costume of -a mediæval executioner; there a four-year-old girl wears a -cabriolet bonnet of her great-grandmother’s days and sweeps -after her a court mantle of loud-hued velvet. Another wee dot, -just able to keep on her tottering legs, has been arrayed in the -long dress of a lady of the First Empire, with puffed sleeves -and short waist.</p> - -<p>The men complete the picture. They are preserved from -excessive oddity through fear of the Philistine’s laugh, or -through some remains of sanity in taste, and, with the exception -of the red dress-coat with metal buttons, and knee-breeches -with silk stockings, with which some idiots in eye-glass and -gardenia try to rival burlesque actors, present little deviation -from the ruling canon of the masculine attire of the day. But -fancy plays the more freely among their hair. One displays -the short curls and the wavy double-pointed beard of Lucius -Verus, another looks like the whiskered cat in a Japanese -kakemono. His neighbour has the <i>barbiche</i> of Henri IV., -another the fierce moustache of a lansquenet by F. Brun, or -the chin-tuft of the city-watch in Rembrandt’s ‘Ronde de -Nuit.’</p> - -<p>The common feature in all these male specimens is that they -do not express their real idiosyncrasies, but try to present -something that they are not. They are not content to show -their natural figure, nor even to supplement it by legitimate -accessories, in harmony with the type to which they approximate, -but they seek to model themselves after some artistic -pattern which has no affinity with their own nature, or is even -antithetical to it. Nor do they for the most part limit themselves -to one pattern, but copy several at once, which jar one -with another. Thus we get heads set on shoulders not -belonging to them, costumes the elements of which are as -disconnected as though they belonged to a dream, colours that -seem to have been matched in the dark. The impression is -that of a masked festival, where all are in disguises, and with -heads too in character. There are several occasions, such as -the varnishing day at the Paris Champs de Mars salon, or the -opening of the Exhibition of the Royal Academy in London, -where this impression is so weirdly intensified, that one seems -to be moving amongst dummies patched together at haphazard, -in a mythical mortuary, from fragments of bodies, heads, -trunks, limbs, just as they came to hand, and which the -designer, in heedless pell-mell, clothed at random in the -garments of all epochs and countries. Every single figure -strives visibly by some singularity in outline, set, cut, or colour, -to startle attention violently, and imperiously to detain it. -Each one wishes to create a strong nervous excitement, no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -matter whether agreeably or disagreeably. The fixed idea is -to produce an effect at any price.</p> - -<p>Let us follow these folk in masquerade and with heads in character -to their dwellings. Here are at once stage properties and -lumber-rooms, rag-shops and museums. The study of the -master of the house is a Gothic hall of chivalry, with cuirasses, -shields and crusading banners on the walls; or the shop of an -Oriental bazaar with Kurd carpets, Bedouin chests, Circassian -narghilehs and Indian lacquered caskets. By the mirror on -the mantelpiece are fierce or funny Japanese masks. Between -the windows are staring trophies of swords, daggers, clubs and -old wheel-trigger pistols. Daylight filters in through painted -glass, where lean saints kneel in rapture. In the drawing-room -the walls are either hung with worm-eaten Gobelin tapestry, -discoloured by the sun of two centuries (or it may be by a -deftly mixed chemical bath), or covered with Morris draperies, -on which strange birds flit amongst crazily ramping branches, -and blowzy flowers coquet with vain butterflies. Amongst -armchairs and padded seats, such as the cockered bodies of -our contemporaries know and expect, there are Renaissance -stools, the heart or shell-shaped bottoms of which would attract -none but the toughened hide of a rough hero of the jousting -lists. Startling is the effect of a gilt-painted couch between -buhl-work cabinets and a puckered Chinese table, next an -inlaid writing-table of graceful rococo. On all the tables and -in all the cabinets is a display of antiquities or articles of vertù, -big or small, and for the most part warranted not genuine; a -figure of Tanagra near a broken jade snuff-box, a Limoges -plate beside a long-necked Persian waterpot of brass, a <i>bonbonnière</i> -between a breviary bound in carved ivory, and snuffers -of chiselled copper. Pictures stand on easels draped with -velvet, the frames made conspicuous by some oddity, such as a -spider in her web, a metal bunch of thistle-heads, and the like. -In a corner a sort of temple is erected to a squatting or a standing -Buddha. The boudoir of the mistress of the house partakes -of the nature of a chapel and of a harem. The toilet-table is -designed and decorated like an altar, a <i>prie-Dieu</i> is a pledge for -the piety of the inmate, and a broad divan, with an orgiastic -<i>abandon</i> about the cushions, gives reassurance that things are -not so bad. In the dining-room the walls are hung with the -whole stock-in-trade of a porcelain shop, costly silver is displayed -in an old farmhouse dresser, and on the table bloom -aristocratic orchids, and proud silver vessels shine between -rustic stone-ware plates and ewers. In the evening, lamps of -the stature of a man illumine these rooms with light both -subdued and tinted by sprawling shades, red, yellow or green -of hue, and even covered by black lace. Hence the inmates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -appear, now bathed in variegated diaphanous mist, now suffused -with coloured radiance, while the corners and backgrounds are -shrouded in depths of artfully-effected <i>clair-obscur</i>, and the -furniture and bric-à-brac are dyed in unreal chords of colour. -Unreal, too, are the studied postures, by assuming which the -inmates are enabled to reproduce on their faces the light effects -of Rembrandt or Schalcken. Everything in these houses aims at -exciting the nerves and dazzling the senses. The disconnected -and antithetical effects in all arrangements, the constant contradiction -between form and purpose, the outlandishness of most -objects, is intended to be bewildering. There must be no sentiment -of repose, such as is felt at any composition, the plan of -which is easily taken in, nor of the comfort attending a prompt -comprehension of all the details of one’s environment. He -who enters here must not doze, but be thrilled. If the master -of the house roams about these rooms clothed after the example -of Balzac in a white monk’s cowl, or after the model of Richepin -in the red cloak of the robber-chieftain of an operetta, he only -gives expression to the admission that in such a comedy theatre -a clown is in place. All is discrepant, indiscriminate jumble. -The unity of abiding by one definite historic style counts as -old-fashioned, provincial, Philistine, and the time has not yet -produced a style of its own. An approach is, perhaps, made to -one in the furniture of Carabin, exhibited in the salon of the -Champs de Mars. But these balusters, down which naked -furies and possessed creatures are rolling in mad riot, these -bookcases, where base and pilaster consist of a pile of guillotined -heads, and even this table, representing a gigantic open -book borne by gnomes, make up a style that is feverish and -infernal. If the director-general of Dante’s ‘Inferno’ had an -audience-chamber, it might well be furnished with such as -these. Carabin’s creations may be intended to equip a house, -but they are a nightmare.</p> - -<p>We have seen how society dresses and where it dwells. We -shall now observe how it enjoys itself, and where it seeks -stimulation and distraction. In the art exhibition it crowds, -with proper little cries of admiration, round Besnard’s women, -with their grass-green hair, faces of sulphur-yellow or fiery-red, -and arms spotted in violet and pink, dressed in a shining blue -cloud resembling faintly a sort of nightdress; that is to say, it -has a fondness for bold, revolutionary debauch of colour. But -not exclusively so. Next to Besnard it worships with equal or -greater rapture the works of Puvis de Chavannes, wan, and as -though blotted out with a half-transparent wash of lime; or -those of Carrière, suffused in a problematical vapour, reeking -as if with a cloud of incense; or those of Roll, shimmering in -a soft and silvery sheen. The purple of the Manet school,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -steeping the whole visible creation in bluish glamour, the half-tones, -or, rather, phantom-colours of the ‘Archaists,’ that seem -to have risen, faded and nebulous, out of some primeval tomb, -and all these palettes of ‘dead leaves,’ ‘old ivory,’ evaporating -yellows, smothered purple, attract on the whole more rapturous -glances than the voluptuous ‘orchestration’ of the Besnard -section. The subject of the picture leaves these select gazers -apparently indifferent; it is only seamstresses and country-folk, -the grateful <i>clientèle</i> of the chromo, who linger over the ‘story.’ -And yet these as they pass stop by preference before Henry -Martin’s ‘Every Man and his Chimæra,’ in which bloated -figures, in an atmosphere of yellow broth, are doing incomprehensible -things that need profound explanation; or before Jean -Béraud’s ‘Christ and the Adulteress,’ where, in a Parisian -dining-room, in the midst of a company in dress-coats, and -before a woman in ball-dress, a Christ robed in correct -Oriental gear, and with an orthodox halo, acts a scene out of -the Gospel; or before Raffaelli’s topers and cut-throats of the -purlieus of Paris, drawn in high relief, but painted with ditch-water -and dissolved clay. Steering in the wake of ‘society’ -through a picture-gallery, one will be unalterably convinced -that they turn up their eyes and fold their hands before pictures -at which the commoner sort burst out laughing or pull the -grimace of a man who believes he is made a fool of; and that -they shrug their shoulders and hasten with scornful exchange -of looks past such as the latter pause at in grateful enjoyment.</p> - -<p>At opera and concert the rounded forms of ancient melody -are coldly listened to. The translucent thematic treatment of -classic masters, their conscientious observance of the laws of -counterpoint, are reckoned flat and tedious. A coda graceful -in cadence, serene in its ‘dying fall,’ a pedal-base with -correct harmonization, provoke yawns. Applause and wreaths -are reserved for Wagner’s <i>Tristan and Isolde</i>, and especially -the mystic <i>Parsifal</i>, for the religious music in Bruneau’s -<i>Dream</i>, or the symphonies of César Franck. Music in order -to please must either counterfeit religious devotion, or agitate -the mind by its form. The musical listener is accustomed -involuntarily to develop a little in his mind every motive -occurring in a piece. The mode in which the composer carries -out his <i>motif</i> is bound, accordingly, to differ entirely from this -anticipated development. It must not admit of being guessed. -A dissonant interval must appear where a consonant interval -was expected; if the hearer is hoping that a phrase in what is -an obvious final cadence will be spun out to its natural end, it -must be sharply interrupted in the middle of a bar. Keys -and pitch must change suddenly. In the orchestra a vigorous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -polyphony must summon the attention in several directions at -once; particular instruments, or groups of instruments, must -address the listener simultaneously without heeding each other, -till he gets as nervously excited as the man who vainly endeavours -to understand what is being said in the jangle of a -dozen voices. The theme, even if in the first instance it has a -distinct outline, must become ever more indefinite, ever more -dissolving into a mist, in which the imagination can see any -forms it likes, as in driving clouds of night. The tide of sound -must flow on without any perceptible limit or goal, surging up -and down in endless chromatic passages of triplets. If now -and then it delude the listener, borne along by it, and straining -his eyes to see land with glimpses of a distant shore, this is -soon discovered to be a fleeting mirage. The music must continually -promise, but never perform; must seem about to tell -some great secret, and grow dumb or break away ere to -throbbing hearts it tells the word they wait for. The audience -go to their concert-room in quest of Tantalus moods, and leave -it with all the nervous exhaustion of a young pair of lovers, -who for hours at the nightly tryst have sought to exchange -caresses through a closely-barred window.</p> - -<p>The books in which the public here depicted finds its delight -or edification diffuse a curious perfume yielding distinguishable -odours of incense, eau de Lubin and refuse, one or the other -preponderating alternately. Mere sewage exhalations are played -out. The filth of Zola’s art and of his disciples in literary -canal-dredging has been got over, and nothing remains for it -but to turn to submerged peoples and social strata. The vanguard -of civilization holds its nose at the pit of undiluted -naturalism, and can only be brought to bend over it with -sympathy and curiosity when, by cunning engineering, a drain -from the boudoir and the sacristy has been turned into it. -Mere sensuality passes as commonplace, and only finds admission -when disguised as something unnatural and degenerate. -Books treating of the relations between the sexes, with no -matter how little reserve, seem too dully moral. Elegant -titillation only begins where normal sexual relations leave off. -Priapus has become a symbol of virtue. Vice looks to Sodom -and Lesbos, to Bluebeard’s castle and the servants’ hall of the -‘divine’ Marquis de Sade’s <i>Justine</i>, for its embodiments.</p> - -<p>The book that would be fashionable must, above all, be -obscure. The intelligible is cheap goods for the million only. -It must further discourse in a certain pulpit tone—mildly -unctuous, not too insistent; and it must follow up risky scenes -by tearful outpourings of love for the lowly and the suffering, -or glowing transports of piety. Ghost-stories are very popular, -but they must come on in scientific disguise, as hypnotism,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -telepathy, somnambulism. So are marionette-plays, in which -seemingly naïve but knowing rogues make used-up old ballad -dummies babble like babies or idiots. So are esoteric novels, -in which the author hints that he could say a deal about magic, -kabbala, fakirism, astrology and other white and black arts -if he only chose. Readers intoxicate themselves in the hazy -word-sequences of symbolic poetry. Ibsen dethrones Goethe; -Maeterlinck ranks with Shakespeare; Nietzsche is pronounced -by German and even by French critics to be the leading -German writer of the day; the <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> is the -Bible of ladies, who are amateurs in love, but bereft of lovers; -dainty gentlemen find the street ballads and gaol-bird songs of -Jules Jouy, Bruant, MacNab and Xanroff very <i>distingué</i> on -account of ‘the warm sympathy pulsing in them,’ as the stock -phrase runs; and society persons, whose creed is limited to -baccarat and the money market, make pilgrimages to the -Oberammergau Passion-play, and wipe away a tear over Paul -Verlaine’s invocations to the Virgin.</p> - -<p>But art exhibitions, concerts, plays and books, however -extraordinary, do not suffice for the æsthetic needs of elegant -society. Novel sensations alone can satisfy it. It demands -more intense stimulus, and hopes for it in spectacles, where -different arts strive in new combinations to affect all the senses -at once. Poets and artists strain every nerve incessantly to -satisfy this craving. A painter, who for that matter is less -occupied with new impressions than with old puffs, paints -a picture indifferently well of the dying Mozart working at his -<i>Requiem</i>, and exhibits it of an evening in a darkened room, -while a dazzling ray of skilfully directed electric light falls on -the painting, and an invisible orchestra softly plays the <i>Requiem</i>. -A musician goes one step further. Developing to the utmost a -Bayreuth usage, he arranges a concert in a totally darkened -hall, and thus delights those of the audience who find opportunity, -by happily chosen juxtapositions, to augment their -musical sensations by hidden enjoyment of another sort. -Haraucourt, the poet, has his paraphrase of the Gospel, -written in spirited verse, recited on the stage by Sarah -Bernhardt, while, as in the old-fashioned melodrama, soft -music in unending melody accompanies the actress. Even -the nose, hitherto basely ignored by the fine arts, attracts the -pioneers, and is by them invited to take part in æsthetic -delights. A hose is set up in the theatre, by which the spectators -are sprayed with perfumes. On the stage a poem in -approximately dramatic form is recited. In every division, -act, scene, or however the thing is called, a different vowel-sound -is made to preponderate; during each the theatre is -illuminated with a differently tinted light, the orchestra discourses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -music in a different key, and the jet gives out a different -perfume. This idea of accompanying verses with odours was -thrown out years ago, half in jest, by Ernest Eckstein. Paris -has carried it out in sacred earnest. The new school fetch the -puppet theatre out of the nursery, and enact pieces for adults -which, with artificial simplicity, pretend to hide or reveal a -profound meaning, and with great talent and ingenuity execute -a magic-lantern of prettily drawn and painted figures moving -across surprisingly luminous backgrounds; and these living -pictures make visible the process of thought in the mind of -the author who recites his accompanying poem, while a piano -endeavours to illustrate the leading emotion. And to enjoy -such exhibitions as these society crowds into a suburban -circus, the loft of a back tenement, a second-hand costumier’s -shop, or a fantastic artist’s restaurant, where the performances, -in some room consecrated to beery potations, bring together -the greasy <i>habitué</i> and the dainty aristocratic fledgling.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c15" id="c15">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">DIAGNOSIS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">The</span> manifestations described in the preceding chapter must -be patent enough to everyone, be he never so narrow a -Philistine. The Philistine, however, regards them as a passing -fashion and nothing more; for him the current terms, caprice, -eccentricity, affectation of novelty, imitation, instinct, afford a -sufficient explanation. The purely literary mind, whose merely -æsthetic culture does not enable him to understand the connections -of things, and to seize their real meaning, deceives -himself and others as to his ignorance by means of sounding -phrases, and loftily talks of a ‘restless quest of a new ideal by -the modern spirit,’ ‘the richer vibrations of the refined nervous -system of the present day,’ ‘the unknown sensations of an -elect mind.’ But the physician, especially if he have devoted -himself to the special study of nervous and mental maladies, -recognises at a glance, in the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> disposition, in the -tendencies of contemporary art and poetry, in the life and -conduct of the men who write mystic, symbolic and ‘decadent’ -works, and the attitude taken by their admirers in the -tastes and æsthetic instincts of fashionable society, the confluence -of two well-defined conditions of disease, with which he is -quite familiar, viz. degeneration (degeneracy) and hysteria, of -which the minor stages are designated as neurasthenia. These -two conditions of the organism differ from each other, yet have -many features in common, and frequently occur together; so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -that it is easier to observe them in their composite forms, than -each in isolation.</p> - -<p>The conception of degeneracy, which, at this time, obtains -throughout the science of mental disease, was first clearly -grasped and formulated by Morel. In his principal work—often -quoted, but, unfortunately, not sufficiently read<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>—the -following definition of what he wishes to be understood by -‘degeneracy’ is given by this distinguished expert in mental -pathology, who was, for a short time, famous in Germany, -even outside professional circles.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>‘The clearest notion we can form of degeneracy is to regard -it as <i>a morbid deviation from an original type</i>. This deviation, -even if, at the outset, it was ever so slight, contained transmissible -elements of such a nature that anyone bearing in him -the germs becomes more and more incapable of fulfilling his -functions in the world; and mental progress, already checked -in his own person, finds itself menaced also in his descendants.’</p> - -<p>When under any kind of noxious influences an organism -becomes debilitated, its successors will not resemble the -healthy, normal type of the species, with capacities for development, -but will form a new sub-species, which, like all others, -possesses the capacity of transmitting to its offspring, in a -continuously increasing degree, its peculiarities, these being -morbid deviations from the normal form—gaps in development, -malformations and infirmities. That which distinguishes -degeneracy from the formation of new species (phylogeny) is, -that the morbid variation does not continuously subsist and -propagate itself, like one that is healthy, but, fortunately, is -soon rendered sterile, and after a few generations often dies -out before it reaches the lowest grade of organic degradation.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p>Degeneracy betrays itself among men in certain physical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -characteristics, which are denominated ‘stigmata,’ or brand-marks—an -unfortunate term derived from a false idea, as if -degeneracy were necessarily the consequence of a fault, and -the indication of it a punishment. Such stigmata consist -of deformities, multiple and stunted growths in the first line -of asymmetry, the unequal development of the two halves -of the face and cranium; then imperfection in the development -of the external ear, which is conspicuous for its enormous -size, or protrudes from the head, like a handle, and the lobe -of which is either lacking or adhering to the head, and the -helix of which is not involuted; further, squint-eyes, hare-lips, -irregularities in the form and position of the teeth; pointed -or flat palates, webbed or supernumerary fingers (syn-and -polydactylia), etc. In the book from which I have quoted, -Morel gives a list of the anatomical phenomena of degeneracy, -which later observers have largely extended. In particular, -Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> has conspicuously broadened our knowledge of -stigmata, but he apportions them merely to his ‘born criminals’—a -limitation which from the very scientific standpoint of -Lombroso himself cannot be justified, his ‘born criminals’ -being nothing but a subdivision of degenerates. Féré<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> expresses -this very emphatically when he says, ‘Vice, crime and -madness are only distinguished from each other by social -prejudices.’</p> - -<p>There might be a sure means of proving that the application -of the term ‘degenerates’ to the originators of all the -<i>fin-de-siècle</i> movements in art and literature is not arbitrary, -that it is no baseless conceit, but a fact; and that would be a -careful physical examination of the persons concerned, and an -inquiry into their pedigree. In almost all cases, relatives -would be met with who were undoubtedly degenerate, and -one or more stigmata discovered which would indisputably -establish the diagnosis of ‘Degeneration.’ Of course, from -human consideration, the result of such an inquiry could often -not be made public; and he alone would be convinced who -should be able to undertake it himself.</p> - -<p>Science, however, has found, together with these physical -stigmata, others of a mental order, which betoken degeneracy -quite as clearly as the former; and they allow of an easy -demonstration from all the vital manifestations, and, in particular, -from all the works of degenerates, so that it is not -necessary to measure the cranium of an author, or to see the -lobe of a painter’s ear, in order to recognise the fact that he -belongs to the class of degenerates.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quite a number of different designations have been found -for these persons. Maudsley and Ball call them ‘Borderland -dwellers’—that is to say, dwellers on the borderland between -reason and pronounced madness. Magnan gives to them the -name of ‘higher degenerates’ (<i>dégénérés supérieurs</i>), and Lombroso -speaks of ‘mattoids’ (from <i>matto</i>, the Italian for insane), -and ‘graphomaniacs,’ under which he classifies those semi-insane -persons who feel a strong impulse to write. In spite, -however, of this variety of nomenclature, it is a question -simply of one single species of individuals, who betray their -fellowship by the similarity of their mental physiognomy.</p> - -<p>In the mental development of degenerates, we meet with the -same irregularity that we have observed in their physical -growth. The asymmetry of face and cranium finds, as it were, -its counterpart in their mental faculties. Some of the latter -are completely stunted, others morbidly exaggerated. That -which nearly all degenerates lack is the sense of morality and -of right and wrong. For them there exists no law, no decency, -no modesty. In order to satisfy any momentary impulse, or -inclination, or caprice, they commit crimes and trespasses -with the greatest calmness and self-complacency, and do not -comprehend that other persons take offence thereat. When -this phenomenon is present in a high degree, we speak of -‘moral insanity’ with Maudsley;<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> there are, nevertheless, lower -stages in which the degenerate does not, perhaps, himself -commit any act which will bring him into conflict with the -criminal code, but at least asserts the theoretical legitimacy -of crime; seeks, with philosophically sounding fustian, to -prove that ‘good’ and ‘evil,’ virtue and vice, are arbitrary -distinctions; goes into raptures over evildoers and their deeds; -professes to discover beauties in the lowest and most repulsive -things; and tries to awaken interest in, and so-called ‘comprehension’ -of, every bestiality. The two psychological roots -of moral insanity, in all its degrees of development, are, firstly, -unbounded egoism,<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> and, secondly, impulsiveness<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>—<i>i.e.</i>, inability<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -to resist a sudden impulse to any deed; and these -characteristics also constitute the chief intellectual stigmata of -degenerates. In the following sections of this work, I shall -find occasion to show on what organic grounds, and in consequence -of what peculiarities of their brain and nervous -system, degenerates are necessarily egoistical and impulsive. -In these introductory remarks I would wish only to point out -the stigma itself.</p> - -<p>Another mental stigma of degenerates is their emotionalism. -Morel<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> has even wished to make this peculiarity their chief -characteristic—erroneously, it seems to me, for it is present -in the same degree among hysterics, and, indeed, is to be found -in perfectly healthy persons, who, from any transient cause, -such as illness, exhaustion, or any mental shock, have been -temporarily weakened. Nevertheless it is a phenomenon rarely -absent in a degenerate. He laughs until he sheds tears, or -weeps copiously without adequate occasion; a commonplace -line of poetry or of prose sends a shudder down his back; he -falls into raptures before indifferent pictures or statues; and -music especially, even the most insipid and least commendable, -arouses in him the most vehement emotions. -He is quite proud of being so vibrant a musical instrument, -and boasts that where the Philistine remains completely cold, -he feels his inner self confounded, the depths of his being -broken up, and the bliss of the Beautiful possessing him to the -tips of his fingers. His excitability appears to him a mark of -superiority; he believes himself to be possessed by a peculiar -insight lacking in other mortals, and he is fain to despise the -vulgar herd for the dulness and narrowness of their minds. -The unhappy creature does not suspect that he is conceited -about a disease and boasting of a derangement of the mind; -and certain silly critics, when, through fear of being pronounced -deficient in comprehension, they make desperate efforts to -share the emotions of a degenerate in regard to some insipid -or ridiculous production, or when they praise in exaggerated -expressions the beauties which the degenerate asserts he finds -therein, are unconsciously simulating one of the stigmata of -semi-insanity.</p> - -<p>Besides moral insanity and emotionalism, there is to be -observed in the degenerate a condition of mental weakness and -despondency, which, according to the circumstances of his life, -assumes the form of pessimism, a vague fear of all men, and of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -the entire phenomenon of the universe, or self-abhorrence. -‘These patients,’ says Morel,<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> ‘feel perpetually compelled ... -to commiserate themselves, to sob, to repeat with the most -desperate monotony the same questions and words. They -have delirious presentations of ruin and damnation, and all -sorts of imaginary fears.’ ‘Ennui never quits me,’ said a -patient of this kind, whose case Roubinovitch<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> describes, -‘ennui of myself.’ ‘Among moral stigmata,’ says the same -author,<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> ‘there are also to be specified those undefinable -apprehensions manifested by degenerates when they see, smell, -or touch any object.’ And he further<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> calls to notice ‘their -unconscious fear of everything and everyone.’ In this picture -of the sufferer from melancholia; downcast, sombre, despairing -of himself and the world, tortured by fear of the Unknown, -menaced by undefined but dreadful dangers, we recognise in -every detail the man of the Dusk of the Nations and the -<i>fin-de-siècle</i> frame of mind, described in the first chapter.</p> - -<p>With this characteristic dejectedness of the degenerate, -there is combined, as a rule, a disinclination to action of any -kind, attaining possibly to abhorrence of activity and powerlessness -to will (<i>aboulia</i>). Now, it is a peculiarity of the -human mind, known to every psychologist, that, inasmuch -as the law of causality governs a man’s whole thought, he imputes -a rational basis to all his own decisions. This was -prettily expressed by Spinoza when he said: ‘If a stone flung -by a human hand could think, it would certainly imagine that -it flew because it wished to fly.’ Many mental conditions and -operations of which we become conscious are the result of -causes which do not reach our consciousness. In this case we -fabricate causes <i>a posteriori</i> for them, satisfying our mental -need of distinct causality, and we have no trouble in persuading -ourselves that we have now truly explained them. The -degenerate who shuns action, and is without will-power, has no -suspicion that his incapacity for action is a consequence of his -inherited deficiency of brain. He deceives himself into believing -that he despises action from free determination, and takes -pleasure in inactivity; and, in order to justify himself in his -own eyes, he constructs a philosophy of renunciation and of -contempt for the world and men, asserts that he has convinced -himself of the excellence of Quietism, calls himself with consummate -self-consciousness a Buddhist, and praises Nirvana -in poetically eloquent phrases as the highest and worthiest -ideal of the human mind. The degenerate and insane are -the predestined disciples of Schopenhauer and Hartmann,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -and need only to acquire a knowledge of Buddhism to become -converts to it.</p> - -<p>With the incapacity for action there is connected the predilection -for inane reverie. The degenerate is not in a condition -to fix his attention long, or indeed at all, on any subject, -and is equally incapable of correctly grasping, ordering, or -elaborating into ideas and judgments the impressions of the -external world conveyed to his distracted consciousness by his -defectively operating senses. It is easier and more convenient -for him to allow his brain-centres to produce semi-lucid, -nebulously blurred ideas and inchoate embryonic thoughts, -and to surrender himself to the perpetual obfuscation of a -boundless, aimless, and shoreless stream of fugitive ideas; -and he rarely rouses himself to the painful attempt to check or -counteract the capricious, and, as a rule, purely mechanical -associations of ideas and succession of images, and bring under -discipline the disorderly tumult of his fluid presentations. On -the contrary, he rejoices in his faculty of imagination, which he -contrasts with the insipidity of the Philistine, and devotes himself -with predilection to all sorts of unlicensed pursuits permitted -by the unshackled vagabondage of his mind; while he -cannot endure well-ordered civil occupations, requiring attention -and constant heed to reality. He calls this ‘having an -idealist temperament,’ ascribes to himself irresistible æsthetic -propinquities, and proudly styles himself an artist.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> - -<p>We will briefly mention some peculiarities frequently manifested -by a degenerate. He is tormented by doubts, seeks for -the basis of all phenomena, especially those whose first causes -are completely inaccessible to us, and is unhappy when his -inquiries and ruminations lead, as is natural, to no result.<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> -He is ever supplying new recruits to the army of system-inventing -metaphysicians, profound expositors of the riddle of -the universe, seekers for the philosopher’s stone, the squaring -of the circle and perpetual motion.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> These last three subjects -have such a special attraction for him, that the Patent -Office at Washington is forced to keep on hand printed replies -to the numberless memorials in which patents are constantly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -demanded for the solution of these chimerical problems. In -view of Lombroso’s researches,<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> it can scarcely be doubted -that the writings and acts of revolutionists and anarchists are -also attributable to degeneracy. The degenerate is incapable -of adapting himself to existing circumstances. This incapacity, -indeed, is an indication of morbid variation in every species, -and probably a primary cause of their sudden extinction. He -therefore rebels against conditions and views of things which -he necessarily feels to be painful, chiefly because they impose -upon him the duty of self-control, of which he is incapable on -account of his organic weakness of will. Thus he becomes an -improver of the world, and devises plans for making mankind -happy, which, without exception, are conspicuous quite as -much by their fervent philanthropy, and often pathetic sincerity, -as by their absurdity and monstrous ignorance of all real -relations.</p> - -<p>Finally, a cardinal mark of degeneration which I have reserved -to the last, is mysticism. Colin says:<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> ‘Of all the -delirious manifestations peculiar to the hereditarily-afflicted, -none indicates the condition more clearly, we think, than -mystical delirium, or, when the malady has not reached this -point, the being constantly occupied with mystical and religious -questions, an exaggerated piety, etc.’ I will not here multiply -evidence and quotations. In the following books, where the -art and poetry of the times are treated of, I shall find occasion -to show the reader that no difference exists between these -tendencies and the religious manias observed in nearly all -degenerates and sufferers from hereditary mental taint.</p> - -<p>I have enumerated the most important features characterizing -the mental condition of the degenerate. The reader can now -judge for himself whether or not the diagnosis ‘degeneration’ -is applicable to the originators of the new æsthetic tendencies. -It must not for that matter be supposed that degeneration is -synonymous with absence of talent. Nearly all the inquirers -who have had degenerates under their observation expressly -establish the contrary. ‘The degenerate,’ says Legrain,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> ‘may -be a genius. A badly balanced mind is susceptible of the -highest conceptions, while, on the other hand, one meets in -the same mind with traits of meanness and pettiness all the -more striking from the fact that they co-exist with the most -brilliant qualities.’ We shall find this reservation in all authors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -who have contributed to the natural history of the degenerate. -‘As regards their intellect, they can,’ says Roubinovitch,<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> -‘attain to a high degree of development, but from a moral point -of view their existence is completely deranged.... A degenerate -will employ his brilliant faculties quite as well in the service of -some grand object as in the satisfaction of the basest propensities.’ -Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> has cited a large number of undoubted -geniuses who were equally undoubted mattoids, graphomaniacs, -or pronounced lunatics; and the utterance of a French savant, -Guérinsen, ‘Genius is a disease of the nerves,’ has become a -‘winged word.’ This expression was imprudent, for it gave -ignorant babblers a pretext, and apparently a right, to talk of -exaggeration, and to contemn experts in nervous and mental -diseases, because they professedly saw a lunatic in everyone -who ventured to be something more than the most ordinary, -characterless, average being. Science does not assert that -every genius is a lunatic; there are some geniuses of superabundant -power whose high privilege consists in the possession -of one or other extraordinarily developed faculty, without the -rest of their faculties falling short of the average standard. -Just as little, naturally, is every lunatic a genius; most of -them, even if we disregard idiots of different degrees, are much -rather pitiably stupid and incapable; but in many, nay, in -abundant cases, the ‘higher degenerate’ of Magnan, just as -he occasionally exhibits gigantic bodily stature or the disproportionate -growth of particular parts, has some mental gift -exceptionally developed at the cost, it is true, of the remaining -faculties, which are wholly or partially atrophied.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> It is this -which enables the well-informed to distinguish at the first -glance between the sane genius, and the highly, or even the -most highly, gifted degenerate. Take from the former the -special capacity through which he becomes a genius, and there -still remains a capable, often conspicuously intelligent, clever, -moral, and judicious man, who will hold his ground with -propriety in our social mechanism. Let the same be tried in -the case of a degenerate, and there remains only a criminal -or madman, for whom healthy humanity can find no use. If<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -Goethe had never written a line of verse, he would, all the -same, have still remained a man of the world, of good principles, -a fine art connoisseur, a judicious collector, a keen observer of -nature. Let us, on the contrary, imagine a Schopenhauer who -had written no astounding books, and we should have before -us only a repulsive <i>lusus naturæ</i>, whose morals would necessarily -exclude him from all respectable society, and whose fixed idea -that he was a victim of persecution would point him out as a -subject for a madhouse. The lack of harmony, the absence -of balance, the singular incapacity of usefully applying, or deriving -satisfaction from, their own special faculty among highly-gifted -degenerates, strikes every healthy censor who does not -allow himself to be prejudiced by the noisy admiration of -critics, themselves degenerates: and will always prevent his -mistaking the mattoid for the same exceptional man who opens -out new paths for humanity and leads it to higher developments. -I do not share Lombroso’s opinion<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> that highly-gifted -degenerates are an active force in the progress of mankind. -They corrupt and delude; they do, alas! frequently exercise a -deep influence, but this is always a baneful one. It may not -be at once remarked, but it will reveal itself subsequently. If -cotemporaries do not recognise it, the historian of morals -will point it out <i>a posteriori</i>. They, likewise, are leading men -along the paths they themselves have found to new goals; but -these goals are abysses or waste places. They are guides to -swamps like will-o’-the-wisps, or to ruin like the ratcatcher -of Hammelin. Observers lay stress on their unnatural -sterility. ‘They are,’ says Tarabaud,<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> ‘cranks; wrong-headed, -unbalanced, incapable creatures; they belong to the class of -whom it may not be said that they have no mind, but whose -mind produces nothing.’ ‘A common type,’ writes Legrain,<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> -‘unites them:—weakness of judgment and unequal development -of mental powers.... Their conceptions are never of a -high order. They are incapable of great thoughts and prolific -ideas. This fact forms a peculiar contrast to the frequently -excessive development of their powers of imagination.’ ‘If they -are painters,’ we read in Lombroso,<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> ‘then their predominant -attribute will be the colour-sense; they will be decorative. If -they are poets, they will be rich in rhyme, brilliant in style, -but barren of thought; sometimes they will be “decadents.”’</p> - -<p>Such are the qualities of the most gifted of those who are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -discovering new paths, and are proclaimed by enthusiastic -followers as the guides to the promised land of the future. -Among them degenerates and mattoids predominate. The -second of the above-mentioned diagnoses, on the contrary, -applies for the most part to the multitude who admire these -individuals and swear by them, who imitate the fashions they -design, and take delight in the extravagances described in the -previous chapter. In their case we have to deal chiefly with -hysteria, or neurasthenia.</p> - -<p>For reasons which will be elucidated in the next chapter, -hysteria has hitherto been less studied in Germany than in -France, where, more than elsewhere, it has formed a subject -of earnest inquiry. We owe what we know of it almost -exclusively to French investigators. The copious treatises -of Axenfeld,<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> Richer,<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> and in particular Gilles de la Tourette,<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> -adequately comprise our present knowledge of this malady; -and I shall refer to these works when I enumerate the -symptoms chiefly indicative of hysteria.</p> - -<p>Among the hysterical—and it must not be thought that these -are met with exclusively, or even preponderantly, among females, -for they are quite as often, perhaps oftener, found among males<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a>—among -the hysterical, as among the degenerate, the first thing -which strikes us is an extraordinary emotionalism. ‘The leading -characteristic of the hysterical,’ says Colin,<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> ‘is the disproportionate -impressionability of their psychic centres.... They -are, above all things, impressionable.’ From this primary -peculiarity proceeds a second quite as remarkable and important—the -exceeding ease with which they can be made to -yield to suggestion.<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> The earlier observers always mentioned -the boundless mendacity of the hysterical; growing, indeed, quite -indignant at it, and making it the most prominent mark of the -mental condition of such patients. They were mistaken. The -hysterical subject does not consciously lie. He believes in the -truth of his craziest inventions. The morbid mobility of his -mind, the excessive excitability of his imagination, conveys to -his consciousness all sorts of queer and senseless ideas. He -suggests to himself that these ideas are founded on true perceptions, -and believes in the truth of his foolish inventions until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -a new suggestion—perhaps his own, perhaps that of another -person—has ejected the earlier one. A result of the susceptibility -of the hysterical subject to suggestion is his irresistible -passion for imitation,<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> and the eagerness with which he yields -to all the suggestions of writers and artists.<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> When he sees a -picture, he wants to become like it in attitude and dress; when -he reads a book, he adopts its views blindly. He takes as a -pattern the heroes of the novels which he has in his hand at -the moment, and infuses himself into the characters moving -before him on the stage.</p> - -<p>Added to this emotionalism and susceptibility to suggestion -is a love of self never met with in a sane person in anything -like the same degree. The hysterical person’s own ‘I’ -towers up before his inner vision, and so completely fills his -mental horizon that it conceals the whole of the remaining -universe. He cannot endure that others should ignore him. -He desires to be as important to his fellow-men as he is to -himself. ‘An incessant need pursues and governs the hysterical—to -busy those about them with themselves.’<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> A means of -satisfying this need is the fabrication of stories by which they -become interesting. Hence come the adventurous occurrences -which often enough occupy the police and the reports of the -daily press. In the busiest thoroughfare the hysterical person is -set upon, robbed, maltreated and wounded, dragged to a distant -place, and left to die. He picks himself up painfully, and -informs the police. He can show the wounds on his body. -He gives all the details. And there is not a single word of -truth in the whole story; it is all dreamt and imagined. He -has himself inflicted his wounds in order for a short time to -become the centre of public attention. In the lower stages of -hysteria this need of making a sensation assumes more harmless -forms. It displays itself in eccentricities of dress and -behaviour. ‘Other hysterical subjects are passionately fond of -glaring colours and extravagant forms; they wish to attract -attention and make themselves talked about.’<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p> - -<p>It is certainly unnecessary to draw the reader’s attention in -a special manner to the complete coincidence of this clinical -picture of hysteria with the description of the peculiarities -of the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> public, and to the fact that in the former we -meet with all the features made familiar to us by the consideration -of contemporary phenomena; in particular with the -passion for imitating in externals—in dress, attitude, fashion of -the hair and beard—the figures in old and modern pictures, -and the feverish effort, through any sort of singularity, to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -themselves talked about. The observation of pronounced cases -of degeneration and hysteria, whose condition makes them -necessary subjects for medical treatment, gives us also the key -to the comprehension of subordinate details in the fashions -of the day. The present rage for collecting, the piling up, in -dwellings, of aimless bric-à-brac, which does not become any -more useful or beautiful by being fondly called <i>bibelots</i>, appear -to us in a completely new light when we know that Magnan -has established the existence of an irresistible desire among -the degenerate to accumulate useless trifles. It is so firmly -imprinted and so peculiar that Magnan declares it to be a -stigma of degeneration, and has invented for it the name ‘oniomania,’ -or ‘buying craze.’ This is not to be confounded with -the desire for buying, which possesses those who are in the first -stage of general paralysis. The purchases of these persons -are due to their delusion as to their own greatness. They lay -in great supplies because they fancy themselves millionaires. -The oniomaniac, on the contrary, neither buys enormous -quantities of one and the same thing, nor is the price a matter -of indifference to him as with the paralytic. He is simply -unable to pass by any lumber without feeling an impulse to -acquire it.</p> - -<p>The curious style of certain recent painters—‘impressionists,’ -‘stipplers,’ or ‘mosaists,’ ‘papilloteurs’ or ‘quiverers,’ ‘roaring’ -colourists, dyers in gray and faded tints—becomes at once intelligible -to us if we keep in view the researches of the Charcot -school into the visual derangements in degeneration and -hysteria. The painters who assure us that they are sincere, -and reproduce nature as they see it, speak the truth. The -degenerate artist who suffers from <i>nystagmus</i>, or trembling of the -eyeball, will, in fact, perceive the phenomena of nature trembling, -restless, devoid of firm outline, and, if he is a conscientious -painter, will give us pictures reminding us of the mode practised -by the draughtsmen of the <i>Fliegende Blätter</i> when they represent -a wet dog shaking himself vigorously. If his pictures fail -to produce a comic effect, it is only because the attentive -beholder reads in them the desperate effort to reproduce fully -an impression incapable of reproduction by the expedients of -the painter’s art as devised by men of normal vision.</p> - -<p>There is hardly a hysterical subject whose retina is not partly -insensitive.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> As a rule the insensitive parts are connected, and -include the outer half of the retina. In these cases the field of -vision is more or less contracted, and appears to him not as -it does to the normal man—as a circle—but as a picture -bordered by whimsically zigzag lines. Often, however, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -insensitive parts are not connected, but are scattered in isolated -spots over the entire retina. Then the sufferer will have all -sorts of gaps in his field of vision, producing strange effects, -and if he paints what he sees, he will be inclined to place in -juxtaposition larger or smaller points or spots which are completely -or partially dissociated. The insensitiveness need not -be complete, and may exist only in the case of single colours, -or of all. If the sensitiveness is completely lost (‘achromatopsy’) -he then sees everything in a uniform gray, but perceives -differences in the degree of lustre. Hence the picture of nature -presents itself to him as a copper-plate or a pencil drawing—where -the effect of the absent colours is replaced by differences -in the intensity of light, by greater or less depth and power of -the white and black portions. Painters who are insensitive -to colour will naturally have a predilection for neutral-toned -painting; and a public suffering from the same malady will -find nothing objectionable in falsely-coloured pictures. But if, -besides the whitewash of a Puvis de Chavannes, obliterating -all colours equally, fanatics are found for the screaming yellow, -blue, and red of a Besnard, this also has a cause, revealed to us -by clinical science. ‘Yellow and blue,’ Gilles de la Tourette<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> -teaches us, ‘are peripheral colours’ (<i>i.e.</i>, they are seen with -the outermost parts of the retina); ‘they are, therefore, the -last to be perceived’ (if the sensitiveness for the remaining -colours is destroyed). ‘These are ... the very two colours -the sensations of which in hysterical amblyopia [dulness of -vision] endure the longest. In many cases, however, it is the -red, and not the blue, which vanishes last.’</p> - -<p>Red has also another peculiarity explanatory of the predilection -shown for it by the hysterical. The experiments of Binet<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> -have established that the impressions conveyed to the brain by -the sensory nerves exercise an important influence on the species -and strength of the excitation distributed by the brain to the -motor nerves. Many sense-impressions operate enervatingly -and inhibitively on the movements; others, on the contrary, -make these more powerful, rapid and active; they are ‘dynamogenous,’ -or ‘force-producing.’ As a feeling of pleasure is -always connected with dynamogeny, or the production of force, -every living thing, therefore, instinctively seeks for dynamogenous -sense-impressions, and avoids enervating and inhibitive -ones. Now, red is especially dynamogenous. ‘When,’ says -Binet,<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> in a report of an experiment on a female hysterical subject -who was paralyzed in one half of her body, ‘we place a dynamometer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -in the anæsthetically insensible right hand of Amélie -Cle.... the pressure of the hand amounts to 12 kilogrammes. -If at the same time she is made to look at a red disc, the -number indicating the pressure in kilogrammes is at once -doubled.’ Hence it is intelligible that hysterical painters revel -in red, and that hysterical beholders take special pleasure in -pictures operating dynamogenously, and producing feelings of -pleasure.</p> - -<p>If red is dynamogenous, violet is conversely enervating and -inhibitive.<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> It was not by accident that violet was chosen by -many nations as the exclusive colour for mourning, and by -us also for half-mourning. The sight of this colour has a -depressing effect, and the unpleasant feeling awakened by it -induces dejection in a sorrowfully-disposed mind. This -suggests that painters suffering from hysteria and neurasthenia -will be inclined to cover their pictures uniformly with the -colour most in accordance with their condition of lassitude -and exhaustion. Thus originate the violet pictures of Manet -and his school, which spring from no actually observable aspect -of nature, but from a subjective view due to the condition of -the nerves. When the entire surface of walls in salons and -art exhibitions of the day appears veiled in uniform half-mourning, -this predilection for violet is simply an expression -of the nervous debility of the painter.</p> - -<p>There is yet another phenomenon highly characteristic in -some cases of degeneracy, in others of hysteria. This is the -formation of close groups or schools uncompromisingly exclusive -to outsiders, observable to-day in literature and art. -Healthy artists or authors, in possession of minds in a -condition of well-regulated equilibrium, will never think of -grouping themselves into an association, which may at pleasure -be termed a sect or band; of devising a catechism, of binding -themselves to definite æsthetic dogmas, and of entering the -lists for these with the fanatical intolerance of Spanish -inquisitors. If any human activity is individualistic, it is that -of the artist. True talent is always personal. In its creations -it reproduces itself, its own views and feelings, and not the -articles of faith learnt from any æsthetic apostle; it follows its -creative impulses, not a theoretical formula preached by the -founder of a new artistic or literary church; it constructs its -work in the form organically necessary to it, not in that -proclaimed by a leader as demanded by the fashion of the day. -The mere fact that an artist or author allows himself to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -sworn in to the party cry of any ‘ism,’ that he perambulates -with jubilations behind a banner and Turkish music, is complete -evidence of his lack of individuality—that is, of talent. If the -mental movements of a period—even those which are healthy -and prolific—range themselves, as a rule, under certain main -tendencies, which receive each its distinguishing name, this is -the work of historians of civilization or literature, who subsequently -survey the combined picture of an epoch, and for their -own convenience undertake divisions and classifications, in -order that they may more correctly find their way among the -multifariousness of the phenomena. These are, however, -almost always arbitrary and artificial. Independent minds -(we are not here speaking of mere imitators), united by a good -critic into a group, may, it is true, have a certain resemblance -to each other, but, as a rule, this resemblance will be the -consequence, not of actual internal affinity, but of external -influences. No one is able completely to withdraw himself -from the influences of his time, and under the impression of -events which affect all contemporaries alike, as well as of the -scientific views prevailing at a given time, certain features -develop themselves in all the works of an epoch, which -stamp them as of the same date. But the same men who -subsequently appear so naturally in each other’s company, in -historical works, that they seem to form a family, went when -they lived their separate ways far asunder, little suspecting -that at one time they would be united under one common -designation. Quite otherwise it is when authors or artists -consciously and intentionally meet together and found an -æsthetic school, as a joint-stock bank is founded, with a title -for which, if possible, the protection of the law is claimed, -with by-laws, joint capital, etc. This may be ordinary speculation, -but as a rule it is disease. The predilection for forming -societies met with among all the degenerate and hysterical -may assume different forms. Criminals unite in bands, as -Lombroso expressly establishes.<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> Among pronounced lunatics -it is the <i>folie à deux</i>, in which a deranged person completely -forces his insane ideas on a companion; among the hysterical -it assumes the form of close friendships, causing Charcot to -repeat at every opportunity: ‘Persons of highly-strung nerves -attract each other;’<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> and finally authors found schools.</p> - -<p>The common organic basis of these different forms of one -and the same phenomenon—of the <i>folie à deux</i>, the association -of neuropaths, the founding of æsthetic schools, the -banding of criminals—is, with the active part, viz., those who -lead and inspire, the predominance of obsessions: with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -associates, the disciples, the submissive part, weakness of will -and morbid susceptibility to suggestion.<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> The possessor of -an obsession is an incomparable apostle. There is no rational -conviction arrived at by sound labour of intellect, which so -completely takes possession of the mind, subjugates so -tyrannically its entire activity, and so irresistibly impels it to -words and deeds, as delirium. Every proof of the senselessness -of his ideas rebounds from the deliriously insane or half-crazy -person. No contradiction, no ridicule, no contempt, affects -him; the opinion of the majority is to him a matter of indifference; -facts which do not please him he does not notice, -or so interprets that they seem to support his delirium; -obstacles do not discourage him, because even his instinct of -self-preservation is unable to cope with the power of his -delirium, and for the same reason he is often enough ready, -without further ado, to suffer martyrdom. Weak-minded or -mentally-unbalanced persons, coming into contact with a man -possessed by delirium, are at once conquered by the strength -of his diseased ideas, and are converted to them. By separating -them from the source of inspiration, it is often possible to -cure them of their transmitted delirium, but frequently their -acquired derangement outlasts this separation.</p> - -<p>This is the natural history of the æsthetic schools. Under the -influence of an obsession, a degenerate mind promulgates some -doctrine or other—realism, pornography, mysticism, symbolism, -diabolism. He does this with vehement penetrating eloquence, -with eagerness and fiery heedlessness. Other degenerate, hysterical, -neurasthenical minds flock around him, receive from his -lips the new doctrine, and live thenceforth only to propagate it.</p> - -<p>In this case all the participants are sincere—the founder as -well as the disciples. They act as, in consequence of the diseased -constitution of their brain and nervous system, they are -compelled to act. The picture, however, which from a clinical -standpoint is perfectly clear, gets dimmed if the apostle of a -craze and his followers succeed in attracting to themselves the -attention of wider circles. He then receives a concourse of -unbelievers, who are very well able to recognise the insanity of -the new doctrine, but who nevertheless accept it, because they -hope, as associates of the new sect, to acquire fame and money. -In every civilized nation which has a developed art and literature -there are numerous intellectual eunuchs, incapable of -producing with their own powers a living mental work, but -quite able to imitate the process of production. These cripples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -form, unfortunately, the majority of professional authors and -artists, and their many noxious followers often enough stifle -true and original talent. Now it is these who hasten to act as -camp-followers for every new tendency which seems to come -into fashion. They are naturally the most modern of moderns, -for no precept of individuality, no artistic knowledge, hinders -them from bunglingly imitating the newest model with all -the assiduity of an artisan. Clever in discerning externals, -unscrupulous copyists and plagiarists, they crowd round every -original phenomenon, be it healthy or unhealthy, and without -loss of time set about disseminating counterfeit copies of it. -To-day they are symbolists, as yesterday they were realists or -pornographists. If they can promise themselves fame and a -good sale, they write of mysteries with the same fluency as if -they were spinning romances of knights and robbers, tales of -adventure, Roman tragedies, and village stories at a time when -newspaper critics and the public seemed to demand these -things in preference to others. Now these practitioners, who, -let it be again asserted, constitute the great majority of the -mental workers of the fashionable sects in art and literature, -and therefore of the associates of these sects also, are intellectually -quite sane, even if they stand at a very low level of -development, and were anyone to examine them, he might -easily doubt the accuracy of the diagnosis ‘Degeneration’ as -regards the confessors of the new doctrines. Hence some -caution must be exercised in the inquiry, and the sincere -originators be always distinguished from the aping intriguers,—the -founder of the religion and his apostles from the rabble -to whom the Sermon on the Mount is of less concern than the -miraculous draught of fishes and the multiplication of loaves.</p> - -<p>It has now been shown how schools originate. They arise -from the degeneration of their founders and of the imitators -they have convinced. That they come into fashion, and for a -short time attain a noisy success, is due to the peculiarities of -the recipient public, namely, to hysteria. We have seen that -hypersusceptibility to suggestion is the distinguishing characteristic -of hysteria. The same power of obsession with which -the degenerate in mind wins imitators, gathers round him -adherents. When a hysterical person is loudly and unceasingly -assured that a work is beautiful, deep, pregnant with the future, -he believes in it. He believes in everything suggested to him -with sufficient impressiveness. When the little cow-girl, Bernadette, -saw the vision of the Holy Virgin in the grotto of -Lourdes, the women devotees and hysterical males of the surrounding -country who flocked thither did not merely believe -that the hallucinant maiden had herself seen the vision, but all -of them saw the Holy Virgin with their own eyes. M. E. de<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -Goncourt<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> relates that in 1870, during the Franco-Prussian -War, a multitude of men, numbering tens of thousands, in and -before the Bourse in Paris, were convinced that they had themselves -seen—indeed, a part of them had read—a telegram -announcing French victories fastened to a pillar inside the -Exchange, and at which people were pointing with their finger; -but as a matter of fact it never existed. It would be possible -to cite examples by the dozen, of illusions of the senses suggested -to excited crowds. Thus the hysterical allow themselves without -more ado to be convinced of the magnificence of a work, and -even find in it beauties of the highest kind, unthought of by the -authors themselves and the appointed trumpeters of their fame. -If the sect is so completely established that, in addition to the -founders, the priests of the temple, the paid sacristans and -choir-boys, it has a congregation, processions, and far-sounding -bells, it then attaches to itself other converts besides the hysterical -who have accepted the new belief by way of suggestion. -Young persons without judgment, still seeking their way, go -whither they see the multitude streaming, and unhesitatingly -follow the procession, because they believe it to be marching -on the right road. Superficial persons, fearing nothing so -much as to be thought behind the times, attach themselves to -the procession, shouting ‘Hurrah!’ and ‘All hail!’ so as to convince -themselves that they also are really dancing along before -the latest conqueror and newest celebrity. Decrepit gray-beards, -filled with a ridiculous dread of betraying their real age, -eagerly visit the new temple and mingle their quavering voices -in the song of the devout, because they hope to be thought -young when seen in an assembly in which young persons predominate.</p> - -<p>Thus a regular concourse is established about a victim of -degeneration. The fashionable coxcomb, the æsthetic ‘gigerl,’<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a> -peeps over the shoulder of the hysterical whose admiration has -been suggested to him; the intriguer marches at the heel of the -dotard, simulating youth; and between all these comes pushing -the inquisitive young street-loafer, who must always be in every -place where ‘something is going on.’ And this crowd, because -it is driven by disease, self-interest and vanity, makes very -much more noise and bustle than a far larger number of sane -men, who, without self-seeking after-thought, take quiet enjoyment -in works of sane talent, and do not feel obliged to shout out -their appreciation in the streets, and to threaten with death -harmless passers-by who do not join in their jubilations.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c34" id="c34">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">ETIOLOGY.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">We</span> have recognised the effect of diseases in these <i>fin-de-siècle</i> -literary and artistic tendencies and fashions, as well as in the -susceptibility of the public with regard to them, and we have -succeeded in maintaining that these diseases are degeneracy -and hysteria. We have now to inquire how these maladies of -the day have originated, and why they appear with such extraordinary -frequency at the present time.</p> - -<p>Morel,<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> the great investigator of degeneracy, traces this -chiefly to poisoning. A race which is regularly addicted, even -without excess, to narcotics and stimulants in any form (such -as fermented alcoholic drinks, tobacco, opium, hashish, arsenic), -which partakes of tainted foods (bread made with bad corn), -which absorbs organic poisons (marsh fever, syphilis, tuberculosis, -goitre), begets degenerate descendants who, if they remain -exposed to the same influences, rapidly descend to the lowest -degrees of degeneracy, to idiocy, to dwarfishness, etc. That -the poisoning of civilized peoples continues and increases at a -very rapid rate is widely attested by statistics.<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> The consumption -of tobacco has risen in France from 0.8 kilogramme per -head in 1841 to 1.9 kilogrammes in 1890. The corresponding -figures for England are 13 and 26 ounces;<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a> for Germany, 0.8 -and 1.5 kilogrammes. The consumption of alcohol<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a> during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -the same period has risen in Germany (1844) from 5.45 quarts -to (1867) 6.86 quarts; in England from 2.01 litres to 2.64 -litres; in France from 1.33 to 4 litres. The increase in the -consumption of opium and hashish is still greater, but we need -not concern ourselves about that, since the chief sufferers from -them are Eastern peoples, who play no part in the intellectual -development of the white races. To these noxious influences, -however, one more may be added, which Morel has not known, -or has not taken into consideration—residence in large towns. -The inhabitant of a large town, even the richest, who is surrounded -by the greatest luxury, is continually exposed to unfavourable -influences which diminish his vital powers far more -than what is inevitable. He breathes an atmosphere charged -with organic detritus; he eats stale, contaminated, adulterated -food; he feels himself in a state of constant nervous excitement, -and one can compare him without exaggeration to the inhabitant -of a marshy district. The effect of a large town on the -human organism offers the closest analogy to that of the -Maremma, and its population falls victim to the same fatality -of degeneracy and destruction as the victims of malaria. The -death-rate in a large town is more than a quarter greater than -the average for the entire population; it is double that of the -open country, though in reality it ought to be less, since in a -large town the most vigorous ages predominate, during which -the mortality is lower than in infancy and old age.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a> And the -children of large towns who are not carried off at an early age -suffer from the peculiar arrested development which Morel<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a> has -ascertained in the population of fever districts. They develop -more or less normally until fourteen or fifteen years of age, are -up to that time alert, sometimes brilliantly endowed, and give -the highest promise; then suddenly there is a standstill, the -mind loses its facility of comprehension, and the boy who, -only yesterday, was a model scholar, becomes an obtuse, -clumsy dunce, who can only be steered with the greatest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -difficulty through his examinations. With these mental -changes bodily modifications go hand in hand. The growth of -the long bones is extremely slow, or ceases entirely, the legs -remain short, the pelvis retains a feminine form, certain other -organs cease to develop, and the entire being presents a strange -and repulsive mixture of incompleteness and decay.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a></p> - -<p>Now we know how, in the last generation, the number of -the inhabitants of great towns increased<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> to an extraordinary -degree. At the present time an incomparably larger portion -of the whole population is subjected to the destructive influences -of large towns than was the case fifty years ago; -hence the number of victims is proportionately more striking, -and continually becomes more remarkable. Parallel with the -growth of large towns is the increase in the number of the -degenerate of all kinds—criminals, lunatics, and the ‘higher -degenerates’ of Magnan; and it is natural that these last -should play an ever more prominent part in endeavouring to -introduce an ever greater element of insanity into art and -literature.</p> - -<p>The enormous increase of hysteria in our days is partly due -to the same causes as degeneracy, besides which there is one -cause much more general still than the growth of large towns—a -cause which perhaps of itself would not be sufficient to -bring about degeneracy, but which is unquestionably quite -enough to produce hysteria and neurasthenia. This cause is -the fatigue of the present generation. That hysteria is in -reality a consequence of fatigue Féré has conclusively demonstrated -by convincing experiments. In a communication to -the Biological Society of Paris, this distinguished investigator -says:<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a> ‘I have recently observed a certain number of facts -which have made apparent the analogy existing between -fatigue and the chronic condition of the hysterical. One knows -that among the hysterical [involuntary!] symmetry of movements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -frequently shows itself in a very characteristic manner. -I have proved that in normal subjects this same symmetry of -movements is met with under the influence of fatigue. A phenomenon -which shows itself in a very marked way in serious -hysteria is that peculiar excitability which demonstrates that -the energy of the voluntary movements, through peripheral -stimulations or mental presentations, suffers rapid and transitory -modifications co-existing with parallel modifications of sensibility, -and of the functions of nutrition. This excitability can -be equally manifested during fatigue.... Fatigue constitutes -a true temporary experimental hysteria. It establishes a transition -between the states which we call normal and the various -states which we designate hysteria. One can change a normal -into a hysterical individual by tiring him.... All these causes -(which produce hysteria) can, as far as the pathogenic part -they play is concerned, be traced to one simple physiological -process—to fatigue, to depression of vitality.’</p> - -<p>Now, to this cause—fatigue—which, according to Féré, -changes healthy men into hysterical, the whole of civilized -humanity has been exposed for half a century. All its conditions -of life have, in this period of time, experienced a -revolution unexampled in the history of the world. Humanity -can point to no century in which the inventions which penetrate -so deeply, so tyrannically, into the life of every individual are -crowded so thick as in ours. The discovery of America, the -Reformation, stirred men’s minds powerfully, no doubt, and -certainly also destroyed the equilibrium of thousands of brains -which lacked staying power. But they did not change the -material life of man. He got up and laid down, ate and drank, -dressed, amused himself, passed his days and years as he had -been always wont to do. In our times, on the contrary, steam -and electricity have turned the customs of life of every member -of the civilized nations upside down, even of the most obtuse -and narrow-minded citizen, who is completely inaccessible to the -impelling thoughts of the times.</p> - -<p>In an exceptionally remarkable lecture by Professor A. W. -von Hofmann, in 1890, before the Congress of German Natural -Science held in Bremen, he gave, in concluding, a short -description of the life of an inhabitant of a town in the year -1822. He shows us a student of science who at that date is -arriving with the coach from Bremen to Leipzig. The journey -has lasted four days and four nights, and the traveller is -naturally stiff and bruised. His friends receive him, and he -wishes to refresh himself a little. But there is yet no Munich -beer in Leipzig. After a short interview with his comrades, -he goes in search of his inn. This is no easy task, for in -the streets an Egyptian darkness reigns, broken only at long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -distances by the smoky flame of an oil-lamp. He at last finds -his quarters, and wishes for a light. As matches do not yet -exist, he is reduced to bruising the tips of his fingers with flint -and steel, till he succeeds at last in lighting a tallow candle. -He expects a letter, but it has not come, and he cannot now -receive it till after some days, for the post only runs twice a -week between Frankfort and Leipzig.<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a></p> - -<p>But it is unnecessary to go back to the year 1822, chosen -by Professor Hofmann. Let us stop, for purposes of comparison, -at the year 1840. This year has not been arbitrarily -selected. It is about the date when that generation was born -which has witnessed the irruption of new discoveries in every -relation of life, and thus personally experienced those transformations -which are the consequences. This generation -reigns and governs to-day; it sets the tone everywhere, and -its sons and daughters are the youth of Europe and America, -in whom the new æsthetic tendencies gain their fanatical -partisans. Let us now compare how things went on in the -civilized world in 1840 and a half-century later.<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a></p> - -<p>In 1840 there were in Europe 3,000 kilometres of railway; in -1891 there were 218,000 kilometres. The number of travellers -in 1840, in Germany, France and England, amounted to -2-1/2 millions; in 1891 it was 614 millions. In Germany every -inhabitant received, in 1840, 85 letters; in 1888, 200 letters. -In 1840 the post distributed in France 94 millions of letters; -in England, 277 millions; in 1881, 595 and 1,299 millions -respectively. The collective postal intercourse between all -countries, without including the internal postage of each -separate country, amounted, in 1840, to 92 millions; in 1889, -to 2,759 millions. In Germany, in 1840, 305 newspapers were -published; in 1891, 6,800; in France, 776 and 5,182; in -England (1846), 551 and 2,255. The German book trade -produced, in 1840, 1,100 new works; in 1891, 18,700. The -exports and imports of the world had, in 1840, a value of -28, in 1889 of 74, milliards of marks. The ships which, in -1840, entered all the ports of Great Britain contained 9-1/2, -in 1890 74-1/2, millions of tons. The whole British merchant -navy measured, in 1840, 3,200,000; in 1890, 9,688,000 tons.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> - -<p>Let us now consider how these formidable figures arise. -The 18,000 new publications, the 6,800 newspapers in -Germany, desire to be read, although many of them desire in -vain; the 2,759 millions of letters must be written; the larger -commercial transactions, the numerous journeys, the increased -marine intercourse, imply a correspondingly greater activity -in individuals. The humblest village inhabitant has to-day -a wider geographical horizon, more numerous and complex -intellectual interests, than the prime minister of a petty, or -even a second-rate state a century ago. If he do but read -his paper, let it be the most innocent provincial rag, he takes -part, certainly not by active interference and influence, but -by a continuous and receptive curiosity, in the thousand events -which take place in all parts of the globe, and he interests -himself simultaneously in the issue of a revolution in Chili, -in a bush-war in East Africa, a massacre in North China, a -famine in Russia, a street-row in Spain, and an international -exhibition in North America. A cook receives and sends more -letters than a university professor did formerly, and a petty -tradesman travels more and sees more countries and people -than did the reigning prince of other times.</p> - -<p>All these activities, however, even the simplest, involve an -effort of the nervous system and a wearing of tissue. Every -line we read or write, every human face we see, every conversation -we carry on, every scene we perceive through the -window of the flying express, sets in activity our sensory -nerves and our brain centres. Even the little shocks of railway -travelling, not perceived by consciousness, the perpetual -noises, and the various sights in the streets of a large town, -our suspense pending the sequel of progressing events, the -constant expectation of the newspaper, of the postman, of -visitors, cost our brains wear and tear. In the last fifty years -the population of Europe has not doubled, whereas the sum of -its labours has increased tenfold, in part even fifty-fold. Every -civilized man furnishes, at the present time, from five to -twenty-five times as much work as was demanded of him half -a century ago.</p> - -<p>This enormous increase in organic expenditure has not, and -cannot have, a corresponding increase of supply. Europeans -now eat a little more and a little better than they did fifty -years ago, but by no means in proportion to the increase of -effort which to-day is required of them. And even if they -had the choicest food in the greatest abundance, it would do -nothing towards helping them, for they would be incapable of -digesting it. Our stomachs cannot keep pace with the brain -and nervous system. The latter demand very much more -than the former are able to perform. And so there follows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -what always happens if great expenses are met by small -incomes; first the savings are consumed, then comes -bankruptcy.</p> - -<p>Its own new discoveries and progress have taken civilized -humanity by surprise. It has had no time to adapt itself to -its changed conditions of life. We know that our organs -acquire by exercise an ever greater functional capacity, that -they develop by their own activity, and can respond to nearly -every demand made upon them; but only under one condition—that -this occurs gradually, that time be allowed them. If -they are obliged to fulfil, without transition, a multiple of their -usual task, they soon give out entirely. No time was left to -our fathers. Between one day and the next, as it were, without -preparation, with murderous suddenness, they were obliged to -change the comfortable creeping gait of their former existence -for the stormy stride of modern life, and their heart and lungs -could not bear it. The strongest could keep up, no doubt, -and even now, at the most rapid pace, no longer lose their -breath, but the less vigorous soon fell out right and left, and -fill to-day the ditches on the road of progress.</p> - -<p>To speak without metaphor, statistics indicate in what measure -the sum of work of civilized humanity has increased during the -half-century. It had not quite grown to this increased effort. -It grew fatigued and exhausted, and this fatigue and exhaustion -showed themselves in the first generation, under the form -of acquired hysteria; in the second, as hereditary hysteria.</p> - -<p>The new æsthetic schools and their success are a form of -this general hysteria; but they are far from being the only one. -The malady of the period shows itself in yet many other -phenomena which can be measured and counted, and thus -are susceptible of being scientifically established. And these -positive and unambiguous symptoms of exhaustion are well -adapted to enlighten the ignorant, who might believe at first -sight that the specialist acts arbitrarily in tracing back fashionable -tendencies in art and literature to states of fatigue in -civilized humanity.</p> - -<p>It has become a commonplace to speak of the constant -increase of crime, madness and suicide. In 1840, in Prussia, -out of 100,000 persons of criminally responsible age, there were -714 convictions; in 1888, 1,102 (from a letter communicated -by the Prussian bureau of statistics). In 1865, in every 10,000 -Europeans there were 63 suicides; in 1883, 109; and since that -time the number has increased considerably. In the last -twenty years a number of new nervous diseases have been -discovered and named.<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a> Let it not be believed that they -always existed, and were merely overlooked. If they had been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -met with anywhere they would have been detected, for even -if the theories which prevailed in medicine at various periods -were erroneous, there have always been perspicacious and -attentive physicians who knew how to observe. If, then, the -new nervous diseases were not noticed, it is because they did -not formerly appear. And they are exclusively a consequence -of the present conditions of civilized life. Many affections of -the nervous system already bear a name which implies that -they are a direct consequence of certain influences of modern -civilization. The terms ‘railway-spine’ and ‘railway-brain,’ -which the English and American pathologists have given -to certain states of these organs, show that they recognise -them as due partly to the effects of railway accidents, partly -to the constant vibrations undergone in railway travelling. -Again, the great increase in the consumption of narcotics -and stimulants, which has been shown in the figures above, -has its origin unquestionably in the exhausted systems with -which the age abounds. There is here a disastrous, vicious -circle of reciprocal effects. The drinker (and apparently the -smoker also) begets enfeebled children, hereditarily fatigued -or degenerated, and these drink and smoke in their turn, -because they are fatigued. These crave for a stimulus, for a -momentary, artificial invigoration, or an alleviation of their -painful excitability, and then, when they recognise that this -increases, in the long-run, their exhaustion as well as their -excitability, they cannot, through weakness of will, resist those -habits.<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a></p> - -<p>Many observers assert that the present generation ages -much more rapidly than the preceding one. Sir James -Crichton-Browne points out this effect of modern circumstances -on contemporaries in his speech at the opening of the winter -term, 1891, before the medical faculty of the Victoria University.<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> -From 1859 to 1863 there died in England, of heart-disease, -92,181 persons; from 1884 to 1888, 224,102. Nervous -complaints carried off from 1864 to 1868, 196,000 persons; -from 1884 to 1888, 260,558. The difference of figures would -have been still more striking if Sir James had chosen a more -remote period for comparison with the present, for in 1865 the -high pressure under which the English worked was already -nearly as great as in 1885. The dead carried off by heart and -nerve diseases are the victims of civilization. The heart and -nervous system first break down under the overstrain. Sir -James in his speech says further on: ‘Men and women grow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -old before their time. Old age encroaches upon the period of -vigorous manhood.... Deaths due exclusively to old age -are found reported now between the ages of forty-five and fifty-five....’ -Mr. Critchett (an eminent oculist) says: ‘My own -experience, which extends now over a quarter of a century, -leads me to believe that men and women, in the present day, -seek the aid of spectacles at a less advanced period of life than -their ancestors.... Previously men had recourse to spectacles -at the age of fifty. The average age is now forty-five years.’ -Dentists assert that teeth decay and fall out at an earlier age -than formerly. Dr. Lieving attests the same respecting the -hair, and assures us that precocious baldness is to be specially -observed ‘among persons of nervous temperaments and active -mind, but of weak general health.’ Everyone who looks round -the circle of his friends and acquaintances will remark that -the hair begins to turn gray much sooner than in former -days. Most men and women show their first white hairs at -the beginning of the thirties, many of them at a very much -younger age. Formerly white hair was the accompaniment -of the fiftieth year.</p> - -<p>All the symptoms enumerated are the consequences of states -of fatigue and exhaustion, and these, again, are the effect of contemporary -civilization, of the vertigo and whirl of our frenzied -life, the vastly increased number of sense impressions and -organic reactions, and therefore of perceptions, judgments, and -motor impulses, which at present are forced into a given unity -of time. To this general cause of contemporary pathological -phenomena, one may be added special to France. By the -frightful loss of blood which the body of the French people -suffered during the twenty years of the Napoleonic wars, by -the violent moral upheavals to which they were subjected in -the great Revolution and during the imperial epic, they found -themselves exceedingly ill-prepared for the impact of the great -discoveries of the century, and sustained by these a more -violent shock than other nations more robust and more capable -of resistance. Upon this nation, nervously strained and predestined -to morbid derangement, there broke the awful catastrophe -of 1870. It had, with a self-satisfaction which almost -attained to megalomania, believed itself the first nation in the -world; it now saw itself suddenly humiliated and crushed. -All its convictions abruptly crumbled to pieces. Every single -Frenchman suffered reverses of fortune, lost some members of -his family, and felt himself personally robbed of his dearest -conceptions, nay, even of his honour. The whole people fell -into the condition of a man suddenly visited by a crushing blow -of destiny, in his fortune, his position, his family, his reputation, -even in his self-respect. Thousands lost their reason. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -Paris a veritable epidemic of mental diseases was observed, for -which a special name was found—<i>la folie obsidionale</i>, ‘siege-madness.’ -And even those who did not at once succumb to -mental derangement, suffered lasting injury to their nervous -system. This explains why hysteria and neurasthenia are much -more frequent in France, and appear under such a greater -variety of forms, and why they can be studied far more closely -in this country than anywhere else. But it explains, too, that -it is precisely in France that the craziest fashions in art and -literature would necessarily arise, and that it is precisely there -that the morbid exhaustion of which we have spoken became -for the first time sufficiently distinct to consciousness to allow -a special name to be coined for it, namely, the designation of -<i>fin-de-siècle</i>.</p> - -<p>The proposition which I set myself to prove may now be -taken as demonstrated. In the civilized world there obviously -prevails a twilight mood which finds expression, amongst other -ways, in all sorts of odd æsthetic fashions. All these new -tendencies, realism or naturalism, ‘decadentism,’ neo-mysticism, -and their sub-varieties, are manifestations of degeneration -and hysteria, and identical with the mental stigmata which the -observations of clinicists have unquestionably established as -belonging to these. But both degeneration and hysteria are the -consequences of the excessive organic wear and tear suffered -by the nations through the immense demands on their activity, -and through the rank growth of large towns.</p> - -<p>Led by this firmly linked chain of causes and effects, everyone -capable of logical thought will recognise that he commits a -serious error if, in the æsthetic schools which have sprung up -in the last few years, he sees the heralds of a new era. They -do not direct us to the future, but point backwards to times -past. Their word is no ecstatic prophecy, but the senseless -stammering and babbling of deranged minds, and what the -ignorant hold to be the outbursts of gushing, youthful vigour -and turbulent constructive impulses are really nothing but the -convulsions and spasms of exhaustion.</p> - -<p>We should not allow ourselves to be deceived by certain -catch-words, frequently uttered in the works of these professed -innovators. They talk of socialism, of emancipation of the -mind, etc., and thereby create the outward show of being -deeply imbued with the thoughts and struggles of the times. -But this is empty sham. The catch-words in vogue are -scattered through the works without internal sequence, and the -struggles of the times are merely painted on the outside. It is -a phenomenon observed in every kind of mania, that it receives -its special colouring from the degree of culture of the invalid, -and from the views prevailing at the times in which he lived.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -The Catholic who is a prey to megalomania fancies he is the -Pope; the Jew, that he is the Messiah; the German, that he -is the Emperor or a field-marshal; the Frenchman, that he is -the President of the Republic. In the persecution-mania, the -invalid of former days complained of the wickedness and -knavery of magicians and witches; to-day he grumbles because -his imaginary enemies send electric streams through his nerves, -and torment him with magnetism. The degenerates of to-day -chatter of Socialism and Darwinism, because these words, -and, in the best case, the ideas connected with these, are in -current use. These so-called socialist and free-thinking works -of the degenerate as little advance the development of society -towards more equitable economic forms, and more rational -views of the relations among phenomena, as the complaints -and descriptions of an individual suffering from persecution-mania, -and who holds electricity responsible for his disagreeable -sensations, advance the knowledge of this force of nature. -Those obscure or superficially verbose works which pretend -to offer solutions for the serious questions of our times, or, at -least, to prepare the way thereto, are even impediments and -causes of delay, because they bewilder weak or unschooled -brains, suggest to them erroneous views, and make them either -more inaccessible to rational information or altogether closed -to it.</p> - -<p>The reader is now placed at those points of view whence he -can see the new æsthetic tendencies in their true light and -their real shape. It will be the task of the following books -to demonstrate the pathological character of each one of -these tendencies, and to inquire what particular species of -degenerate delirium or hysterical psychological process they -are related to or identical with.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc2 large"><a name="c45" id="c45">BOOK II.</a></p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>MYSTICISM.</i></p> - -<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="pch">THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MYSTICISM.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">We</span> have already learnt to see in mysticism a principal -characteristic of degeneration. It follows so generally in the -train of the latter, that there is scarcely a case of degeneration -in which it does not appear. To cite authorities for this is -about as unnecessary as to adduce proof for the fact that in -typhus a rise in the temperature of the body is invariably observed. -I will therefore only repeat one remark of Legrain’s:<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> -‘Mystical thoughts are to be laid to the account of the -insanity of the degenerate. There are two states in which -they are observed—in epilepsy and in hysterical delirium.’ -When Federoff,<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> who makes mention of religious delirium and -ecstasy as among the accompanying features of an attack of -hysteria, puts them down as a peculiarity of women, he commits -an error, since they are at least as common in male hysterical -and degenerate subjects as in female.</p> - -<p>What is really to be understood by this somewhat vague -term ‘mysticism’? The word describes a state of mind in -which the subject imagines that he perceives or divines unknown -and inexplicable relations amongst phenomena, discerns -in things hints at mysteries, and regards them as symbols, by -which a dark power seeks to unveil or, at least, to indicate all -sorts of marvels which he endeavours to guess, though generally -in vain. This condition of mind is always connected with -strong emotional excitement, which consciousness conceives -to be the result of its presentiments, although it is this excitement, -on the contrary, which is pre-existent, while the presentiments -are caused by it and receive from it their peculiar -direction and colour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span></p> - -<p>All phenomena in the world and in life present themselves -in a different light to the mystic from what they do to the sane -man. The simplest word uttered before the former appears -to him an allusion to something mysteriously occult; in the -most commonplace and natural movements he sees hidden -signs. All things have for him deep backgrounds; far-reaching -shadows are thrown by them over adjacent tracts; they -send out wide-spreading roots into remote substrata. Every -image that rises up in his mind points with mysterious silence, -though with significant look and finger, to other images distinct -or shadowy, and induces him to set up relations between -ideas, where other people recognise no connection. In consequence -of this peculiarity of his mind, the mystic lives as -if surrounded by sinister forms, from behind whose masks -enigmatic eyes look forth, and whom he contemplates with -constant terror, since he is never sure of recognising any -shapes among the disguises which press upon him. ‘Things -are not what they seem’ is the characteristic expression -frequently heard from the mystic. In the history of a -‘degenerate’ in the clinics of Magnan<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> it is written: ‘A child -asks drink of him at a public fountain. He finds this unnatural. -The child follows him. This fills him with astonishment. -Another time he sees a woman sitting on a curb-stone. -He asks himself what that could possibly mean.’ In extreme -cases this morbid attitude amounts to hallucinations, which, -as a rule, affect the hearing; but it can also influence sight -and the other senses. When this is so, the mystic does not -confine himself to conjectures and guesses at mysteries in and -behind phenomena, but hears and sees as real, things which for -the sane man are non-existent.</p> - -<p>Pathological observation of the insane is content to describe -this mental condition, and to determine its occurrence in -the hysterical and degenerate. That, however, is not the end -of the matter. We also want to know in what manner the -degenerate or exhausted brain falls into mysticism. In order -to understand the subject, we must refer to some simple facts -in the growth of the mind.<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a></p> - -<p>Conscious intellection is activity of the gray surface of the -brain, a tissue consisting of countless nerve-cells united by -nerve-fibres. In this tissue the nerves, both of the external -bodily surface and of the internal organs, terminate. When -one of these nerves is excited (the nerve of vision by a ray of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -light, a nerve in the skin by contact, an organic nerve by -internal chemical action, etc.), it at once conveys the excitement -to the nerve-cell in the cerebral cortex in which it -debouches. This cell undergoes in consequence chemical -changes, which, in a healthy condition of the organism, are -in direct relation to the strength of the stimulus. The nerve-cell, -which is immediately affected by the stimulus conveyed -to it by the conducting nerve, propagates in its turn the -stimulus received to all the neighbouring cells with which it -is connected by fibrous processes. The disturbance spreads -itself on all sides, like a wave-circle that is caused by any -object thrown into water, and subsides gradually exactly as -does the wave—more quickly or more slowly, with greater or -less diffusion, as the stimulus that caused it has been stronger -or weaker.</p> - -<p>Every stimulus which reaches a place on the cerebral -cortex results in a rush of blood to that spot,<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a> by means of -which nutriment is conveyed to it. The brain-cells decompose -these substances, and transmute the stored-up energy in them -into other forms of energy, namely, into ideas and motor impulses.<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a> -How an idea is formed out of the decomposition of -tissues, how a chemical process is metamorphosed into consciousness, -nobody knows; but the fact that conscious ideas -are connected with the process of decomposition of tissues in -the stimulated brain-cells is not a matter of doubt.<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a></p> - -<p>In addition to the fundamental property in the nerve-cells -of responding to a stimulus produced by chemical action, they -have also the capacity of preserving an image of the strength -and character of this stimulus. To put it popularly, the cell -is able to remember its impressions. If now a new, although -it may be a weaker, disturbance reach this cell, it rouses in it -an image of similar stimuli which had previously reached it, -and this memory-image strengthens the new stimulus, making -it more distinct and more intelligible to consciousness. If -the cell could not remember, consciousness would be ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -incapable of interpreting its impressions, and could never succeed -in attaining to a presentation of the outer world. Particular -direct stimuli would certainly be perceived, but they would -remain without connection or import, since they are by themselves, -and without the assistance of earlier impressions, inadequate -to lead to knowledge. Memory is therefore the first -condition of normal brain activity.</p> - -<p>The stimulus which reaches a brain-cell gives rise, as we -have seen, to an expansion of this stimulus to the neighbouring -cells, to a wave of stimulus proceeding in all directions. -And since every stimulus is connected with the rise of conscious -presentations, it proves that every stimulus calls a large -number of presentations into consciousness, and not only such -presentations as are related to the immediate external cause -of the stimulation perceived, but also such as are only aroused -by the cells that elaborate them happening to lie in the vicinity -of that cell, or group of cells, which the external stimulus has -immediately reached. The wave of stimulus, like every other -wave-motion, is strongest at its inception; it subsides in direct -ratio to the widening of its circle, till at last it vanishes into -the imperceptible. Corresponding to this, the presentations, -having their seat in cells which are in the immediate neighbourhood -of those first reached by the stimulus, are the most -lively, while those arising from the more distant cells are somewhat -less distinct, and this distinctness continues to decrease -until consciousness can no longer perceive them—until they, -as science expresses it, sink beneath the threshold of consciousness. -Each particular stimulus arouses, therefore, not only -in the cell to which it was directly led, but also in countless -other contiguous and connected cells, the activity which is -bound up with presentation. Thus arise simultaneously, or, -more accurately, following each other in an immeasurably -short interval of time, thousands of impressions of regularly -decreasing distinctness; and since unnumbered thousands of -external and internal organic stimuli are carried to the brain, -so continually thousands of stimulus-waves are coursing -through it, crossing and intersecting each other with the -greatest diversity, and in their course arousing millions of -emerging, waning, and vanishing impressions. It is this that -Goethe means when he depicts in such splendid language how</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘...ein Tritt tausend Fäden regt,<br /> -Die Schifflein herüber, hinüber schiessen,<br /> -Die Fäden ungesehen fliessen,<br /> -Ein Schlag tausend Verbindungen schlägt.’<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">Now, memory is a property not only of the nerve-cell, but -also of the nerve-fibre, which is only a modification of the -cell. The fibre has a recollection of the stimulus which it -conveyed, in the same way as the cell has of that which it has -transformed into presentation and motion. A stimulus will be -more easily conducted by a fibre which has already conveyed -it, than by one which propagates it for the first time from one -cell to another. Every stimulus which reaches a cell will take -the line of least resistance, and this will be set out for it along -those nerve-tracks which it has already traversed. Thus a -definite path is formed for the course of a stimulus-wave, a -customary line of march; it is always the same nerve-cells -which exchange mutually their stimulus-waves. Presentation -always awakens the same resulting presentations, and always -appears in consciousness accompanied by them. This procedure -is called the association of ideas.</p> - -<p>It is neither volition nor accident that determines to which -other cells a disturbed cell habitually communicates its stimulus, -which accompanying impressions an aroused presentation draws -with it into consciousness. On the contrary, the linking of -presentations is dependent upon laws which Wundt especially -has well formulated.</p> - -<p>Those who have not been born blind and deaf (like the -unfortunate Laura Bridgman, cited by all psychologists) will -never be influenced by one external stimulus only, but invariably -by many stimuli at once. Every single phenomenon of the -outer world has, as a rule, not only one quality, but many; -and since that which we call a quality is the assumed cause -of a definite sensation, it results that phenomena appeal at -once to several senses, are simultaneously seen, heard, felt, -and moreover are seen in different degrees of light and colour, -heard in various nuances of timbre, etc. The few phenomena -which possess only one quality and arouse therefore only one -sense, <i>e.g.</i>, thunder, which is only heard, although with varying -intensity, occur nevertheless in conjunction with other phenomena, -such as, to keep to thunder, with a clouded sky, lightning -and rain. Our brains are therefore accustomed to receive at -once from every phenomenon several stimuli, which proceed -partly from the many qualities of the phenomenon itself, and -partly from the phenomena usually accompanying it. Now, it -is sufficient that only one of these stimuli should reach the -brain, in order to call into life, in virtue of the habitual association -of the memory-images, the remaining stimuli of the same -group as well. Simultaneity of impressions is therefore a cause -of the association of ideas.</p> - -<p>One and the same quality belongs to many phenomena. -There is a whole series of things which are blue, round, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -smooth. The possession of a common quality is a condition -of similarity, which is greater in proportion to the number of -common qualities. Every single quality, however, belongs -to a habitually associated group of qualities, and can by the -mechanism of simultaneity arouse the memory-image of this -group. In consequence of their similarity, therefore, the -memory-images can be aroused of all those groups, which -resemble each other in some quality. The colour blue is a -quality which belongs equally to the cheerful sky, the cornflower, -the sea, certain eyes, and many military uniforms. -The perception of blue will awaken the memory of some or -many blue things which are only related through their common -colour. Similarity is therefore another cause of the association -of ideas.</p> - -<p>It is a distinctive characteristic of the brain-cell to elaborate -at the same time both a presentation and its opposite. It is -probable that what we perceive as its opposite is generally, in -its original and simplest form, only the consciousness of the -cessation of a certain presentation. As the fatigue of the -optic nerve by a colour arouses the sensation of the complimentary -colour, so, on the exhaustion of a brain-cell through -the elaboration of a presentation, the contrary presentation -appears in consciousness. Now, whether this interpretation -be right or not, the fact itself is established through the -‘contradictory double meaning of primitive roots,’ discovered -by K. Abel.<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> Contrast is the third cause of the association of -ideas.</p> - -<p>Many phenomena present themselves in the same place -close to, or after, one another; and we associate there, presentation -of the particular place with those objects, to which it is -used to serve as a frame. Simultaneity, similarity, contrast, -and occurrence in the same place (contiguity), are thus, according -to Wundt, the four conditions under which phenomena -will be connected in our consciousness through the association -of ideas. To these James Sully<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a> believes yet a fifth should be -added: presentations which are rooted in the same emotion. -Nevertheless all the examples cited by the distinguished English -psychologist demonstrate without effort the action of one or -more of Wundt’s laws.</p> - -<p>In order that an organism should maintain itself, it must -be in a position to make use of natural resources, and protect -itself from adverse conditions of every sort. It can accomplish -this only if it possesses a knowledge of these adverse conditions, -and of such natural resources as it can use; and it can do this -better and more surely the more complete this knowledge is.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -In the more highly differentiated organism it devolves upon -the brain and nervous system to acquire knowledge of the -outer world, and to turn that knowledge to the advantage of -the organism. Memory makes it possible for the brain to -perform its task, and the mechanism by which memory is -made to serve the purport of knowledge is the association of -ideas. For it is clear that a brain, in which a single perception -awakens through the operation of the association of ideas a -whole train of connected representations, will recognise, conceive -and judge far more rapidly than one in which no association -of ideas obtains, and which therefore would form only such -concepts as had for their content direct sense-perceptions and -such representations as originated in those cells which, by the -accident of their contiguity, happened to lie in the circuit of a -stimulus-wave. For the brain which works with association -of ideas, the perception of a ray of light, of a tone, is sufficient, -in order instantly to produce the presentation of the object from -which the sensation proceeds, as well as of its relations in time -and space, to group these presentations as concepts, and from -these concepts to arrive at a judgment. To the brain without -association of ideas that perception would only convey -the presentation of having something bright or sonant in -front of it. In addition, presentations would be aroused -which had nothing in common with this bright or sonant -something; it could form no image of the exciter of the sense, -but it would first have to receive a train of further impressions -from several or all of the senses, in order to learn to recognise -the various properties of the object, of which at first only a -tone or a colour was perceived, and to unite them in a single -presentation. Even then the brain would only know in what -the object consisted, <i>i.e.</i>, what it had in front of it, but not -how the object stood in relation to other things, where and -when it had already been perceived, and by what phenomena -it was accompanied, etc. Knowledge of objects thus acquired -would be wholly unadapted to the formation of a right judgment. -It can now be seen what a great advantage was given -to the organism in the struggle for existence by the association -of ideas, and what immense progress in the development of -the brain and its activity the acquirement of it signified.</p> - -<p>But this is only true with a limitation. The association of -ideas as such does not do more to lighten the task of the brain -in apprehending and in judging than does the uprising throng -of memory-images in the neighbourhood of the excited centre. -The presentations, which the association of ideas calls into -consciousness, stand, it is true, in somewhat closer connection -with the phenomenon which has sent a stimulus to the brain, -and by the latter has been perceived, than do those occurring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -in the geometrical circuit of the stimulus-wave; but even this -connection is so slight, that it offers no efficient help in the -interpretation of the phenomenon. We must not forget that -properly all our perceptions, ideas, and conceptions are connected -more or less closely through the association of ideas. -As in the example cited above the sensation of blue arouses -the ideas of the sky, the sea, a blue eye, a uniform, etc., so will -each of these ideas arouse in its turn, according to Wundt’s -law, ideas associated with them. The sky will arouse the idea -of stars, clouds and rain; the sea, that of ships, voyages, -foreign lands, fishes, pearls, etc.; blue eyes, that of a girl’s -face, of love and all its emotions; in short, this one sensation, -through the mechanism of the association of ideas, can arouse -pretty well almost all the conceptions which we have ever at -any time formed, and the blue object which we have in fact -before our eyes and perceive, will, through this crowd of ideas -which are not directly related to it, be neither interpreted nor -explained.</p> - -<p>In order, however, that the association of ideas may fulfil its -functions in the operations of the brain, and prove itself a -useful acquisition to the organism, one thing more must be -added, namely, attention. This it is which brings order into -the chaos of representations awakened by the association of -ideas, and makes them subserve the purposes of cognition and -judgment.</p> - -<p>What is attention? Th. Ribot<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> defines this attribute as -‘a spontaneous or an artificial adaptation of the individual to -a predominating thought’. (I translate this definition freely -because too long an explanation would be necessary to make -the uninitiated comprehend the expressions made use of by -Ribot.) In other words, attention is the faculty of the brain -to suppress one part of the memory-images which, at each -excitation of a cell or group of cells, have arisen in consciousness, -by way either of association or of stimulus-wave; and to -maintain another part, namely, only those memory-images -which relate to the exciting cause, <i>i.e.</i>, to the object just -perceived.</p> - -<p>Who makes this selection among the memory-images? -The stimulus itself, which rouses the brain-cells into activity. -Naturally those cells would be the most strongly excited which -are directly connected with the afferent nerves. Somewhat -weaker is the excitement of the cells to which the cell first -excited sends its impulse by way of the customary nerve -channels; still weaker the excitement of those cells which, by -the same mechanism, receive their stimulus from the secondarily -excited cell. That idea will be the most powerful, therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -which is awakened directly by the perception itself; somewhat -weaker that which is aroused by the first impression through -association of ideas; weaker still that which the association in -its turn involves. We know further that a phenomenon never -produces a single stimulus, but several at once. If, for example, -we see a man before us, we do not merely perceive a single point -in him, but a larger or smaller portion of his exterior, <i>i.e.</i>, a large -number of differently coloured and differently illuminated -points; perhaps we hear him as well, possibly touch him, and, -at all events, perceive besides him somewhat of his environment, -of his spacial relations. Thus, there arise in our brain -quite a number of centres of stimulation, operating simultaneously -in the manner described above. There awakes in consciousness -a series of primary presentations, which are stronger, -<i>i.e.</i>, clearer, than the associated or consequent representations, -namely, just those presentations which the man standing before -us has himself aroused. They are like the brightest light-spots -in the midst of others less brilliant. These brightest light-spots -necessarily predominate in consciousness over the lesser ones. -They fill the consciousness, which combines them in a judgment. -For what we call a judgment is, in the last resort, nothing else -than a simultaneous lighting up of a number of presentations -in consciousness, which we in truth only bring into relation with -each other because we ourselves became conscious of them at -one and the same moment. The ascendency which the clearer -presentations acquire over the more obscure, the primary presentations -over derived representations, in consciousness, -enables them, with the help of the will, to influence for a time -the whole brain-activity to their own advantage, viz., to suppress -the weaker, <i>i.e.</i>, the derived, representations; to combat those -which cannot be made to agree with them; to reinforce, to draw -into their circuit of stimulation, or simply to arouse, others, -through which they themselves are reinforced and secure some -duration in the midst of the constant emergence and disappearance -of representations in their pursuit of each other. I -myself conceive the interference of the will in this struggle -for life amongst representations as giving motor impulses (even -if unconsciously) to the muscles of the cerebral arteries. By -this means the bloodvessels are dilated or contracted as required,<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> -and the consequent supply of blood becomes more or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -less copious.<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> The cells which receive no blood must suspend -their action; those which receive a larger supply can, on the -contrary, operate more powerfully. The will which regulates -the distribution of blood, when incited by a group of presentations -temporarily predominating, thus resembles a servant who -is constantly occupied in a room in carrying out the behests of -his master: to light the gas in one place, in another to turn it -up higher, in another to turn it off partly or wholly, so that at -one moment this, and at another that, corner of the room -becomes bright, dim, or dark. The preponderance of a group -of presentations allows them during their period of power to -bring into their service, not only the brain-cells, but the whole -organism besides; and not only to fortify themselves through -the representations which they arouse by way of association, but -also to seek certain new sense-impressions, and repress others, -in order, on the one hand, to obtain new excitations favourable -to their persistence—new original perceptions—and on the -other hand, through the exclusion of the rest, to ward off such -excitations as are adverse to their persistence.</p> - -<p>For instance, I see in the street a passer-by who for some -reason arouses my attention. The attention immediately suppresses -all other presentations which, an instant before, were -in my consciousness, and permits those only to remain which -refer to the passer-by. In order to intensify these presentations -I look after him, <i>i.e.</i>, the ciliary and ocular muscles, then -the muscles of the neck, perhaps also the muscles of the -body and of the legs, receive motor impulses, which serve -the purpose only of keeping up continually new sense-impressions -of the object of my attention, by means of which the presentations -of him are continuously strengthened and multiplied. -I do not notice other persons who for the time come into my -field of vision, I disregard the sounds which meet my ears, if -my attention is strong enough I do not perhaps even hear -them; but I should at once hear them if they proceeded -from the particular passer-by, or if they had any reference -to him.</p> - -<p>This is the ‘adaptation of the whole organism to a predominant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -idea’ of which Ribot speaks. This it is which gives -us exact knowledge of the external world. Without it that -knowledge would be much more difficult of attainment, and -would remain much more incomplete. This adaptation will -continue until the cells, which are the bearers of the predominating -presentations, become fatigued. They will then -be compelled to surrender their supremacy to other groups of -cells, whereupon the latter will obtain the power to adapt the -organism to their purposes.</p> - -<p>Thus we see it is only through attention that the faculty of -association becomes a property advantageous to the organism, -and attention is nothing but the faculty of the will to determine -the emergence, degree of clearness, duration and extinction of -presentations in consciousness. The stronger the will, so much -the more completely can we adapt the whole organism to a -given presentation, so much the more can we obtain sense -impressions which serve to enhance this presentation, so much -the more can we by association induce memory-images, which -complete and rectify the presentation, so much the more -definitely can we suppress the presentations which disturb it or -are foreign to it; in a word, so much the more exhaustive and -correct will our knowledge be of phenomena and their true -connection.</p> - -<p>Culture and command over the powers of nature are solely -the result of attention; all errors, all superstition, the consequence -of defective attention. False ideas of the connection -between phenomena arise through defective observation of -them, and will be rectified by a more exact observation. Now, -to observe means nothing else than to convey deliberately -determined sense-impressions to the brain, and thereby raise a -group of presentations to such clearness and intensity that it -can acquire preponderance in consciousness, arouse through -association its allied memory-images, and suppress such as are -incompatible with itself. Observation, which lies at the root -of all progress, is thus the adaptation through attention of the -sense-organs and their centres of perception to a presentation -or group of presentations predominating in consciousness.</p> - -<p>A state of attention allows no obscurity to persist in consciousness. -For either the will strengthens every rising presentation -to full clearness and distinctness, or, if it cannot do this, it -extinguishes the idea completely. The consciousness of a -healthy, strong-minded, and consequently attentive man, -resembles a room in the full light of day, in which the eye sees -all objects distinctly, in which all outlines are sharp, and -wherein no indefinite shadows are floating.</p> - -<p>Attention, therefore, presupposes strength of will, and this, -again, is the property only of a normally constituted and unexhausted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -brain. In the degenerate, whose brain and nervous -system are characterized by hereditary malformations or irregularities; -in the hysterical, whom we have learnt to regard -as victims of exhaustion, the will is entirely lacking, is possessed -only in a small degree. The consequence of weakness or want -of will is incapacity of attention. Alexander Starr<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a> published -twenty-three cases of lesions, or diseases of the convolutions of -the brain, in which ‘it was impossible for the patients to fix -their attention’; and Ribot<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> remarks: ‘A man who is tired -after a long walk, a convalescent who has undergone a severe -illness—in a word, all weakened persons are incapable of attention.... -Inability to be attentive accompanies all forms of -exhaustion.’</p> - -<p>Untended and unrestrained by attention, the brain activity -of the degenerate and hysterical is capricious, and without aim -or purpose. Through the unrestricted play of association representations -are called into consciousness, and are free to run -riot there. They are aroused and extinguished automatically; -and the will does not interfere to strengthen or to suppress -them. Representations mutually alien or mutually exclusive -appear continuously. The fact that they are retained in consciousness -simultaneously, and at about the same intensity, -combines them (in conformity with the laws of conscious -activity) into a thought which is necessarily absurd, and cannot -express the true relations of phenomena.</p> - -<p>Weakness or want of attention, produces, then, in the first -place, false judgments respecting the objective universe, -respecting the qualities of things and their relations to each -other. Consciousness acquires a distorted and blurred view of -the external world. And there follows a further consequence. -The chaotic course of stimuli along the channels of association -and of the adjacent structures arouses the activity both of -contiguous, of further, and of furthest removed groups of cells, -which, left to themselves, act only so long and with such -varying intensity as is proportionate to the intensity of the -stimulus which has reached them. Clear, obscure, and yet -obscurer representations rise in consciousness, which, after a -time, disappear again, without having attained to greater distinctness -than they had when first appearing. The clear representations -produce a thought, but such a one as cannot for a -moment become firmer or clearer, because the definite representations -of which it is composed are mingled with others -which consciousness perceives indistinctly, or scarcely perceives -at all. Such obscure ideas cross the threshold of even a healthy -person’s consciousness; but in that case attention intervenes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -at once, to bring them fully to the light, or entirely to suppress -them. These synchronous overtones of every thought cannot, -therefore, blur the tonic note. The emergent thought-phantoms -can acquire no influence over the thought-procedure because -attention either lightens up their faces, or banishes them back -to their under-world of the Unconscious. It is otherwise with -the degenerate and debilitated, who suffer from weakness of -will and defective attention. The faint, scarcely recognisable, -liminal presentations are perceived at the same time as those -that are well lit and centrally focussed. The judgment grows -drifting and nebulous like floating fog in the morning wind. -Consciousness, aware of the spectrally transparent shapes, -seeks in vain to grasp them, and interprets them without -confidence, as when one fancies in a cloud resemblances to -creatures or things. Whoever has sought on a dark night -to discern phenomena on a distant horizon can form an idea -of the picture which the world of thought presents to the -mind of an asthenic. Lo there! a dark mass! What is it? -A tree? A hayrick? A robber? A beast of prey? Ought -one to fly? Ought one to attack it? The incapacity to -recognise the object, more guessed at than perceived, fills -him with uneasiness and anxiety. This is just the condition -of the mind of an asthenic in the presence of his liminal -presentations. He believes he sees in them a hundred things -at once, and he brings all the forms that he seems to discern -into connection with the principal presentation which has -aroused them. He has, however, a strong feeling that this -connection is incomprehensible and inexplicable. He combines -presentations into a thought which is in contradiction to all -experience, but which he must look upon as equal in validity to -all his remaining thoughts and opinions, because it originated in -the same way. And even if he wishes to make clear to himself -what is really the content of his judgment, and of what particular -presentations it is composed, he observes that these presentations -are, as a matter of fact, nothing but unrecognisable -adumbrations of presentations, to which he vainly seeks to give -a name. Now, this state of mind, in which a man is straining -to see, thinks he sees, but does not see—in which a man is forced -to construct thoughts out of presentations which befool and -mock consciousness like will-o’-the-wisps or marsh vapours—in -which a man fancies that he perceives inexplicable relations -between distinct phenomena and ambiguous formless shadows—this -is the condition of mind that is called Mysticism.</p> - -<p>From the shadowy thinking of the mystic, springs his washed-out -style of expression. Every word, even the most abstract, -connotes a concrete presentation or a concept, which, inasmuch -as it is formed out of the common attributes of different concrete<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -presentations, betrays its concrete origin. Language has no -word for that which one believes he sees as through a mist, without -recognisable form. The mystic, however, is conscious of -ghostly presentations of this sort without shape or other qualities, -and in order to express them he must either use recognised -words, to which he gives a meaning wholly different from that -which is generally current, or else, feeling the inadequacy of -the fund of language created by those of sound mind, he forges -for himself special words which, to a stranger, are generally -incomprehensible, and the cloudy, chaotic sense of which is -intelligible only to himself; or, finally, he embodies the several -meanings which he gives to his shapeless representations in as -many words, and then succeeds in achieving those bewildering -juxtapositions of what is mutually exclusive, those expressions -which can in no way be rationally made to harmonize, but which -are so typical of the mystic. He speaks, as did the German -mystics of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, of the ‘cold -fire’ of hell, and of the ‘dark light’ of Satan; or, he says, like the -degenerate in the twenty-eighth pathological case of Legrain,<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a> -‘that God appeared to him in the form of luminous shadows;’ -or he remarks, as did another of Legrain’s patients:<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a> ‘You -have given me an immutable evening’ (<i>soirée immutable</i>).<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a></p> - -<p>The healthy reader or listener who has confidence in his -own judgment, and tests with lucidity and self-dependence, -naturally discerns at once that these mystical expressions are -senseless, and do but reflect the mystic’s confused manner of -thinking. The majority of mankind, however, have neither -self-confidence nor the faculty of judging, and cannot throw off -the natural inclination to connect some meaning with every -word. And since the words of the mystic have no definite -meaning in themselves, or in their juxtaposition, a certain -meaning is arbitrarily imputed to them, is mysteriously conjured -into them. The effect of the mystical method of expression on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -people who allow themselves to be bewildered is for this reason -a very strong one. It gives them food for thought, as they call -it; that is to say, it allows them to give way to all kinds of -dream-fancies, which is very much easier, and therefore more -agreeable, than the toil of reflecting on firmly outlined presentations -and thoughts admitting of no evasions and extravagances.<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a> -It transports their minds to the same condition -of mental activity determined by unbridled association of -ideas that is peculiar to the mystic; it awakens in them also -his ambiguous, unutterable presentations, and makes them -divine the strangest and most impossible relations of things -to each other. All the weak-headed appear therefore ‘deep’ -to the mystic, and this designation has, from the constant -use made of it by them, become almost an insult. Only -very strong minds are really deep, such as can keep the processes -of thought under the discipline of an extraordinarily -powerful attention. Such minds are in a position to exploit -the association of ideas in the best possible way, to impart the -greatest sharpness and clearness to all representations which -through them are called into consciousness; to suppress them -firmly and rapidly if they are not compatible with the rest; to -procure new sense-impressions, if these are necessary in order -to make the presentations and judgments predominant at the -time in their minds still more vivid and distinct; they gain in this -way an incomparably clear picture of the world, and discover -true relations among phenomena which, to a weaker attention, -must always remain hidden. This true depth of strong select -minds is wholly luminous. It scares shadows out of hidden -corners, and fills abysses with radiant light. The mystic’s -pseudo-depth, on the contrary, is all obscurity. It causes -things to appear deep by the same means as darkness, viz., by -reason of its rendering their outlines imperceptible. The mystic -obliterates the firm outlines of phenomena; he spreads a veil -over them, and conceals them in blue vapour. He troubles -what is clear, and makes the transparent opaque, as does the -cuttle-fish the waters of the ocean. He, therefore, who sees -the world through the eyes of a mystic, gazes into a black -heaving mass, in which he can always find what he desires, -although, and just because, he actually perceives nothing at -all. To the weak-headed everything which is clearly, firmly -defined, and which, therefore, has strictly but one meaning, is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -flat. To them everything is profound which has no meaning, -and which, therefore, allows them to apply what meaning they -please. To them mathematical analysis is flat; theology and -metaphysics, deep. The study of Roman law is flat; the -dream-book and the prophecies of Nostradamus are deep. -The forms assumed by pouring molten lead on New Year’s Eve -are the true symbols of their depth.</p> - -<p>The content of mystic thought is determined by the individual -character and level of culture possessed by each degenerate -and hysteric. For we should never forget that the morbidly-affected -or exhausted brain is only the soil which receives the -seed sown by nurture, education, impressions and experience -of life, etc. The seed-grains do not originate in the soil; they -only receive in and through it their special irregularities of -development, their deformities, and crazy offshoots. The -naturalist who loses the faculty of attention becomes the -so-called ‘Natural Philosopher,’ or the discoverer of a fourth -dimension in space, like the unfortunate Zöllner. A rough, -ignorant person from the low ranks of the people falls into the -wildest superstition. The mystic, nurtured in religion and -nourished with dogma, refers his shadowy impressions to his -beliefs, and interprets them as revelations of the nature of the -Trinity, or of the condition of existence before birth or after -death. The technologist who has fallen into mysticism worries -over impossible inventions, believes himself to be on the track -of the solution of the problem of a <i>perpetuum mobile</i>, devises -communication between earth and stars, shafts to the glowing -core of the earth, and what not. The astronomer becomes an -astrologist, the chemist an alchemist and a seeker after the -philosopher’s stone; the mathematician labours to square the -circle, or to invent a system in which the notion of progress is -expressed by a process of integration, the war of 1870 by an -equation, and so on.</p> - -<p>As was set forth above, the cerebral cortex receives its stimuli, -not only from the external nerves, but also from the interior -of the organism, from the nerves of separate organs, and the -nerve-centres of the spinal cord and the sympathetic system. -Every excitement in these centres affects the brain-cells, and -arouses in them more or less distinct presentations, which are -necessarily related to the activity of the centres from which -the stimulus proceeds. A few examples will make this clear, -even to the uninitiated. If the organism feels the need of -nourishment, and we are hungry, we shall not only be generally -conscious of an indeterminate desire for food, but there will -also arise in our minds definite representations of dishes, of -served repasts, and of all the accessories of eating. If we, from -some cause, maybe an affection of the heart or lungs, cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -breathe freely, we have not only a hunger for air, but also -accompanying ideas of an uneasy nature, presentiments of -unknown dangers, melancholy memories, etc., <i>i.e.</i>, representations -of circumstances which tend to deprive us of breath or -affect us oppressively. During sleep also organic stimuli exert -this influence on the cerebral cortex, and to them we owe the -so-called somatic dreams (<i>Leibesträume</i>), <i>i.e.</i>, dream-images -about the functioning of any organs which happen not to be -in a normal condition.</p> - -<p>Now, it is known that certain organic nerve-centres, the -sexual centres, namely, in the spinal cord and the medulla -oblongata, are frequently malformed, or morbidly irritated -among the degenerate. The stimuli proceeding from them -therefore awaken, in the brain of patients of this sort, presentations -which are more or less remotely connected with the -sexual activity. In the consciousness, therefore, of such a -subject there always exist, among the other presentations which -are aroused by the varying stimuli of the external world, presentations -of a sexual character, erotic thoughts being associated -with every impression of beings and things. In this way he -attains to a state of mind in which he divines mysterious relations -among all possible objective phenomena, <i>e.g.</i>, a railway-train, -the title of his newspaper, a piano on the one hand, and -woman on the other; and feels emotions of an erotic nature at -sights, words, odours, which would produce no such impression -on the mind of a sound person, emotions which he -refers to unknown qualities in those sights, words, etc. Hence -it comes that in most cases mysticism distinctly takes on a -decidedly erotic colouring, and the mystic, if he interprets his -inchoate liminal presentations, always tends to ascribe to them -an erotic import. The mixture of super-sensuousness and -sensuality, of religious and amorous rapture, which characterizes -mystic thought, has been noticed even by those observers -who do not understand in what way it is brought about.</p> - -<p>The mysticism which I have hitherto investigated is the -incapacity, due to weakness of will, either innate or acquired, -to guide the work of the association of ideas by attention, to -draw shadowy liminal representations into the bright focal circle -of consciousness, and to suppress presentations which are incompatible -with those attended to. There exists, however, -another form of mysticism, the cause of which is not defective -attention, but an anomaly in the sensitivity of the brain and -nervous system. In the healthy organism the afferent nerves -convey impressions of the external world in their full freshness -to the brain, and the stimulation of the brain-cell is in direct -ratio to the intensity of the stimulus conducted to it. Not so -is the deportment of a degenerate or exhausted organism.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -Here the brain may have forfeited its normal irritability; it is -blunted, and is only feebly excited by stimuli conveyed to it. -Such a brain, as a rule, never succeeds in elaborating sharply-defined -impressions. Its thoughts are always shadowy and -confounded. There is, however, no occasion for me to depict -in detail the characteristics of its mental procedure, for in the -higher species of the degenerate a blunted brain is hardly ever -met with, and plays no part in art or literature. To the -possessor of a sluggishly-reacting brain it hardly ever occurs -to compose or paint. He is of account only as forming the -creative mystic’s partial and grateful public. Inadequate -excitability may moreover be a property of the sensory nerves. -This irregularity leads to anomalies in mental life, with which -I shall deal exhaustively in the next book. Finally, instead of -slow reaction there may exist excessive excitability, and this -may be peculiar to the whole nervous system and brain, or -only to a portion of the latter. A generally excessive excitability -produces those morbidly-sensitive natures in whom the -most insignificant phenomena create the most astonishing -perceptions; who hear the ‘sobbing of the evening glow,’ -shudder at the contact of a flower; distinguish thrilling -prophecies and fearful threatenings in the sighing of the wind, -etc.<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a> Excessive irritability of particular groups of cells of the -cerebral cortex gives rise to other phenomena. In the affected -part of the brain, stimulated either externally or by adjacent -stimuli, in other words, by sense impressions or by association, -the disturbance does not in this case proceed in a natural ratio -to the strength of the exciting cause, but is stronger and more -lasting than is warranted by the stimulus. The aroused group -of cells returns to a state of rest either with difficulty or not -at all. It attracts large quantities of nutriment for purposes -of absorption, withdrawing them from the other parts of the -brain. It works like a machine which an unskilful hand has -set in motion but cannot stop. If the normal action of the -brain-cells may be compared to quiet combustion, the action -of a morbidly-irritable group of cells may be said to resemble -an explosion, and one, too, which is both violent and persistent. -With the stimulus there flames forth in consciousness a presentation, -or train of presentations, conceptions and reasonings, -which suffuse the mind as with the glare of a conflagration, -outshining all other ideas.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> - -<p>The degree of exclusiveness and insistence in the predominance -of any presentation is in proportion to the degree of -morbid irritability in the particular tract of brain by which it -is elaborated. Where the degree is not excessive there arise -obsessions which the consciousness recognises as morbid. -They do not preclude the coexistence of healthy functioning of -the brain, and consciousness acquires the habit of treating -these co-existent obsessions as foreign to itself, and of banishing -them from its presentations and judgments. In aggravated -cases these obsessions grow into fixed ideas. The -immoderately excitable portions of the brain work out their -ideas with such liveliness that consciousness is filled with -them, and can no longer distinguish them from such as are the -result of sense-impressions, the nature and strength of which -they accurately reflect. Then we reach the stage of hallucinations -and delirium. Finally, in the last stage, comes ecstasy, -which Ribot calls ‘the acute form of the effort after unity of -consciousness.’ In ecstasy the excited part of the brain works -with such violence that it suppresses the functioning of all the -rest of the brain. The ecstatic subject is completely insensible -to external stimuli. There is no perception, no representation, -no grouping of presentations into concepts, and of concepts into -judgments and reasoning. A single presentation, or group of presentations, -fills up consciousness. These presentations are of extreme -distinctness and clearness. Consciousness is, as it were, -flooded with the blinding light of mid-day. There therefore takes -place exactly the reverse of what has been noticed in the case of -the ordinary mystic. The ecstatic state is associated with extremely -intense emotions, in which the highest bliss is mixed -with pain. These emotions accompany every strong and -excessive functioning of the nerve-cells, every extraordinary -and violent decomposition of nerve-nutriment. The feeling of -voluptuousness is an example of the phenomena accompanying -extraordinary decompositions in a nerve-cell. In healthy -persons the sexual nerve-centres are the only ones which, -conformably with their functions, are so differentiated and so -adapted that they exercise no uniform or lasting activity, but, -for by far the greatest part of the time, are perfectly tranquil, -storing up large quantities of nutriment in order, during very -short periods, to decompose this suddenly and, as it were, -explosively. Every nerve-centre which operates in this way -would procure us voluptuous emotion; but precisely among -healthy persons there are, except the sexual nerve-centres, -none which are compelled to act in this manner, in order to -serve the purpose of the organism. Among the degenerate, -on the contrary, particular morbidly excited brain-centres operate -in this way, and the emotions of delight which accompany<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -their explosive activity are more powerful than sexual feelings, -in proportion as the brain-centres are more sensitive than -the subordinate and more sluggish spinal centres. One may -completely believe the assurances of great ecstatics, such as -a St. Theresa, a Mohammed, an Ignatius Loyola, that the -bliss accompanying their ecstatic visions is unlike anything -earthly, and almost more than a mortal can bear. This latter -statement proves that they were conscious of the sharp pain -which accompanies nerve-action in overexcited brain-cells, -and which, on careful analysis, may be distinguished in every -very strong feeling of pleasure. The circumstance that the -only normal organic sensation known to us which resembles -that of ecstasy is the sexual feeling, explains the fact that -ecstatics connect their ecstatic presentations by way of association -with the idea of love, and describe the ecstasy itself as a -kind of supernatural act of love, as a union of an ineffably high -and pure sort with God or the Blessed Virgin. This drawing -near to God and the saints is the natural result of a religious -training, which begets the habit of looking on everything -inexplicable as supernatural, and of bringing it into connection -with the doctrines of faith.</p> - -<p>We have now seen that mysticism depends upon the incapacity -to control the association of ideas by the attention, -and that this incapacity results from weakness of will; while -ecstasy is a consequence of the morbid irritability of special -brain-centres. The incapacity of being attentive occasions, -however, besides mysticism, other eccentricities of the intellect, -which may here be briefly mentioned. In extreme stages of -degeneration, <i>e.g.</i>, in idiocy, attention is utterly wanting. No -stimulus is able to arouse it, nor is there any external means -of making an impression on the brain of the idiot, and awakening -his consciousness to definite presentations. In less complete -degeneration, <i>i.e.</i>, in cases of mental debility, attention may -exist, but it is extremely weak and fleeting. Imbeciles (weak -minds) present, in graduated intensity, the phenomenon of -fugitive thought (<i>Gedankenflucht</i>), <i>i.e.</i>, the incapacity to retain, -or to unite in a concept or judgment, the representations -automatically and reciprocally called into consciousness in -conformity with the laws of association, and also that of -reverie, which is another form of fugitive thought, but which -differs from it in that the particular representations of which it -is composed are feebly elaborated, and are therefore shadowy -and undefined, sometimes so much so that an imbecile, who -in the midst of his reveries is asked of what he is thinking, is -not able to state exactly what happens to be present in his -consciousness. All observers maintain that the ‘higher degenerate’ -is frequently ‘original, brilliant, witty,’ and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -whereas he is incapable of activity which demands attention -and self-control, he has strong artistic inclinations. All these -peculiarities are to be explained by the uncontrolled working -of association.</p> - -<p>The reader should recall the procedure of that brain which is -incapable of attention. A perception arouses a representation -which summons into consciousness a thousand other associated -representations. The healthy mind suppresses the representations -which are contradictory to, or not rationally connected with, -the first perception. This the weak-minded cannot do. The mere -similarity of sound determines the current of his thought. He -hears a word, and feels compelled to repeat it, once or oftener, -sometimes to the extent of ‘Echolalia’; or it calls into his consciousness -other words similar to it in sound, but not connected -with it in meaning,<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a> whereupon he thinks and talks in a series -of completely disconnected rhymes; or else the words have, -besides their similarity of sound, a very remote and weak -connection of meaning; this gives rise to punning. Ignorant -persons are inclined to call the rhyming and punning of -imbeciles witty, not bearing in mind that this way of combining -ideas according to the sound of the words frustrates -the purposes of the intellect by obscuring the apprehension of -the real connections of phenomena. No witticism has ever -made easier the discovery of any truth. And whoever has -tried to hold a serious conversation with a quibbling person of -weak mind will have recognised the impossibility of keeping -him in check, of getting from him a logical conclusion, or of -making him comprehend a fact or a causal connection. When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -presentations are connected, not merely according to auditory -impressions of simple similarity of sound, but also according to -the other laws of association, those juxtapositions of words are -effected which the ignorant designate as ‘original modes of -expression,’ and which confer upon their originator the reputation -of a ‘brilliant’ conversationalist or author. Sollier<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a> -cites some characteristic examples of the ‘original’ modes of -expression of imbeciles. One said to his comrade, ‘You look -like a piece of barley-sugar put out to nurse.’ Another expresses -the thought that his friend made him laugh so much -he could not restrain his saliva, by saying, ‘Tu me fais baver -des ronds de chapeaux.’ The junction of words which by -their sense have little or no relation to each other is, as a rule, -an evidence of imbecility, although it often enough is sensational -and mirth-provoking. The cleverness which in Paris is -called <i>blague</i>, or <i>boulevard-esprit</i>, the psychologist discerns as -imbecility. That this condition goes hand-in-hand with artistic -tendencies is easy to understand. All callings which require -knowledge of fact, and adaptation to it, presuppose attention. -This capacity is wanting in imbeciles; hence they are not -fitted for serious professions. Certain artistic occupations, -especially those of a subordinate kind, are, on the contrary, -quite compatible with uncontrolled association of ideas, reverie, -or fugitive thought, because they exact only a very limited -adaptation to fact, and therefore have great attractions for -persons of weak intellect.</p> - -<p>Between the process of thought and movement there exists -an exact parallelism explicable by the fact that the elaboration of -presentations is nothing else than a modification of the elaboration -of the motor impulses. The phenomena of movement make -the mechanism of thought more easily apprehensible to the lay -mind. The automatic association of muscular contractions -corresponds to the association of ideas, their co-ordination to -attention. As with defective attention there ensues no intelligent -thought, so with faulty co-ordination there can be no -appropriate movement. Palsy is equivalent to idiocy, St. -Vitus’s dance to obsessions and fixed ideas. The attempts -at witticisms of the weak-minded are like beating the air with -a sword; the notions and judgments of sound brains are like -the careful thrust and parry of skilful fencing. Mysticism -finds its reflected image in the aimless and powerless, often -hardly discernible, movements of senile and paralytic trembling; -and ecstasy is, for a brain-centre, the same state as a prolonged -and violent tonic contraction for a muscle or group -of muscles.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c67" id="c67">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">THE PRE-RAPHAELITES.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Mysticism</span> is the habitual condition of the human race, and -in no way an eccentric disposition of mind. A strong brain -which works out every presentation to its full clearness—a powerful -will, which sustains the toiling attention—these are rare -gifts. Musing and dreaming, the free ranging of imagination, -disporting itself at its own sweet will along the meandering -pathways of association, demand less exertion, and will therefore -be widely preferred to the hard labour of observation and -intelligent judgment. Hence the consciousness of men is filled -with a vast mass of ambiguous, shadowy ideas; they see, as a -rule, in unmistakable clearness only those phenomena which -are daily repeated in their most intimate personal experience, -and, among these, those only which are the objects of their -immediate needs.</p> - -<p>Speech, that great auxiliary in the interchange of human -thought, is no unmixed benefit. It brings to the consciousness -of most men incomparably more obscurity than brightness. -It enriches their memory with auditory images, not with well-defined -pictures of reality. A word, whether written or spoken, -excites a sense (sight or hearing), and sets up an activity in -the brain. True; it always arouses presentation. A series of -musical tones does the same. At an unknown word, at ‘Abracadabra,’ -at a proper name, at a tune scraped on the fiddle, -we also think of something, but it is either indefinite, or nonsensical, -or arbitrary. It is absolute waste of labour to attempt -to give a man new ideas, or to widen the circle of his positive -knowledge, by means of a word. It can never do more than -awaken such ideas as he already possesses. Ultimately everyone -works only with the material for presentation which he has -acquired by attentive personal observation of the phenomena -of the universe. Nevertheless, he cannot do without the stimulus -conveyed to him by speech. The desire for knowledge, without -any hiatus, of all that is in the world, is irresistible; while the -opportunities of perception at first hand, even in the most -favourable circumstances, are limited. What we have not ourselves -experienced we let others, the dead and the living, tell us. -The word must take the place of the direct impressions of sense -for us. And then it is itself an impression of sense, and our consciousness -is accustomed to put this impression on a level with -others, to estimate the idea aroused by this word equally with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -those ideas which have been acquired through the simultaneous -co-operation of all the senses, through observations, and handling -on every side, through moving and lifting, listening to, and -smelling the object itself. This parity of values is an error of -thought. It is false in any case if a word do more than call -into consciousness a memory-image of a presentation, which -it has acquired through personal experience, or a concept composed -of such presentations. Nevertheless, we all of us commit -this fallacy. We forget that language was only developed by the -race as a means of communication between individuals, that it -is a social function, but not a source of knowledge. Words are -in reality much more a source of error. For a man can only -actually know what he has directly experienced and attentively -observed, not what he has merely heard or read, and what he -repeats; and if he would free himself from the errors which -words have led him into, he has no other means than the -increase of his sterling representative material, through personal -experience and attentive observation. And since man is never -in a position to do this save within certain limits, everyone is -condemned to carry on the operations of his consciousness with -direct presentations, and at the same time with words. The -intellectual structure which is built up with materials of such -unequal solidity reminds one of those dilapidated Gothic churches -which brainless masons used to patch up with a plaster of soot -and cheese, giving it, by means of a wash, the appearance of -stone. To the eye the frontage is irreproachable, but many -parts of the building could not for one moment resist a vigorous -blow of criticism.</p> - -<p>Many erroneous explanations of natural phenomena, the -majority of false scientific hypotheses, all religious and metaphysical -systems, have arisen in such a way that mankind, in -their thoughts and opinions, have interwoven, as equally valid -components, ideas suggested by words only, together with such -as were derived from direct perception. The words were either -invented by mystics and originally indicated nothing beyond -the unbalanced condition of a weak and diseased brain, or, -whereas they at first expressed a definite, correct presentation, -their proper meaning was not caught by those who repeated -them, and by them was arbitrarily falsified, differently interpreted, -or blurred. Innate or acquired weakness of mind and ignorance -lead alike to the goal of mysticism. The brain of the ignorant -elaborates presentations that are nebulous, because they are suggested -by words, not by the thing itself, and the stimulus of a word -is not strong enough to produce vigorous action in the brain-cells; -moreover, the brain of the exhausted and degenerate elaborates -nebulous presentations, because in any case it is not in a condition -to respond to a stimulus by vigorous action. Hence ignorance is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -artificial weakness of mind, just as, conversely, weakness of -mind is the natural organic incapacity for knowledge.</p> - -<p>In one part or another of his mental field of vision each of -us therefore is a mystic. From all the phenomena which he himself -has not observed, everyone forms shadowy, unstable presentations. -Nevertheless, it is easy to distinguish healthy men from -those who deserve the designation of mystic. There is a sure sign -for each. The healthy man is in a condition to obtain sharply-defined -presentations from his own immediate perceptions, and to -comprehend their real connection. The mystic, on the contrary, -mixes his ambiguous, cloudy, half-formed liminal representations -with his immediate perceptions, which are thereby disturbed and -obscured. Even the most superstitious peasant has definite presentations -of his field work, of the feeding of his cattle, and of looking -after his landmark. He may believe in the weather-witch, -because he does not know how the rain comes to pass, but he -does not wait a moment for the angels to plough for him. He -may have his field blessed, because the real conditions of the -thriving or perishing of his seed are beyond his ken, but he will -never so put his trust in supernatural favour as to omit sowing -his grain. All the genuine mystic’s presentations, on the contrary, -even those of daily experience, are permeated and overgrown -with that which is incomprehensible, because it is without -form. His want of attention makes him incapable of apprehending -the real connecting links between the simplest and -most obviously related phenomena, and leads him to deduce -them from one or another of the hazy, intangible presentations -wavering and wandering in his consciousness.</p> - -<p>There is no human phenomenon in the art and poetry of the -century with whom this characteristic of the mystic so completely -agrees as with the originators and supporters of the -Pre-Raphaelite movement in England. It may be taken for -granted that the history of this movement is known—at least, -in its outlines—and that it will suffice here to recall briefly its -principal features. The three painters, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, -Holman Hunt, and Millais, in the year 1848, entered into a -league which was called the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. -After the association was formed, the painters F. G. Stephens -and James Collinson, and the sculptor Thomas Woolner, joined -it. In the spring of 1849 they exhibited in London a number -of pictures and statues, all of which, in addition to the signature -of the artist, bore the common mark P.R.B. The result was -crushing. Hitherto no hysterical fanatic had tyrannically forced -on the public a belief in the beauty of these works, nor was -it as yet under the domination of the fashion, invented by -æsthetic snobs, of considering their admiration as a mark of -distinction, and of membership of a narrow and exclusive circle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -of the aristocrats of taste. Hence it confronted them without -prepossession, and found them incomprehensible and funny. -The contemplation of them roused inextinguishable laughter -among the good-humoured, and wrath among the morose, who -are nettled when they think themselves made fools of. The -brotherhood did not renew their attempt; the P.R.B. exhibition -was never repeated; the league broke up of itself. Its -members no longer added the shibboleth of initials after their -names. They formed no longer a closed association, involving -formal admission, but only a loosely-knit circle, consisting of -friends having tastes in common, and who were perpetually -modifying its character by their joining and retiring. In this -way it was joined by Burne Jones and Madox Brown, who also -passed for Pre-Raphaelites, although they had not belonged -to the original P.R.B. Later on the designation was extended -from painters to poets, and among the Pre-Raphaelites, in -addition to D. G. Rossetti (who soon exchanged the brush for -the pen), were Algernon Charles Swinburne and William -Morris.</p> - -<p>What are the governing thoughts and aims of the Pre-Raphaelite -movement? An Anglo-German critic of repute, -F. Hüffer,<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> thinks that he answers this question when he -says: ‘I myself should call this movement the renaissance of -mediæval feeling.’ Apart from the fact that these words signify -nothing, since every man may interpret ‘mediæval feeling’ as -he pleases, the reference to the Middle Ages only emphasizes the -most external accompanying circumstance of Pre-Raphaelitism, -leaving its essence entirely untouched.</p> - -<p>It is true that the Pre-Raphaelites with both brush and -pen betray a certain, though by no means exclusive, predilection -for the Middle Ages; but the mediævalism of their poems -and paintings is not historical, but mythical, and simply -denotes something outside time and space—a time of dreams -and a place of dreams, where all unreal figures and actions -may be conveniently bestowed. That they decorate their unearthly -world with some features which may remotely recall -mediævalism; that it is peopled with queens and knights, noble -damozels with coronets on their golden hair, and pages with -plumed caps—these may be accounted for by the prototypes -which, perhaps unconsciously, hover before the eyes of the Pre-Raphaelites.</p> - -<p>Movements in art and literature do not spring up suddenly -and spontaneously. They have progenitors from whom they -descend in the natural course of generation. Pre-Raphaelitism<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -is the grandson of German, and a son of French, Romanticism. -But in its wanderings through the world Romanticism has -suffered such alteration through the influence of the changing -opinions of the times, and the special characteristics of various -nations, that the English offspring bears scarcely any family -resemblance to its German ancestor.</p> - -<p>German romanticism was in its origin a reaction against the -spirit of the French encyclopædists, who had held undisputed -sway over the eighteenth century. Their criticism of ancient -errors, their new systems which were to solve the riddles of the -world and of the nature of man, had at first dazzled and nearly -intoxicated mankind. They could not, however, satisfy in the -long-run, for they committed a great fault in two respects. -Their knowledge of facts was insufficient to enable them to -explain the collective phenomenon of the universe, and they -looked upon man as an intellectual being. Proud of their -strictly logical and mathematical reasoning, they overlooked the -fact that this is a method of knowledge, but not knowledge -itself. The logical apparatus is a machine, which can manufacture -only the material shot into it. If the machine is not -fed, it runs on empty and makes a noise, but produces nothing. -The condition of science in the eighteenth century did not allow -the encyclopædists to make advantageous use of their logical -machine. They did not take cognizance of this fact, however, -and, with their limited material and much unconscious temerity, -constructed a system which they complacently announced as a -faithful representation of the system of the universe. It was -soon discovered that the encyclopædists, for all their intellectual -arrogance, were deluding both themselves and their followers. -There were known facts which contradicted their hasty explanations, -and there was a whole range of phenomena of which their -system took no account, and failed to cover as if with too short -a cloak, and which peeped out mockingly at all the seams. -Hence the philosophy of the encyclopædists was kicked and -abused, and the same faults were committed with respect to it -which it had perpetrated; the methods of intelligent criticism -were mistaken for the results obtained by them. Because the -encyclopædists, from lack of knowledge and of natural facts, -explained nature falsely and arbitrarily, those who were disappointed -and thirsting for knowledge cried out, that intelligent -criticism as such was a false method, that consistent reasoning -led to nothing, that the conclusions of the ‘Philosophy of -Enlightenment’ were just as unproven and unprovable as those -of religion and metaphysics, only less beautiful, colder, and -narrower; and mankind threw itself with fervour into all the -depths of faith and superstition, where certainly the Tree of -Knowledge did not grow, but where beautiful mirages charmed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> -the eye, and the warm fragrant springs of all the emotions -bubbled up.</p> - -<p>And more fatal than the error of their philosophy was the -false psychology of the encyclopædists. They believed that the -thoughts and actions of men are determined by reason and -the laws of consistency, and had no inkling that the really -impelling force in thought and deed are the emotions, those -disturbances elaborated in the depths of the internal organs, and -the sources of which elude consciousness, but which suddenly -burst into it like a horde of savages, not declaring whence they -come, submitting to no police regulations of a civilized mind, -and imperiously demanding lodgment. All that wide region of -organic needs and hereditary impulses, all that E. von Hartmann -calls the ‘Unconscious,’ lay hidden from the rationalists, -who saw nothing but the narrow circle of the psychic life which -is illumined by the little lamp of consciousness. Fiction which -should depict mankind according to the views of this inadequate -psychology would be absurdly untrue. It had no place for -passions and follies. It saw in the world only logical formulæ -on two legs, with powdered heads and embroidered coats of -fashionable cut. The emotional nature took its revenge on this -æsthetic aberration, breaking out in ‘storm and stress,’ and in -turn attaching value only to the unconscious, the inherited -impulse, and the organic appetites, while it neglected entirely -reason and will, which are there none the less.</p> - -<p>Mysticism, which rebelled against the application of the -rationalistic methods to explain the universe, and the <i>Sturm -und Drang</i>, which rebelled against their application to the -psychical life of mankind, were the first-fruits of romanticism, -which is nothing but the union and exaggeration of these two -revolutionary movements. That it took up with fondness the -form of mediævalism was due to circumstances and the sentiment -of the age. The beginnings of romanticism coincide with -the time of the deepest humiliation of Germany, and the suffering -of young men of talent at the ignominy of foreign rule gave to -the whole content of their thought a patriotic colouring. During -the Middle Ages Germany had passed through a period of the -greatest power and intellectual florescence; those centuries -which were irradiated at one and the same time by the might -of the world-empire of the Hohenstaufen, by the splendour of -the poems of the Court Minnesingers, and by the vastness of the -Gothic cathedrals, must naturally have attracted those spirits -who, filled with disgust, broke out against the intellectual jejuneness -and political abasement of the times. They fled from -Napoleon to Frederick Barbarossa, and drew refreshment with -Walter von der Vogelweide from their abhorrence of Voltaire. -The foreign imitators of the German romanticists do not know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -that if in their flight from reality they come to a halt in -mediævalism, they have German patriotism as their pioneer.</p> - -<p>The patriotic side of romanticism was, moreover, emphasized -only by the sanest talents of this tendency. In others it stands -revealed most signally as a form of the phenomenon of degeneration. -The brothers Schlegel, in their <i>Athenæum</i>, give this programme -of romanticism: ‘The beginning of all poetry is to -suspend the course and the laws of rationally thinking reason, -and to transport us again into the lovely vagaries of fancy and -the primitive chaos of human nature.... The freewill of the -poet submits to no law.’ This is the exact mode of thought -and expression of the weak-minded, of the imbecile, whose -brain is incapable of following the phenomena of the universe -with discernment and comprehension, and who, with the self-complacency -which characterizes the weak-minded, proclaims -his infirmity as an advantage, and declares that his muddled -thought, the product of uncontrolled association, is alone exact -and commendable, boasting of that for which the sane-minded are -pitying him. Besides the unregulated association of ideas there -appears in most romanticists its natural concomitant, mysticism. -That which enchanted them in the idea of the Middle Ages was -not the vastness and might of the German Empire, not the -fulness and beauty of the German life of that period, but -Catholicism with its belief in miracles and its worship of saints. -‘Our Divine Service,’ writes H. von Kleist, ‘is nothing of the -kind. It appeals only to cold reason. A Catholic feast appeals -profoundly to all the senses.’ The obscure symbolism of -Catholicism, all the externals of its priestly motions, all its -altar service so full of mystery, all the magnificence of its vestments, -sacerdotal vessels and works of art, the overwhelming -effect of the thunder of the organ, the fumes of incense, the -flashing monstrance—all these undoubtedly stir more confused -and ambiguous adumbrations of ideas than does austere Protestantism. -The conversion of Friedrich Schlegel, Adam Müller, -Zacharias Werner, Count Stolberg, to Catholicism is just as -consistent a result as, to the reader who has followed the arguments -on the psychology of mysticism, it is intelligible that, -with these romanticists, the ebullitions of piety are accompanied -by a sensuousness which often amounts to lasciviousness.</p> - -<p>Romanticism penetrated into France a generation later than -into Germany. The delay is easy of historical explanation. In -the storms of the Revolution and the Napoleonic wars, the -leading minds of the French people had no time to think of -themselves. They had no leisure for testing the philosophy of -their encyclopædists, to find it inadequate, reject it, and rise -up against it. They devoted their whole energy to rough, big, -muscular deeds of war, and the need for the emotional exercise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -afforded by art and poetry, asserted itself but feebly, being -completely satisfied by the far stronger emotions of self-love -and despair produced by their famous battles and cataclysmic -overthrows. Æsthetic tendencies only reasserted their rights -during the half-dormant period following the battle of Waterloo, -and then the same causes led to the same results as in Germany. -The younger spirits in this case also raised the flag of revolt -against the dominating æsthetic and philosophic tendencies. -They wished Imagination to grapple with Reason, and place -its foot on its neck, and they proclaimed the martial law of -passion against the sober procedure of discipline and morality. -Through Madame de Staël and A. W. Schlegel, partly by the -latter’s personal intercourse with Frenchmen, and partly by his -works, which were soon translated into French, they were in some -measure made acquainted with the German movement. They -joined it perhaps half unconsciously. Of the many impulses -which were active among the German romanticists, patriotism -and Catholic mysticism had no influence on the French mind, -which only lent itself to the predilection for what was remote -in time and space, and what was free from moral and mental -restraints.</p> - -<p>French romanticism was neither mediæval nor pious. It took -up its abode rather in the Renaissance period as regards remoteness -in time, and in the East or the realms of faerie, if it wished -to be spacially remote from reality. In Victor Hugo’s works -the one drama of <i>Les Burgraves</i> takes place in the thirteenth -century; but in all the others, <i>Cromwell</i>, <i>Maria Tudor</i>, <i>Lucrezia -Borgia</i>, <i>Angelo</i>, <i>Ruy Blas</i>, <i>Hernani</i>, <i>Marion Delorme</i>, <i>Le Roi -s’amuse</i>, the scenes were laid in the sixteenth and seventeenth -centuries; and his one mediæval romance, <i>Notre Dame de Paris</i>, -can be set over against all the rest, from <i>Han d’Islande</i>, which -has for its scene of action a fancied Thule, to <i>Les Miserables</i> -and <i>1793</i>, which take place in an apocalyptic Paris and in -a history of the Revolution suited to the use of hashish-smokers. -The bent of French romanticism towards the Renaissance -is natural. That was the period of great passions and -great crimes, of marble palaces, of dresses glittering with gold, -and of intoxicating revels; a period in which the æsthetic prevailed -over the useful, and the fantastic over the rational, and -when crime itself was beautiful, because assassination was -accomplished with a chased and damascened poniard, and the -poison was handed in goblets wrought by Benvenuto Cellini.</p> - -<p>The French romanticists made use of the unreality of their -scene of action and costumes chiefly for the purpose of enabling -them, without restraint, to attribute to their characters all the -qualities, exaggerated even to monstrosity, that were dear to -the French, not yet ailing with the pain of overthrow. Thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -in the heroes of Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Théophile -Gautier, Alfred de Musset, we become acquainted with the -French ideal of man and woman. The subtle inquiries of -Faust, the soliloquies of Hamlet, are not their affair. They talk -unceasingly in dazzling witticisms and antitheses; they fight -one against ten; they love like Hercules in the Thespidian -night, and their whole life is one riot of fighting, wantoning, -wine, perfume, and pageantry—a sort of magnificent illusion, -with performance of gladiators, Don Juans, and Monte Christos; -a crazy prodigality of inexhaustible treasures of bodily strength, -gaiety and gold. These ideal beings had necessarily to wear -doublets or Spanish mantles, and speak in the tongues of unknown -times, because the tightness of the contemporary dress-coat -could not accommodate all this wealth of muscle, and the -conversation of the Paris salon did not admit of the candour -of souls which their authors had turned inside out.</p> - -<p>The fate of romanticism in England was exactly the reverse -of that which befell it in France. Whereas the French had -imitated chiefly, and even exclusively, in the German romanticists, -their divergence from reality, and their declaration of -the sovereign rights of the passions, the English just as exclusively -elaborated their Catholic and mystical elements. -For them the Middle Ages had a powerful attraction, inasmuch -as it was the period of childlike faith in the letter, and of the -revelling of simple piety in personal intercourse with the Trinity, -the Blessed Virgin, and all the guardian saints.</p> - -<p>Trade, industry, and civilization were nowhere in the world -so much developed as in England. Nowhere did men work so -assiduously, nowhere did they live under such artificial conditions -as there. Hence the state of degeneration and exhaustion, -which we observe to-day in all civilized countries as the result -of this over-exertion, must of necessity have shown itself sooner -in England than elsewhere, and, as a matter of fact, did show -itself in the third and fourth decade of the century with continually -increasing violence. In consequence, however, of the -peculiarity of the English mind, the emotional factor in -degeneration and exhaustion necessarily assumed with them a -religious colouring.</p> - -<p>The Anglo-Saxon race is by nature healthy and strong-minded. -It has therefore, in a high degree, that strong desire -for knowledge which is peculiar to normally-constituted -persons. In every age it has inquired into the why and how of -phenomena, and shown passionate sympathy with, and gratitude -to, everyone who held out hopes of an explanation of them. -The well-known and deeply thoughtful discourse of the Anglican -noble concerning what precedes and follows man’s life—a -speech which Bede has preserved for us in his account of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -conversion of Edwin to Christianity—has been cited by all -authors (<i>e.g.</i>, by G. Freytag and H. Taine<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a>) who have studied -the origins of the English mental constitution. It shows that -as early as the beginning of the seventh century the Anglo-Saxons -were consumed by an ardent desire to comprehend the -phenomenon of the universe. This fine and high-minded -craving for knowledge has proved at once the strength and the -weakness of the English. It led with them to the development -along parallel lines of the natural sciences and theology. The -scientific investigators contributed a store of facts won through -toilsome observation; the experts in divinity obtained theirs -through systems compounded of notions arbitrarily conceived. -Both claimed to explain the nature of things, and the people -were deeply grateful to both, more so, it is true, to the theologians -than to the scholars, because the former could afford to be more -copious and confident in their teaching than the latter. The -natural tendency to reckon words as equivalent to facts, -assertions to demonstrations, always gives theologians and -metaphysicians an immense advantage over observers. The -craving of the English for knowledge has produced both the -philosophy of induction and spiritualism. Humanity owes to -them on the one hand Francis Bacon, Harvey, Newton, Locke, -Darwin, J. S. Mill; on the other, Bunyan, Berkeley, Milton, the -Puritans, the Quakers, and all the religious enthusiasts, -visionaries, and mediums of this century. No people has done -so much for, and conferred such honour on, scientific investigators; -no people has sought with so much earnestness and -devotion for instruction, especially in matters of faith, as have -the English. Eagerness to know is, therefore, the main source -of English religiousness. There is this also to be noticed, -that among them the ruling classes never gave an example -of indifference in matters of faith, but systematically made -religiousness a mark of social distinction; unlike France, where -the nobility of the eighteenth century exalted Voltairianism into -a symptom of good breeding. The evolution of history led in -England to two results which apparently exclude each other—to -caste-rule, and the liberty of the individual. The caste which -is in possession of wealth and power naturally wishes to protect -its possessions. The rigid independence of the English people -precludes it from applying physical force. Hence it uses moral -restraints to keep the lower ranks submissive and amenable, -and, among these, religion is by far the most effective.</p> - -<p>Herein lies the explanation both of the devoutness of the -English and of the religious character of their mental degeneration.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -The first result of the epidemic of degeneration and hysteria -was the Oxford Movement in the thirties and forties. Wiseman -turned all the weaker heads. Newman went over to Catholicism. -Pusey clothed the entire Established Church in Romish garb. -Spiritualism soon followed, and it is worthy of remark that all -mediums adopted theological modes of speech, and that their -disclosures were concerned with heaven and hell. The ‘revival -meetings’ of the seventies, and the Salvation Army of to-day, -are the direct sequel of the Oxford stream of thought, but -rendered turbid and foul in accordance with the lower intellectual -grade of their adherents. In the world of art, however, the -religious enthusiasm of degenerate and hysterical Englishmen -sought its expression in pre-Raphaelitism.</p> - -<p>An accurate definition of the connotation of this word is an -impossibility, in that it was invented by mystics, and is as vague -and equivocal as are all new word-creations of the feeble and -deranged in mind. The first members of the Brotherhood -believed that, in the artists of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, -in the predecessors of the great geniuses of the Umbrian -and Venetian schools, they had discovered minds congenial to -their own. For a short time they took the methods of these -painters for their models, and created the designation ‘pre-Raphaelite.’ -The term was bound to approve itself to them, -since the prefix ‘pre’ (‘præ’) arouses ideas of the primeval, the -far-away, the hardly perceptible, the mysteriously shadowy. -‘Pre-Raphaelite’ calls up, through association of ideas, ‘pre-Adamite,’<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a> -‘prehistoric,’ etc.—in short, all that is opened to -view by immeasurable vistas down the dusk of the unknown, -and which allow the mind to wander dreamily beyond the limits -of time and in the realms of myth. But that the pre-Raphaelites -should have lit on the quattrocento painters for the embodiment -of their artistic ideals is due to John Ruskin.</p> - -<p>Ruskin is one of the most turbid and fallacious minds, and -one of the most powerful masters of style, of the present century. -To the service of the most wildly eccentric thoughts he brings -the acerbity of a bigot and the deep sentiment of Morel’s -‘emotionalists.’ His mental temperament is that of the -first Spanish Grand Inquisitors. He is a Torquemada of -æsthetics. He would liefest burn alive the critic who disagrees -with him, or the dull Philistine who passes by works of art without -a feeling of devout awe. Since, however, stakes do not stand -within his reach, he can at least rave and rage in word, and -annihilate the heretic figuratively by abuse and cursing. To his -ungovernable irascibility he unites great knowledge of all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -minutiæ in the history of art. If he writes of the shapes of -clouds he reproduces the clouds in seventy or eighty existing -pictures, scattered amongst all the collections of Europe. And -be it noted that he did this in the forties, when photographs of -the masterpieces of art, which render the comparative study of -them to-day so convenient, were yet unknown. This heaping -up of fact, this toilsome erudition, made him conqueror of the -English intellect, and explains the powerful influence which he -obtained over artistic sentiment and the theoretic views concerning -the beautiful of the Anglo-Saxon world. The clear positivism -of the Englishman demands exact data, measures, and -figures. Supplied with these he is content, and does not criticise -starting-points. The Englishman accepts a fit of delirium if it -appears with footnotes, and is conquered by an absurdity if it -is accompanied by diagrams. Milton’s description of hell and -its inhabitants is as detailed and conscientious as that of a -land-surveyor or a natural philosopher, and Bunyan depicts the -<i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i> to the mystical kingdom of Redemption in -the method of the most graphic writer of travels—a Captain -Cook or a Burton. Ruskin has in the highest conceivable degree -this English peculiarity of exactness applied to the nonsensical, -and of its measuring and counting applied to fevered visions.</p> - -<p>In the year 1843, almost simultaneously with the outbreak of -the great Catholicizing movement, Ruskin began to publish the -feverish studies on art which were subsequently collected under -the title of <i>Modern Painters</i>. He was then a young divinity -student, and as such he entered upon the study of works of art. -The old scholasticism wished to make philosophy the ‘handmaid -of godly learning.’ Ruskin’s mysticism had the same purpose -with regard to art. Painting and sculpture ought to be a form -of divine worship, or they ought not to exist at all. Works of -art were valuable merely for the supersensuous thoughts that -they conveyed, for the devotion with which they were conceived -and which they revealed, not for the mastery of form.</p> - -<p>From this point of view he was able to arrive at judgments -among which I here quote a few of the most typical. ‘It -appears to me,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a> ‘that a rude symbol is oftener more -efficient than a refined one in touching the heart, and that as -pictures rise in rank as works of art they are regarded with less -devotion and more curiosity.... It is man and his fancies, man -and his trickeries, man and his inventions, poor, paltry, weak, -self-sighted man, which the connoisseur for ever seeks and -worships. Among potsherds and dunghills, among drunken -boors and withered beldames, through every scene of debauchery -and degradation, we follow the erring artist, not to receive one -wholesome lesson, not to be touched with pity, nor moved with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -indignation, but to watch the dexterity of the pencil, and gloat -over the glittering of the hue.... Painting is nothing but a -noble and expressive language, invaluable as the vehicle of -thought, but by itself nothing.... It is not by the mode of -representing and saying, but by what is represented and said, -that the respective greatness either of the painter or the writer is -to be finally determined.... The early efforts of Cimabue and -Giotto are the burning messages of prophecy, delivered by the -stammering lips of infants.... The picture which has the -nobler and more numerous ideas, however awkwardly expressed, -is a greater and a better picture than that which has the less -noble and less numerous ideas, however beautifully expressed.... -The less sufficient the means appear to the end the greater -will be the sensation of power.’ These propositions were decisive -in determining the direction taken by the young Englishmen of -1843, who united artistic inclinations with the mysticism of the -degenerate and hysterical. They comprise the æstheticism of -the first pre-Raphaelites, who felt that Ruskin had expressed -with clearness what was vaguely fermenting within them. Here -was the art-ideal which they had presaged—form as indifferent, -idea as everything; the clumsier the representation, the deeper -its effect; the devotion of faith as the only worthy import of a -work of art. They reviewed the history of art for phenomena -agreeing with the theories of Ruskin, which they had taken up -with enthusiasm, and they found what they sought in the archaic -Italian school, in which the London National Gallery is extraordinarily -rich. There they had perfect models to imitate; they -were bound to take for their starting-point these Fra Angelicos, -Giottos, Cimabues, these Ghirlandajos and Pollajuolos. Here -were paintings bad in drawing, faded or smoked, their colouring -either originally feeble or impaired by the action of centuries; -pictures executed with the awkwardness of a learner representing -events in the Passion of Christ, in the life of the Blessed -Virgin, or in the Golden Legend, symbolizing childish ideas of -hell and paradise, and telling of earnest faith and fervent -devotion. They were easy of imitation, since, in painting -pictures in the style of the early masters, faulty drawing, deficient -sense of colour, and general artistic incapacity, are so many -advantages. And they constituted a sufficiently forcible antithesis -to all the claims of the artistic taste of that decade to -satisfy the proclivity for contradiction, paradox, negation and -eccentricity which we have learned to recognise as a special -characteristic of the feeble-minded.</p> - -<p>Ruskin’s theory is in itself delirious. It mistakes the fundamental -principles of æsthetics, and, with the unconsciousness of -a saucy child at play, muddles and entangles the boundary lines -of the different arts. It holds of account in plastic art only the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -conception. A picture is valuable only in so far as it is a -symbol giving expression to a religious idea. Ruskin does not -take into consideration, or deliberately overlooks the fact, that -the pleasurable feelings which are produced by the contemplation -of a picture are not aroused by its intellectual import, -but by it as a sensuous phenomenon. The art of painting -awakens through its media of colour and drawing (<i>i.e.</i>, the exact -grasp and reproduction of differences in the intensity of light), -firstly, a purely sensuously agreeable impression of beautiful -single colours and happily combined harmonies of colour; -secondly, it produces an illusion of reality and, together with -this, the higher, more intellectual pleasures arising from a -recognition of the phenomena depicted, and from a comprehension -of the artist’s intention; thirdly, it shows these phenomena -as seen with the eye of the artist, and brings out details -or collective traits, which until then the inartistic beholder had -not been by himself able to perceive. The painter therefore -influences, through the medium of his art, only so far as he -agreeably excites the sense of colour, gives to the mind an -illusion of reality, together with the consciousness that it is an -illusion, and, through his deeper, more penetrating vision, discloses -to the spectator the hidden treasures of the phenomenal -world. If, in addition to the presentation of the picture, ‘its -story’ also affects the beholder, it is no longer the merit of the -painter as such, but of his not exclusively pictorial intelligence -in making choice of a subject, and in committing its portrayal -to his specific pictorial abilities. The effect of the story is not -called forth through the media of painting; it is not based on -the pleasure of the spectator in colour, on the illusion of reality, -or on a better grasp of the phenomenon, but on some pre-existing -inclination, some memory, some prejudice. A purely -painter’s picture, such as Leonardo’s <i>Mona Lisa</i>, charms everyone -whose eye has been sufficiently trained. A picture which -tells a story, but is not distinguished for its purely pictorial -qualities, leaves everyone unappreciative to whom the story in -itself is uninteresting, <i>i.e.</i>, to whom it would in any case have -been uninteresting, had it not been executed by the instrumentality -of pictorial art, but simply narrated. A Russian eikon affects -a moujik, and leaves the Western art connoisseur cold. A painting -which represents a French victory over Russian troops would -excite and please a French Philistine, even if it were painted in -the style of an Épinal. It is true, no doubt, that there is a sort -of painting which does not seek to seize and awaken visual impressions -in the spectator, together with the emotions which -they directly arouse, but to express ideas, and in which the -picture is intended to affect the mind, not by itself and its own -consummate art, but by its spiritual significance. But this kind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -of painting has a special name: we call it writing. The signs, -which are meant to have no pictorial, but only symbolic value, -where we turn away from the form in order to dwell upon their -meaning, we call ‘letters,’ and the art which makes use of such -symbols for the expression of mental processes is not painting, -but poetry. Originally, pictures were actually, no doubt, a -means of symbolizing thoughts, and their value as things of -beauty was considered of secondary importance in relation to -their value as means of expression. On the other hand, -æsthetic impressions still play in these days a subdued accompaniment -to our writing, and a beautiful handwriting, quite -apart from its import, affects us more agreeably than one that is -ugly. At the very beginning of their evolution, however, the -kind of painting which satisfied only æsthetic needs separated -itself from that of writing, which serves to render ideas perceptible -to the senses. Descriptive drawing became the hieroglyph, -the demotic writing, the letter; and it was reserved for -Ruskin to be the first to try to annul a distinction which the -scribes of Thebes had learnt to make six thousand years before -him.</p> - -<p>The pre-Raphaelites, who got all their leading principles from -Ruskin, went further. They misunderstood his misunderstandings. -He had simply said that defectiveness in form can be -counter-balanced by devotion and noble feeling in the artist. -They, however, raised it to the position of a fundamental -principle, that in order to express devotion and noble feeling, -the artist must be defective in form. Incapable, like all the -weak-minded, of observing any process and of giving a clear -account of it to themselves, they did not distinguish the real -causes of the influence exercised over them by the old masters. -The pictures touched and moved them; the most striking distinction -between such pictures and others, to which they were -indifferent, was their awkward stiffness; they did not look -further, however, than this awkward stiffness for the source of -what touched and moved them, and imitated with great care -and conscientiousness the bad drawing of the old masters.</p> - -<p>Now, the clumsiness of the old masters is certainly touching; -but why? Because these Cimabues and Giottos were sincere. -They wished to get closer to nature, and to free themselves from -the thraldom of the Byzantine school, which had become entirely -unreal. They struggled with vehement endeavour against -the bad habits of hand and eye which they had acquired from -the teachers of their guilds, and the spectacle of such a conflict, -like every violent effort of an individuality which sets itself to -rend fetters of any sort and save its own soul from bondage, -is the most attractive thing possible to observe. The whole -difference between the old masters and the pre-Raphaelites is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -that the former had first to find out how to draw and paint -correctly, while the latter wished to forget it. Hence, where -the former fascinate, the latter must repel. It is the contrast -between the first babbling of a thriving infant and the stammering -of a mentally enfeebled gray-beard; between childlike and -childish. But this retrogression to first beginnings, this affectation -of simplicity, this child’s play in word and gesture, is a -frequent phenomenon amongst the weak-minded, and we shall -often meet with it among the mystic poets.</p> - -<p>According to the doctrine of their master in theory, Ruskin, -the decline of art for pre-Raphaelites begins with Raphael—and -for obvious reasons. To copy Cimabue and Giotto is comparatively -easy. In order to imitate Raphael it is necessary to be -able to draw and paint to perfection, and this was just what the -first members of the Brotherhood could not do. Moreover, -Raphael lived in the most glorious period of the Renaissance. -The rosy dawn of the New Thought shone in his being and -his work. With the liberal-mindedness of an enlightened -Cinquecentist, he no longer painted only religious subjects, but -mythological and historical, or, as the mystics say, profane, subjects -as well. His paintings appealed not only to the devotion -of faith, but also to the sense of beauty. They are no longer -exclusively divine worship; consequently, as Ruskin says, and -his disciples repeat, they are devil-worship, and therefore to be -rejected. Finally, it is consistent with the tendency to contradiction, -and to the repudiation of what is manifest, which -governs the thoughts of the weak-minded, that they should -declare as false those tenets in the history of art which others -than themselves deemed the most incontestable. The whole -world for three hundred years had said, ‘Raphael is the zenith -of painting.’ To this they replied, ‘Raphael is the nadir of -painting.’ Hence it came about that, in the designation which -they appropriated, they took up a direct allusion to Raphael, -and to no other master or other portion of the history of art.</p> - -<p>Consistency of sequence and unity are not to be expected -from mystical thought. It proceeds after its kind in perpetual -self-contradiction. In one place Ruskin says:<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a> ‘The cause of -the evil lies in the painter’s taking upon him to modify God’s -works at his pleasure, casting the shadow of himself on all he -sees. Every alteration of the features of nature has its origin -either in powerless indolence or blind audacity.’ Thus the -painter should reproduce the phenomenon exactly as he sees it, -and not suffer himself to make the smallest alteration in it. -And a few pages further on:<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a> ‘There is an ideal form of every -herb, flower, and tree; it is that form to which every individual -of the species has a tendency to attain, freed from the influence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -of accident or disease.’ And, he continues, to recognise and to -reproduce this ideal form is the one great task of the painter.</p> - -<p>That one of these propositions completely nullifies the other -it is hardly necessary to indicate. The ‘ideal form’ which every -phenomenon strives after does not stand before the bodily eyes -of the painter. He reads it, according to some preconceived -notion, into the phenomenon. He has to deal with individual -forms which, through ‘accident or disease,’ have diverged from -the ‘ideal form.’ In order to bring them back in painting to -their ideal form, he must alter the object given by nature. -Ruskin demands that he should do this, but at the same time -says that every alteration is an act of ‘powerless indolence or -blind audacity.’ Naturally, only one of these mutually exclusive -statements can be true. Unquestionably it is the former. The -‘ideal form’ is an assumption, not a perception. The separation -of the essential from the accidental, in the phenomenon, is an -abstraction—the work of reason, not of the eye or æsthetic -emotion. Now, the subject-matter of painting is the visible, not -the conjectural; the real, not the possible or probable; the -concrete, not the abstract. To exclude individual features from -a phenomenon as unessential and accidental, and to retain others -as intrinsic and necessary, is to reduce it to an abstract idea. -The work of art, however, is not to abstract, but to individualize. -Firstly, because abstraction presupposes an idea of the law -which determines the phenomenon, because this idea may be -erroneous, because it changes with the ruling scientific theories -of the day, whereas the painter does not reproduce changing -scientific theories, but impressions of sense. Secondly, because -the abstraction rouses the working of thought, and not emotion, -while the task of art is to excite emotion.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the pre-Raphaelites had no eye for these contradictions, -and followed blindly all Ruskin’s injunctions. They -typified the human form, but they rendered all accessories truthfully, -and had neither ‘the blind audacity nor powerless indolence’ -to change any of them. They painted with the -greatest precision the landscape in which their figures stood, -and the objects with which they were surrounded. The botanist -can determine every kind of grass and flower painted; the -cabinet-maker can recognise the joining and glueing in every -footstool, the kind of wood and varnish in the furniture. Moreover, -this conscientious distinctness is just the same in the -foreground as in the extreme background, where, according to -the laws of optics, things should be scarcely perceptible.</p> - -<p>This uniformly clear reproduction of all the phenomena in -the field of vision is the pictorial expression of the incapacity -for attention. In intellection, attention suppresses a portion of -that which is presented to consciousness (through association or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -perception), and suffers only a dominant group of the latter to -remain. In sight, attention suppresses a portion of the -phenomena in the field of vision in order distinctly to perceive -only that part which the eye can focus. To look at a thing -is to see one object intently, and to disregard others. The -painter must observe if he wishes to make clear to us what -phenomenon has engrossed him, and what his picture is to show -us. If he does not dwell observantly on a definite point in the -field of vision, but represents the whole field of view with the -same proportion of intensity, we cannot divine what he wishes -particularly to tell us, and on what he wishes to direct our -attention. Such a style of painting may be compared to the -disconnected speech of a weak mind, who chatters according to -the current of the association of ideas, wanders in his talk, and -neither knows himself what he wishes to arrive at, nor is able -to make it clear to us; it is painted drivelling, echolalia of the -brush.</p> - -<p>But it is just this manner of painting which has gained for -itself an influence on contemporary art. It is the pre-Raphaelite -contribution to its evolution. The non-mystical painters have -also learnt to observe accessories with precision, and to reproduce -them faithfully; but they have prudently avoided falling -into the faults of their models, and nullifying the unity of -their work by filling the most distant backgrounds with still life, -painted with painful accuracy. The lawns, flowers and trees, -which they render with botanical accuracy, the geologically -correct rocks, surfaces of soil, and mountain structures, the -distinct patterns of carpets and wall-papers, which we find in -the new pictures, are traceable to Ruskin and the pre-Raphaelites.</p> - -<p>These mystics believed themselves to be mentally affiliated -with the Old Masters, because, like the latter, they painted -religious pictures. But in this they deceive themselves. Cimabue, -Giotto and Fra Angelico were no mystics, or, to put it more -precisely, they are to be classed as mystics because of their -ignorance, and not because of organic weakness of mind. The -mediæval painter, who depicted a religious scene, was convinced -that he was painting something perfectly true. An Annunciation, -a Resurrection, an Ascension, an event in the lives of the -saints, a scene of life in paradise or in hell, possessed for him -the same incontestable character of reality as drinking bouts in -a soldier’s tavern, or a banquet in a ducal palace. He was a -realist when he was painting the transcendental. To him the -legend of his faith was related as a fact; he was penetrated with -a sense of its literal truth, and reproduced it exactly as he would -have done any other true story. The spectator approached the -picture with the same conviction. Religious art was the Bible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -of the poor. It had for the mediæval man the same importance -as the illustrations in the works on the history of civilization, -and on natural science, have in our day. Its duty was to -narrate and to teach, and hence it had to be exact. We know -from the touching stanza of Villon<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a> how the illiterate people of -the Middle Ages regarded church pictures. The dissolute poet -makes his mother say to the Virgin Mary:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old,<br /> -I am, and nothing learn’d in letter-lore;<br /> -Within my parish-cloister I behold<br /> -A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore,<br /> -And eke an Hell whose damned folk seethe full sore:<br /> -One bringeth fear, the other joy to me.<br /> -That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be—<br /> -Thou of whom all must ask it even as I;<br /> -And that which faith desires, that let it see,<br /> -For in this faith I choose to live and die.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">With this sober faith a mystic mode of painting would be quite -incompatible. The painter then avoided all that was obscure -or mysterious; he did not paint nebulous dreams and moods, -but positive records. He had to convince others, and could do -so, because he was convinced himself.</p> - -<p>It was quite otherwise with the pre-Raphaelites. They did -not paint sober visions, but emotions. They therefore introduced -into their pictures mysterious allusions and obscure -symbols, which have nothing to do with the reproduction of -visible reality. I need cite only one example—Holman Hunt’s -<i>Shadow of the Cross</i>. In this picture Christ is standing in the -Oriental attitude of prayer with outstretched arms, and the -shadow of his body, falling on the ground, shows the form of a -cross. Here we have a most instructive pattern of the processes -of mystic thought. Holman Hunt imagines Christ in prayer. -Through the association of ideas there awakes in him -simultaneously the mental image of Christ’s subsequent death<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -on the cross. He wants, by the instrumentality of painting, to -make the association of these ideas visible. And hence he lets -the living Christ throw a shadow which assumes the form of a -cross, thus foretelling the fate of the Saviour, as if some -mysterious, incomprehensible power had so posed his body -with respect to the rays of the sun that a wondrous annunciation -of his destiny must needs write itself on the floor. The -invention is completely absurd. It would have been childish -trifling if Christ had drawn his sublime death of sacrifice, -whether in jest or in vanity, in anticipation, by his shadow on -the ground. Neither would the shadow-picture have had any -object, for no contemporary of Christ’s would have understood -the significance of the shadowed cross before he had suffered -death by crucifixion. In Holman Hunt’s consciousness, however, -emotion simultaneously awakened the form of the praying -Christ and of the cross, and he unites both presentations anyhow, -without regard to their reasonable connection. If an Old -Master had had to paint the same idea, namely, the praying -Christ filled with the presentiment of his impending death, he -would have shown us in the picture a realistic Christ in prayer, -and in a corner an equally realistic crucifixion; but he would -never have sought to blend both these different scenes into a -single one by a shadowy connection. This is the difference -between the religious painting of the strong healthy believer -and of the emotional degenerate mind.</p> - -<p>In the course of time the pre-Raphaelites laid aside many of -their early extravagances. Millais and Holman Hunt no longer -practise the affectation of wilfully bad drawing and of childish -babbling in imitation of Giotto’s language. They have only -retained, of the leading principles of the school, the careful -reproduction of the unessential and the painting of the idea. A -benevolent critic, Edward Rod,<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a> says of them: ‘They were -themselves writers, and their painting is literature.’ This speech -is still applicable to the school.</p> - -<p>A few of the earliest pre-Raphaelites have understood it. -They have recognised in time that they had mistaken their -vocation, and have gone over, from a style of painting which was -merely thought-writing, to genuine writing. The most notable -among them is Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who, though born in -England, was the son of an Italian Carbonaro, and a scholar of -Dante. His father gave him the name of the great poet at his -entrance into the world, and this expressive baptismal name -became a constant suggestion, which Rossetti felt, and has, -perhaps half unconsciously, admitted.<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> He is the most instructive -example of the often-quoted assertion of Balzac, of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -determining influence of a name on the development and destiny -of its bearer. Rossetti’s whole poetical feeling was rooted in -Dante. His theory of life bears an indistinct cast of that of the -Florentine. Through all his ideas there runs a reminiscence, -faint or strong, of the <i>Divina Commedia</i> or the <i>Vita Nuova</i>.</p> - -<p>The analysis of one of his most celebrated poems, <i>The Blessed -Damozel</i>, will show this parasitic battening on the body of -Dante, and at the same time disclose some of the most characteristic -peculiarities of the mental working of a mystic’s brain. -The first strophe runs thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘The blessed damozel leaned out</p> -<p class="pp7">From the gold bar of Heaven;</p> -<p class="pp6">Her eyes were deeper than the depth</p> -<p class="pp7">Of waters stilled at even;</p> -<p class="pp6">She had three lilies in her hand,</p> -<p class="pp7">And the stars in her hair were seven.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">The whole of this description of a lost love, who looks down -upon him from a heaven imagined as a palace, with paradisiacal -decorations, is a reflection of Dante’s <i>Paradiso</i> (Canto iii.), where -the Blessed Virgin speaks to the poet from the moon. We -even find details repeated, <i>e.g.</i>, the deep and still waters ( ... ‘<i>ver -per acque nitide e tranquille Non sì profonde, che i fondi sien -persi ...</i>’). The ‘lilies in her hand’ he gets from the Old -Masters, yet even here there is a slight ring of the morning -greeting from the <i>Purgatorio</i> (Canto xxx.), ‘<i>Manibus o date lilia -plenis.</i>’ He designates his love by the Anglo-Norman word -‘damozel.’ By this means he makes any clear outlines in the -idea of a girl or lady artificially blurred, and shrouds the distinct -picture in a veil of clouds. By the word ‘girl’ we should just -think of a girl and nothing else. ‘Damozel’ awakens in the -consciousness of the English reader obscure ideas of slim, noble -ladies in the tapestries of old castles, of haughty Norman -knights in mail, of something remote, ancient, half forgotten; -‘damozel’ carries back the contemporary beloved into the -mysterious depths of the Middle Ages, and spiritualizes her into -the enchanted figure of a ballad. This one word awakens all -the crepuscular moods which the body of romantic poets and -authors have bequeathed as a residuum in the soul of the -contemporary reader. In the hand of the ‘damozel’ Rossetti -places three lilies, round her head he weaves seven stars. These -numbers are, of course, not accidental. From the oldest times -they have been reckoned as mysterious and holy. The ‘three’ -and the ‘seven’ are allusions to something unknown, and of -deep meaning, which the intuitive reader may try to understand.</p> - -<p>It must not be said that my criticism of the means by which -Rossetti seeks to express his own dreamy states of mind, and to -arouse similar states in the reader, applies equally to all lyrics<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -and poetry generally, and that I condemn the latter when I -adduce the former as the emanations of the mystic’s weakness -of mind. All poetry no doubt has this peculiarity, that it makes -use of words intended not only to arouse the definite ideas which -they connote, but also to awaken emotions that shall vibrate in -consciousness. But the procedure of a healthy-minded poet is -altogether different from that of a weak-minded mystic. The -suggestive word employed by the former has in itself an -intelligible meaning, but besides this it is adapted to excite -emotions in every healthy-minded man; and finally the emotions -excited have all of them reference to the subject of the poem. -One example will make this clear. Uhland sings the <i>Praise of -Spring</i> in these words:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Saatengrün, Veilchenduft,<br /> -Lerchenwirbel, Amselschlag,<br /> -Sonnenregen, linde Luft:<br /> -Wenn ich solche Worte singe,<br /> -Braucht es dann noch grosse Dinge,<br /> -Dich zu preisen, Frühlingstag?’<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a></p> - -<p class="pn1">Each word of the first three lines contains a positive idea. Each -of them awakens glad feelings in a man of natural sentiment. -These feelings, taken together, produce the mood with which -the awakening of spring fills the soul, to induce which was -precisely the intention of the poet. When, on the other hand, -Rossetti interweaves the mystical numbers ‘three’ and ‘seven’ -in the description of his ‘damozel,’ these numbers signify -nothing in themselves; moreover, they will call up no emotion -at all in an intellectually healthy reader, who does not believe -in mystical numbers; but even in the case of the degenerate -and hysterical reader, on whom the cabbala makes impression, -the emotions excited by the sacred numbers will not involve a -reference to the subject of the poem, viz., the apparition of one -loved and lost, but at best will call up a general emotional -consciousness, which may perhaps tell in a remote way to the -advantage of the ‘damozel.’</p> - -<p>But to continue the analysis of the poem. To the maiden in -bliss it appears that she has been a singer in God’s choir for -only one day; to him who is left behind this one day has been -actually a matter of ten years. ‘To one it is ten years of years.’ -This computation is thoroughly mystical. It means, that is, -absolutely nothing. Perhaps Rossetti imagined that there may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -exist a higher unity to which the single year may stand as one -day does to a year; that therefore 365 years would constitute a -sort of higher order of year. The words ‘year of years’ therefore -signified 365 years. But as Rossetti portrays this thought -vaguely and imperfectly, he is far from expressing it as intelligibly -as this.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘It was the rampart of God’s house</p> -<p class="pp7">That she was standing on;</p> -<p class="pp6">By God built over the sheer depth</p> -<p class="pp7">The which is space begun;</p> -<p class="pp6">So high that, looking downward, thence</p> -<p class="pp7">She scarce could see the sun.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘It lies in heaven, across the flood</p> -<p class="pp7">Of ether, as a bridge.</p> -<p class="pp6">Beneath, the tides of day and night</p> -<p class="pp7">With flame and darkness ridge</p> -<p class="pp6">The void, as low as where this earth</p> -<p class="pp7">Spins like a fretful midge.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Heard hardly, some of her new friends,</p> -<p class="pp7">Amid their loving games,</p> -<p class="pp6">Spake evermore among themselves</p> -<p class="pp7">Their virginal chaste names,</p> -<p class="pp6">And the souls mounting up to God</p> -<p class="pp7">Went by her like thin flames.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘From the fixed place of Heaven she saw</p> -<p class="pp7">Time like a pulse shake fierce</p> -<p class="pp6">Through all the worlds....’</p> - -<p class="pn1">I leave it to the reader to imagine all the details of this description -and unite them into one complete picture. If he fail in -this in spite of honest exertion, let him comfort himself by -saying that the fault is not his, but Rossetti’s.</p> - -<p>The damozel begins to speak. She wishes that her beloved -were already with her. For come he will.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘“When round his head the aureole clings,</p> -<p class="pp7">And he is clothed in white,</p> -<p class="pp6">I’ll take his hand and go with him</p> -<p class="pp7">To the deep wells of light.</p> -<p class="pp6">We will step down as to a stream.</p> -<p class="pp7">And bathe there in God’s sight.”’</p> - -<p class="p1">It is to be observed how, in the midst of the turgid stream of -these transcendental senseless modes of speech, the idea of -bathing together takes a definite shape. Mystical reverie never -fails to be accompanied by sensuality.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘“We two,” she said, “will seek the groves</p> -<p class="pp7">Where the Lady Mary is,</p> -<p class="pp6">With her five handmaidens, whose names</p> -<p class="pp7">Are five sweet symphonies—</p> -<p class="pp6">Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,</p> -<p class="pp7">Margaret, and Rosalys.”’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">The enumeration of these five feminine names, occupying two -lines of the stanza, is a method of versification characteristic of -the mystic. Here the word ceases to be the symbol of a -distinct presentation or concept, and sinks into a meaningless -vocal sound, intended only to awaken divers agreeable emotions -through association of ideas. In this case the five names arouse -gliding shadowy ideas of beautiful young maidens, ‘Rosalys’ -those of roses and lilies as well; and the two verses together -diffuse a glamour of faerie, as if one were roaming at ease in a -garden of flowers, where between lilies and roses slender white -and rosy maidens pace to and fro.</p> - -<p>The maiden in paradise goes on picturing to herself the union -with her beloved, and then:</p> - -<p class="pp10s p1">‘she cast her arms along</p> -<p class="pp7">The golden barriers,</p> -<p class="pp6">And laid her face between her hands</p> -<p class="pp7">And wept—I heard her tears.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">These tears are incomprehensible. The blessed maiden after -her death lives in the highest bliss, in a golden palace, in the -presence of God and the Blessed Virgin. What pains her now? -That her beloved is not yet with her? Ten years of mortal -men are to her as a single day. Even if it be her beloved’s -destiny to live to be a very old man, she will at most have to -wait only five or six of her days until he appears at her side, -and after this tiny span of time there blossoms for them both an -eternity of joy. It is not, therefore, obvious why she is distressed -and sheds tears. This can only be attributed to the -bewildered thoughts of the mystic poet. He imagines to himself -a life of happiness after death, but at the same time there -dawn in his consciousness dim pictures of the annihilation of -individuality, and of final separation through death, and those -painful feelings are excited which we are accustomed to associate -with ideas of death, decay, and separation from all we love. -Hence it is that he comes to close an ecstatic hymn of immortality -with tears, which have a meaning only if one does not -believe in the continuation of life after death. In other respects -also there are contradictions in the poem which show that -Rossetti had not formed any one of his ideas so clearly as to -exclude the opposite and incompatible. Thus, at one time the -dead are dressed in white, and adorned with a galaxy of stars; -they appear in pairs and call each other by caressing names; -they must also be thought of as resembling human beings in -appearance, while on another occasion their souls are ‘thin -flames’ which rustle past the damozel. Every single idea in -the poem, when we try soberly to follow it out, infallibly takes -refuge after this manner in darkness and intangibility.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the ‘Divine Comedy,’ echoes of which are ever humming in -Rossetti’s soul, we find nothing of this kind. This was because -Dante, like the Old Masters, was a mystic from ignorance, not -from the weak-mindedness of degeneration. The raw material of -his thought, the store of facts with which he worked, was false, -but the use his mind made of it was true and consistent. All -his ideas were clear, homogeneous, and free from internal contradictions. -His hell, his purgatory, his paradise, he built up -on the science of his times, which based its knowledge of the -world exclusively on dogmatic theology. Dante was familiar -with the system of his contemporary, Thomas Aquinas (he was -nine years old when the Doctor Angelicus died), and permeated -by it. To the first readers of the <i>Inferno</i> the poem must have -appeared at least as well founded on fact and as convincing as, -let us say, Häckel’s <i>Natural History of Creation</i> does to the -public of to-day. In coming centuries our ideas of an atom as -merely a centre of force, of the disposition of atoms in the -molecule of an organic combination, of ether and its vibrations, -will perhaps be discerned to be just as much poetical dreams as -the ideas of the Middle Ages concerning the abode of the souls of -the dead appear to us. But that is no reason why anyone should -claim the right to designate Helmholtz or William Thompson -as mystics, because they base their work upon those notions -which even to their minds do not to-day represent anything -definite. For the same reason no one ought to call Dante a -mystic like a Rossetti. Rossetti’s <i>Blessed Damozel</i> is not based -upon the scientific knowledge of his time, but upon a mist of -undeveloped germs of ideas in constant mutual strife. Dante -followed the realities of the world with the keenly penetrating -eyes of an observer, and bore with him its image down to his -hell. Rossetti is not in a condition to understand, or even to see -the real, because he is incapable of the necessary attention; and -since he feels this weakness he persuades himself, in conformity -with human habit, that he does not wish to do what in reality -he cannot do. ‘What is it to me,’ he once said,<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> ‘whether -the earth revolves around the sun or the sun around the earth?’ -To him it is of no importance, because he is incapable of understanding -it.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, impossible to go so deeply into all Rossetti’s -poems as into the <i>Blessed Damozel</i>; but it is also unnecessary, -since we should everywhere meet with the same mixture of -transcendentalism and sensuality, the same shadowy ideation, -the same senseless combinations of mutually incompatible ideas. -Reference, however, must be made to some of the peculiarities -of the poet, because they characterize the brain-work of weak -degenerate minds.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>The first thing that strikes us is his predilection for refrains. -The refrain is an excellent artistic medium for the purpose of -unveiling the state of a soul under the influence of a strong -emotion. It is natural that, to the lover yearning for his -beloved, the recurring idea of her should be ever thrusting itself -among all the other thoughts in which he temporarily indulges. -It is equally comprehensible that the unhappy being who is -made miserable by thoughts of suicide should be unable to -free himself from an idea which is in harmony with his mental -condition, say of an <i>Armensünderblum</i>, or ‘flower of the doomed -soul,’ which he sees when walking at night. (See Heine’s poem, -<i>Am Kreuzweg wird begraben</i>, in which the line <i>die Armensünderblum</i> -is repeated at the end of both strophes with peculiarly -thrilling effect.)</p> - -<p>Rossetti’s refrains, however, are different from this, which is -natural and intelligible. They have nothing to do with the -emotion or action expressed by the poem. They are alien -to the circle of ideas belonging to the poem. In a word, -they possess the character of an obsession, which the patient -cannot suppress, although he recognises that they are in no -rational connection with the intellectual content of his consciousness. -In the poem <i>Troy Town</i> it is related how Helen, long -before Paris had carried her off, kneels in the temple of Venus -at Sparta, and, drunken with the luxuriant beauty of her own -body, fervently implores the Goddess of Love to send her a man -panting for love, where or whoever he might be, to whom she -might give herself. The absurdity of this fundamental idea it -is sufficient to indicate in passing. The first strophe runs thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Heaven-born Helen, Sparta’s Queen</p> -<p class="pp10">(O Troy town!),</p> -<p class="pp6">Had two breasts of heavenly sheen,<br /> -The sun and the moon of the heart’s desire.<br /> -All Love’s lordship lay between.</p> -<p class="pp10">(O Troy’s down,</p> -<p class="pp9">Tall Troy’s on fire!)</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Helen knelt at Venus’ shrine</p> -<p class="pp10">(O Troy town!)</p> -<p class="pp6">Saying, “A little gift is mine,<br /> -A little gift for a heart’s desire.<br /> -Hear me speak and make me a sign!</p> -<p class="pp10">(O Troy’s down,</p> -<p class="pp9">Tall Troy’s on fire!)”’<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a></p> - -<p class="pn1">And thus through fourteen strophes there constantly recurs, -after the first line, ‘O Troy town!’ at the end of the third line, -‘heart’s desire’; and after the fourth line, ‘O Troy’s down, tall -Troy’s on fire!’ It is easy to discern what Rossetti wishes. In -him there is repeated the mental process which we recognised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -in Holman Hunt’s picture, <i>The Shadow of the Cross</i>. As by -association of ideas, in thinking of Helen at Sparta, he hits -upon the idea of the subsequent fate of Troy, so shall the -reader, while he sees the young queen in Sparta intoxicated by -her own beauty, be simultaneously presented with the picture -of the yet distant tragical consequences of her longing desire. -But he does not seek to connect these two trains of thought in a -rational way. He is ever muttering as he goes, monotonously -as in a litany, the mysterious invocations to Troy, while he is -relating the visit to the temple of Venus at Sparta. Sollier<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a> -remarks this peculiarity among persons of feeble intellect. -‘Idiots,’ he says, ‘insert words which have absolutely no connection -with the object.’ And further on: ‘Among idiots -constant repetition [<i>le rabâchage</i>] grows into a veritable <i>tic</i>.’</p> - -<p>In another very famous poem, <i>Eden Bower</i>,<a name="FNanchor_99_99" id="FNanchor_99_99"></a><a href="#Footnote_99_99" class="fnanchor">[99]</a> which treats of -the pre-Adamite woman Lilith, her lover the serpent of Eden, -and her revenge on Adam, the litany refrain of ‘Eden Bower’s -in flower,’ and ‘And O the Bower and the hour,’ are introduced -alternately after the first line in forty-nine strophes. As a -matter of course, between these absolutely senseless phrases and -the strophe which each interrupts, there is not the remotest connection. -They are strung together without any reference to -their meaning, but only because they rhyme. It is a startling -example of echolalia.</p> - -<p>We frequently find this peculiarity of the weak and deranged -mind, <i>i.e.</i>, echolalia, in Rossetti. Here are a few proofs:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘So wet she comes to wed’ (<i>Stratton Water</i>).</p> - -<p class="pn1">Here the sound ‘wed’ has called up the sound ‘wet.’ In the -poem <i>My Sisters Sleep</i>, in one place where the moon is spoken -of, it is said:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘The hollow halo it was in<br /> -Was like an icy crystal cup.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">It is stark nonsense to qualify a plane surface such as a halo -by the adjective ‘hollow.’ The adjective and noun mutually -exclude each other, but the rhyming assonance has joined -‘hollow’ to ‘halo.’ With this we may also compare the line:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go’</p> -<p class="pp10">(<i>A New Year’s Burden</i>),</p> - -<p class="pn1">and</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Forgot it not, nay, but got it not’ (<i>Beauty</i>).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">Many of Rossetti’s poems consist of the stringing together of -wholly disconnected words, and to mystic readers these -absurdities seem naturally to have the deepest meaning. I -should like to cite but one example. The second strophe of -the <i>Song of the Bower</i> says:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘... My heart, when it flies to thy bower,<br /> -What does it find there that knows it again?<br /> -There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower,<br /> -Red at the rent core and dark with the rain.<br /> -Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it—<br /> -What waters still image its leaves torn apart?<br /> -Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it,<br /> -And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart.’<a name="FNanchor_100_100" id="FNanchor_100_100"></a><a href="#Footnote_100_100" class="fnanchor">[100]</a></p> - -<p class="p1">The peculiarity of such series of words is, that each single -word has an emotional meaning of its own (such as ‘heart,’ -‘bower,’ ‘flies,’ ‘droop,’ ‘flower,’ ‘rent,’ ‘dark,’ ‘lone,’ ‘tears,’ -etc.), and that they follow each other with a cradled rhythm -and ear-soothing rhyme. Hence they easily arouse in the -emotional and inattentive reader a general emotion, as does a -succession of musical tones in a minor key. And the reader -fancies that he understands the strophe, while he, as a matter -of fact, only interprets his own emotion according to his own -level of culture, his character, and his recollections of what he -has read.</p> - -<p>Besides Dante Gabriel Rossetti, it has been customary to -include Swinburne and Morris among the pre-Raphaelite poets. -But the similarity between these two and the head of the school -is remote. Swinburne is, in Magnan’s phrase, a ‘higher degenerate,’ -while Rossetti should be counted among Sollier’s -imbeciles. Swinburne is not so emotional as Rossetti, but he -stands on a much higher mental plane. His thought is false -and frequently delirious, but he has thoughts, and they are clear -and connected. He is mystical, but his mysticism partakes -more of the depraved and the criminal than of the paradisiacal -and divine. He is the first representative of ‘Diabolism’ in -English poetry. This is because he has been influenced, not -only by Rossetti, but also and especially by Baudelaire. Like -all ‘degenerates,’ he is extraordinarily susceptible to suggestion, -and, consciously or unconsciously, he has imitated, one after -another, all the strongly-marked poetic geniuses that have come -under his notice. He was an echo of Rossetti and Baudelaire, -as he was of Gautier and Victor Hugo, and in his poems it is -possible to trace the course of his reading step by step.</p> - -<p>Completely Rossettian, for example, is <i>A Christmas Carol</i>.<a name="FNanchor_101_101" id="FNanchor_101_101"></a><a href="#Footnote_101_101" class="fnanchor">[101]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Three damsels in the queen’s chamber,</p> -<p class="pp7">The queen’s mouth was most fair;</p> -<p class="pp6">She spake a word of God’s mother,</p> -<p class="pp7">As the combs went in her hair.</p> -<p class="pp8">“Mary that is of might,<br /> -Bring us to thy Son’s sight.”’</p> - -<p class="p1">Here we find a mystical content united to the antiquarianism -and childish phraseology of genuine pre-Raphaelitism. <i>The -Masque of Queen Bersabe</i> is worked out on the same model, -being an imitation of the mediæval miracle-play, with its Latin -stage directions and puppet-theatre style. This, in its turn, has -become the model of many French poems, in which there is -only a babbling and stammering and a crawling on all fours, as -if in a nursery.</p> - -<p>Where he walks in Baudelaire’s footsteps, Swinburne tries to -distort his face to a diabolical mien, and makes the woman say -(in <i>Anactoria</i>) to the other unnaturally loved woman:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘I would my love could kill thee. I am satiated<br /> -With seeing thee live, and fain would have thee dead.<br /> -I would earth had thy body as fruit to eat,<br /> -And no mouth but some serpent’s found thee sweet.<br /> -I would find grievous ways to have thee slain,<br /> -Intense device, and superflux of pain;</p> -<p class="pp10">... O! that I</p> -<p class="pp6">Durst crush thee out of life with love, and die—<br /> -Die of thy pain and my delight, and be<br /> -Mixed with thy blood and molten unto thee.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Or, when he curses and reviles, as in <i>Before Dawn</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘To say of shame—what is it?<br /> -Of virtue—we can miss it,<br /> -Of sin—we can but kiss it,<br /> -And it’s no longer sin.’</p> - -<p class="p1">One poem deserves a more detailed analysis, because it contains -unmistakably the germ of the later ‘symbolism,’ and is an -instructive example of this form of mysticism. The poem is -<i>The King’s Daughter</i>. It is a sort of ballad, which in fourteen -four-lined stanzas relates a fairy story about the ten daughters of -a king, of whom one was preferred before the remaining nine, was -beautifully dressed, pampered with the most costly food, slept -in a soft bed, and received the attentions of a handsome prince, -while her sisters remained neglected; but instead of finding -happiness at the prince’s side, she became deeply wretched and -wished she were dead. In the first and third lines of every -stanza the story is rehearsed. The second line speaks of a -mythical mill-stream, which comes into the ballad one knows -not how, and which always, by some mysterious influence, -symbolically reflects all the changes that take place as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -action of the ballad progresses; while the fourth line contains -a litany-like exclamation, which likewise makes a running reference -to the particular stage reached in the narrative.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘We were ten maidens in the green corn,</p> -<p class="pp7">Small red leaves in the mill-water:</p> -<p class="pp6">Fairer maidens never were born,</p> -<p class="pp7">Apples of gold for the King’s daughter.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘We were ten maidens by a well-head,</p> -<p class="pp7">Small white birds in the mill-water:</p> -<p class="pp6">Sweeter maidens never were wed,</p> -<p class="pp7">Rings of red for the King’s daughter.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In the following stanzas the admirable qualities of each of the -ten princesses are portrayed, and the symbolical intermediate -lines run thus:</p> - -<p class="pbq p1">‘Seeds of wheat in the mill-water— ... White bread and brown for the -King’s daughter— ... Fair green weed in the mill-water— ... White -wine and red for the King’s daughter— ... Fair thin reeds in the mill-water— ... -Honey in the comb for the King’s daughter— ... Fallen flowers -in the mill-water— ... Golden gloves for the King’s daughter— ... Fallen -fruit in the mill-water— ... Golden sleeves for the King’s daughter— ...’</p> - -<p class="p1">The King’s son then comes, chooses the one princess and -disdains the other nine. The symbolical lines point out the -contrast between the brilliant fate of the chosen one and the -gloomy destiny of the despised sisters:</p> - -<p class="pbq p1">‘A little wind in the mill-water; A crown of red for the King’s daughter—A -little rain in the mill-water; A bed of yellow straw for all the rest; A -bed of gold for the King’s daughter—Rain that rains in the mill-water; -A comb of yellow shell for all the rest,—A comb of gold for the King’s -daughter—Wind and hail in the mill-water; A grass girdle for all the rest, -A girdle of arms for the King’s daughter—Snow that snows in the mill-water; -Nine little kisses for all the rest, An hundredfold for the King’s -daughter.’</p> - -<p class="p1">The King’s daughter thus appears to be very fortunate, and to -be envied by her nine sisters. But this happiness is only on the -surface, for the poem now suddenly changes:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Broken boats in the mill-water;<br /> -Golden gifts for all the rest,<br /> -Sorrow of heart for the King’s daughter.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,”<br /> -Running rain in the mill-water;<br /> -“And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,”<br /> -The pains of hell for the King’s daughter.’</p> - -<p class="p1">What has brought about this change in her fate the poet -purposely leaves obscure. Perhaps he wishes to have us understand -that the King’s son has no right to sue for her hand, being -her brother, and that the chosen princess for shame at the -incest perishes. This would be in keeping with Swinburne’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -childish devilry. But I am not dwelling on this aspect of the -poem, but on its symbolism.</p> - -<p>It is psychologically justifiable that a subjective connection -should be set up between our states of mind for the time being -and phenomena; that we should perceive in the external world -a reflection of our moods. If the external world shows a well-marked -emotional character, it awakens in us the mood corresponding -to it; and conversely, if we are under the influence of -some pronounced feeling, we notice, in accordance with the -mechanism of attention, only those features of nature which are -in harmony with our mood, which intensify and sustain it, while -the opposing phenomena we neither observe nor even perceive. -A gloomy ravine overhung by a cloudy sky makes us sad. -This is one form of associating our humour with the outer world. -But if we from any cause are already sad, we find some corresponding -sadness in all the scenes around us—in the streets of -the metropolis ragged, starved-looking children, thin, miserably -kept cab-horses, a blind beggar-woman; in the woods withered, -mouldering leaves, poisonous fungi, slimy slugs, etc. If we are -joyous, we see just the same objects, but take no notice of them, -perceiving only beside them, in the street, a wedding procession, -a fresh young maiden with a basket of cherries on her arm, -gaily-coloured placards, a funny fat man with his hat on the -back of his head; in the woods, birds flitting by, dancing butterflies, -little white anemones, etc. Here we have the other form -of that association. The poet has a perfect right to make use -of both these forms. If Heine sings:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Es ragt ins Meer der Runenstein,<br /> -Da sitz ich mit meinen Träumen;<br /> -Es pfeift der Wind, die Möwen schrein,<br /> -Die Wellen, die wandern und schäumen.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ich habe geliebt manch schönes Kind<br /> -Und manchen guten Gesellen—<br /> -Wo sind sie hin?—Es pfeift der Wind,<br /> -Es schäumen und wandern die Wellen,’<a name="FNanchor_102_102" id="FNanchor_102_102"></a><a href="#Footnote_102_102" class="fnanchor">[102]</a></p> - -<p class="pn1">he brings his own mournful, melancholy frame of mind with -him. He bemoans the fleetingness of man’s life, the impermanence -of the feelings, the shadowy passing by and away of -beloved companions. In this state he looks out over the sea -from the shore where he sits, and perceives only those objects<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -that are in keeping with his humour and give it embodiment: -the driving gust of wind, the hurrying gulls, now seen, now lost -to sight, the rolling in and trackless ebbing of the surf. These -features of an ocean scene become symbols of what is passing -through the poet’s mind, and this symbolism is sound and -founded on the laws of thought.</p> - -<p>Swinburne’s symbolism is of quite another kind. He does -not let the external world express a mood, but makes it tell a -story; he changes its appearance according to the character of -the event he is describing. Like an orchestra, it accompanies -all events which somewhere are taking place. Here nature is -no longer a white wall on which, as in a game of shadows, the -varied visions of the soul are thrown; but a living, thinking -being, which follows the sinful love-romance with the same -tense sympathy as the poet, and which, with its own media, -expresses just as much as he does—complacency, delight, or -sorrow—at every chapter of the story. This is a purely delirious -idea. It corresponds in art and poetry to hallucination in mental -disease. It is a form of mysticism, which is met with in all the -degenerate. Just as in Swinburne the mill-water drives ‘small -red leaves,’ and, what is certainly more curious, ‘little white -birds,’ when everything is going on well, and on the other hand -is lashed by snow and hail, and tosses shattered boats about, if -things take an adverse turn; so, in Zola’s <i>Assommoir</i>, the drain -from a dyeing factory carries off fluid of a rosy or golden hue -on days of happiness, but a black or gray-coloured stream if the -fates of Gervaise and Lantier grow dark with tragedy. Ibsen, -too, in his <i>Ghosts</i>, makes it rain in torrents if Frau Alving and -her son are in sore trouble, while the sunshine breaks forth just -as the catastrophe is about to occur. Ibsen, moreover, goes -farther in this hallucinatory symbolism than the others, since -with him Nature not only plays an active part, but shows scornful -malice—she not only furnishes an expressive accompaniment -to the events, but makes merry over them.</p> - -<p>William Morris is intellectually far more healthy than Rossetti -and Swinburne. His deviations from mental equilibrium betray -themselves, not through mysticism, but through a want of -individuality, and an overweening tendency to imitation. His -affectation consists in mediævalism. He calls himself a pupil -of Chaucer.<a name="FNanchor_103_103" id="FNanchor_103_103"></a><a href="#Footnote_103_103" class="fnanchor">[103]</a> He artlessly copies whole stanzas also from -Dante, <i>e.g.</i>, the well-known Francesca and Paolo episode from -Canto V. of the <i>Inferno</i>, when he writes in his <i>Guenevere</i>:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘In that garden fair</p> -<p class="pp6">Came Lancelot walking; this is true, the kiss<br /> -Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day,<br /> -I scarce dare talk of the remembered bliss.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Morris persuades himself that he is a wandering minstrel of the -thirteenth or fourteenth century, and takes much trouble to look -at things in such a way, and express them in such language, as -would have befitted a real contemporary of Chaucer. Beyond -this poetical ventriloquism, so to speak, with which he seeks so -to alter the sound of his voice that it may appear to come from -far away to our ear, there are not many features of degeneracy -in him to notice. But he sometimes falls into outspoken -echolalia, <i>e.g.</i>, in a stanza of the <i>Earthly Paradise</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Of Margaret sitting glorious there,<br /> -In glory of gold and glory of hair,<br /> -And glory of glorious face most fair’—</p> - -<p class="pn1">where ‘glory’ and ‘glorious’ are repeated five times in three -lines. His emotional activity in recent years has made him an -adherent of a vague socialism, consisting chiefly of love and -pity for his fellow-men, and which has an odd effect when expressed -artistically in the language of the old ballads.</p> - -<p>The pre-Raphaelites have for twenty years exercised a great -influence on the rising generation of English poets. All the -hysterical and degenerate have sung with Rossetti of ‘damozels’ -and of the Virgin Mary, have with Swinburne eulogized unnatural -license, crime, hell, and the devil. They have, with Morris, -mangled language in bardic strains, and in the manner of the -<i>Canterbury Tales</i>; and if the whole of English poetry is not -to-day unmitigatedly pre-Raphaelite, it is due merely to the -fortunate accident that, contemporaneously with the pre-Raphaelites, -so sound a poet as Tennyson has lived and worked. -The official honours bestowed on him as Poet Laureate, his -unexampled success among readers, pointed him out to a part -at least of the petty strugglers and aspirants as worthy of -imitation, and so it comes about that among the chorus of the -lily-bearing mystics there are also heard other street-singers who -follow the poet of the <i>Idylls of the King</i>.</p> - -<p>In its further development pre-Raphaelitism in England -degenerated into ‘æstheticism,’ and in France into ‘symbolism.’ -With both of these tendencies we must deal more fully.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c100" id="c100">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">SYMBOLISM.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">A similar</span> phenomenon to that which we observed in the case -of the pre-Raphaelites is afforded by the French Symbolists. -We see a number of young men assemble for the purpose of -founding a school. It assumes a special title, but in spite of all -sorts of incoherent cackle and subsequent attempts at mystification -it has, beyond this name, no kind of general artistic principle -or clear æsthetic ideal. It only follows the tacit, but definitely -recognisable, aim of making a noise in the world, and by attracting -the attention of men through its extravagances, of attaining -celebrity and profit, and the gratification of all the desires and -conceits agitating the envious souls of these filibusters of fame.</p> - -<p>Shortly after 1880 there was, in the Quartier Latin in Paris, a -group of literary aspirants, all about the same age, who used to -meet in an underground café at the Quai St. Michel, and, while -drinking beer, smoking and quibbling late into the night, or -early hours of the morning, abused in a scurrilous manner the -well-known and successful authors of the day, while boasting -of their own capacity, as yet unrevealed to the world.</p> - -<p>The greatest talkers among them were Emile Goudeau, a -chatterbox unknown save as the author of a few silly satirical -verses; Maurice Rollinat, the author of <i>Les Névroses</i>; and -Edmond Haraucourt, who now stands in the front rank of -French mystics. They called themselves the ‘Hydropaths,’ an -entirely meaningless word, which evidently arose out of an -indistinct reminiscence of both ‘hydrotherapy’ and ‘neuropath,’ -and which was probably intended, in the characteristic vagueness -of the mystic thought of the weak-minded, to express only -the general idea of people whose health is not satisfactory, who -are ailing and under treatment. In any case there is, in the -self-chosen name, a suggestion of shattered nervous vitality -vaguely felt and admitted. The group, moreover, owned a -weekly paper <i>Lutèce</i>, which ceased after a few issues.<a name="FNanchor_104_104" id="FNanchor_104_104"></a><a href="#Footnote_104_104" class="fnanchor">[104]</a></p> - -<p>About 1884 the society left their paternal pot-house, and -pitched their tent in the Café François I., Boulevard St. Michel. -This <i>café</i> attained a high renown. It was the cradle of -Symbolism. It is still the temple of a few ambitious youths, -who hope, by joining the Symbolist school, to acquire that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -advancement which they could not expect from their own -abilities. It is, too, the Kaaba to which all foreign imbeciles -make a pilgrimage, those, that is, who have heard of the new -Parisian tendency, and wish to become initiated into its teachings -and mysteries. A few of the Hydropaths did not join in the -change of quarters, and their places were taken by fresh -auxiliaries—Jean Moréas, Laurent Tailhade, Charles Morice, -etc. These dropped the old name, and were known for a short -time as the ‘Décadents.’ This had been applied to them by a -critic in derision, but just as the ‘Beggars’ of the Netherlands -proudly and truculently appropriated the appellation bestowed -in contempt and mockery, so the ‘Décadents’ stuck in their -hats the insult, which had been cast in their faces, as a sign of -mutiny against criticism. Soon, however, these original guests -of the François I. became tired of their name, and Moréas -invented for them the designation of ‘Symbolists,’ under which -they became generally known, while a special smaller group, -who had separated themselves from the Symbolists, continued -to retain the title of ‘Décadents.’</p> - -<p>The Symbolists are a remarkable example of that group-forming -tendency which we have learnt to know as a peculiarity -of ‘degenerates.’ They had in common all the signs of degeneracy -and imbecility: overweening vanity and self-conceit, -strong emotionalism, confused disconnected thoughts, garrulity -(the ‘logorrhœa’ of mental therapeutics), and complete incapacity -for serious sustained work. Several of them had had a -secondary education, others even less. All of them were profoundly -ignorant, and being unable, through weakness of will -and inability to pay attention, to learn anything systematically, -they persuaded themselves, in accordance with a well-known -psychological law, that they despised all positive knowledge, and -held that only dreams and divinings, only ‘intuitions,’ were worthy -of human beings. A few of them, like Moréas and Guaita, who -afterwards became a ‘magian,’ read in a desultory fashion all -sorts of books which chanced to fall into their hands at the <i>bouquinistes</i> -of the Quais, and delivered themselves of the snatched -fruits of their reading in grandiloquent and mysterious phrases -before their comrades. Their listeners thereupon imagined that -they had indulged in an exhausting amount of study, and in this -way they acquired that intellectual lumber which they peddled -out in such an ostentatious display in their articles and pamphlets, -and in which the mentally sane reader, to his amused -astonishment, meets with the names of Schopenhauer, Darwin, -Taine, Renan, Shelley and Goethe; names employed to label the -shapeless, unrecognisable rubbish-heaps of a mental dustbin, filled -with raw scraps of uncomprehended and insolently mutilated -propositions and fragments of thought, dishonestly extracted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -and appropriated. This ignorance on the part of the Symbolists, -and their childish flaunting of a pretended culture, are openly -admitted by one of them. ‘Very few of these young men,’ says -Charles Morice,<a name="FNanchor_105_105" id="FNanchor_105_105"></a><a href="#Footnote_105_105" class="fnanchor">[105]</a> ‘have any exact knowledge of the tenets of -religion or philosophy. From the expressions used in the Church -services, however, they retain some fine terms, such as “monstrance,” -“ciborium,” etc.; several have preserved from Spencer, -Mill, Shopenhauer (<i>sic!</i>), Comte, Darwin, a few technical terms. -Few are those who know deeply what they talk about, or those -who do not try to make a show and parade of their manner of -speaking, which has no other merit than that of being a conceit -in syllables.’ (Charles Morice naturally is responsible for this -last unmeaning phrase, not I.)</p> - -<p>The original guests of the François I. made their appearance -at one o’clock in the day at their café, and remained there till -dinner-time. Immediately after that meal they returned, and -did not leave their headquarters till long after midnight. Of -course none of the Symbolists had any known occupation. -These ‘degenerates’ are no more capable of regularly fulfilling -any duty than they are of methodical learning. If this organic -deficiency appears in a man of the lower classes, he becomes a -vagabond; in a woman of that class it leads to prostitution; in -one belonging to the upper classes it takes the form of artistic -and literary drivel. The German popular mind betrays a deep -intuition of the true connection of things in inventing such a -word as ‘day-thief’ (<i>Tagedieb</i>) for such æsthetic loafers. Professional -thieving and the unconquerable propensity to busy, -gossiping, officious idleness flow from the same source, to wit, -inborn weakness of brain.</p> - -<p>It is true that the boon companions of the café are not conscious -of their mentally-crippled condition. They find pet names -and graceful appellations for their inability to submit themselves -to any sort of discipline, and to devote persistent concentration -and attention to any sort of work. They call it ‘the artist -nature,’ ‘genius roaming at large,’ ‘a soaring above the low -miasma of the commonplace.’ They ridicule the dull Philistine, -who, like the horse turning a winch, performs mechanically a -regular amount of work; they despise the narrow-minded loons -who demand that a man should either pursue a circumscribed -bourgeois trade or possess an officially acknowledged status, and -who profoundly distrust impecuniary professions. They glory -in roving folk who wander about singing and carelessly begging, -and they hold up as their ideal the ‘commoner of air,’ who -bathes in morning dew, sleeps under flowers, and gets his clothing -from the same firm as the lilies of the field in the Gospel. -Richepin’s <i>La Chanson des Gueux</i> is the most typical expression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -of this theory of life. Baumbach’s <i>Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen</i> -and <i>Spielmannslieder</i> are analogous specimens in German literature, -but of a less pronounced character. Schiller’s <i>Pegasus im -Joch</i> seems to be pulling at the same rope as these haters of the -work society expects of them, but it is only apparently so. Our -great poet sides not with the impotent sluggard, but with that -overflowing energy which would fain do greater things than the -work of an office-boy or a night-watchman.</p> - -<p>Moreover, the pseudo-artistic loafer, in spite of his imbecility -and self-esteem, cannot fail to perceive that his mode of life -runs contrary to the laws on which the structure of society and -civilization are based, and he feels the need of justifying himself -in his own eyes. This he does by investing with a high significance -the dreams and chatter over which he wastes his time, -calculated to arouse in him the illusion that they rival in value -the most serious productions. ‘The fact is, you see,’ says M. -Stéphane Mallarmé, ‘that a fine book is the end for which the -world was made.’<a name="FNanchor_106_106" id="FNanchor_106_106"></a><a href="#Footnote_106_106" class="fnanchor">[106]</a> Morice complains<a name="FNanchor_107_107" id="FNanchor_107_107"></a><a href="#Footnote_107_107" class="fnanchor">[107]</a> touchingly that the -poetic mind ‘should be bound to suffer the interruption of a -twenty-eight days’ army drill between the two halves of a verse.’ -‘The excitement of the streets,’ he goes on, ‘the jarring of the -Governmental engine, the newspapers, the elections, the change -of the Ministry, have never made so much noise; the stormy -and turbulent autocracy of trade has suppressed the love of the -beautiful in the thoughts of the multitude, and industry has -killed as much silence as politics might still have permitted to -survive.’ In fact, what are all these nothings—commerce, -manufactures, politics, administration—against the immense importance -of a hemistich?</p> - -<p>The drivelling of the Symbolists was not entirely lost in the -atmosphere of their café, like the smoke of their pipes and -cigarettes. A certain amount of it was perpetuated, and appeared -in the <i>Revue Indépendante</i>, the <i>Revue Contemporaine</i>, and -other fugitive periodicals, which served as organs to the round -table of the François I. These little journals and the books -published by the Symbolists were not at first noticed outside the -café. Then it happened that <i>chroniqueurs</i> of the Boulevard -papers, into whose hands these writings chanced to fall, devoted -an article to them on days when ‘copy’ was scanty, but only to -hold them up to ridicule. That was all the Symbolists wanted. -Mockery or praise mattered little so long as they got noticed. -Now they were in the saddle, and showed at once what unparalleled -circus-riders they were. They themselves used every -effort to get into the larger newspapers, and when one of them -succeeded, like the smith of Jüterbock in the familiar fairy tale,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -in throwing his cap into an editor’s office through the crack of -the door incautiously put ajar, he followed it neck and crop, -took possession of the place, and in the twinkling of an eye -transformed it into the citadel of the Symbolist party. In these -tactics everything served their turn—the dried-up scepticism -and apathy of Parisian editors, who take nothing seriously, are -capable neither of enthusiasm nor of repugnance, and only know -the cardinal principle of their business, viz., to make a noise, to -arouse curiosity, to forestall others by bringing out something -new and sensational; the uncritical gaping attitude of the -public, who repeat in faith all that their newspaper gossips to -them with an air of importance; the cowardice and cupboard-love -of the critics who, finding themselves confronted by a closed -and numerous band of reckless young men, got nervous at the -sight of their clenched fists and angry threatening glances, -and did not dare to quarrel with them; the low cunning of -the ambitious, who hoped to make a good bargain if they -speculated on the rise of shares in Symbolism. Thus the very -worst and most despicable characteristics of editors, critics, -aspiring authors, and newspaper readers, co-operated to make -known, and, in part, even famous, the names of the original -habitués of the François I., and to awaken the conviction in -very many weak minds of both hemispheres that their tendency -governed the literature of the day, and included all the germs of -the future. This triumph of the Symbolists marks the victory -of the gang over the individual. It proves the superiority of -attack over defence, and the efficacy of mutual-admiration-insurance, -even in the case of the most beggarly incapacity.</p> - -<p>With all their differences, the works of the Symbolists have -two features in common. They are vague often to the point -of being unintelligible, and they are pious. Their vagueness -is only to be expected, after all that has been said here about -the peculiarities of mystic thought. Their piousness has -attained to an importance which makes it necessary to consider -it more in detail.</p> - -<p>When, in the last few years, a large number of mysteries, -passion plays, golden legends, and cantatas appeared, when one -dozen after another of new poets and authors, in their first -poems, novels, and treatises, made ardent confessions of faith, -invoked the Virgin Mary, spoke with rapture of the sacrifice of -the Mass, and knelt in fervent prayer, the cry arose amongst -reactionists, who have a vested interest in diffusing a belief in -a reversion of cultured humanity to the mental darkness of the -past: ‘Behold, the youth, the hope, the future of the French -people is turning away from science; “emancipation” is -becoming bankrupt; souls are opening again to religion, and -the Holy Catholic Church steps anew into its lofty office, as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -teacher, comforter, and guide of civilized mankind.’ The -Symbolistic tendency is designedly called ‘neo-Catholic,’ and -certain critics pointed to its appearance and success as a -proof that freethought was overthrown by faith. ‘Even the -most superficial glance at the state of the world,’ writes Edouard -Rod,<a name="FNanchor_108_108" id="FNanchor_108_108"></a><a href="#Footnote_108_108" class="fnanchor">[108]</a> ‘shows us that we are on all sides in the full swing of -reaction.’ And, further, ‘I believe in reaction in every sense -of the word. How far this reaction will go is the secret of -to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>The jubilant heralds of the new reaction, in inquiring into -the cause of this movement, find, with remarkable unanimity, -this answer, viz.: The best and most cultivated minds return to -faith, because they found out that science had deceived them, -and not done for them what it had promised to do. ‘The man -of this century,’ says M. Melchior de Vogüé,<a name="FNanchor_109_109" id="FNanchor_109_109"></a><a href="#Footnote_109_109" class="fnanchor">[109]</a> ‘has acquired -a very excusable confidence in himself.... The rational -mechanism of the world has been revealed to him.... In the -explanation of things the Divine order is wholly eliminated.... -Besides, why follow after doubtful causes, when the operations -of the universe and of humanity had become so clear to the -physicist and physiologist?... The least wrong God ever -wrought was that of being unnecessary. Great minds assured -us of this, and all mediocre spirits were convinced of it. The -eighteenth century had inaugurated the worship of Reason. -The rapture of that millennium lasted but a moment. Then -came eternal disillusion, the regularly recurring ruin of all that -man had built upon the hollow basis of his reason.... He had -to admit that, beyond the circle of acquired truths, the abyss of -ignorance appeared again just as deep, just as disquieting.’</p> - -<p>Charles Morice, the theorist and philosopher of the Symbolists, -arraigns Science on almost every page of his book, <i>La Littérature -de tout-à-l’heure</i>, for her great and divers sins. ‘It is lamentable,’ -he says in his apocalyptic phraseology,<a name="FNanchor_110_110" id="FNanchor_110_110"></a><a href="#Footnote_110_110" class="fnanchor">[110]</a> ‘that our learned -men have no idea how, in popularizing science, they were disorganizing -it (?). To entrust principles to inferior memories, -is to expose them to the uncertainty of unauthorized interpretations, -of erroneous commentaries and heterodox hypotheses. -For the word that the books contain is a dead letter, and the -books themselves may perish, but the impact which they leave -behind them, the breath going forth from them, survives. And -what if they have breathed out storm and unloosed (!) darkness? -But this is just what all this chaos of vulgarization has as its -most patent result.... Is not such the natural consequence -of a century of psychological investigation, which was a good -training for the reason, but whose immediate and actual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -consequences must inevitably be weariness, and disgust, ay, -and despair of reason?... Science had erased the word -mystery. With the same stroke of the pen she had expunged -the words beauty, truth, joy, humanity.... And now mysticism -takes from Science, the intruder and usurper, not only -all that she had stolen, but something also, it may be, of her -own property. The reaction against the shameless and miserable -negations of scientific literature ... has taken the form -of an unforeseen poetical restoration of Catholicism.’</p> - -<p>Another graphomaniac, the author of that imbecile book, -<i>Rembrandt as Educator</i>, drivels in almost the same way. -‘Interest in science, and especially in the once so popular -natural science, has widely diminished of late in the German -world.... There has been to a certain extent a surfeit of -induction; there is a longing for synthesis; the days of objectivity -are declining once more to their end, and, in its place, -subjectivity knocks at the door.’<a name="FNanchor_111_111" id="FNanchor_111_111"></a><a href="#Footnote_111_111" class="fnanchor">[111]</a></p> - -<p>Edouard Rod<a name="FNanchor_112_112" id="FNanchor_112_112"></a><a href="#Footnote_112_112" class="fnanchor">[112]</a> says: ‘The century has advanced without -keeping all its promises’; and further on he speaks again of -‘this ageing and deluded century.’</p> - -<p>In a small book, which has become a sort of gospel to -imbeciles and idiots, <i>Le Devoir présent</i>, the author, M. Paul -Desjardins,<a name="FNanchor_113_113" id="FNanchor_113_113"></a><a href="#Footnote_113_113" class="fnanchor">[113]</a> makes continual attacks on ‘so-called scientific -empiricism,’ and speaks of the ‘negativists, the empiricists, and -the mechanists, whose attention is wholly taken up with physical -and inexorable forces,’ boasting of his intention ‘to render -invalid the value of the empirical methods.’</p> - -<p>Even a serious thinker, M. F. Paulhan,<a name="FNanchor_114_114" id="FNanchor_114_114"></a><a href="#Footnote_114_114" class="fnanchor">[114]</a> in his investigation -of the basis of French neo-mysticism, comes to the conclusion -that natural science has shown itself powerless to satisfy the -needs of mankind. ‘We feel ourselves surrounded by a vast -unknown, and demand that at least access to it should be permitted -to us. Evolution and positivism have blocked the way.... -For these reasons evolution could not but show itself -incapable of guiding the mind, even if it left us great thoughts.’</p> - -<p>Overwhelming as may appear this unanimity between strong -minds commanding respect and weak graphomaniacs, it does -not, nevertheless, contain the slightest spark of truth. To -assert that the world turns away from science because the -‘empirical,’ which means the scientific, method of observation -and registration has suffered shipwreck, is either a conscious lie -or shows lack of mental responsibility. A healthy-minded and -honourable man must almost feel ashamed to have still to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -demonstrate this. In the last ten years, by means of spectrum-analysis, -science has made disclosures in the constitution of the -most distant heavenly bodies, their component matter, their -degree of heat, the speed and direction of their motions; it has -firmly established the essential unity of all modes of force, and -has made highly probable the unity of all matter; it is on the -track of the formation and development of chemical elements, -and it has learnt to understand the building up of extremely -intricate organic combinations; it shows us the relations of -atoms in molecules, and the position of molecules in space; it -has thrown wonderful light on the conditions of the action of -electricity, and placed this force at the service of mankind; -it has renewed geology and palæontology, and disentangled the -concatenation of animal and vegetable forms of life; it has -newly created biology and embryology, and has explained in a -surprising manner, through the discovery and investigation of -germs, some of the most disquieting mysteries of perpetual -metamorphosis, illness, and death; it has found or perfected -methods which, like chronography, instantaneous photography, -etc., permit of the analysis and registration of the most fleeting -phenomena, not immediately apprehensible by human sense, -and which promise to become extremely fruitful for the knowledge -of nature. And in the face of such splendid, such overwhelmingly -grand results, the enumeration of which could easily -be doubled and trebled, does anyone dare to speak of the -shipwreck of science, and of the incapacity of the empirical -method?</p> - -<p>Science is said not to have kept what she promised. When -has she ever promised anything else than honest and attentive -observation of phenomena and, if possible, establishment of the -conditions under which they occur? And has she not kept this -promise? Does she not keep it perpetually? If anyone has -expected of her that she would explain from one day to -another the whole mechanism of the universe, like a juggler -explains his apparent magic, he has indeed no idea of the true -mission of science. She denies herself all leaps and flights. -She advances step by step. She builds slowly and patiently a -firm bridge out into the Unknown, and can throw no new arch -over the abyss before she has sunk deep the foundations of a -new pier in the depths, and raised it to the right height.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, she asks nothing at all about the first cause of -phenomena, so long as she has so many more proximate causes -to investigate. Many of the most eminent men of science go -so far, indeed, as to assert that the first cause will never become -the object of scientific investigation, and call it, with Herbert -Spencer, ‘the Unknowable,’ or exclaim despondingly with Du -Bois-Reymond, <i>Ignorabimus</i>. Both of them in this respect are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -completely unscientific, and only prove that even clear thinkers -like Spencer, and sober investigators like Du Bois-Reymond, -stand yet under the influence of theological dreams. Science can -speak of no Unknowable, since this would presuppose that she -is able to mark exactly the boundaries of the Knowable. This, -however, she cannot do, since every new discovery thrusts back -that boundary. Moreover, the acceptance of an Unknowable -involves the acknowledgment that there is something which we -cannot know. Now, in order to be able seriously to assert the -existence of this Something, either we must have acquired some -knowledge of it, however slight and indistinct, and this, therefore, -would prove that it cannot be unknowable, since we -actually know it, and nothing then would justify us in declaring -beforehand that our present knowledge of it, however little it -may be, will not be extended and deepened; or else we have no -knowledge, even of the minutest character, of the philosopher’s -Unknowable, in which case it cannot exist for us. The whole -conception is based upon nothing, and the word is an idle -creation of a dreaming imagination. The same thing can be -said of <i>Ignorabimus</i>. It is the opposite of science. It is not a -correct inference from well-founded premises, it is not the result -of observation, but a mystical prophecy. No one has the right -to make communications with respect to the future as matters -of fact. Science can announce what she knows to-day; she can -also mark off exactly what she does not know; but to say what -she will or will not at any time know is not her office.</p> - -<p>It is true that whoever asks from Science that she should give -an answer to all the questions of idle and restless minds with -unshaken and audacious certainty must be disappointed by her; -for she will not, and cannot, fulfil his desires. Theology and -metaphysics have an easier task. They devise some fable, and -propound it with overwhelming earnestness. If anyone does -not believe in them, they threaten and insult the intractable -client; but they can prove nothing to him, they cannot force -him to take their chimeras for cash. Theology and metaphysics -can never be brought into a dilemma. It costs them -nothing to add to their words more words, to unite to one -voluntary assertion another, and pile up dogma upon dogma. -It will never occur to the serious sound mind, which thirsts after -real knowledge, to seek it from metaphysics or theology. They -appeal only to childish brains, whose desire for knowledge, or, -rather, whose curiosity, is fully satisfied with the cradling croon -of an old wife’s tale.</p> - -<p>Science does not compete with theology and metaphysics. -If the latter declare themselves able to explain the whole -phenomenon of the universe, Science shows that these pretended -explanations are empty chatter. She, for her part, is naturally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -on her guard against putting in the place of a proved absurdity -another absurdity. She says modestly: ‘Here we have a fact, -here an assumption, here a conjecture. ‘Tis a rogue who gives -more than he has.’ If this does not satisfy the neo-Catholics, -they should sit down and themselves investigate, themselves -find out new facts, and help to make clear the weird obscurity -of the phenomenon of the universe. That would be a proof of a -true desire for knowledge. At the table of Science there is -room for all, and every fellow-observer is welcome. But this -does not enter into even the dreams of these poor creatures, who -drivel about the ‘bankruptcy of science.’ Talk is so much -easier and more comfortable than inquiry and discovery!</p> - -<p>True, science tells us nothing about the life after death, of -harp-concerts in Paradise, and of the transformation of stupid -youths and hysterical geese into white-clad angels with rainbow-coloured -wings. It contents itself, in a much more plain -and prosaic manner, with alleviating the existence of mankind -on earth. It lessens the average of mortality, and lengthens the -life of the individual through the suppression of known causes -of disease; it invents new comforts, and makes easier the -struggle against Nature’s destructive powers. The Symbolist, -who is preserved after surgical interference through asepsy from -suppuration, mortification, and death; who protects himself by -a Chamberland filter from typhus; who by the careless turning -of a button fills his room with electric light; who through a -telephone can converse with someone beloved in far-distant -countries, has to thank this alleged bankrupt science for it all, -and not the theology to which he maintains that he wants to -return.</p> - -<p>The demand that science should give not only true, if limited, -conclusions, and offer not only tangible benefits, but also solve -all enigmas to-day and at once, and make all men omniscient, -happy, and good, is ridiculous. Theology and metaphysics have -never fulfilled this demand. It is simply the intellectual manifestation -of the same foolish conceit, which in material concerns -reveals itself in hankering after pleasure and in shirking work. -The man who has lost his social status, who craves for wine and -women, for idleness and honours, and complains of the constitution -of society because it offers no satisfaction to his lusts, -is own brother to the Symbolist who demands truth, and -reviles science because it does not hand it to him on a golden -platter. Both betray a similar incapacity to grasp the reality of -things, and to understand that it is not possible to acquire goods -without bodily labour, or truth without mental exertion. The -capable man who wrests her gifts from Nature, the industrious -inquirer who in the sweat of his brow bores into the sources of -knowledge, inspires respect and cordial sympathy. On the other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -hand, there can be but little esteem for the discontented idlers -who look for riches from a lucky lottery ticket, or a rich uncle, -and for enlightenment from a revelation which is to come to -them without trouble on their part over the slovenly beer-drinking -at their favourite café.</p> - -<p>The dunces who abuse science, reproach it also for having -destroyed ideals, and stolen from life all its worth. This accusation -is just as absurd as the talk about the bankruptcy of science. -A higher ideal than the increase of general knowledge there -cannot be. What saintly legend is as beautiful as the life of an -inquirer, who spends his existence bending over a microscope, -almost without bodily wants, known and honoured by few, -working only for his own conscience’ sake, without any other -ambition than that perhaps one little new fact may be firmly -established, which a more fortunate successor will make use of -in a brilliant synthesis, and insert as a stone in some monument -of natural science? What religious fable has inspired with a -contempt of death sublimer martyrs than a Gehlen, who sank -down poisoned while preparing the arsenious hydrogen which -he had discovered; or a Crocé-Spinelli, who was overtaken by -death in an over-rapid ascent of his balloon while observing the -pressure of the atmosphere; or an Ehrenberg, who became -blind over his life’s work; or a Hyrtl, who almost entirely -destroyed his eyesight by his anatomical corrosive preparations; -or the doctors, who inoculate themselves with some deadly -disease—not to speak of the innumerable crowd of discoverers -travelling to the North Pole, and to the interior of dark continents? -And did Archimedes really feel his life to be so worthless -when he entreated the pillaging bands of Marcellus, ‘Do -not disturb my circles’? Genuine healthy poetry has always -recognised this, and finds its most ideal characters, not in a -devotee, who murmurs prayers with drivelling lips, and stares -with distorted eyes at some visual hallucination, but in a -Prometheus and a Faust, who wrestle for science, <i>i.e.</i>, for exact -knowledge of nature.</p> - -<p>The assertion that science has not kept its promises, and that, -therefore, the rising generation is turning away from it, does not -for a moment resist criticism, and is entirely without foundation. -It is a senseless premise of neo-Catholicism, were the Symbolists -to declare a hundred times over that disgust with science had -made them mystics. The explanations which even a healthy-minded -man makes with respect to the true motives of his -actions are only to be accepted with the most cautious criticism; -those proffered by the degenerate are completely useless. For -the impulse to act and to think originate, for the degenerate, in -the unconscious, and consciousness finds subsequent, and in some -measure plausible, reasons for the thoughts and deeds, the real<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -source of which is unknown to itself. Every book on suggestion -gives illustrations of Charcot’s typical case: a hysterical female -is sent into hypnotic sleep, and it is suggested to her that on -awaking she is to stab one of the doctors present. She is then -awakened. She grasps a knife and makes for her appointed -victim. The blade is wrenched from her, and she is asked why -she wishes to murder the doctor. She answers without hesitation, -‘Because he has done me an injury.’ Note that she -had seen him that day for the first time in her life. This person -felt when in a waking condition the impulse to kill the doctor. -Her consciousness had no presentiment that this impulse had -been suggested to her in a hypnotic state. Consciousness -knows that a murder is never committed without some motive. -Forced to find a motive for the attempted murder, consciousness -falls back upon the only one reasonably possible under the circumstances, -and fancies that it got hold of the idea of murder in -order to avenge some wrong.</p> - -<p>The brothers Janet<a name="FNanchor_115_115" id="FNanchor_115_115"></a><a href="#Footnote_115_115" class="fnanchor">[115]</a> offer, as an explanation of this psychological -phenomenon, the hypothesis of dual personality. ‘Every -person consists of two personalities, one conscious and one -unconscious. Among healthy persons both are alike complete, -and both in equilibrium. In the hysteric they are unequal, and -out of equilibrium. One of the two personalities, usually the -conscious, is incomplete, the other remaining perfect.’ The -conscious personality has the thankless task of inventing -reasons for the actions of the unconscious. It resembles the -familiar game where one person makes movements and another -says words in keeping with them. In the degenerate with disturbed -equilibrium consciousness has to play the part of an ape-like -mother finding excuses for the stupid and naughty tricks of -a spoiled child. The unconscious personality commits follies and -evil deeds, and the conscious, standing powerless by, and unable -to hinder it, seeks to palliate them by all sorts of pretexts.</p> - -<p>The cause of the neo-Catholic movement, then, is not to be -sought in any objection felt by younger minds to science, or in -their having any complaint to make against it. A De Vogüé, a -Rod, a Desjardins, a Paulhan, who impute such a basis to the -mysticism of the Symbolists, arbitrarily attribute to it an origin -which it never had. It is due solely and alone to the degenerate -condition of its inventors. Neo-Catholicism is rooted in -emotivity and mysticism, both of these being the most frequent -and most distinctive stigmata of the degenerate.</p> - -<p>That the mysticism of the degenerate, even in France, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -land of Voltaire, has frequently taken the form of religious -enthusiasm might at first seem strange, but will be understood if -we consider the political and social circumstances of the French -people during the last decade.</p> - -<p>The great Revolution proclaimed three ideals: Liberty, -Equality, and Fraternity. Fraternity is a harmless word which -has no real meaning, and therefore disturbs nobody. Liberty, -to the upper classes, is certainly unpleasant, and they lament -greatly over the sovereignty of the people and universal suffrage, -but still they bear, without too much complaint, a state of things -which, after all, is sufficiently mitigated by a prying administration, -police supervision, militarism, and gendarmerie, and which -will always be sufficient to keep the mob in leash. But equality -to those in possession is an insufferable abomination. It is the -one thing won by the great Revolution, which has outlasted all -subsequent changes in the form of government, and has remained -alive in the French people. The Frenchman does not know -much about fraternity; his liberty in many ways has a muzzle -as its emblem; but his equality he possesses as a matter of fact, -and to it he holds firmly. The lowest vagabond, the bully of -the capital, the rag-picker, the hostler, believes that he is quite -as good as the duke, and says so to his face without the smallest -hesitation if occasion arises. The reasons of the Frenchman’s -fanaticism for equality are not particularly elevated. The feeling -does not spring from a proud, manly consciousness and the -knowledge of his own worth, but from low envy and malicious -intolerance. There shall be nothing above the dead level! -There shall be nothing better, nothing more beautiful or even -more striking, than the average vulgarity! The upper classes -struggle against this rage for equalization with passionate -vehemence, especially and precisely those who have reached -their high position through the great Revolution.</p> - -<p>The grandchildren of the rural serfs, who plundered and -destroyed the country seats of noblemen, basely murdered the -inmates, and seized upon their lands; the descendants of town -grocers and cobblers, who waxed rich as politicians of street and -club, as speculators in national property and assignats, and as -swindlers in army purveyance, do not want to become identified -with the mob. They want to form a privileged class. They -want to be recognised as belonging to a more honourable caste. -They sought, for this purpose, a distinguishing mark, which -would make them at once conspicuous as members of a select -class, and they found it in belonging to the Church.</p> - -<p>This choice is quite intelligible. The mass of the people in -France, especially in towns, is sceptical, and the aristocracy of -the <i>ancien régime</i>, who in the eighteenth century bragged about -free thought, had come out of the deluge of 1789 as very pious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -persons, comprehending or divining the inner connection between -all the old ideas and emblems of the Faith, of the Monarchy, -and of feudal nobility. Hence, through their clericalism, the -parvenus at once established a contrast between themselves and -the multitude from whom they wanted to keep distinct, and a -resemblance with the class into which they would like to smuggle -or thrust themselves.</p> - -<p>Experience teaches that the instinct of preservation is often -the worst adviser in positions of danger. The man who cannot -swim, falling into the water, involuntarily throws up his arms, -and thus infallibly lets his head be submerged and himself be -drowned; whereas his mouth and nose would remain above -water if he held his arms and hands quietly under the surface. -The bad rider, who feels his seat insecure, usually draws up -his legs, and then comes the certainty of a fall; whereas he -would probably be able to preserve his equilibrium if he left his -legs outstretched. Thus the French <i>bourgeoisie</i>, who knew that -they had snatched for themselves the fruits of the great upheaval, -and let the Fourth Estate, who alone had made the Revolution, -come out of it empty-handed, chose the worst means for retaining -their unjustly-acquired possessions and privileges, and for -escaping unnatural equalization when they made use of their -clericalism for the establishment of their social status. They -alienated, in consequence, the wisest, strongest, and most cultivated -minds, and drove over to socialism many young men who, -though intellectually radical, were yet economically conservative, -and little in favour of equality, and who would have become -a strong defence for a free-thinking <i>bourgeoisie</i>, but who felt -that socialism, however radical its economic doctrines and -impossible its theories of equality, represented emancipation.</p> - -<p>But I have not to judge here whether the religious mimicry -of the French <i>bourgeoisie</i>, which was to make them resemble -the old nobility, exerts the protection expected of it or not; I -only set down the fact of this mimicry. It is a necessary consequence -that all the rich and snobbish parvenus send their -sons to the Jesuit middle and high schools. To be educated -by the Jesuits is regarded as a sign of caste, very much as is -membership of the Jockey Club. The old pupils of the Jesuits -form a ‘black freemasonry,’ which zealously advances their protégés -in every career, marries them to heiresses, hurries to their -assistance in misfortune, hushes up their sins, stifles scandal, etc. -It is the Jesuits who for the last decade have made it their care -to inculcate their own habits of thinking into the rich and -high-born youth of France entrusted to them. These youths -brought brains of hereditary deficiency, and therefore mystically -disposed, into the clerical schools, and these then gave to the -mystic thoughts of the degenerate pupils a religious content.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -This is not an arbitrary assumption, but a well-founded fact. -Charles Morice, the æsthetic theorist and philosopher of the -Symbolists, received his education from the Jesuits, according -to the testimony of his friends.<a name="FNanchor_116_116" id="FNanchor_116_116"></a><a href="#Footnote_116_116" class="fnanchor">[116]</a> So did Louis le Cardonnel, -Henri de Régnier, and others. The Jesuits invented the phrase -‘bankruptcy of science,’ and their pupils repeat it after them, -because it includes a plausible explanation of their pietistic -mooning, the real organic causes of which are unknown to them, -and for that matter would not be understood if they were -known. ‘I return to faith, because science does not satisfy me,’ -is a possible statement. It is even a superior thing to say, since -it presupposes a thirst for truth and a noble interest in great -questions. On the contrary, a man will hardly be willing to -confess, ‘I am an enthusiastic admirer of the Trinity and the -Holy Virgin because I am degenerate, and my brain is incapable -of attention and clear thought.’</p> - -<p>That the Jesuitical argument as reported by MM. de Vogüé, -Rod, etc., can have found credit beyond clerical circles and -degenerate youth, that the half-educated are heard repeating -to-day, ‘Science is conquered, the future belongs to religion,’ is -consistent with the mental peculiarities of the million. They -never have recourse to facts, but repeat the ready-made propositions -with which they have been prompted. If they would -have regard to facts, they would know that the number of -faculties, teachers and students of natural science, of scientific -periodicals and books, of their subscribers and readers, of -laboratories, scientific societies and reports to the academies -increases year by year. It can be shown by figures that science -does not lose, but continually gains ground.<a name="FNanchor_117_117" id="FNanchor_117_117"></a><a href="#Footnote_117_117" class="fnanchor">[117]</a> But the million -does not care about exact statistics. In France it accepts without -resistance the suggestion, that science is retreating before -religion, from a few newspapers, written mainly for clubmen -and gilded courtezans, into the columns of which the pupils of -the clerical schools have found an entrance. Of science itself, -of its hypotheses, methods, and results, they have never known -anything. Science was at one time the fashion. The daily -press of that date said, ‘We live in a scientific age’; the news -of the day reported the travels and marriages of scientists; the -feuilleton-novels contained witty allusions to Darwin; the inventors -of elegant walking-sticks and perfumes called their productions -‘Evolution Essence’ or ‘Selection Canes’; those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -affected culture took themselves seriously for the pioneers of -progress and enlightenment. To-day those social circles which -set the fashions, and the papers which seek to please these -circles, decree that, not science is <i>chic</i>, but faith, and now the -paragraphs of the boulevard papers relate small piquant sayings -of preachers; in the feuilleton-novels there are quotations from -the <i>Imitation of Christ</i>; inventors bring out richly-mounted -prie-dieus and choice rosaries, and the Philistine feels with -deep emotion the miraculous flower of faith springing up and -blossoming in his heart. Of real disciples science has scarcely -lost one. It is only natural, on the contrary, that the plebs of -the salons, to whom it has never been more than a fashion, should -turn their backs on it at the mere command of a tailor or a modiste.</p> - -<p>Thus much on the neo-Catholicism which, partly for party -reasons, partly from ignorance, partly from snobbishness, is -mistaken for a serious intellectual movement of the times.</p> - -<p>The pretension of Symbolism to be, not only a return to -faith, but a new theory of art and poetry, is what we must now -proceed to test.</p> - -<p>If we wish to know at the outset what Symbolists understand -by symbol and symbolism, we shall meet with the same difficulties -we encountered in determining the precise meaning of the name -pre-Raphaelitism, and for the same reason, viz., because the -inventors of these appellations understood by them hundreds of -different mutually contradictory, indefinite things, or simply -nothing at all. A skilled and sagacious journalist, Jules Huret,<a name="FNanchor_118_118" id="FNanchor_118_118"></a><a href="#Footnote_118_118" class="fnanchor">[118]</a> -instituted an inquiry about the new literary movement in France, -and from its leading representatives acquired information, by -which he has furnished us with a trustworthy knowledge of the -meaning which they connect, or pretend to connect, with the -expressions and phraseology of their programme. I will here -adduce some of these utterances and declarations. They will -not tell us what Symbolism is. But they may afford us some -insight into symbolist methods of thought.</p> - -<p>M. Stéphane Mallarmé, whose leadership of the Symbolist -band is least disputed among the disciples, expresses himself as -follows: ‘To name an object means to suppress three-quarters -of the pleasure of a poem—<i>i.e.</i>, of the happiness which consists -in gradually divining it. Our dream should be to suggest the -object. The symbol is the perfected use of this mystery, viz., -to conjure up an object gradually in order to show the condition -of a soul; or, conversely, to choose an object, and out of it to -reveal a state of the soul by a series of interpretations.’</p> - -<p>If the reader does not at once understand this combination of -vague words, he need not stop to solve them. Later on I will -translate the stammerings of this weak mind into the speech of -sound men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> - -<p>M. Paul Verlaine, another high-priest of the sect, expresses -himself as follows: ‘It was I who, in the year 1885, laid claim -to the name of Symbolist. The Parnassians, and most of the -romanticists, in a certain sense lacked symbols.... Thence -errors of local colouring in history, the shrinking up of the myth -through false philosophical interpretations, thought without the -discernment of analogies, the anecdote emptied of feeling.’</p> - -<p>Let us listen to a few second-rate poets of the group. ‘I -declare art,’ says M. Paul Adam, ‘to be the enshrining of a -dogma in a symbol. It is a means of making a system prevail, -and of bringing truths to the light of day.’ M. Rémy de Gourmont -confesses honestly: ‘I cannot unveil the hidden meaning -of the word “symbolism,” since I am neither a theorist nor a -magician.’ And M. Saint-Pol-Roux-le-Magnifique utters this -profound warning: ‘Let us take care! Symbolism carried to -excess leads to <i>nombrilisme</i>, and to a morbid mechanism.... -This symbolism is to some extent a parody of mysticism.... -Pure symbolism is an anomaly in this remarkable century, remarkable -for militant activities. Let us view this transitional -art as a clever trick played upon naturalism, and as a precursor -of the poetry of to-morrow.’</p> - -<p>We may expect from the theorists and philosophers of the -group more exhaustive information concerning their methods -and aims. Accordingly, M. Charles Morice instructs us how -‘the symbol is the combination of the objects which have -aroused our sensations, with our souls, in a fiction [<i>fiction</i>]. -The means is suggestion; it is a question of giving people a -remembrance of something which they have never seen.’ And -M. Gustav Kahn says: ‘For me personally, symbolic art consists -in recording in a cycle of works, as completely as possible, -the modifications and variations of the mind of the poet, who is -inspired by an aim which he has determined.’</p> - -<p>In Germany there have already been found some imbeciles -and idiots, some victims of hysteria and graphomania, who affirm -that they understand this twaddle, and who develop it further in -lectures, newspaper articles and books. The cultured German -Philistine, who from of old has had preached to him contempt -for ‘platitude,’ <i>i.e.</i>, for healthy common-sense, and admiration -for ‘deep meaning,’ which is as a rule only the futile bubbling of -soft and addled brains incapable of thought, becomes visibly -uneasy, and begins to inquire if there may not really be something -behind these senseless series of words. In France people -have not been caught on the limed twigs of these poor fools and -cold-blooded jesters, but have considered Symbolism to be what -in fact it is, madness or humbug. We shall meet with these -words in the writings of noted representatives of all shades of -literary thought.</p> - -<p>‘The Symbolists!’ exclaims M. Jules Lemaître, ‘there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -none.... They themselves do not know what they are or -what they want. There is something stirring and heaving under -the earth, but unable to break through. Do you understand? -When they have painfully produced something, they would like -to build formulæ and theories around it, but fail in doing so, -because they do not possess the necessary strength of mind.... -They are jesters with a certain amount of sincerity—that I -grant them—but nevertheless jesters.’ M. Joséphin Péladan -describes them as ‘whimsical pyrotechnists of metrics and -glossaries, who combine in order to get on, and give themselves -odd names in order to get known.’ M. Jules Bois is much more -forcible: ‘Disconnected action, confused clamour, such are the -Symbolists. Cacophony of savages who have been turning over -the leaves of an English grammar, or a glossary of obsolete -words. If they have ever known anything, they pretend to -have forgotten it. Indistinct, faulty, obscure, they are nevertheless -as solemn as augurs.... You, decadent Symbolists, -you deceive us with childish and necromantic formulæ.’ Verlaine -himself, the co-founder of Symbolism, in a moment of -sincerity, calls his followers a ‘flat-footed horde, each with his -own banner, on which is inscribed <i>Réclame</i>!’ M. Henri de -Régnier says apologetically: ‘They feel the need of gathering -round a common flag, so that they may fight more effectually -against the contented.’ M. Zola speaks of them as ‘a swarm of -sharks who, not being able to swallow us, devour each other.’ -M. Joseph Caraguel designates symbolical literature as ‘a -literature of whining, of babbling, of empty brains, a literature -of Sudanese Griots [minstrels].’ Edmond Haraucourt plainly -discerns the aims of the Symbolists: ‘They are discontented, -and in a hurry. They are the Boulangists of literature. We -must live! We would take a place in the world, become -notorious or notable. We beat wildly on a drum which is not -even a kettledrum.... Their true symbol is “Goods by express.” -Everyone goes by express train. Their destination—Fame.’ -M. Pierre Quillard thinks that under the title of -Symbolists ‘poets of rare gifts and unmitigated simpletons -have been arbitrarily included.’ And M. Gabriel Vicaire sees -in the manifestoes of Symbolists ‘nothing but schoolboy jokes.’ -Finally, M. Laurent Tailhade, one of the leading Symbolists, -divulges the secret: ‘I have never attached any other value to -this performance than that of a transient amusement. We -took in the credulous judgment of a few literary beginners with -the joke of coloured vowels, Theban love, Schopenhauerism, -and other pranks, which have since made their way in the -world.’ Quite so; just, as we have already said, in Germany.</p> - -<p>To abuse, however, is not to explain, and although summary -justice is fit in the case of deliberate swindlers, who, like -quack-dentists, play the savage in order to entice money from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -market-folk, yet anger and ridicule are out of place in dealing -with honest imbeciles. They are diseased or crippled, and as -such deserve only pity. Their infirmities must be disclosed, -but severity of treatment has been abolished even in lunatic -asylums since Pinel’s time.</p> - -<p>The Symbolists, so far as they are honestly degenerate and -imbecile, can think only in a mystical, <i>i.e.</i>, in a confused way. -The unknown is to them more powerful than the known; the -activity of the organic nerves preponderates over that of the -cerebral cortex; their emotions overrule their ideas. When -persons of this kind have poetic and artistic instincts, they -naturally want to give expression to their own mental state. -They cannot make use of definite words of clear import, for -their own consciousness holds no clearly-defined univocal ideas -which could be embodied in such words. They choose, therefore, -vague equivocal words, because these best conform to their -ambiguous and equivocal ideas. The more indefinite, the more -obscure a word is, so much the better does it suit the purpose of -the imbecile, and it is notorious that among the insane this -habit goes so far that, to express their ideas, which have become -quite formless, they invent new words, which are no longer -merely obscure, but devoid of all meaning. We have already -seen that, for the typical degenerate, reality has no significance. -On this point I will only remind the reader of the previously -cited utterances of D. G. Rossetti, Morice, etc. Clear speech -serves the purpose of communication of the actual. It has, -therefore, no value in the eyes of a degenerate subject. He -prizes that language alone which does not force him to follow -the speaker attentively, but allows him to indulge without -restraint in the meanderings of his own reveries, just as his own -language does not aim at the communication of definite -thought, but is only intended to give a pale reflection of the -twilight of his own ideas. That is what M. Mallarmé means -when he says: ‘To name an object means to suppress three -quarters of the pleasure.... Our dream should be to suggest -the object.’</p> - -<p>Moreover, the thought of a healthy brain has a flow which is -regulated by the laws of logic and the supervision of attention. -It takes for its content a definite object, manipulates and exhausts -it. The healthy man can tell what he thinks, and his -telling has a beginning and an end. The mystic imbecile thinks -merely according to the laws of association, and without the red -thread of attention. He has fugitive ideation. He can never -state accurately what he is thinking about; he can only denote -the emotion which at the moment controls his consciousness. -He can only say in general, ‘I am sad,’ ‘I am merry,’ ‘I am -fond,’ ‘I am afraid.’ His mind is filled with evanescent, floating, -cloudy ideas, which take their hue from the reigning emotion, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -the vapour hovering above a crater flames red from the glow at -the bottom of the volcanic caldron. When he poetizes, therefore, -he will never develop a logical train of thought, but will -seek by means of obscure words of distinctly emotional colouring -to represent a feeling, a mood. What he prizes in poetical -works is not a clear narrative, the exposition of a definite -thought, but only the reflected image of a mood, which awakens -in him a similar, but not necessarily the same, mood. The degenerate -are well aware of this difference between a work which -expresses strong mental labour and one in which merely emotionally -coloured fugitive ideation ebbs and flows; and they -eagerly ask for a distinguishing name for that kind of poetry of -which alone they have any understanding. In France they have -found this designation in the word ‘Symbolism.’ The explanations -which the Symbolists themselves give of their cognomen -appear nonsensical; but the psychologist gathers clearly from -their babbling and stammering that under the name ‘symbol’ -they understand a word (or series of words) expressing, not a -fact of the external world, or of conscious thought, but an ambiguous -glimmer of an idea, which does not force the reader to -think, but allows him to dream, and hence brings about no intellectual -processes, but only moods.</p> - -<p>The great poet of the Symbolists, their most admired model, -from whom, according to their unanimous testimony, they have -received the strongest inspiration, is Paul Verlaine. In this man -we find, in astonishing completeness, all the physical and mental -marks of degeneration, and no author known to me answers so -exactly, trait for trait, to the descriptions of the degenerate given -by the clinicists—his personal appearance, the history of his life, -his intellect, his world of ideas and modes of expression. M. Jules -Huret<a name="FNanchor_119_119" id="FNanchor_119_119"></a><a href="#Footnote_119_119" class="fnanchor">[119]</a> gives the following account of Verlaine’s physical appearance: -‘His face, like that of a wicked angel grown old, -with a thin, untrimmed beard, and abrupt(?) nose; his bushy, -bristling eyebrows, resembling bearded wheat, hiding deep-set -green eyes; his wholly bald and huge long skull, misshapen by -enigmatic bumps—all these give to his physiognomy a contradictory -appearance of stubborn asceticism and cyclopean appetites.’ -As appears in these ludicrously laboured and, in part, -entirely senseless expressions, even the most unscientific observer -has been struck with what Huret calls his ‘enigmatic bumps.’ -If we look at the portrait of the poet, by Eugène Carrière, of -which a photograph serves as frontispiece in the <i>Select Poems</i> of -Verlaine,<a name="FNanchor_120_120" id="FNanchor_120_120"></a><a href="#Footnote_120_120" class="fnanchor">[120]</a> and still more at that by M. Aman-Jean, exhibited -in the Champs de Mars Salon in 1892, we instantly remark the -great asymmetry of the head, which Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_121_121" id="FNanchor_121_121"></a><a href="#Footnote_121_121" class="fnanchor">[121]</a> has pointed out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -among degenerates, and the Mongolian physiognomy indicated -by the projecting cheek-bones, obliquely placed eyes, and thin -beard, which the same investigator<a name="FNanchor_122_122" id="FNanchor_122_122"></a><a href="#Footnote_122_122" class="fnanchor">[122]</a> looks upon as signs of -degeneration.</p> - -<p>Verlaine’s life is enveloped in mystery, but it is known, from -his own avowals, that he passed two years in prison. In the -poem <i>Écrit en</i> 1875<a name="FNanchor_123_123" id="FNanchor_123_123"></a><a href="#Footnote_123_123" class="fnanchor">[123]</a> he narrates in detail, not only without -the least shame, but with gay unconcern, nay, even with boasting, -that he was a true professional criminal:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘J’ai naguère habité le meilleur des châteaux<br /> -Dans le plus fin pays d’eau vive et de coteaux:<br /> -Quatre tours s’élevaient sur le front d’autant d’ailes,<br /> -Et j’ai longtemps, longtemps habité l’une d’elles...<br /> -Une chambre bien close, une table, une chaise,<br /> -Un lit strict où l’on pût dormir juste à son aise,...<br /> -Tel fut mon lot durant les longs mois là passés...<br /> -...J’étais heureux avec ma vie,<br /> -Reconnaissant de biens que nul, certes, n’envie.’</p> - -<p class="p1">And in the poem <i>Un Conte</i> he says:</p> - -<p class="pp6 p1">...’ce grand pécheur eut des conduites<br /> -Folles à ce point d’en devenir trop maladroites,<br /> -Si bien que les tribunaux s’en mirent—et les suites!<br /> -Et le voyez-vous dans la plus étroite des boîtes?</p> - -<p class="pp6 p1">Cellules! prison humanitaires! Il faut taire<br /> -Votre horreur fadasse et ce progrès d’hypocrisie’...</p> - -<p class="p1">It is now known that a crime of a peculiarly revolting character -led to his punishment; and this is not surprising, since the special -characteristic of his degeneration is a madly inordinate eroticism. -He is perpetually thinking of lewdness, and lascivious images fill -his mind continually. I have no wish to quote passages in which -this unhappy slave of his morbidly excited senses has expressed -the loathsome condition of his mind, but the reader who wishes -to become acquainted with them may be referred to the poems -<i>Les Coquillages</i>, <i>Fille</i>, and <i>Auburn</i>.<a name="FNanchor_124_124" id="FNanchor_124_124"></a><a href="#Footnote_124_124" class="fnanchor">[124]</a> Sexual license is not his only -vice. He is also a dipsomaniac, and (as may be expected in a degenerate -subject) a paroxysmal dipsomaniac, who, awakened from -his debauch, is seized with deep disgust of the alcoholic poison -and of himself, and speaks of ‘les breuvages exécrés’ (<i>La Bonne -Chanson</i>), but succumbs to the temptation at the next opportunity.</p> - -<p>Moral insanity, however, is not present in Verlaine. He sins -through irresistible impulse. He is an Impulsivist. The difference -between these two forms of degeneration lies in the fact -that the morally insane does not look upon his crimes as bad, but -commits them with the same unconcern as a sane man would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -perform any ordinary or virtuous act, and after his misdeed is -quite contented with himself; whereas the Impulsivist retains a -full consciousness of the baseness of his deeds, hopelessly fights -against his impulse until he can no longer resist it, and after the -performance<a name="FNanchor_125_125" id="FNanchor_125_125"></a><a href="#Footnote_125_125" class="fnanchor">[125]</a> suffers the most terrible remorse and despair. It is -only an Impulsivist who speaks in execration of himself as a -reprobate (‘Un seul Pervers,’ in <i>Sagesse</i>), or strikes the dejected -note which Verlaine touches in the first four sonnets of <i>Sagesse</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Hommes durs! Vie atroce et laide d’ici bas!<br /> -Ah! que du moins, loin des baisers et des combats,<br /> -Quelque chose demeure un peu sur la montagne,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Quelque chose du cœur enfantin et subtil,<br /> -Bonté, respect! car qu’est-ce qui nous accompagne,<br /> -Et vraiment quand la mort viendra que reste-t-il?...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ferme les yeux, pauvre âme, et rentre sur-le-champ:<br /> -Une tentation des pires. Fuis l’infâme ...<br /> -Si la vieille folie était encore en route?</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ces souvenirs, va-t-il falloir les retuer?<br /> -Un assaut furieux, le suprême, sans doute!<br /> -O va prier contre l’orage, va prier!...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘C’est vers le Moyen-Age énorme et delicat<br /> -Qu’il faudrait que mon cœur en panne naviguât,<br /> -Loin de nos jours d’esprit charnel et de chair triste ...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et là que j’eusse part...<br /> -...à la chose vitale,<br /> -Et que je fusse un saint, actes bons, pensers droits,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Haute théologie et solide morale,<br /> -Guidé par la folie unique de la Croix<br /> -Sur tes ailes de pierre, ô folle Cathédrale!’</p> - -<p class="p1">This example serves to show that there is not wanting in -Verlaine that religious fervour which usually accompanies -morbidly intensified eroticism. This finds a much more decided -expression in several other poems. I should wish to quote only -from two.<a name="FNanchor_126_126" id="FNanchor_126_126"></a><a href="#Footnote_126_126" class="fnanchor">[126]</a></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O mon Dieu, vous m’avez blessé d’amour,<br /> -Et la blessure est encore vibrante,<br /> -O mon Dieu, vous m’avez blessé d’amour.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O mon Dieu, votre crainte m’a frappé,<br /> -Et la brûlure est encore là qui tonne<br /> -O mon Dieu, votre crainte m’a frappé.</p> - -<p class="p1">(Observe the mode of expression and the constant repetitions.)</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1"> -‘O mon Dieu, j’ai connu que tout est vil,<br /> -Et votre gloire en moi s’est installée,<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>O mon Dieu, j’ai connu que tout est vil.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Noyez mon âme aux flots de votre vin,<br /> -Fondez ma vie au pain de votre table,<br /> -Noyez mon âme aux flots de votre vin.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Voici mon sang que je n’ai pas versé,<br /> -Voici ma chair indignée de souffrance,<br /> -Voici mon sang que je n’ai pas versé.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Then follows the ecstatic enumeration of all the parts of his -body, which he offers up in sacrifice to God; and the poem -closes thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Vous connaissez tout cela, tout cela,<br /> -Et que je suis plus pauvre que personne,<br /> -Vous connaissez tout cela, tout cela,<br /> -Mais ce que j’ai, mon Dieu, je vous le donne.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">He invokes the Virgin Mary as follows:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Je ne veux plus aimer que ma mère Marie.<br /> -Tous les autres amours sont de commandement,<br /> -Nécessaires qu’ils sont, ma mère seulement<br /> -Pourra les allumer aux cœurs qui l’ont chérie.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘C’est pour Elle qu’il faut chérir mes ennemis,<br /> -C’est pour Elle que j’ai voué ce sacrifice,<br /> -Et la douceur de cœur et le zèle au service.<br /> -Comme je la priais, Elle les a permis.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et comme j’étais faible et bien méchant encore,<br /> -Aux mains lâches, les yeux éblouis des chemins,<br /> -Elle baissa mes yeux et me joignit les mains,<br /> -Et m’enseigna les mots par lesquels on adore.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">The accents here uttered are well known to the clinics of -psychiatry. We may compare them to the picture which -Legrain<a name="FNanchor_127_127" id="FNanchor_127_127"></a><a href="#Footnote_127_127" class="fnanchor">[127]</a> gives of some of his patients. ‘His speech continually -reverts to God and the Virgin Mary, his cousin.’ (The case in -question is that of a degenerate subject who was a tramway conductor.) -‘Mystical ideas complete the picture. He talks of God, -of heaven, crosses himself, kneels down, and says that he is following -the commandments of Christ.’ (The subject under observation -is a day labourer.) ‘The devil will tempt me, but I see -God who guards me. I have asked of God that all people might -be beautiful,’ etc.</p> - -<p>The continual alternation of antithetical moods in Verlaine—this -uniform transition from bestial lust to an excess of piety, -and from sinning to remorse—has struck even observers who -do not know the significance of such a phenomenon. ‘He is,’ -writes M. Anatole France,<a name="FNanchor_128_128" id="FNanchor_128_128"></a><a href="#Footnote_128_128" class="fnanchor">[128]</a> ‘alternately devout and atheistical, -orthodox and sacrilegious.’ These he certainly is. But why? -Simply because he is a <i>circulaire</i>. This not very happy -expression, invented by French psychiatry, denotes that form<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -of mental disease in which states of excitement and depression -follow each other in regular succession. The period of excitement -coincides with the irresistible impulses to misdeeds and -blasphemous language; that of dejection with the paroxysms -of contrition and piety. The <i>circulaires</i> belong to the worst -species of the degenerate. ‘They are drunkards, obscene, vicious, -and thievish.’<a name="FNanchor_129_129" id="FNanchor_129_129"></a><a href="#Footnote_129_129" class="fnanchor">[129]</a> They are also in particular incapable of any -lasting, uniform occupation, since it is obvious that in such a -condition of mental depression they cannot accomplish any -work which demands strength and attention. The <i>circulaires</i> -are, by the nature of their affliction, condemned to be vagabonds -or thieves, unless they belong to rich families. In normally -constituted society there is no place for them. Verlaine has -been a vagabond the whole of his life. He has loafed about all -the highways of France, and roamed as well through Belgium -and England. Since his release from prison he has spent most -of his time in Paris, where, however, he has no residence, but -resorts to the hospitals under the pretext of rheumatism, which -for that matter he may easily have contracted during the nights -which, as a tramp, he has spent under the open sky. The -administration winks at his doings, and grants him food and -shelter gratis, out of regard for his poetical capacity. Conformably -with the constant tendency of the human mind to -beautify what cannot be altered, he persuades himself that his -vagrancy, which was forced upon him by his organic vice, is a -glorious and enviable condition; he prizes it as something -beautiful, artistic, and sublime, and looks upon vagabonds with -especial tenderness. Speaking of them he says (<i>Grotesques</i>):</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Leur jambes pour toutes montures,<br /> -Pour tous biens l’or de leurs regards,<br /> -Par le chemin des aventures<br /> -Ils vont haillonneux et hagards.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Le sage, indigné, les harangue;<br /> -Le sot plaint ces fous hasardeux;<br /> -Les enfants leur tirent la langue<br /> -Et les filles se moquent d’eux.’</p> - -<p class="p1">We find in every lunatic and imbecile the conviction that the -rational minds who discern and judge him are ‘blockheads.’</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘... Dans leurs prunelles<br /> -Rit et pleure—fastidieux—<br /> -L’amour des choses éternelles,<br /> -Des vieux morts et des anciens dieux!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Donc, allez, vagabonds sans trêves,<br /> -Errez, funestes et maudits,<br /> -Le long des gouffres et des grèves,<br /> -Sous l’œil fermé des paradis!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La nature à l’homme s’allie<br /> -Pour châtier comme il le faut<br /> -L’orgueilleuse mélancolie<br /> -Qui vous fait marcher le front haut.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In another poem (<i>Autre</i>) he calls to his chosen mates:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Allons, frères, bons vieux voleurs,</p> -<p class="pp10">Doux vagabonds<br /> -Filous en fleur<br /> -Mes chers, mes bons,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Fumons philosophiquement,</p> -<p class="pp10">Promenons nous</p> -<p class="pp10">Paisiblement:</p> -<p class="pp10">Rien faire est doux.’</p> - -<p class="p1">As one vagabond feels himself attracted by other vagabonds, -so does one deranged mind feel drawn to others. Verlaine has -the greatest admiration for King Louis II. of Bavaria, that -unhappy madman in whom intelligence was extinct long before -death, in whom only the most abominable impulses of foul -beasts of the most degraded kind had survived the perishing of -the human functions of his disordered brain. He apostrophizes -him thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Roi, le seul vrai Roi de ce siècle, salut, Sire,</p> -<p class="pp7">Qui voulûtes mourir vengeant votre raison</p> -<p class="pp6">Des choses de la politique, et du délire</p> -<p class="pp7">De cette Science intruse dans la maison,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘De cette Science assassin de l’Oraison</p> -<p class="pp7">Et du Chant et de l’Art et de toute la Lyre,</p> -<p class="pp6">Et simplement et plein d’orgueil et floraison</p> -<p class="pp7">Tuâtes en mourant, salut, Roi, bravo, Sire!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Vous fûtes un poète, un soldat, le seul Roi</p> -<p class="pp7">De ce siècle ...</p> -<p class="pp6">Et le martyr de la Raison selon la Foi....’</p> - -<p class="p1">Two points are noticeable in Verlaine’s mode of expression. -First, we have the frequent recurrence of the same word, of the -same turn of phrase, that chewing the cud, or <i>rabâchage</i> (repetition), -which we have learnt to know as the marks of intellectual -debility. In almost every one of his poems single lines and -hemistiches are repeated, sometimes unaltered, and often the -same word appears instead of one which rhymes. Were I to -quote all the passages of this kind, I should have to transcribe -nearly all his poems. I will therefore give only a few specimens, -and those in the original, so that their peculiarity will be fully -apparent to the reader. In the <i>Crépuscule du soir mystique</i> the -lines, ‘Le souvenir avec le crépuscule,’ and ‘Dahlia, lys, tulipe -et renoncules,’ are twice repeated without any internal necessity. -In the poem <i>Promenade sentimentale</i> the adjective <i>blême</i> (wan) -pursues the poet in the manner of an obsession or ‘onomatomania,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>’ -and he applies it to water-lilies and waves (‘wan waves’). The -<i>Nuit du Walpurgis classique</i> begins thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Un rythmique sabbat, rythmique, extrêmement<br /> -Rythmique.’...</p> - -<p class="p1">In the <i>Sérénade</i> the first two lines are repeated <i>verbatim</i> as the -fourth and eighth. Similarly in <i>Ariettes oubliées</i>, VIII.:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1"> -‘Dans l’interminable<br /> -Ennui de la plaine,<br /> -La neige incertaine<br /> -Luit comme du sable.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Le ciel est de cuivre,<br /> -Sans lueur aucune.<br /> -On croirait voir vivre<br /> -Et mourir la lune.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Comme des nuées<br /> -Flottent gris les chênes<br /> -Des forêts prochaines<br /> -Parmi les buées.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Le ciel est de cuivre,<br /> -Sans lueur aucune.<br /> -On croirait voir vivre<br /> -Et mourir la lune.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Corneille poussive,<br /> -Et vous, les loups maigres,<br /> -Par ces bises aigres<br /> -Quoi donc vous arrive?</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Dans l’interminable<br /> -Ennui de la plaine,<br /> -La neige incertaine<br /> -Luit comme du sable.’</p> - -<p class="p1">The <i>Chevaux de bois</i> begins thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois,<br /> -Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours,<br /> -Tournez souvent et tournez toujours,<br /> -Tournez, tournez au son des hautbois.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In a truly charming piece in <i>Sagesse</i> he says:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit,</p> -<p class="pp10">Si bleu, si calme!</p> -<p class="pp6">Un arbre, par dessus le toit</p> -<p class="pp10">Berce sa palme.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La cloche, dans le ciel qu’on voit,</p> -<p class="pp10">Doucement tinte.</p> -<p class="pp6">Un oiseau, sur l’arbre qu’on voit,</p> -<p class="pp10">Chante sa plainte.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In the passage in <i>Amour</i>, ‘Les fleurs des champs, les fleurs -innombrables des champs ... les fleurs des gens,’ ‘champs’ -and ‘gens’ sound somewhat alike. Here the imbecile repetition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -of similar sounds suggests a senseless pun, to the poet, and as -for this stanza in <i>Pierrot gamin</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Ce n’est pas Pierrot en herbe<br /> -Non plus que Pierrot en gerbe,<br /> -C’est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot.<br /> -Pierrot gamin, Pierrot gosse,<br /> -Le cerneau hors de la cosse,<br /> -C’est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot!’</p> - -<p class="pn1">it is the language of nurses to babies, who do not care to make -sense, but only to twitter to the child in tones which give him -pleasure. The closing lines of the poem <i>Mains</i> point to a -complete ideational standstill, to mechanical mumbling:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ah! si ce sont des mains de rêve,<br /> -Tant mieux, ou tant pis, ou tant mieux.’<a name="FNanchor_130_130" id="FNanchor_130_130"></a><a href="#Footnote_130_130" class="fnanchor">[130]</a></p> - -<p class="p1">The second peculiarity of Verlaine’s style is the other mark -of mental debility, viz., the combination of completely disconnected -nouns and adjectives, which suggest each other, either -through a senseless meandering by way of associated ideas, or -through a similarity of sound. We have already found some -examples of this in the extracts cited above. In these we find -the ‘enormous and tender Middle Ages’ and the ‘brand which -thunders.’ Verlaine writes also of ‘feet which glide with a pure -and wide movement,’ of ‘a narrow and vast affection,’ of ‘a slow -landscape,’<a name="FNanchor_131_131" id="FNanchor_131_131"></a><a href="#Footnote_131_131" class="fnanchor">[131]</a> of ‘a slack liqueur’ (‘jus flasque’), ‘a gilded perfume,’ -a ‘condensed’ or ‘terse contour’ (‘galbe succinct’), etc. -The Symbolists admire this form of imbecility, as ‘the research -for rare and precious epithets’ (la recherche de l’epithète rare et -précieuse).</p> - -<p>Verlaine has a clear consciousness of the vagueness of his -thoughts, and in a very remarkable poem from the psychological -point of view, <i>Art poétique</i>, in which he attempts to give a theory -of his lyric creation, he raises nebulosity to the dignity of a -fundamental method:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘De la musique avant toute chose<br /> -Et pour cela préfère l’Impair<br /> -Plus vague et plus soluble dans l’air,<br /> -Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose.’</p> - -<p class="p1">The two verbs ‘pèse’ and ‘pose’ are juxtaposed merely on -account of their similarity of sound.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il faut aussi que tu n’ailles point<br /> -Choisir les mots sans quelque méprise;<br /> -Rien de plus cher que la chanson grise<br /> -Où l’Indécis au Précis se joint.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘C’est des beaux yeux derrière des voiles,<br /> -C’est le grand jour tremblant de midi,<br /> -C’est par un ciel d’automne attiédi,<br /> -Le bleu fouillis des claires étoiles!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Car nous voulons la Nuance encor,<br /> -Pas la Couleur, rien que la nuance!<br /> -Oh! la nuance seule fiance<br /> -Le rêve au rêve et la flûte au cor!’</p> - -<p class="p1">(This stanza is completely delirious; it places ‘nuance’ and -‘colour’ in opposition, as though the latter were not contained -in the former. The idea of which the weak brain of Verlaine -had an inkling, but could not bring to a complete conception, -is probably that he prefers subdued and mixed tints, which lie -on the margin of several colours, to the full intense colour -itself.)</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Fuis du plus loin la Pointe assassine,<br /> -L’esprit cruel et le Rire impur,<br /> -Qui font pleurer les yeux de l’Azur,<br /> -Et tout cet ail de basse cuisine!’</p> - -<p class="p1">It cannot be denied that this poetical method in the hands -of Verlaine often yields extraordinarily beautiful results. There -are few poems in French literature which can rival the <i>Chanson -d’Automne</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Les sanglots longs<br /> -Des violons</p> -<p class="pp10">De l’automne</p> -<p class="pp6">Blessent mon cœur<br /> -D’une langueur</p> -<p class="pp10">Monotone.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Tout suffocant<br /> -Et blême, quand</p> -<p class="pp10">Sonne l’heure,</p> -<p class="pp6">‘Je me souviens<br /> -Des jours anciens,</p> -<p class="pp10">Et je pleure.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et je m’en vais<br /> -Au vent mauvais</p> -<p class="pp10">Qui m’emporte</p> -<p class="pp6">Deçà, delà,<br /> -Pareil à la</p> -<p class="pp10">Feuille morte.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Even if literally translated, there remains something of the -melancholy magic of the lines, which in French are richly -rhythmical and full of music. <i>Avant que tu ne t’en ailles</i> (p. 99) -and <i>Il pleure dans mon cœur</i> (p. 116) may also be called pearls -among French lyrics.</p> - -<p>This is because the methods of a highly emotional, but -intellectually incapable, dreamer suffice for poetry which deals -exclusively with moods, but this is the inexorable limit of his -power. Let the true meaning of mood be always present with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -us. The word denotes a state of mind, in which, through organic -excitations which it cannot directly perceive, consciousness is -filled with presentations of a uniform nature, which it elaborates -with greater or less clearness, and one and all of which relate to -those organic excitations inaccessible to consciousness. The mere -succession of words, giving a name to these presentations, the roots -of which are in the unknown, expresses the mood, and is able to -awaken it in another. It has no need of a fundamental thought, -or of a progressive exposition to unfold it. Verlaine often attains -to astonishing effects in such poetry of moods. Where, however, -distinct vision, or a feeling the motive of which is clear to -consciousness, or a process well delimitated in time and space, -is to be poetically rendered, the poetic art of the emotional -imbecile fails utterly. In a healthy and sane poet even the -mood pure and simple is united to clear presentations, and is not -a mere undulation of fragrance and rose-tinted mist. Poems like -Goethe’s <i>Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh</i>, <i>Der Fischer</i>, or <i>Freudvoll und -leidvoll</i>, can never be created by the emotionally degenerate; but, -on the other hand, the most marvellous of Goethe’s poems are -not so utterly incorporeal, not such mere sighs, as three or four -of the best of a Verlaine.</p> - -<p>We have now the portrait of this most famous leader of the -Symbolists clearly before us. We see a repulsive degenerate -subject with asymmetric skull and Mongolian face, an impulsive -vagabond and dipsomaniac, who, under the most disgraceful circumstances, -was placed in gaol; an emotional dreamer of feeble -intellect, who painfully fights against his bad impulses, and in -his misery often utters touching notes of complaint; a mystic -whose qualmish consciousness is flooded with ideas of God and -saints, and a dotard who manifests the absence of any definite -thought in his mind by incoherent speech, meaningless expressions -and motley images. In lunatic asylums there are many -patients whose disease is less deep-seated and incurable than -is that of this irresponsible <i>circulaire</i> at large, whom only -ignorant judges could have condemned for his epileptoid crimes.</p> - -<p>A second leader among the Symbolists, whose prestige is in -no quarter disputed, is M. Stéphane Mallarmé. He is the most -curious phenomenon in the intellectual life of contemporary -France. Although long past fifty years of age, he has written -hardly anything, and the little that is known of him is, in the -opinion of his most unreserved admirers, of no account; and -yet he is esteemed as a very great poet, and the utter infertility -of his pen, the entire absence of any single work which he can -produce as evidence of his poetical capacity, is prized as his -greatest merit, and as a most striking proof of his intellectual -importance. This statement must appear so fabulous to any -reader not deranged in mind, that he may rightly demand proofs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -of these statements. M. Charles Morice<a name="FNanchor_132_132" id="FNanchor_132_132"></a><a href="#Footnote_132_132" class="fnanchor">[132]</a> says of Mallarmé: -‘I am not obliged to unveil the secrets of the works of a poet -who, as he has himself remarked, is excluded from all participation -in any official exposition of the beautiful. The fact itself -that these works are still unknown ... would seem to forbid -our associating the name of M. Mallarmé with those of men who -have given us books. I let vulgar criticism buzz without replying -to it, and state that M. Mallarmé, without having given us -books ... is famous—a fame which, of course, has not been -won without arousing the laughter of stupidity in both petty -and important newspapers, but which does not offer public and -private ... ineptitude that opportunity for showing its baseness -which is provoked by the advent of a new wonder.... -The people, in spite of their abhorrence of the beautiful, and -especially of novelty in the beautiful, have gradually, and in -spite of themselves, come to comprehend the prestige of a legitimate -authority. They themselves, even they, feel ashamed of -their foolish laughter; and before this man, whom that laughter -could not tear from the serenity of his meditative silence, -laughter became dumb, and itself suffered the divine contagion -of silence. Even for the million this man, who published no -books, and whom, nevertheless, all designated “a poet,” became, -as it were, the very symbol of a poet, seeking, where possible, -to draw near to the absolute.... By his silence, he has signified -that he ... cannot yet realize the unprecedented work of art -which he wishes to create. Should cruel life refuse to support -him in his effort, our respect—nay, more, our veneration—can -alone give an answer worthy of a reticence thus conditioned.’</p> - -<p>The graphomaniac Morice (of whose crazy and distorted style -of expression this literally translated example gives a very good -idea) assumes that perhaps Mallarmé will yet create his ‘unprecedented -work.’ Mallarmé himself, however, denies us the right -to any such hope. ‘The delicious Mallarmé,’ Paul Hervieu -relates,<a name="FNanchor_133_133" id="FNanchor_133_133"></a><a href="#Footnote_133_133" class="fnanchor">[133]</a> ‘told me one day ... he could not understand that -anyone should let himself appear in print. Such a proceeding -gave him the impression of an indecency, an aberration, resembling -that form of mental disease called “exhibitionism.” -Moreover, no one has been so discreet with his soul as this incomparable -thinker.’<a name="FNanchor_134_134" id="FNanchor_134_134"></a><a href="#Footnote_134_134" class="fnanchor">[134]</a></p> - -<p>So, then, this ‘incomparable thinker’ shows ‘a complete discretion -as regards his soul.’ At one time he bases his silence -on a sort of shamed timidity at publicity; at another, on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -fact that he ‘cannot yet realize the unprecedented work of art -which he wishes to create,’ two reasons for that matter reciprocally -precluding each other. He is approaching the evening of -his life, and beyond a few brochures, such as <i>Les Dieux de la -Grèce</i> and <i>L’après-midi d’un Faune</i>, together with some verses -and literary and theatrical criticisms, scattered in periodicals, -the lot barely sufficing for a volume, he has published nothing -but some translations from the English and a few school-books -(M. Mallarmé is a teacher of English in a Parisian lycée), and -yet there are some who admire him as a great poet, as the one -exclusive poet, and they overwhelm the ‘blockheads’ and the -‘fools’ who laugh at him with all the expressions of scorn that -the force of imagination in a diseased mind can display. Is not -this one of the wonders of our day? Lessing makes Conti, in -<i>Emilia Galotti</i>, say that ‘Raphael would have been the greatest -genius in painting, even if he had unfortunately been born without -hands.’ In M. Mallarmé we have a man who is revered as -a great poet, although ‘he has unfortunately been born without -hands,’ although he produces nothing, although he does not -pursue the art he professes. During the period when in London -a great number of bubble-company swindles were being promoted, -when all the world went mad for the possession of the -least scrap of Stock Exchange paper, it happened that a few -sharp individuals advertised in the newspapers, inviting people to -subscribe for shares in a company of which the object was kept -a secret. There really were men who brought their money to -these lively promoters, and the historian of the City crisis regards -this fact as inconceivable. Inconceivable as it is, Paris sees it -repeated. Some persons demand unbounded admiration for a -poet whose works are his own secret, and will probably remain -such, and others trustingly and humbly bring their admiration -as required. The sorcerers of the Senegal negroes offer their -congregation baskets and calabashes for veneration, in which -they assert that a mighty fetich is enclosed. As a matter of -fact they contain nothing; but the negroes regard the empty -vessels with holy dread, and show them and their possessors -divine honours. Exactly thus is empty Mallarmé the fetich -of the Symbolists, who, it must be admitted, are intellectually -far below the Senegal negroes.</p> - -<p>This position of a calabash worshipped on bended knees he -has attained by oral discourse. Every week he gathers round -him embryonic poets and authors, and develops his art theories -before them. He speaks just as Morice and Kahn write. He -strings together obscure and wondrous words, at which his -disciples become as stupid ‘as if a mill-wheel were going round -in their heads,’ so that they leave him as if intoxicated, and -with the impression that incomprehensible, superhuman disclosures -have been made to them. If there is anything comprehensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -in the incoherent flow of Mallarmé’s words, it is -perhaps his admiration for the pre-Raphaelites. It was he who -drew the attention of the Symbolists to this school, and enjoined -imitation of it. It is through Mallarmé that the French -mystics received their English mediævalism and neo-Catholicism. -Finally, it may be mentioned that among the physical features -of Mallarmé are ‘long pointed faun-like ears.’<a name="FNanchor_135_135" id="FNanchor_135_135"></a><a href="#Footnote_135_135" class="fnanchor">[135]</a> After Darwin, -who was the first to point out the apish character of this -peculiarity, Hartmann,<a name="FNanchor_136_136" id="FNanchor_136_136"></a><a href="#Footnote_136_136" class="fnanchor">[136]</a> Frigerio,<a name="FNanchor_137_137" id="FNanchor_137_137"></a><a href="#Footnote_137_137" class="fnanchor">[137]</a> and Lombroso,<a name="FNanchor_138_138" id="FNanchor_138_138"></a><a href="#Footnote_138_138" class="fnanchor">[138]</a> have firmly -established the connection between immoderately long and -pointed external ears and atavism and degeneration; and they -have shown that this peculiarity is of especially frequent occurrence -among criminals and lunatics.</p> - -<p>The third among the leading spirits of the Symbolists is Jean -Moréas, a Franco-Greek poet, who at the completion of his -thirty-sixth year (his friends assert, it may be in friendly malice, -that he makes himself out to be very much younger than he is) -has produced <i>in toto</i> three attenuated collections of verses, of -hardly one hundred to one hundred and twenty pages, bearing -the titles, <i>Les Syrtes</i>, <i>Les Cantilènes</i>, and <i>Le Pélerin passionné</i>. -The importance of a literary performance does not, of course, -depend upon its amplitude, if it is otherwise unusually significant. -When, however, a man cackles during interminable café -séances of the renewal of poetry and the unfolding of a new art -of the future, and finally produces three little brochures of -childish verses as the result of his world-stirring effort, then the -material insignificance of the performance also becomes a subject -for ridicule.</p> - -<p>Moréas is one of the inventors of the word ‘Symbolism.’ -For some few years he was the high-priest of this secret -doctrine, and administered the duties of his service with -requisite seriousness. One day he suddenly abjured his self-founded -faith, and declared that ‘Symbolism’ had always -been meant only as a joke, to lead fools by the nose withal; -and that the true salvation of poetry was in Romanism -(<i>romanisme</i>). Under this new word he affirms a return to the -language, versification and mode of feeling of the French poets -at the close of the Middle Ages, and of the Renaissance period; -but it were well to adopt his declarations with caution, since in -two or three years he may be proclaiming his ‘romanisme’ as -much a tap-room joke as his ‘symbolism.’ The appearance of -the <i>Pélerin passionné</i> in 1891 was celebrated by the Symbolists -as an event which was to be the beginning of a new era in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -poetry. They arranged a banquet in honour of Moréas, and in -the after-dinner speeches he was worshipped as the deliverer from -the shackles of ancient forms and notions, and as the saviour -who was bringing in the kingdom of God of true poetry. And -the same poets who sat at the table with Moréas, and delivered -to him rapturous addresses or joined in the applause, a few weeks -after this event overwhelmed him with contumely and contempt. -‘Moréas a Symbolist!’ cried Charles Vignier.<a name="FNanchor_139_139" id="FNanchor_139_139"></a><a href="#Footnote_139_139" class="fnanchor">[139]</a> ‘Is he one -through his ideas? He laughs at them himself! His thoughts! -They don’t weigh much, these thoughts of Jean Moréas!’ -‘Moréas?’ asks Adrien Remacle,<a name="FNanchor_140_140" id="FNanchor_140_140"></a><a href="#Footnote_140_140" class="fnanchor">[140]</a> ‘we have all been laughing at -him. It is that which has made him famous.’ René Ghil calls -his <i>Pélerin passionné</i> ‘doggerel written by a pedant,’ and Gustav -Kahn<a name="FNanchor_141_141" id="FNanchor_141_141"></a><a href="#Footnote_141_141" class="fnanchor">[141]</a> passes sentence on him thus: ‘Moréas has no talent.... -He has never done anything worth mentioning. He has his own -particular jargon.’ These expressions disclose to us the complete -hollowness and falseness of the Symbolistic movement, -which outside France is obstinately proclaimed as a serious -matter by imbeciles and speculators, although its French inventors -make themselves hoarse in trying to convince the world -that they merely wanted to banter the Philistine with a tap-room -jest and advertise themselves.</p> - -<p>After the verdict of his brethren in the Symbolist Parnassus, -I may really spare myself the trouble of dwelling longer on -Moréas; I will, however, cite a few examples from his <i>Pélerin -passionné</i>, in order that the reader may form an idea of the -softness of brain which displays itself in these verses.</p> - -<p>The poem Agnes<a name="FNanchor_142_142" id="FNanchor_142_142"></a><a href="#Footnote_142_142" class="fnanchor">[142]</a> begins thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il y avait des arcs où passaient des escortes<br /> -Avec des bannières de deuil et du fer<br /> -Lacé (?) des potentats de toutes sortes<br /> -—Il y avait—dans la cité au bord de la mer.<br /> -Les places étaient noires, et bien pavées, et les portes,<br /> -Du côté de l’est et de l’ouest, hautes; et comme en hiver<br /> -La forêt, dépérissaient les salles de palais, et les porches,<br /> -Et les colonnades de belvéder.</p> -<p class="p1 reduct">C’était (tu dois bien t’en souvenir) c’était aux plus beaux jours de ton<br /> -adolescence.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Dans la cité au bord de la mer, la cape et la dague lourdes<br /> -De pierres jaunes, et sur ton chapeau des plumes de perroquets,<br /> -Tu t’en venais, devisant telles bourdes,<br /> -Tu t’en venais entre tes deux laquais<br /> -Si bouffis et tant sots—en verité, des happelourdes!—<br /> -Dans la cité au bord de la mer tu t’en venais et tu vaguais<br /> -Parmi de grands vieillards qui travaillaient aux felouques,<br /> -Le long des môles et des quais.</p> -<p class="p1 reduct">C’était (tu dois bien t’en souvenir) c’était aux plus beaux jours de ton<br /> -adolescence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">And thus the twaddle goes on through eight more stanzas, and -in every line we find the characteristics of the language used by -imbeciles and made notorious by Sollier (<i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et -de l’Imbécile</i>), the ‘ruminating’ as it were, of the same expressions, -the dreamy incoherence of the language, and the -insertion of words which have no connection with the subject.</p> - -<p>Two <i>Chansons</i><a name="FNanchor_143_143" id="FNanchor_143_143"></a><a href="#Footnote_143_143" class="fnanchor">[143]</a> run thus:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Les courlis dans les roseaux!<br /> -(Faut-il que je vous en parle,<br /> -Des courlis dans les roseaux?)<br /> -O vous joli’ Fée des eaux.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Le porcher et les pourceaux!<br /> -(Faut-il que je vous en parle,<br /> -Du porcher et des pourceaux?)<br /> -O vous joli’ Fée des eaux.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Mon cœur pris en vos réseaux!<br /> -(Faut-il que je vous en parle,<br /> -De mon cœur en vos réseaux?)<br /> -O vous joli’ Fée des eaux.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘On a marché sur les fleurs au bord de la route,<br /> -Et le vent d’automne les secoue si fort, en outre.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La malle-poste a renversé la vieille croix au bord de la route;<br /> -Elle était vraiment si pourrie, en outre.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘L’idiot (tu sais) est mort au bord de la route,<br /> -Et personne ne le pleurera, en outre.’</p> - -<p class="p1">The stupid artifice with which Moréas here seeks to produce a -feeling of wretchedness by conjuring up the three associated -figures of crushed flowers, dishevelled by the wind, an overturned -and mouldering cross, and a dead, unmourned idiot, -makes this poem a model of the would-be profound production -of a madhouse!</p> - -<p>When Moréas is not soft of brain, he develops a rhetorical -turgidity which reminds us of Hofmann von Hofmannswaldau -in his worst efforts. Only one example<a name="FNanchor_144_144" id="FNanchor_144_144"></a><a href="#Footnote_144_144" class="fnanchor">[144]</a> of this kind, and we -have done with him:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘J’ai tellement soif, ô mon amour, de ta bouche,<br /> -Que j’y boirais en baisers le cours detourné<br /> -Du Strymon, l’Araxe et le Tanaïs farouche;<br /> -Et les cent méandres qui arrosent Pitané,<br /> -Et l’Hermus qui prend sa source où le soleil se couche,<br /> -Et toutes les claires fontaines dont abonde Gaza,<br /> -Sans que ma soif s’en apaisât.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Behind the leaders Verlaine, Mallarmé, and Moréas a troop -of minor Symbolists throng, each, it is true, in his own eyes the -one great poet of the band, but whose illusions of greatness do -not entitle them to any special observation. Sufficient justice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> -is dealt them if the spirit they are made of be characterized by -quoting a few lines of their poetry. Jules Laforgue, ‘unique -not only in his generation, but in all the republic of literature,’<a name="FNanchor_145_145" id="FNanchor_145_145"></a><a href="#Footnote_145_145" class="fnanchor">[145]</a> -cries: ‘Oh, how daily [<i>quotidienne</i>] is life!’ and in his poem -<i>Pan et la Syrinx</i> we come upon lines like the following:</p> - -<p> -‘O Syrinx! voyez et comprenez la Terre et la merveille de cette matinée et la circulation de la vie.<br /> -Oh, vous là! et moi, ici! Oh vous! Oh, moi! Tout est dans Tout!’<a name="FNanchor_146_146" id="FNanchor_146_146"></a><a href="#Footnote_146_146" class="fnanchor">[146]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>Gustav Kahn, one of the æstheticists and philosophers of Symbolism, -says in his <i>Nuit sur la Lande</i>: ‘Peace descends from -thy lovely eyes like a great evening, and the borders of slow -tents descend, studded with precious stones, woven of far-off -beams and unknown moons.’</p> - -<p>In German, at least, ‘borders of slow tents which descend’ is -completely unintelligible nonsense. In French they are also -unintelligible; but in the original their meaning becomes -apparent. ‘Et des pans de tentes lentes descendent,’ the line -runs, and betrays itself as pure echolalia, as a succession of -similar sounds, as it were, echoing each other.</p> - -<p>Charles Vignier, ‘the beloved disciple of Verlaine,’ says to his -mistress:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Là-bas c’est trop loin,<br /> -Pauvre libellule,<br /> -Reste dans ton coin<br /> -Et prends des pilules...</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Sois Edmond About<br /> -Et d’humeur coulante,<br /> -Sois un marabout<br /> -Du Jardin des Plantes.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Another of his poems, <i>Une Coupe de Thulé</i>, runs thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Dans une coupe de Thulé<br /> -Où vient pâlir l’attrait de l’heure,<br /> -Dort le sénile et dolent leurre<br /> -De l’ultime rêve adulé.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Mais des cheveux d’argent filé<br /> -Font un voile à celle qui pleure,<br /> -Dans une coupe de Thulé<br /> -Où s’est éteint l’attrait de l’heure.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et l’on ne sait quel jubilé<br /> -Célèbre une harpe mineure<br /> -Que le hautain fantôme effleure<br /> -D’un lucide doigt fuselé!...<br /> -Dans une coupe de Thulé!’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">These poems remind us so forcibly of those doggerel rhymes -at which in Germany jovial students are often wont to try their -skill, and which are known as ‘flowery [<i>lit.</i> blooming] nonsense,’ -that, in spite of the solemn assurance of French critics, I am -convinced that they were intended as a joke. If I am right in -my supposition, they are really evidences, not of the mental -status of Vignier, but of his readers, admirers, and critics.</p> - -<p>Louis Dumur addresses the Neva in the following manner:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Puissante, magnifique, illustre, grave, noble reine!<br /> -O Tsaristsa [<i>sic!</i>] de glace et de fastes Souveraine!<br /> -Matrone hiératique et solennelle et vénérée!...<br /> -Toi qui me forces à rêver, toi qui me deconcertes,<br /> -Et toi surtout que j’aime, Émail, Beauté, Poème, Femme.<br /> -Néva! j’évoque ton spectacle et l’hymne de ton âme!’</p> - -<p class="p1">And René Ghil, one of the best-known Symbolists (he is -chief of a school entitled ‘évolutive-instrumentiste’), draws from -his lyre these tones, which I also quote in French; in the first -place because they would lose their ring in a translation, and, -secondly, because if I were to translate them literally, it is -hopeless to suppose that the reader would think I was serious:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ouïs! ouïs aux nues haut et nues où<br /> -Tirent-ils d’aile immense qui vire ...</p> -<p class="pp8">et quand vide</p> -<p class="pp6">et vers les grands pétales dans l’air plus aride—</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘(Et en le lourd venir grandi lent stridule, et<br /> -Titille qui n’alentisse d’air qui dure, et!<br /> -Grandie, erratile et multiple d’éveils, stride<br /> -Mixte, plainte et splendeur! la plénitude aride)</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘et vers les grands pétales d’agitations<br /> -Lors évanouissait un vol ardent qui stride....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘(des saltigrades doux n’iront plus vers les mers....)’</p> - -<p>One thing must be acknowledged, and that is, the Symbolists -have an astonishing gift for titles. The book itself may belong -to pure madhouse literature; the title is always remarkable. -We have already seen that Moréas names one of his collection -of verses <i>Les Syrtes</i>. He might in truth just as well call it the -<i>North Pole</i>, or <i>The Marmot</i>, or <i>Abd-el-Kader</i>, since these have -just as much connection with the poems in the little volume as -<i>Syrtes</i>; but it is undeniable that this geographical name calls -up the lustre of an African sun, and the pale reflection of classic -antiquity, which may well please the eye of the hysteric reader. -Edouard Dubus entitles his poem, <i>Quand les Violons sont partis</i>; -Louis Dumur, <i>Lassitudes</i>; Gustave Khan, <i>Les Palais nomades</i>; -Maurice du Plessis, <i>La Peau de Marsyas</i>; Ernest Raynaud, -<i>Chairs profanes</i> and <i>Le Signe</i>; Henri de Régnier, <i>Sites et<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -Episodes</i>; Arthur Rimbaud, <i>Les Illuminations</i>; Albert Saint Paul, -<i>L’Echarpe d’Iris</i>; Viélé-Griffin, <i>Ancæus</i>; and Charles Vignier, -<i>Centon</i>.</p> - -<p>Of the prose of the Symbolists, I have already given some -examples. I should further like to cite only a few passages -from a book which the Symbolists declare to be one of their -most powerful mental manifestations, <i>La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure</i>, -by Charles Morice. It is a sort of bird’s-eye view of the -development of literature up to the present time, a rapid critique -of the more and most recent books and authors, a kind of -programme of the literature of the future. This book is one -of the most astonishing which exists in any language. It -strongly resembles <i>Rembrandt as Educator</i>, but is far beyond -that book in the utter senselessness of its concatenations -of words. It is a monument of pure literary insanity, of -‘graphomania’; and neither Delepierre in his <i>Littérature des -Fous</i>, nor Philomnestes (Gustave Brunet) in his <i>Fous Littéraires</i>, -quotes examples of more complete mental dislocation than are -visible in every page of this book. Notice the following confession -of faith by Morice:<a name="FNanchor_147_147" id="FNanchor_147_147"></a><a href="#Footnote_147_147" class="fnanchor">[147]</a> ‘Although in this book treating only -of æsthetics—although of æsthetics based upon metaphysics—we -shall remember to refrain, as far as possible, from pure -philosophizing, we must approximately paraphrase a word -which will more than once be made use of, and which, in the -highest sense here put upon it, is not incapable of being paraphrased. -God is the first and universal cause, the final and -universal end; the bond between spirits; the point of intersection -where two parallels would meet; the fulfilment of our -inclinations; the fruition which accords with the glories of our -dreams; the abstraction itself of the concrete; the unseen and -unheard and yet certain ideal of our demands for beauty in -truth. God is, par excellence, <span class="smcap">THE</span> very word—the very word, -that is to say, that unknown certain word of which every author -has the incontrovertible, but undiscernible idea, the self-evident -but hidden goal which he will never reach, and which he -approaches as near as possible. In, so to say, practical æsthetics -He is the atmosphere of joy in which the mind revels victorious, -because it has reduced irreducible mystery to imperishable -symbols.’ I do not for a moment doubt that this incomparable -jumble will be quite intelligible to theologians. Like all mystics, -they discover a sense in every sound; that is, they persuade -themselves and others that the nebulous ideas which the sound -awakens in their brains by association are the meaning of that -sound. But anyone who demands of words that they should -be the media of definite thoughts, will perceive in the face of -this twaddle that the author was not thinking anything at all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -when he wrote, although he was dreaming of many things. -‘Religion’ is for Morice (p. 56), ‘the source of art, and art in -its essence is religious’—an affirmation which he borrows from -Ruskin, although he does not acknowledge it. ‘Our scholars, -our thinkers ... the luminous heads of the nineteenth century,’ -are ‘Edgar Poe, Carlyle, Herbert Spencer, Darwin, Auguste -Comte, Claude Bernard, Berthelot’ (p. 57). Edgar Poe by the -side of Spencer, Darwin, and Claude Bernard! never have ideas -danced a crazier fools’ quadrille in a disordered brain.</p> - -<p>And this book, of which the passages we have cited give a -sufficiently correct idea, was, in France (just as <i>Rembrandt as -Educator</i> was in Germany), pronounced by thoroughly responsible -critics to be ‘strange, but interesting and suggestive.’ -A poor degenerate devil who scribbles such stuff, and an imbecile -reader who follows his twaddle like passing clouds, are simply -to be pitied. But what words of contempt are strong enough -for the sane intellectual tatterdemalions who, in order not to -offend or else to give themselves the appearance of possessing a -remarkable faculty of comprehension, or to affect fairness and -benevolence even towards those whose opinions they in part do -not share, insist that they discover in books of this kind many -a truth, much wit along with peculiar whims, an ideal of fervour -and frequent lightnings of thought?</p> - -<p>The word ‘Symbolism’ conveys, as we have seen, no idea to its -inventors. They pursue no definite artistic tendency; hence it -is not possible to show them that their tendency is a false one. -It is otherwise with some of their disciples, who joined their -ranks, partly through a desire to advertise themselves, partly -because they thought that, in the conflicts between literary -parties, they were fighting on the side which was the stronger -and the more sure of victory, and partly, also, through the folly -of fashion, and through the influence exerted by any noisy -novelty over uncritical minds. Less weak-brained than the -leaders, they felt the need of giving the word ‘Symbolism’ a -certain significance, and, in fact, drew up a number of axioms -which, according to their profession, serve to guide them in -their creations. These axioms are sufficiently defined to allow of -discussion.</p> - -<p>The Symbolists demand greater freedom in the treatment of -French verse. They fiercely rebel against the old alexandrines, -with the cæsura in the middle, and the necessary termination of -the sentence at the end; against the prohibition of the hiatus; -against the law of a regular alternation of masculine and -feminine rhymes. They make defiant use of the ‘free verse,’ -with length and rhythm <i>ad libitum</i>, and false rhymes. The -foreigner can only smile at the savage gestures with which this -conflict is carried on. It is a schoolboys’ war against some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -hated book, which is solemnly torn in pieces, trodden under -foot, and burned. The whole dispute concerning prosody and -the rules of rhyme is, so to speak, an inter-Gallic concern, and -is of no consequence to the literature of the world. We have -long had everything which the French poets are only now seeking -to obtain by barricades and street massacres. In Goethe’s -<i>Prometheus</i>, <i>Mahomet’s Gesang</i>, <i>Harzreise im Winter</i>, in Heine’s -<i>Nordsee Cyklus</i>, etc., we possess perfect models of free verse; -we alternate the rhymes as we will; we allow masculine and -feminine rhymes to follow one another as seems good to us; -we do not bind ourselves to the rigid law of old classic metres, -but suffer, in the cradling measure of our verse, anapæsts to -alternate with iambics and spondees, according to our feeling -for euphony. English, Italian and Sclavonic poetry have gone -equally far, and if the French alone have remained behind, and -have at last found a need for casting aside their old matted, -moth-eaten periwig, this is quite reasonable; but to anyone but -a Frenchman they merely make themselves ridiculous when -they trumpet their painful hobbling after the nations who are -far in front of them, as an unheard-of discovery of new paths -and opening up of new roads, and as an advance inspired by -the ideal into the dawn of the future.</p> - -<p>Another æsthetic demand of the Symbolists is that the line -should, independently of its sense, call forth an intended -emotion merely by its sound. A word should produce an -effect, not through the idea which it embodies, but as a tone, -language becoming music. It is noteworthy that many of the -Symbolists have given their books titles which are intended to -awaken musical ideas. We find <i>Les Gammes</i> (The Scales), -by Stuart Merrill; <i>Les Cantilènes</i>, by Jean Moréas; <i>Cloches dans -la Nuit</i>, by Adolphe Retté; <i>Romances sans Paroles</i>, by Paul -Verlaine, etc. To make use of language as a musical instrument -for the production of pure tone effects is the delirious idea -of a mystic. We have seen that the pre-Raphaelites demand -of the fine arts that they should not represent the concrete -plastically or optically, but should express the abstract, and -therefore simply undertake the <i>rôle</i> of alphabetic writing. -Similarly, the Symbolists displace all the natural boundary lines -of art, and impose upon the word a task which belongs to -musical signs only. But while the pre-Raphaelites wish to -raise the fine arts to a higher rank than is suited to them, the -Symbolists greatly degrade the word. In its origin sound is -musical. It expresses no definite idea, but only a general -emotion of the animal. The cricket fiddles, the nightingale -trills, when sexually excited. The bear growls when stirred by -the rage of conflict; the lion roars in his pleasure when tearing -a living prey. In proportion as the brain develops in the -animal kingdom, and mental life becomes richer, the means of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -vocal expression are evolved and differentiated, and become -capable of making perceptible to the senses not only simple -generic emotions, but also presentative complexes of a more -restricted and definitely delimitated nature—nay, if Professor -Garner’s observations concerning the language of apes are -accurate, even tolerably distinct single presentations. Sound, -as a means of expressing mental operations, reaches its final -perfection in cultivated, grammatically articulated language, -inasmuch as it can then follow exactly the intellectual working -of the brain, and make it objectively perceptible in all the -minutest details. To bring the word, pregnant with thought, -back to the emotional sound is to renounce all the results -of organic development, and to degrade man, rejoicing in -the power of speech, to the level of the whirring cricket -or the croaking frog. The efforts of the Symbolists, then, -result in senseless twaddle, but not in the word-music they -intend, for this simply does not exist. No word of any single -human language is, as such, musical. Many languages abound -in consonants; in others vowels predominate. The former -require more dexterity in the muscles employed in speaking; -their pronunciation, therefore, counts as more difficult, and they -seem less agreeable to the ears of foreigners than the languages -which are rich in vowels. But this has nothing to do with the -musical side of the question. What remains of the phonetic -effect of a word if it is whispered, or if it is only visible as a -written character? And yet in both cases it is able to awaken -the same emotions, as if it had reached consciousness full-toned -through the sense of hearing. Let anyone have read aloud to -him the most cleverly chosen arrangement of words in a -language completely unknown to him, and try to produce in -himself a definite emotion through the mere phonetic effect. In -every case it will be found impossible. The meaning of a word, -and not its sound, determines its value. The sound is as such -neither beautiful nor ugly. It becomes so only through the -voice which gives it life. Even the first soliloquy in Goethe’s -<i>Iphigenie</i> would be ugly coming from the throat of a drunkard. -I have had the opportunity of convincing myself that even the -Hottentot language, spoken in a mellow, agreeable contralto -voice, could be pleasing.</p> - -<p>Still more cracked is the craze of a sub-section of the Symbolists, -the ‘Instrumentalists,’ whose spokesman is René Ghil. -They connect each sound with a definite feeling of colour, and -demand that the word should not only awaken musical emotion, -but at the same time operate æsthetically in producing a colour-harmony. -This mad idea has its origin in a much-quoted sonnet -by Arthur Rimbaud, <i>Les Voyelles</i> (Vowels), of which the first -line runs thus:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘A black, e white, i red, u green, o blue.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">Morice declares<a name="FNanchor_148_148" id="FNanchor_148_148"></a><a href="#Footnote_148_148" class="fnanchor">[148]</a> explicitly (what in any case no one in a sane -state of mind would have doubted) that Rimbaud wished to -make one of those silly jokes which imbeciles and idiots are in -the habit of perpetrating. Some of his comrades, however, took -the sonnet in grim earnest, and deduced from it a theory of art. -In his <i>Traité du Verbe</i> René Ghil specifies the colour-value, not -only of individual vowels, but of musical instruments. ‘Harps -establish their supremacy by being white. And violins are blue, -often softened by a shimmer of light, to subdue paroxysms.’ -(It is to be hoped the reader will duly appraise these combinations -of words.) ‘In the exuberance of ovations, brass instruments -are red, flutes yellow, allowing the childlike to proclaim -itself astonished at the luminance of the lips. And the organ, -synthesis of all simple instruments, bewails deafness of earth -and the flesh all in black....’ Another Symbolist, who has -many admirers, M. Francis Poictevin, teaches us, in <i>Derniers -Songes</i>, to know the feelings corresponding to colours. ‘Blue -goes—without more of passion—from love to death; or, more -accurately, it is a lost extreme. From turquoise blue to indigo, -one goes from the most shame-faced influences to final ravages.’</p> - -<p>Wiseacres were, of course, at once to the fore, and set up a -quasi-scientific theory of ‘colour-hearing.’ Sounds are said to -awaken sensations of colour in many persons. According to -some, this was a gift of specially finely organized nervous natures; -according to others, it was due to an accidental abnormal connection -between the optic and acoustic brain-centres by means -of nerve filaments. This anatomical explanation is entirely -arbitrary, and has not been substantiated by any facts. But -‘colour-hearing’ itself is by no means confirmed. The most -complete book hitherto published on this subject, the author of -which is the French oculist, Suarez de Mendoza,<a name="FNanchor_149_149" id="FNanchor_149_149"></a><a href="#Footnote_149_149" class="fnanchor">[149]</a> collects all -the available observations on this alleged phenomenon, and -deduces from them the following definition: ‘It is the faculty -of associating tones and colours, by which every objective -acoustic perception of sufficient intensity, nay, even the memory-image -of such a perception, arouses in certain persons a luminous -or non-luminous image, which is always the same for the same -letters, the same tone of voice or instrument, and the same -intensity or pitch of tone.’ Suarez well hits the truth when he -says, ‘Colour-hearing’ (he calls it <i>pseudo-photesthésie</i>) ‘is often a -consequence of an association of ideas established in youth ... -and often of a special action of the brain, the particular nature -of which is unknown to us, and may have a certain similarity -to sense-illusion and hallucination.’ For my part, I have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -doubt that colour-hearing is always the consequence of association -of ideas, the origins of which must remain obscure, because -the combination of certain presentations of colour with certain -sensations of sound may possibly depend upon the very evanescent -perceptions of early childhood, which were not powerful -enough to arouse the attention, and have therefore remained -undiscerned in consciousness. That it is a question of purely -individual associations brought about by the accident of associated -ideas, and not of organic co-ordinations depending upon -definite abnormal nervous connections, is made very probable -by the fact that every colour-hearer ascribes a different colour to -the same vowel or instrument. We have seen that to Ghil the -flute is yellow, to L. Hoffmann (whom Goethe cites in his -<i>Farbenlehre</i>) this instrument is scarlet. Rimbaud calls the letter -‘a’ black. Persons whom Suarez mentions heard this vowel -as blue, and so on.</p> - -<p>The relation between the external world and the organism -is originally very simple. Movements are continually occurring -in nature, and the protoplasm of living cells perceives these -movements. Unity of effect corresponds to unity of cause. -The lowest animals perceive of the outer world only this, that -something in it changes, and possibly, also, whether this change -is marked or slight, sudden or slow. They receive sensations -differing quantitatively, but not qualitatively. We know, for -example, that the proboscis, or syphon, of the <i>Pholas dactylus</i>, -which contracts more or less vigorously and quickly at every -excitation, is sensitive to all external impressions—light, noise, -touch, smell, etc. This mollusc sees, hears, feels and smells, -therefore, with this simple organ; his proboscis is to him at -once eye, ear, nose, finger, etc. In the higher animals the protoplasm -is differentiated. Nerves, ganglia, brain and sense-apparatus -are formed. The movements of nature are now perceived -in a variety of ways. The differentiated senses transform -the unity of the phenomenon into the diversity of the percept. -But even in the highest and most differentiated brain there still -remains something like a very distant and very dim remembrance -that the cause which excites the different senses is one and the -same movement, and there are formed presentations and conceptions -which would be unintelligible if we could not concede -this vague intuition of the fundamental unity of essence in all -perceptions. We speak of ‘high’ and ‘deep’ tones, and thus -give to sound-waves a relationship in space which they cannot -have. In the same way we speak of tone-colour, and, conversely, -of colour-tones, and thus confound the acoustic and optic properties -of the phenomena. ‘Hard’ and ‘soft’ lines or tones, -‘sweet’ voices, are frequent modes of expression, which depend -on a transference of the perception of one sense to the impressions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> -of another. In many cases this method of speech may no -doubt be traced to mental inertia. It is more convenient to -designate a sense-perception by a word which is familiar, though -borrowed from the province of another sense, than to create a -special word for the particular percept. But even this loan for -convenience’ sake is possible and intelligible only if we admit -that the mind perceives certain resemblances between the impressions -of the different senses—resemblances which, although -they are often to be explained by conscious or unconscious association -of ideas, are oftener quite inexplicable objectively. It -only remains for us to assume that consciousness, in its deepest -substrata, neglects the differentiation of phenomena by the -various senses, passes over this perfection attained very late in -organic evolution, and treats impressions only as undifferentiated -material for the acquirement of knowledge of the external world -without reference to their origin by way of this or that sense. -It thus becomes intelligible that the mind mingles the perceptions -attained through the different senses, and transforms them -one into another. Binet<a name="FNanchor_150_150" id="FNanchor_150_150"></a><a href="#Footnote_150_150" class="fnanchor">[150]</a> has established, in his excellent essays, -this transposition of the senses in hysterical persons. A female -patient, whose skin was perfectly insensible on one half of her -body, took no notice when, unseen by herself, she was pricked -with a needle. But at the moment of puncture there arose in -her consciousness the image of a black (in the case of another -invalid, of a bright) point. Consciousness thus transposed an -impression of the nerves of the skin, which, as such, was not -perceived, into an impression of the retina, of the optic nerve.</p> - -<p>In any case, it is an evidence of diseased and debilitated -brain-activity, if consciousness relinquishes the advantages of -the differentiated perceptions of phenomena, and carelessly confounds -the reports conveyed by the particular senses. It is a -retrogression to the very beginning of organic development. It -is a descent from the height of human perfection to the low -level of the mollusc. To raise the combination, transposition -and confusion of the perceptions of sound and sight to the rank -of a principle of art, to see futurity in this principle, is to -designate as progress the return from the consciousness of man -to that of the oyster.</p> - -<p>Moreover, it is an old clinical observation that mental decay -is accompanied by colour mysticism. One of Legrain’s<a name="FNanchor_151_151" id="FNanchor_151_151"></a><a href="#Footnote_151_151" class="fnanchor">[151]</a> mental -invalids ‘endeavoured to recognise good and evil by the -difference of colour, ascending from white to black; when he -was reading, words had (according to their colour) a hidden -meaning, which he understood.’ Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_152_152" id="FNanchor_152_152"></a><a href="#Footnote_152_152" class="fnanchor">[152]</a> cites ‘eccentric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -persons’ who, ‘like Wigman, had the paper for their books -specially manufactured with several colours on each page.... -Filon painted each page of the books he wrote in a different -colour.’ Barbey d’Aurevilly, whom the Symbolists venerate as -a pioneer, used to write epistles in which each letter of a word -was coloured with a different tint. Most alienists know similar -cases in their experience.</p> - -<p>The more reliable Symbolists proclaim their movement as ‘a -reaction against naturalism.’ Such a reaction was certainly -justified and necessary; for naturalism in its beginnings, as -long as it was embodied in De Goncourt and Zola, was morbid, -and, in its later development in the hands of their imitators, -vulgar and even criminal, as will be proved further on. Nevertheless -Symbolism is not in the smallest degree qualified to -conquer naturalism, because it is still more morbid than the -latter, and, in art, the devil cannot be driven out by Beelzebub.</p> - -<p>Finally, it is affirmed that Symbolism connotes ‘the inscribing -of a symbol in human form.’ Expressed unmystically, this -means that in the poems of the Symbolists the particular human -form should not only exhibit its special nature and contingent -destiny, but also represent a general type of humanity, and -embody a universal law of life. This quality, however, is not -the monopoly of Symbolistic poetry, but belongs to all kinds of -poetry. No genuine poet has yet been impelled to deal with -an utterly unprecedented and unique case, or with a monstrous -being whose likeness is not to be found in mankind. That -which interests him in men and their destiny is just the intimate -connection between the two and the universal laws of human -life. The more the government of universal laws is made -apparent in the fate of the individual, the more there is embodied -in him that which lives in all men, so much the more attractive -will this destiny and this man be to the poet. There is not in -all the literature of humanity a single work of recognised importance -which in this sense is not symbolic, and in which the -characters, their passions and fortunes, have not a typical -significance, far transcending the particular circumstances. It -is, therefore, a piece of foolish arrogance in the Symbolists to -lay claim to the sole possession of this quality in the works of -their school. They show, moreover, that they do not understand -their own formulæ; for those theorists of the school who -demand of poetry that it should be ‘a symbol inscribed in -human form,’ assert at the same time that only the ‘rare and -unique case’ (<i>le cas rare et unique</i>) deserves the attention of the -poet, <i>i.e.</i>, the case which is significant of nothing beyond itself, -and consequently the opposite of a symbol.<a name="FNanchor_153_153" id="FNanchor_153_153"></a><a href="#Footnote_153_153" class="fnanchor">[153]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> - -<p>We have now seen that Symbolism, like English pre-Raphaelitism -(from which it borrowed its catch-words and -opinions), is nothing else than a form of the mysticism of weak-minded -and morbidly emotional degeneration. The efforts of -some followers of the movement to import a meaning into the -stammering utterances of their leaders, and falsely to ascribe to -them a sort of programme, do not for a moment withstand -criticism, but show themselves to be graphomaniac and delirious -twaddle, without the smallest grain of truth or sound reason. -A young Frenchman, who is certainly not adverse to rational -innovation, Hugues Le Roux,<a name="FNanchor_154_154" id="FNanchor_154_154"></a><a href="#Footnote_154_154" class="fnanchor">[154]</a> describes the group of Symbolists -quite correctly in saying of them: ‘They are ridiculous cripples, -each intolerable to the other; they live uncomprehended by the -public, several by their friends as well, and a few by themselves. -As poets or prose writers they proceed in the same way: no -material, no sense, and only juxtapositions of loud-sounding -musical (?) words; teams of strange rhymes, groupings of unexpected -colours and tones, swaying cadences, hurtlings, hallucinations -and evoked suggestions.’</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c144" id="c144">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">TOLSTOISM.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Count Leo Tolstoi</span> has become in the last few years one of -the best-known, and apparently, also, of the most widely-read -authors in the world. Every one of his words awakens an echo -among all civilized nations on the globe. His strong influence -over his contemporaries is unmistakable. But it is no artistic -influence. No one has yet imitated him—at least, for the -present. He has formed no school after the manner of the -pre-Raphaelites and Symbolists. The already large number of -writings to which he has given occasion are explanatory or -critical. There are no poetical creations modelled upon his -own. The influence which he exercises over contemporary -thoughts and feelings is a moral one, and applies far more to -the great bulk of his readers than to the smaller circle of -struggling authors who are on the look-out for a leader. What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -we, then, can call Tolstoism is no æsthetic theory, but rather a -conception of life.</p> - -<p>In order to bring forward the proof that Tolstoism is a -mental aberration, that it is a form of the phenomenon of -degeneration, it will be necessary to look critically first at -Tolstoi himself, and then at the public which is inspired by his -thoughts.</p> - -<p>Tolstoi is at once a poet and a philosopher, the latter in the -widest sense—<i>i.e.</i>, he is a theologian, a moralist, and a social -theorist. As the author of works of imagination he stands very -high, even if he does not equal his countryman Tourgenieff, -whom he at present appears in the estimation of most people -to have thrown into the shade. Tolstoi does not possess the -splendid sense of artistic proportion of Tourgenieff, with whom -there is never a word too much, who neither protracts his -subject nor digresses from his point, and who, as a grand and -genuine creator of men, stands Prometheus-like over the figures -he has inspired with life. Even Tolstoi’s greatest admirers -admit that he is long-winded, loses himself in details, and does -not always know how to sacrifice the unessential in order, with -sure judgment, to enhance the indispensable. Speaking of the -novel <i>War and Peace</i>, M. de Vogüé<a name="FNanchor_155_155" id="FNanchor_155_155"></a><a href="#Footnote_155_155" class="fnanchor">[155]</a> says: ‘Is this complicated -work properly to be termed a novel?... The very simple -and very loose thread of the plot serves to connect chapters on -history, politics, philosophy, which are all crammed promiscuously -into this polygraphy of Russian life.... Enjoyment -has here to be purchased in a manner resembling a mountain -ascent. The way is often wearisome and hard; at times one goes -astray; effort is necessary and toil.... Those who only seek -diversion in fiction are by Tolstoi driven from their wonted -ways. This close analyst does not know, or else disdains, the -first duty of analysis, which is so natural to the French genius; -we desire that the novelist should select; that he should set -apart a person, a fact, out of the chaos of beings and things, -in order to observe the objects of his choice. The Russian, -governed by the feeling of universal interdependence, cannot -make up his mind to cut the thousand cords which unite a man, -a fact, a thought, to the whole course of the world.’</p> - -<p>Vogüé sees rightly that these facts are deserving of notice, -but he cannot explain them. Unconsciously he has clearly -characterized the method with which a mystical degenerate -looks upon the world, and depicts its phenomena. We know -that it is lack of attention which constitutes the peculiarity of -mystical thought. It is attention which selects from the chaos of -phenomena, and so groups what it selects as to illustrate the -predominating thought in the mind of the beholder. If attention<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> -fails, the world appears to the beholder like a uniform -stream of enigmatic states, which emerge and disappear without -any connection, and remain completely without expression -to consciousness. These primary facts of mental life must -ever be kept in view by the reader. The attitude of the attentive -man in the face of external phenomena is one of activity; -that of the inattentive man is passive; the former orders them -according to a plan which he has worked out in his mind; the -latter receives the turmoil of their impress without attempting -to organize, separate, or co-ordinate. The difference is the -same as that between the reproduction of the scenes of nature -by a good painter and a photographic plate. The painting -suppresses certain features in the world’s phenomena, and brings -others into prominence, so that it at once permits a distinct -external incident, or a definite internal emotion of the painter, -to be recognised. The photograph reflects the whole scene with -all its details indiscriminately, so that it is without meaning, until -the beholder brings into play his attention, which the sensitive -plate could not do. At the same time it is to be observed that -even the photograph is not a true impression of reality, for the -sensitive plate is only sensitive to certain colours; it records the -blue and violet, and receives from yellow and red either a weak -impression or none at all. The sensitiveness of the chemical -plate corresponds to the emotionalism of the degenerate mind. -The latter also makes a choice among phenomena, not, however, -according to the laws of conscious attention, but according to -the impulse of unconscious emotionalism. He perceives whatever -is in tune with his emotions; what is not consonant with -them does not exist for him. Thus arises the method of work -which Vogüé has pointed out in Tolstoi’s novels. The details -are perceived equally, and placed side by side, not according -to their importance for the leading idea, but according to -their relation with the emotions of the novelist. For that -matter, there is scarcely any leading idea, or none at all. The -reader must first carry it into the novel, as he would carry it -into Nature herself, into a landscape, into a crowd of people, -into the course of events. The novel is only written because -the novelist felt certain strong emotions, and certain features of -the world’s panorama as it unrolled before his eyes intensified -these emotions. Thus, the novel of Tolstoi resembles the -picture of the pre-Raphaelites: an abundance of amazingly -accurate details,<a name="FNanchor_156_156" id="FNanchor_156_156"></a><a href="#Footnote_156_156" class="fnanchor">[156]</a> a mystically blurred, scarcely recognisable,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -leading idea,<a name="FNanchor_157_157" id="FNanchor_157_157"></a><a href="#Footnote_157_157" class="fnanchor">[157]</a> a deep and strong emotion.<a name="FNanchor_158_158" id="FNanchor_158_158"></a><a href="#Footnote_158_158" class="fnanchor">[158]</a> This is also distinctly -felt by M. de Vogüé, but again without his being able -to explain it. He says:<a name="FNanchor_159_159" id="FNanchor_159_159"></a><a href="#Footnote_159_159" class="fnanchor">[159]</a> ‘Through a peculiar and frequent -contradiction, this troubled, vacillating mind, steeped as it is in -the mists of Nihilism, is endowed with an incomparable clearness -and power of penetration for the scientific (?) study of the -phenomena of life. He sees distinctly, rapidly, analytically, -everything on earth.... One might say, the mind of an -English chemist in the soul of an Indian Buddhist. Let anyone -who can explain this singular union; whoever succeeds will -be able to explain Russia.... These phenomena, which offer -so firm a basis to him when he observes them singly, he wishes -to know in their universal relations, and to arrive at the definite -laws governing these relations, and at their inaccessible causes. -Then it is that this clear vision darkens, the intrepid inquirer loses -his footing, he falls into the abyss of philosophical contradictions; -in him and around him he feels only nothingness and night.’</p> - -<p>M. de Vogüé wishes for an explanation of this ‘singular -union’ between great clearness in apprehension of details, and -complete incapacity of understanding their relations to each -other. The explanation is now familiar to my readers. The -mystical intellect, the intellect without attention, of the <i>émotif</i> -conveys to his consciousness isolated impressions, which can be -very distinct if they relate to his emotions; but it is not in the -condition to connect these isolated impressions intelligibly, just -because it is deficient in the attention necessary to this object.</p> - -<p>Grand as are the qualities which Tolstoi’s works of fiction -possess, it is not them he has to thank for his world-wide fame, -or his influence on his contemporaries. His novels were recognised -as remarkable works, but for decades of years neither -<i>Peace and War</i>, nor <i>Anna Karenina</i>, nor his short stories, had -very many readers outside Russia; and the critics bestowed -upon their author only a guarded commendation. In Germany, -as recently as 1882, Franz Bornmüller said of Tolstoi in his -<i>Biographical Dictionary of Authors of the Present Time</i>: ‘He -possesses no ordinary talent for fiction, but one devoid of due -artistic finish, and which is influenced by a certain one-sidedness -in his views of life and history.’ This was the opinion -until a few years ago of the not very numerous non-Russian -readers who knew him at all.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p> - -<p>In 1889 his <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> appeared, and was the first of -his works to carry his name to the borders of civilization. This -little tale was the first to be translated into all cultivated -languages. It was disseminated in hundreds of thousands of -copies, and was read by millions with lively emotion. From -this time onward the public opinion of the Western nations -placed him in the first rank of living authors: his name was -in everyone’s mouth, and universal sympathy turned not only -towards his early writings (which had remained unnoticed for -decades), but also to his person and his career, and he became, -as it were, in a night what he unquestionably is now in the -evening of his life—one of the chief representative figures of the -departing century. Yet the <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> stands, as a poetic -creation, not so high as most of his older works. A fame which -was not gained by <i>War and Peace</i>, <i>The Cossacks</i>, <i>Anna Karenina</i>, -etc., nor, indeed, until long after the appearance of these -rich creations, but came at one stroke through the <i>Kreutzer -Sonata</i>, cannot therefore depend either solely or principally on -æsthetic excellence. The history of this fame shows consequently -that Tolstoi the novelist is not the cause of Tolstoism.</p> - -<p>In fact, the tendency of mind so named is far more—perhaps -wholly and entirely—traceable to Tolstoi the philosopher. The -philosopher is, therefore, incomparably more important to our -inquiry than the novelist.</p> - -<p>Tolstoi has formed certain views on the position of man in the -world, on his relation to collective humanity, and on the aim of -his life, which are visible in all his creations, but which he has -also set forth connectedly in several theoretic works, especially -in <i>My Confession</i>, <i>My Faith</i>, <i>A Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>, -and <i>About my Life</i>. These views are but little complicated, and -can be condensed in a few words: the individual is nothing; the -species is everything; the individual lives in order to do his fellow-creatures -good; thought and inquiry are great evils; science is -perdition; faith is salvation.</p> - -<p>How he arrived at these results is related in <i>My Confessions</i>: -‘I lost my faith early. I lived for a long time like everyone -else, in the frivolities of life. I wrote books, and taught, like -everyone else, what I did not know. Then the Sphinx began to -follow me more and more ruthlessly: “Guess my problem or I -will tear thee to pieces.” Science has explained absolutely -nothing to me. In answer to my everlasting question, the only -one which means anything, “Wherefore am I alive?” Science -replied by teaching me things that were indifferent to me. -Science only said ...: “Life is a senseless evil.” I wanted to -kill myself. Finally I had a fancy to see how the vast majority -of men lived who, unlike us of the so-called upper classes, who -give ourselves up to pondering and investigation, work and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -suffer, and are, nevertheless, quiet and clear in their minds over -the aim of life. I understood that to live like these men one -must return to their simple beliefs.’</p> - -<p>If this train of thought is seriously considered, it will be recognised -at once as nonsensical. The question, ‘Wherefore am I -alive?’ is incorrectly and superficially put. It tacitly presupposes -the idea of finality in nature, and it is just upon this presupposition -that the mind, thirsting earnestly for truth and knowledge, -has to exercise its criticism.</p> - -<p>In order to ask, ‘What is the aim of our life?’ we must take -for granted, above all, that our life has a definite aim, and since -it is only a particular phenomenon in the universal life of nature, -in the evolution of our earth, of our solar system, of all solar -systems, this assumption includes in itself the wider one, that -the universal life of Nature has a definite aim. This assumption, -again, necessarily presupposes the rule of a conscious, prescient, -and guiding mind over the universe. For what is an aim? -The fore-ordained effect in the future of forces active in the -present. The aim exercises an influence on these forces in -pointing out to them a direction, and is thus itself a force. It -cannot, however, exist objectively, in time and space, because -then it would cease to be an aim and become a cause, <i>i.e.</i>, a force -fitting in with the general mechanism of the forces of nature, -and all the speculation concerning the aim would fall to the -ground. But if it is not objective, if it does not exist in -time and space, it must, in order to be conceivable, exist somewhere, -virtually, as idea, as a plan and design. But that which -contains a design, a thought, a plan, we name consciousness; -and a consciousness that can conceive a plan of the -universe, and for its realization designedly uses the forces of -nature, is synonymous with God. If a man, however, believes -in a God, he loses at once the right to raise the question, ‘Wherefore -am I alive?’ Since it is in that case an insolent presumption, -an effort of small, weak man to look over God’s shoulder, -to spy out God’s plan, to aspire to the height of omniscience. -But neither is it in such a case necessary, since a God without -the highest wisdom cannot be conceived, and if He has devised -a plan for the world, this is certain to be perfect, all its parts are -in harmony, and the aim to which every co-operator, from the -smallest to the greatest, will devote himself is the best conceivable. -Thus, man can live in complete rest and confidence in -the impulses and forces implanted in him by God, because he, in -every case, fulfils a high and worthy destiny by co-operating in -a, to him, unknown Divine plan of the world.</p> - -<p>If, on the other hand, there is no belief in a God, it is also -impossible to form a conception of the aim, for then the aim, -existing in consciousness only as an idea, in the absence of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -universal consciousness, has no locus for its existence; there is -no place for it in Nature. But if there is no aim, then one -cannot ask the question, ‘Wherefore am I alive?’ Then life -has not a predetermined aim, but only causes. We have then -to concern ourselves only with these causes—at least, with the -more proximate, and which are accessible to our examination, -since the remote, and especially the first, causes elude our -cognition. Our question must then run, ‘Why do we live?’ -and we find the answer to it without difficulty. We live, -because we stand, like the rest of cognizable Nature, under the -universal law of causality. This is a mechanical law, which -requires no predetermined plan, and no design, consequently -also no universal consciousness. According to this law present -phenomena are grounded on the past, not on the future. We -live because we are engendered by our parents, because we -have received from them a definite measure of force, which -makes it possible for us to resist for a given time the influence -upon us of Nature’s forces of dissolution. How our life is -shaped is determined by the constant interaction of our inherited -organic forces and of our environment. Our life is, therefore, -objectively viewed, the necessary result of the law-governed -activity of the mechanical forces of Nature. Subjectively it -includes a quantity of pleasures and pains. We feel as pleasure -the satisfaction of our organic impulses, as pain their fruitless -struggles for satisfaction. In a sound organism, possessing a -high capacity for adaptation, those appetites only attain development, -the satisfaction of which is possible—at least, to a certain -degree—and is accompanied by no bad consequences for the -individual. In such a life pleasure consequently prevails -decidedly over pain, and he looks upon existence, not as an -evil, but as a great good. In the organism deranged by disease -degenerate appetites exist which cannot be satisfied, or of which -the gratification injures or destroys the individual, or the -degenerate organism is too weak or too inapt to gratify the -legitimate impulses. In his life pain necessarily predominates, -and he looks upon existence as an evil. My interpretation -of the riddle of life is nearly related to the well-known theory -of eudæmonism, but it is founded on a biological, not a -metaphysical, basis. It explains optimism and pessimism -simply as an adequate or inadequate vitality, as the existence -or absence of adaptability, as health or illness. Unprejudiced -observation of life shows that the whole of mankind stands -knowingly or unknowingly at the same philosophical standpoint. -Men live willingly, and rather quietly happy than sadly, -so long as existence affords them gratification. If the sufferings -are stronger than the feeling of pleasure conferred by -the satisfaction of the first and most important of all organic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -impulses—the impulse of life or self-preservation—then they do -not hesitate to kill themselves. When Prince Bismarck once -said, ‘I do not know why I should bear all the troubles of life, -if I were not able to believe in a God and a future life,’ it only -shows that he is insufficiently acquainted with the progress of -human thought since Hamlet, who raised somewhat the same -question. He bears the troubles of life because, and as long as, -he can bear them, and he throws them down infallibly at the -moment in which his strength is no longer adequate to carry -them. The unbeliever lives and is happy, so long as the sweets -of life weigh down the scale, and for this reason also the believer, -as experience daily teaches, will commit suicide if he sees his -balance of life’s account yielding a deficit of satisfaction. The -arguments of religion have undoubtedly in the mind of the -believer, as have the arguments of duty and honour in the mind -of the unbeliever, a convincing force, and must likewise be taken -into account as so many assets. Nevertheless they have only a -limited, if high value, and can counterbalance their own equivalent -of suffering only, and no more.</p> - -<p>From these considerations it follows that the terrible question—‘Wherefore -am I alive?’—which nearly drove Tolstoi to suicide, -is to be answered satisfactorily and without difficulty. The -believer, who accepts the fact that his life must have an aim, -will live according to his inclinations and powers, and tell himself -that he performs correctly, in this way, his allotted portion of -the world’s work without knowing its final aim; as also a -soldier, at that point of the field of battle where he is placed, -does his duty willingly, without having any notion of the general -progress of the fight, and of its significance for the whole -campaign. The unbeliever, who is convinced that his life is a -particular instance of the universal life of Nature, that his -individuality has blossomed into existence as a necessary law-governed -operation of eternal organic forces, knows also very -well not only ‘wherefore,’ but also ‘what for,’ he is alive; he -lives because, and as long as, life is to him a source of gratification—that -is to say, of joy and happiness.</p> - -<p>Has Tolstoi found any other answer by his desperate seeking? -No. The explanation which his pondering and searching did -not offer him was, as we have seen in the above-quoted passage -in <i>My Confessions</i>, given him by ‘the enormous majority of -mankind, who ... labour and suffer, and, nevertheless, are -quiet and clear in their minds as to the aim of life.’ ‘I understood,’ -he adds, ‘that one must return to their simple faith to -live as these men do.’ The conclusion is arbitrary, and is a -<i>saltum</i> of mystic thought. ‘The masses live quietly, and are -clear in their minds as to the aim of life,’ not because they have -a ‘simple faith,’ but because they are healthy, because they like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -to feel themselves alive, because life gives them, in every organic -function, in every manifestation of their powers, at every -moment, some gratification. The ‘simple faith’ is the accidental -accompanying phenomenon of this natural optimism. No doubt -the majority of the uneducated classes, who represent the -healthy portion of mankind, and therefore certainly rejoice in -life, receive, during childhood, instruction in religious faith, and -afterwards only rarely rectify through their own thought the -errors which, for state reasons, have been imparted to them; -but their unthinking belief is a consequence of their poverty and -ignorance, like their bad clothing, insufficient food, and insanitary -dwellings. To say that the majority ‘live quietly, and are -clear in their minds as to the aim of life,’ because they ‘have -simple faith,’ is quite as logical a sequitur as the assertion that -this majority ‘live quietly, and are clear in their minds as to the -aim of life’ because they chiefly eat potatoes, or because they -live in cellars, or because they seldom take baths.</p> - -<p>Tolstoi has rightly noticed the fact that the majority do not -share his pessimism, and rejoice in their life, but he has explained -it mystically. Instead of recognising that the optimism of the -masses is simply a sign of their vitality, he traces it to their -belief, and then seeks in faith the clue to the aim of his existence. -‘I was led to Christianity,’ he writes in another book,<a name="FNanchor_160_160" id="FNanchor_160_160"></a><a href="#Footnote_160_160" class="fnanchor">[160]</a> -‘neither through theological nor historical research, but by the -circumstance that when, at fifty years of age, I asked myself -and the wise among my acquaintance what myself and my life -might signify, and received the answer: “You are an accidental -concatenation of parts; there is no significance in life; life as -such is an evil.”—I was then brought to despair, and wished to -kill myself. Remembering, however, that formerly, in childhood, -when I believed, life had a meaning for me, and that the people -about me who believe—the greater number being men unspoilt -by riches—both believe and lead real lives, I doubted the -accuracy of the answer which had been given me by the wisdom -of my circle, and endeavoured to understand that answer which -Christianity gives to men who lead a real life.’<a name="FNanchor_161_161" id="FNanchor_161_161"></a><a href="#Footnote_161_161" class="fnanchor">[161]</a></p> - -<p>He found this answer ‘in the Gospels, that source of light.’ -‘It was quite the same thing to me,’ he goes on to say, ‘whether -Jesus was God or not God; whether the Holy Ghost proceeded -from the one or the other. It was likewise neither necessary -nor important for me to know when and by whom the Gospel, -or any one of the parables, was composed, and whether they -could be ascribed to Christ or not. What to me was important<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -was that Light, which for eighteen hundred years was the Light -of the World, and is that Light still, but what name was to -be given to the source of this Light, or what were its component -parts, and by whom it was lighted, was quite indifferent -to me.’</p> - -<p>Let us appraise this process of thought in a mystical mind. -The Gospel is the source of truth; it is, however, quite the same -thing whether the Gospel is God’s revelation or man’s work, and -whether it contains the genuine tradition of the life of Christ, -or whether it was written down hundreds of years after his -death on the basis of obscured and distorted traditions. Tolstoi -himself feels that he here makes a great error of thought, but he -deceives himself over and out of it in genuine mystical fashion, -in that he makes use of a simile, and pretends that his image -was the matter-of-fact truth. He speaks, namely, of the Gospel -as a light, and says it is indifferent to him what that light is -called, and of what it consists. This is correct if it concerns a -real, material light, but the Gospel is only figuratively a light, -and can obviously, therefore, be compared to a light only if it -contains the truth. Whether it does contain the truth should -first be decided by inquiry. Should inquiry result in establishing -that it is man’s work, and consists only in unauthenticated -traditions, then it would evidently be no receptacle of truth, -and one could not any longer compare it with light, and the -magnificent image with which Tolstoi cuts short inquiry into -the source of the light would vanish into air. While, therefore, -Tolstoi calls the Gospel a light, and denies the necessity of -following up its origin, he forthwith takes as proven the very -thing which is to be proved, namely, that the Gospel is a light. -We know already, however, the peculiarity of mystics to found -all their conclusions on the most senseless premises, alleging -contempt of reality and resisting all reasonable verification of -their starting-point. I only remind the reader of Rossetti’s -sentence, ‘What does it matter to me whether the sun revolves -round the earth, or the earth round the sun?’ and of Mallarmé’s -expression, ‘The world is made in order to lead to a beautiful -book.’</p> - -<p>One can read for one’s self in his <i>Short Exposition</i> how -Tolstoi handles the Gospel, so that it may give him the required -explanation. He does not trouble himself in the least about -the literal sense of the Scriptures, but puts into them what is in -his own head. The Gospel which he has so recast has about as -much resemblance to the canonical Scriptures as the <i>Physiognomische -Fragmente</i>, which Jean Paul’s ‘merry little schoolmaster, -Maria Wuz in Auenthal,’ ‘drew out of his own head,’ had with -Lavater’s work of the same title. This Gospel of his taught -him concerning the importance of life as follows:<a name="FNanchor_162_162" id="FNanchor_162_162"></a><a href="#Footnote_162_162" class="fnanchor">[162]</a> ‘Men imagine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -that they are isolated beings, each one shaping his own life as -he wills. This, however, is a delusion. The only true life is -that which acknowledges the will of the Father as the source of -life. This unity of life my teaching reveals, and represents that -life, not as separate shoots, but as a single tree on which all the -shoots grow. He only who lives in the will of the Father, like -a shoot on the tree, has life; but he who would live according -to his own will, like a severed shoot, dies.’ He has already said -that the Father is synonymous with God, and that God, who -‘is the eternal origin of all things,’ is synonymous with ‘Spirit.’ -If, then, this passage has any sense at all, it can only be that -the whole of Nature is a single living being, that every single -living being, therefore also every human being, is a portion of -universal life, and that this universal life is God. This teaching -is, however, not invented by Tolstoi. It has a name in the -history of philosophy, and is called Pantheism. It is shadowed -forth in Buddhism<a name="FNanchor_163_163" id="FNanchor_163_163"></a><a href="#Footnote_163_163" class="fnanchor">[163]</a> and Greek Hylozoism, and was elaborated -by Spinoza. It is certainly not contained in the Gospel, and it -is a definite denial of Christianity which, let its dogmas be ever -so rationalistically interpreted and tortured, can never give up -its doctrine of a personal God and the Divine nature of Christ -without ridding itself of its whole religious import and its vitally -important organs, and ceasing to be a creed.</p> - -<p>Thus we see that, though Tolstoi supposes he has succeeded -in his attempt to explain life’s problems by the Christian faith -of the masses, he has, on the contrary, fallen into its very -opposite, namely, Pantheism. The reply of the ‘wise,’ that he -‘is an accidental concatenation of parts, and that there is no -significance in life,’ ‘drove him almost to suicide’; he is, on the -contrary, quite tranquil in the knowledge that<a name="FNanchor_164_164" id="FNanchor_164_164"></a><a href="#Footnote_164_164" class="fnanchor">[164]</a> ‘the true life is -...not the life which is past, nor that which will be, but is the -life which now is, that which confronts everyone at the present -minute’; he expressly denies in <i>My Religion</i> the resurrection of -the body and the individuality of the soul, and does not notice -that the teaching which contents him is quite the same as that -of the ‘wise,’ who ‘almost drove him into suicide.’ For if life -exists only in the present, it can have no aim, since this would -refer to the future; and if the body does not rise again, and -the soul has no individual existence, then the ‘wise’ are quite -right to call the human being (certainly not accidental, but -necessary, because causally conditioned) ‘a concatenation of -parts.’</p> - -<p>Tolstoi’s theory of life, the fruit of the despairing mental -labour of his whole life, is therefore, nothing but a haze, a failure -to comprehend his own questions and answers, and hollow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -verbiage. His ethics—on which he himself lays a far greater -stress than on his philosophy—is not in much better case than -the latter. He comprises them<a name="FNanchor_165_165" id="FNanchor_165_165"></a><a href="#Footnote_165_165" class="fnanchor">[165]</a> in five laws, of which the -fourth is the most important: ‘Do not resist evil; suffer wrong, -and do more than men ask; and so judge not, nor suffer to be -judged....’ To avenge one’s self only teaches to avenge -one’s self. His admirer, M. de Vogüé, expresses Tolstoi’s moral -philosophy in this form:<a name="FNanchor_166_166" id="FNanchor_166_166"></a><a href="#Footnote_166_166" class="fnanchor">[166]</a> ‘Resist not evil, judge not, kill not. -Consequently no courts of justice, no armies, no prisons, no -public or private reprisals. No wars nor judgments. The -world’s law is the struggle for existence; the law of Christ is the -sacrifice of one’s own existence for others.’</p> - -<p>Is it still necessary to point out the unreasonableness of these -ethics? It is obvious to sound common-sense without saying -any more. If the murderer had no longer to fear the gallows, -and the thief the prison, throat-cutting and stealing would be -soon by far the most generally adopted trade. It is so much -more convenient to filch baked bread and ready-made boots -than to rack one’s self at the plough and in the workshop. -If society should cease to take care that crime should be a -dangerous risk, what would there be, forsooth, to deter wicked -men, who certainly exist, according to Tolstoi’s assumption, -from surrendering themselves to their basest impulses; and -how could the great mass of indifferent people be restrained, -who have no pronounced leaning either for good or for evil, from -imitating the example of the criminal? Certainly not Tolstoi’s -own teaching that ‘the true life is life in the present.’ The first -active measures of society, for the sake of which individuals -originally formed themselves into a society, is the protection -of their members against those who are diseased with homicidal -mania, and against the parasites—another unhealthy variation -from the normal human type—who can only live by the work -of others, and who, to appease all their lusts, unscrupulously -overpower every human being who crosses their path. Individuals -with anti-social impulses would soon be in the -majority if the healthy members did not subdue them, and -make it difficult for them to thrive. Were they once to become -the stronger, society, and soon mankind itself, would of a -necessity be devoted to destruction.</p> - -<p>In addition to the negative precept that one should not resist -evil, Tolstoi’s moral philosophy has yet a positive precept, viz.: we -ought to love all men; to sacrifice everything, even one’s own -life, for them; to do good to them where we can. ‘It is -necessary to understand that man, if he does good, only does -that to which he is bound—what he cannot leave undone.... -If he gives up his carnal life for the good, he does nothing for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -which he need be thanked and praised.... Only those live -who do good’ (<i>Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>). ‘Not is alms-giving -effectual, but brotherly sharing. Whoever has two cloaks -should give one to him who has none’ (<i>What ought one to Do?</i>). -This distinction between charity and sharing cannot be maintained -in earnest. Every gift that a man receives from some -other man without work, without reciprocal service, is an alms, -and as such is deeply immoral. The sick, the old, the weak, -those who cannot work, must be supported and tended by their -fellow-creatures; it is their duty, and it is also their natural -impulse. But to give to men capable of working is under all -circumstances a sin and a self-deception. If men capable of -work find no work, this is obviously attributable to some defect -in the economical structure of society; and it is the duty of -each individual to assist earnestly in removing this defect, but -not to facilitate its continuance by pacifying for awhile the -victim of the defective circumstances by a gift. Charity has in -this case merely the aim of deadening the conscience of the -donor, and furnishing him with an excuse why he should shirk -his duty of curing recognised evils in the constitution of society. -Should, however, the capable man be averse to labour, then -charity spoils him completely, and kills in him entirely any -inclination to put his powers into action, which alone keeps -the organism healthy and moral. Thus alms, extended to an -able-bodied man, degrades both the donor and the recipient, -and operates like poison on the feeling of duty and the morality -of both.</p> - -<p>But the love of our neighbour which exhibits itself in alms-giving, -or even brotherly sharing, is, properly speaking, no such -love if we look at it closely. Love in its simplest and most -original form (I speak here not of sexual love, but of general -sympathy for some other living being, and that need not even be -a human being) is a selfish impulse, which seeks only its own -gratification, not that of the beloved being; in its higher -development, on the contrary, it is principally, or wholly, bent -upon the happiness of the beloved being, and forgets itself. -The healthy man, who has no anti-social impulses, enjoys the -company of other men; he therefore avoids almost unconsciously -those actions which would cause his fellow-creatures to -avoid him, and he does that which, without costing himself too -much effort, is sufficiently pleasant to his fellows to attract -them to him. In the same healthy man the idea of sufferings, -even when they are not his own, produces pain, which is always -greater or less according to the degree of excitability of his -brain; the more active the idea of suffering, the more violent -is the accompanying feeling of pain. Because the ideas excited -by direct sense-impressions are the most vivid, the sufferings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -which he sees with his own eyes cause him the sharpest pain, -and in order to escape from this, he makes suitable efforts -to put an end to this extraneous suffering, or often, it is -true, only not to witness it. This degree of love to our neighbour -is, as was said above, pure self-love; it merely aims at -averting pain from self, and at increasing one’s own feelings of -pleasure. The love of our neighbour, on the contrary, which -Tolstoi obviously wishes to preach, claims to be unselfish. It -contemplates the diminution of the sufferings, and the increase -of the happiness, of others; it can no longer be exercised instinctively, -for it demands an exact knowledge of the conditions -of life, and the feelings and wishes of others, and the acquisition -of this knowledge presupposes observation, reflection, and -judgment. One must earnestly consider what is really needful -and good for one’s neighbour. One must come out of one’s -self, must set aside one’s own habits and ideas completely, and -strive to slip into the skin of him to whom one would show love. -One must regard the intended benefit with the other’s eyes, and -feel with his nature, and not with one’s own. Does Tolstoi do -this? His novels, in which he shows his alleged love between -fellow-men living and working, prove the exact contrary.</p> - -<p>In the tale <i>Albert</i><a name="FNanchor_167_167" id="FNanchor_167_167"></a><a href="#Footnote_167_167" class="fnanchor">[167]</a> Delessow takes up a sickly, strolling -violin-player out of admiration for his great talent, and out of -pity for his poverty and helplessness. But the unhappy artist -is a drunkard. Delessow locks him up in his dwelling, places -him under the care of his servant Sachar, and keeps him from -intoxicating drinks. On the first day Albert the artist submits, -but is very depressed and out of temper. On the second day -he is already casting ‘malignant glances’ at his benefactor. -‘He seemed to fear Delessow, and whenever their eyes met a -deadly terror was depicted on his face.... He did not answer -the questions which were put to him.’ Finally, on the third -day Albert rebels against the restraint to which he believes -himself subjected. ‘You have no right to shut me up here,’ he -cries. ‘My passport is in order. I have stolen nothing from -you; you can search me. I will go to the superintendent of -police.’ The servant Sachar tries to appease him. Albert -becomes more and more enraged, and suddenly ‘shrieks out -at the top of his voice: “Police!”’ Delessow allows him to -depart. Albert ‘goes out of the door without taking leave, and -constantly muttering to himself incomprehensible words.’</p> - -<p>Delessow had taken Albert home, because the sight was painful -to him of the poorly-clad, sickly, pale artist, trembling in the -cold of a Russian winter. When he saw him in his warm house, -before a well-spread table, in his own handsome dressing-gown,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -Delessow felt contented and happy. But was Albert also contented? -Tolstoi testifies that Albert feels himself much more -unhappy in the new position than in the old—so unhappy that -very soon he could not bear it, and freed himself from it with an -outburst of fury. To whom, then, had Delessow done good, to -himself or to Albert?</p> - -<p>In this narrative a mentally diseased man is depicted, and, it -must be admitted, upon such a one a benefit has frequently -to be forcibly pressed, which he does not understand or appreciate -as such, though, of course, in a manner more consistent, -persistent, and prudent than Delessow’s. In another story in the -same volume, however, <i>From the Diary of the Prince Nechljudow, -Lucerne</i>, the absurdity of love for one’s fellow-creature which does -not trouble itself about the real needs of the fellow-creature is -brought out more vividly and without any excuse.</p> - -<p>One glorious evening in July, in front of the Schweizer-Hof, -in Lucerne, Prince Nechljudow heard a street-singer whose -songs touched and enraptured him deeply. The singer is a -poor, small, hump-backed man, insufficiently clad and looking -half starved. On all the balconies of the sumptuous hotel rich -Englishmen and their wives are standing; all have enjoyed the -glorious singing of the poor cripple, but when he takes off his -hat and begs a small reward for his artistic performance, not -one person throws even the smallest coin to him. Nechljudow -falls into the most violent excitement. He is beside himself -over the fact that ‘the singer could beg three times for a gift, -and no one gave him the smallest thing, while the greater number -laughed at him.’ It seems to him ‘an event which the -historian of our times should inscribe in the pages of history -with indelible letters of fire.’ He, for his part, will not be a -participator in this unprecedented sin. He hastens after the -poor devil, overtakes him and invites him to drink a bottle of -wine with him. The singer accepts. ‘Close by is a small -café,’ says he; ‘we can go in there—it is a cheap one,’ -he continued. ‘The words, “a cheap one,” involuntarily -suggested the idea,’ relates Nechljudow in his diary, ‘not -to go to a cheap cafe, but into the Schweizer-Hof, where -were the people who had listened to his singing. Although -he refused the Schweizer-Hof several times in timid agitation, -because he thought it was much too grand there, I persisted -in it.’</p> - -<p>He leads the singer into the splendid hotel. Although he -appears in the company of the princely guest, the servants look -at the badly dressed vagabond with hostile and contemptuous -glances. They show the pair into the ‘saloon on the left, the -drinking-bar for the people.’ The singer is very much embarrassed, -and wishes himself far away, but he conceals his feelings.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -The Prince orders champagne. The singer drinks without any -real pleasure and without confidence. He talks about his life, and -says suddenly: ‘I know what you wish. You want to make me -drunk, and then see what can be got out of me.’ Nechljudow, -annoyed by the scornful and insolent demeanour of the servants -jumps up and goes with his guest into the handsome dining-room -on the right hand, which is set apart for the visitors. He -will be served here and nowhere else. The English, who are -present, indignantly leave the room; the waiters are dismayed, -but do not venture to oppose the angry Russian Prince. ‘The -singer drew a very miserable, terrified face, and begged me, as -soon as possible, to go away, evidently not understanding why -I was angry and what I wished.’ The little mannikin ‘sat more -dead than alive’ near the Prince, and was very happy when -Nechljudow finally dismissed him.</p> - -<p>It must be noticed how extremely absurdly Prince Nechljudow -behaves from beginning to end. He invites the singer to a -bottle of wine, although, if he had possessed the faintest glimmer -of sound common-sense, he might have said to himself that a -hot supper, or, still better, a five-franc piece, would be far more -necessary and useful to the poor devil than a bottle of wine. -The singer proposes to go to a modest restaurant, where he -himself would feel comfortable. The Prince pays not the -smallest attention to this natural, reasonable desire, but drags -the poor devil into a leading hotel, where he feels extremely -uncomfortable in his bad clothing, under the cross-fire of the -waiters’ insolent and scornful looks. The Prince does not care -about this, but orders champagne, to which the singer is not -accustomed, and which gives him so little pleasure that the -thought occurs to him that his noble host desires to make sport -of him by seeing him drunk. Nechljudow begins to squabble -with the waiters, proceeds to the finest saloon of the hotel, -scares away the remaining guests, who do not desire to sit at -supper with the street-singer, and does not concern himself -during the whole of this time about the feelings of his guest, -who sits on hot coals, and would far rather sink into the floor, -and who only breathes again when his terrible benefactor lets -him escape out of his fangs.</p> - -<p>Did Nechljudow exercise neighbourly love? No. He did -nothing pleasant to the singer. He tormented him. He only -satisfied himself. He wished to revenge himself on the hard-hearted -English people, with whom he was furious, and he did -so at the expense of the poor devil. Nechljudow calls it an -unheard-of occurrence that the wealthy Englishmen should give -nothing to the singer, but what he did to the latter is worse. The -odious niggardliness of the English people annoyed the singer for -a quarter of an hour, perhaps; Nechljudow’s foolish entertainment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -tortured him for an hour. The Prince never took the trouble to -consider, even for a moment, what would be agreeable and -useful to the singer; he thought always of himself only, of his -own feelings, his anger, his indignation. This tender-hearted -philanthropist is a dangerous, depraved egoist.</p> - -<p>The irrational neighbourly love of the emotional mystic fails -necessarily in its ostensible aim, because it does not arise from -a knowledge of the true needs of the neighbour. The mystic -practises a sentimental anthropomorphism. He transfers his -own feelings, without more ado, to other beings, who feel quite -differently from himself. He is in a condition bitterly to commiserate -the moles because they are condemned to brood in -perpetual darkness in their underground passages, and dreams, -perhaps with tears in his eyes, of introducing electric light into -their burrows. Because he, as seeing, would suffer severely -under the conditions of a mole’s life, therefore this animal is -naturally to be pitied also, although it is blind and so does not -miss the light. An anecdote relates that a child poured some -hot water into the drawing-room aquarium one winter’s day -because it must have been so intolerably cold for the gold-fish; -and in comic papers there is frequently a hit at the benevolent -societies which bestow warm winter clothing on the negroes at -the equator. This is Tolstoi’s love of one’s neighbour put into -practice.</p> - -<p>One especial point of his moral doctrine is the mortification of -the flesh. All sexual intercourse is for him unchaste; marriage is -quite as impure as the loosest tie. The <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> is the -most complete, and at the same time most celebrated, embodiment -of these propositions. Pozdnyscheff, the murderer from -motives of jealousy, says:<a name="FNanchor_168_168" id="FNanchor_168_168"></a><a href="#Footnote_168_168" class="fnanchor">[168]</a> ‘There is nothing pleasant in the -honeymoon; on the contrary, it is a period of continual embarrassment, -a shame, a profound depression, and, above all, boredom—fearful -boredom! I can only compare the situation to that of -a youth who is beginning to smoke: he feels sick, swallows his -saliva, and pretends to like it very much. If the cigar is to give -him any pleasure, it can only be later on, as it is with marriage. -In order to enjoy it, the married couple must first accustom -themselves to the vice.’</p> - -<p>‘How do you mean—to the vice? You are speaking of one -of the most natural things—of an instinct.’</p> - -<p>‘Natural thing? An instinct? Not in the least. Allow me -to tell you that I have been brought to, and maintain, the opposite -conviction. I, the depraved and dissolute, assert that it is -something unnatural.... It is an entirely unnatural treatment -for any pure girl, just as it would be for a child.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>Further on Pozdnyscheff develops the following crazy theory -of the law of life: ‘The object of man, as of humanity in -general, is happiness, and to attain it humanity has a law -which must be carried out. This law consists in the union of -the individual beings which compose humanity. Human -passions only impede this union, particularly the strongest -and worst of all, sensual love, sexual pleasures. When human -passions, especially the most violent, sensuality, shall have been -suppressed, the union will be accomplished, and humanity, -having attained its end, will have no further reason for existing.’ -And his last words are: ‘People should understand that the -true meaning of the words of St. Matthew, “Whosoever looketh -on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her -already in his heart,” applies to one’s sister, and not only to a -strange woman, but also, and above all, to one’s own wife.’</p> - -<p>Tolstoi, in whom, as in every ‘higher degenerate,’ two natures -co-exist, of whom the one notices and judges the follies of the -other, has yet a distinct feeling of the senselessness of his -<i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> theory, and he makes his mouthpiece, Pozdnyscheff, -declare<a name="FNanchor_169_169" id="FNanchor_169_169"></a><a href="#Footnote_169_169" class="fnanchor">[169]</a> that he ‘was looked upon as cracked.’ But in -the <i>Short Exposition</i>, where Tolstoi speaks in his own name, -he develops, if with somewhat more reserve, the same philosophy.<a name="FNanchor_170_170" id="FNanchor_170_170"></a><a href="#Footnote_170_170" class="fnanchor">[170]</a> -The temptation to break the seventh commandment -is due to the fact that we believe woman to have been created -for carnal pleasure, and that, if a man leave one wife and take -another, he will have more pleasure. Not to fall into this -temptation, we must remember that it is not the will of the -Father that the man should have pleasure through feminine -charms....’ In the story <i>Family Happiness</i><a name="FNanchor_171_171" id="FNanchor_171_171"></a><a href="#Footnote_171_171" class="fnanchor">[171]</a> he likewise -explains that a husband and wife, even if they have married -from love, must become enemies in their wedded life, and it is -quite purposeless to attempt a lasting cultivation of the original -feelings.</p> - -<p>It is not indeed necessary to refute a theory which pours contempt -on all experience, all observations of nature, all institutions -and laws that have been historically developed, and the known -aim of which is the destruction of humanity. The thought of -assailing it with zeal could only occur to men who were themselves -more or less deranged. It is sufficient for the healthy -minded to state it in distinct language; it is at once recognisable, -then, for what it is—insanity.</p> - -<p>For Tolstoi the great enemy is science. In <i>My Confession</i> he -is never tired of accusing and abusing it. It is of no use to -the people, but only to governments and to capitalists. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -occupies itself with idle and vain things, such as the inquiries -into protoplasm and spectrum analysis, but has never yet -thought of anything useful, <i>e.g.</i>, ‘how an axe and an axe-handle -can best be manufactured; how a good saw ought to be -fashioned; how good bread can be baked, which species of flour -is best adapted for the purpose, how to manage the yeast, construct -and heat the baking-oven; what foods and beverages are -the most wholesome; what mushrooms are edible,’ etc.</p> - -<p>He is, be it noted, particularly unfortunate in his examples, -since, as a matter of fact, every beginner takes up all the subjects -he enumerates in the scientific study of hygiene and -mechanics. In accordance with his poetic nature, he has had a -strong desire to embody his views on science artistically. This he -has done in the comedy <i>The Fruits of Enlightenment</i>. What does -he scoff at in that? At the pitiable blockheads who believe in -spirits and, in dread of death, hunt after bacteria. Spiritualism, -and the opinions created in uneducated men of the world by the -imperfectly understood news of the day, conveyed in political -papers, respecting infectious micro-organisms, are what he takes -for science, and against them he directs the arrows of his satire.</p> - -<p>Real science does not need to be protected against attacks of -this sort. I have already proved, in estimating the value of the -reproaches which the neo-Catholic Symbolists and their critical -patrons raised against natural science, that all those phrases -were either childish or dishonest. The accusation of dishonesty -cannot be brought against Tolstoi. He believes what he says. -But childish his complaints and his mockery certainly are. He -speaks of science as a blind man of colour. He has evidently -no suspicion of its essence, its mission, its methods and the -subjects with which it deals. He resembles Bouvard and -Pécuchet, Flaubert’s two idiots, who, completely ignorant, without -teachers or guides, skim through a number of books indiscriminately, -and fancy themselves in this sportive manner to -have gained positive knowledge; this they seek to apply with -the candour of a trained Krooboy, commit, self-evidently, one -hair-raising stupidity after another, and then believe themselves -justified in sneering at science, and declaring it a vain folly and -deception. Flaubert avenged himself on the absurdity of his -own efforts to conquer science as a lieutenant conquers a music-hall -singer, by tarring and feathering Bouvard and Pécuchet. -Tolstoi exploded his little fuss and fume on Science, that proud, -disdainful beauty, who is only to be won by long, earnest, unselfish -service, by lampooning the blockheads of his <i>Fruits of -Enlightenment</i>. The degenerate Flaubert and the degenerate -Tolstoi meet here in the same frenzy.</p> - -<p>The way to happiness is, according to Tolstoi, the turning -away from science, the renunciation of reason, and the return to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -the life of Nature; that is, to agriculture. ‘The town must be -abandoned, the people must be sent away from the factories and -into the country to work with their hands; the aim of every man -should be to satisfy all his wants himself’ (<i>What ought one -to Do?</i>).</p> - -<p>How oddly is reason mixed with nonsense even in these -economic demands! Tolstoi has rightly discerned the evils which -follow the uprooting of the people from fostering Mother Earth, -and the incubation of a day-wage-earning, urban industrial proletariate. -It is true, also, that agriculture could employ very -many more men healthily and profitably than at present if the -land were the property of the community, and each one received -only such a share, and that only for his lifetime, as he -could himself cultivate thoroughly. But must industry on this -account be destroyed? Would not that mean the destruction -of civilization itself? Is it not rather the duty of intelligent -philanthropy and justice carefully to maintain the division of -labour, this necessary and profitable result of a long evolution, -but at the same time, through a better system of economy, to -transform the artisan from a factory convict, condemned to misery -and ill-health, into a free producer of wealth, who enjoys the -fruits of his labour himself, and works no more than is compatible -with his health and his claims on life?</p> - -<p>It is vain to seek for even the slightest hint of such a solution -in Tolstoi. He contents himself with a barren enthusiasm for -country life, which, if beautiful in Horace, has become annoying -and ridiculous in Rousseau; and he garrulously plagiarizes the -hollow phrases about the worthlessness of civilization of the -eloquent Genevese, who, smitten with the mania of persecution, -could only have led a sentimental century like his own by the -nose. Return to nature! It is not possible to compress more -absurdity into fewer words. On our earth Nature is our enemy, -whom we must fight, before whom we dare not lay down our -weapons. In order to maintain our span of life we must create -endlessly complicated artificial conditions; we must clothe our -bodies, build a roof over our heads, and store up provisions for -many months, during which Nature denies us every nourishment. -There is only one very narrow strip of our planet where mankind -can live without exertion, without inventions and arts, like the -beast in the forest and the fish in the water, and that is on some -of the South Sea islands. There, in perpetual spring, he certainly -needs no clothes and no dwelling, or only some palm-leaves -as a shelter from occasional rain. There, at all seasons of -the year, he finds food constantly prepared for him in the cocoanut -palm, the bread-fruit tree, the banana, in some domestic -animals, in fish and mussels. No beast of prey threatens his -safety, and forces on him the development of strength and contempt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -of death. But how many men can this earthly paradise -maintain? Perhaps a hundredth part of present humanity. -The remaining ninety-nine hundredths have only the alternative -either of perishing, or of settling in regions of our planet where -the table is not spread, and the pillow of delight is not prepared, -but in which everything which life demands for its sustenance -must be procured artificially and laboriously. The ‘return to -Nature’ means, in our degrees of latitude, the return to hunger, -to freezing, to being devoured by wolves and bears. Not in the -impossible ‘return to Nature’ lies healing for human misery, -but in the reasonable organization of our struggle with Nature, I -might say, in universal and obligatory service against it, from -which only the crippled should be exempted.</p> - -<p>We have now learnt to know the particular ideas which together -constitute Tolstoism. As a philosophy it gives explanations of -the world and of life, with unmeaning or contradictory paraphrases -of some intentionally misunderstood Bible verses. As -ethics, it prescribes the renunciation of resistance against vice -and crime, the distribution of property, and the annihilation of -mankind by complete abstinence. As sociological and economic -doctrine it preaches the uselessness of science, the happiness of -becoming stupid, the renunciation of manufactured products, and -the duty of agriculture, though without betraying from whence -the farmer is to get the necessary soil for cultivation. The -remarkable thing in this system is, that it does not notice its -own superfluity. If it understood itself, it would restrict itself -to one single point—abstinence—since it is evident that it is -unnecessary to break one’s head over the aim and import of -human life, over crime and love of your neighbour, and particularly -over country or town life, if in any case through abstinence -humanity is to die out with the present generation.</p> - -<p>Rod<a name="FNanchor_172_172" id="FNanchor_172_172"></a><a href="#Footnote_172_172" class="fnanchor">[172]</a> denies that Tolstoi is a mystic. ‘Mysticism was always, -as the word indicates, a transcendental doctrine. The mystics, -especially the Christian mystics, have always sacrificed the present -to the future life.... What, on the contrary, astonishes -an unprejudiced mind in Tolstoi’s books is the almost complete -absence of all metaphysics, his indifference to the so-called -questions of the other world.’</p> - -<p>Rod simply does not know what mysticism is. He unduly -restricts the sense of the word, if he only uses it to mean the -investigation of ‘other-world questions.’ If he were less superficial -he would know that religious enthusiasm is only one special -instance of a general mental condition, and that mysticism is any -morbid obscuration and incoherence of thought which is accompanied -by emotionalism, and therefore includes that thought, -the fruit of which is the system at once Materialistic, Pantheistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -Christian, Ascetic, Rousseauistic and Communistic, of Leo -Tolstoi.</p> - -<p>Raphael Löwenfeld, whom we have to thank for the first complete -German edition of Tolstoi’s works, has also written a very -commendable biography of the Russian novelist, yet in which he -feels himself obliged, not only to take sides vehemently with his -hero, but also to assure that hero’s possible critics beforehand -of his deep contempt for them. ‘Want of comprehension,’ he -says,<a name="FNanchor_173_173" id="FNanchor_173_173"></a><a href="#Footnote_173_173" class="fnanchor">[173]</a> ‘calls them (the “independent phenomena” of Tolstoi’s -sort) eccentrics, unwilling to allow that anyone should be a -head taller than the rest. The unprejudiced man, who is -capable of admiring greatness, sees in their independence the -expression of an extraordinary power which has outgrown the -possibilities of the time, and, leading on, points out the paths to -those coming after.’ It is indeed hazardous forthwith to accuse -all who are not of his opinion of ‘want of comprehension.’ One -who judges so autocratically will have to put up with the answer, -that he is guilty of ‘want of comprehension’ who, without the -most elementary training, enters upon the criticism of a phenomenon, -to the understanding of which some degree of æsthetical -and literary so-called ‘knowledge’ and personal feeling are very -far from sufficient. Löwenfeld boasts of his capacity to admire -greatness. He is possibly wrong not to presuppose this capacity -in others also. What he precisely has to prove is this, that what -he admires deserves in truth the designation of greatness. His -assertion, however, is the only proof he brings on this most -important point. He calls himself unprejudiced. It may be -admitted that he is free from prejudices, but then he is free also -from the preliminary knowledge that alone entitles anyone to -form an opinion on psychological phenomena, which strike even -the uninitiated as extraordinary, and to present them with -self-assurance. Did he possess this preliminary knowledge he -would know that Tolstoi, who, ‘leading, is to point out the -paths to those coming after,’ is a mere copy of a class of men -who have had their representatives in every age. Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_174_174" id="FNanchor_174_174"></a><a href="#Footnote_174_174" class="fnanchor">[174]</a> -instances a certain Knudsen, a madman, who lived in Schleswig -about 1680, and asserted that there was neither a God nor a -hell; that priests and judges were useless and pernicious, and -marriage an immorality; that men ceased to exist after death; -that everyone must be guided by his own inward insight,’ etc. -Here we have the principal features of Tolstoi’s cosmology -and moral philosophy. Knudsen has, however, so little ‘pointed -out, leading, the way to those coming after,’ that he still only -exists as an instructive case of mental aberration in books on -diseases of the mind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> - -<p>The truth is that all Tolstoi’s idiosyncrasies could be traced -to the best-known and most often observed stigmata of higher -degeneration. He even relates of himself:<a name="FNanchor_175_175" id="FNanchor_175_175"></a><a href="#Footnote_175_175" class="fnanchor">[175]</a> ‘Scepticism brought -me at one time to a condition nearly bordering on frenzy. I -had the idea that besides myself nobody and nothing existed in -the whole world; that things were not things, but presentations, -which only became phenomenal at what time I directed my -attention to them, and that these presentations disappeared at -once when I ceased to think of them.... There were hours -when, under the influence of this fixed idea, I came to such a -pitch of mental bewilderment that I at times looked quickly the -other way, in the hope that in the place where I was not, I might -be surprised by nothingness.’ And in his <i>Confession</i> he says -explicitly: ‘I felt that I was not quite mentally sound.’<a name="FNanchor_176_176" id="FNanchor_176_176"></a><a href="#Footnote_176_176" class="fnanchor">[176]</a> His -feeling was correct. He was suffering from a mania of brooding -doubt, observable in many of the ‘higher degenerates.’ Professor -Kowalewski<a name="FNanchor_177_177" id="FNanchor_177_177"></a><a href="#Footnote_177_177" class="fnanchor">[177]</a> explains the mania of doubt straight away as exclusively -a psychosis of degeneration. Griesinger<a name="FNanchor_178_178" id="FNanchor_178_178"></a><a href="#Footnote_178_178" class="fnanchor">[178]</a> relates the case -of a patient who continually brooded over the notions of beauty, -existence, etc., and put endless questions about them. Griesinger, -however, was less familiar with the phenomena of degeneration, -and therefore held his case as ‘one little known.’ Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_179_179" id="FNanchor_179_179"></a><a href="#Footnote_179_179" class="fnanchor">[179]</a> -mentions in the enumeration of the symptoms of his maniacs of -genius: ‘Almost all are taken up, in the most painful manner, -with religious doubts, which disturb the mind and oppress the -timid conscience and sick heart, like a crime.’ It is not, then, -the noble desire for knowledge which forces Tolstoi to be ceaselessly -occupied with questions concerning the aim and meaning -of life, but the degeneration-mania of doubt and brooding -thought, which is barren, because no answer, no explanation can -satisfy them. For it is obvious that be the ‘therefore’ never so -clear, never so exhaustive, it can never silence the mechanically -impulsive ‘wherefore’ proceeding from the Unconscious.</p> - -<p>A special form of the phenomenon of scepticism and brooding -thought is a rage for contradiction, and the inclination to bizarre -assertions, as is noted by many clinicists—<i>e.g.</i>, Sollier<a name="FNanchor_180_180" id="FNanchor_180_180"></a><a href="#Footnote_180_180" class="fnanchor">[180]</a>—as a -special stigma of degeneration. It has appeared very strongly -in Tolstoi at certain times. ‘In the struggles for independence,’ -relates Löwenfeld,<a name="FNanchor_181_181" id="FNanchor_181_181"></a><a href="#Footnote_181_181" class="fnanchor">[181]</a> ‘Tolstoi frequently overstepped the limits of -good taste, while he combated tradition only because it was tradition. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>Thus he called ... Shakespeare a scribbler by the dozen, -and asserted that the admiration ... for the great Englishman -...has properly no other origin than the custom of echoing -strange opinions with thoughtless obsequiousness.’</p> - -<p>What one finds most touching and most worthy of admiration -in Tolstoi is his boundless spirit of fraternity. I have already -shown above that it is foolish in its starting-points and manifestations. -Here, however, I may have to point out that it is -likewise a stigma of degeneration. Though he has not the -experience of an alienist, the clear-minded, healthy Tourgenieff -has, by his own common-sense, ‘scoffingly’ called Tolstoi’s -fervent love for the oppressed people ‘hysterical,’ as Löwenfeld<a name="FNanchor_182_182" id="FNanchor_182_182"></a><a href="#Footnote_182_182" class="fnanchor">[182]</a> -says. We shall find it again in many degenerate subjects. ‘In -contrast to the selfish imbecile,’ Legrain<a name="FNanchor_183_183" id="FNanchor_183_183"></a><a href="#Footnote_183_183" class="fnanchor">[183]</a> teaches, ‘we have the -imbeciles who are good to excess, who are philanthropic, who -set up a thousand absurd systems in order to advance the -happiness of humanity.’ And further on: ‘Full of his love for -humanity, the imbecile patient, without reflection, takes up the -social question on its most difficult side, and settles it confidently -in a series of grotesque inventions.’ This irrational -philanthropy, untutored by judgment, which Tourgenieff, with -just surmise if incorrect designation, called ‘hysterical,’ is -nothing else than a manifestation of that emotionalism which -constitutes for Morel the fundamental character of degeneration. -Nothing in this diagnosis is altered by the fact that -Tolstoi had the good fortune, during the recent famine, of being -able to develop the most highly effective and most devoted helpfulness -for the alleviation of the misery of his countrymen. The -case happened to be very simple. The need of his fellow-creatures -was of the most primitive form, want of bodily food. Fraternal -love could likewise set to work in its most primitive form, in the -distribution of food and clothing. A special power of judgment, -a deep comprehension of the need of his fellow-creatures, was -here unnecessary. And that Tolstoi’s preparations for the relief -of the sufferers were more effective than those of the proper -authorities only proved the stupidity and incapacity of the -latter.</p> - -<p>Tolstoi’s attitude towards women also, which must remain -incomprehensible to a healthy human understanding, will, in the -light of clinical experience, forthwith be understood. It has -been repeatedly pointed out in these pages that the emotionalism -of the degenerate has, as a rule, an erotic colouring, because of -the pathological alteration in their sexual centres. The -abnormal excitability of these parts of the nervous system can -have as a consequence both an especial attraction towards -woman and an especial antipathy to her. The common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -element connecting these opposing effects of one and the same -organic condition is the being constantly occupied with woman, -the being constantly engrossed with presentations in consciousness -from the region of sexuality.<a name="FNanchor_184_184" id="FNanchor_184_184"></a><a href="#Footnote_184_184" class="fnanchor">[184]</a></p> - -<p>In the mental life of a sane man, woman is far from filling -the part she plays in that of the degenerate. The physiological -relation of man to woman is that of desire for the time being -toward her, and of indifference when the state of desire is not -present. Antipathy, let alone violent enmity, to woman, the -normal man never feels. If he desires the woman, he loves her; -if his erotic excitement is appeased, he becomes cool and more -distant in his attitude, though without feeling aversion or fear. -The man, from his purely subjective, physiological necessities -and inclinations, would certainly never have invented marriage, -the persistent alliance with woman. This is not a sexual but a -social arrangement. It does not rest on the organic instincts of -the individual man, but on the need of collectivity. It depends -on the existing economic order and the dominant opinions about -the State, its problems and its relations to the individual, and -changes its form with these. A man may—or at least should—choose -a certain woman for his consort out of love; but what -holds him fast married, after a suitable choice and successful -courtship, is no longer physiological love, but a complex mixture -of habit, gratitude, unsexual friendship, convenience, the -wish to obtain for himself social advantages (to which must -naturally be added an ordered household, social representation, -etc.), considerations of duty towards children and State; more -or less, also, unthinking imitation of a universal observance. -But feelings such as are described in the <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> and -in <i>Family Happiness</i> the normal man never experiences towards -his wife, even if he has ceased to love her in the natural sense of -the word.</p> - -<p>These relations are quite otherwise in the degenerate. The -morbid activity of his sexual centres completely rules him. The -thought of woman has for him the power of an ‘obsession.’ -He feels that he cannot resist the exciting influences proceeding -from the woman, that he is her helpless slave, and would -commit any folly, any madness, any crime, at her beck and call. -He necessarily, therefore, sees in woman an uncanny, overpowering -force of nature, bestowing supreme delights or dealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -destruction, and he trembles before this power, to which he is -defencelessly exposed. If, then, besides this, the almost never-failing -aberrations set in, if he, in fact, commits things for -woman for which he must condemn and despise himself; or if -woman, without its coming to actual deeds, awakens in him -emotions and thoughts before whose baseness and infamy he is -horrified, then, in the moment of exhaustion, when judgment is -stronger than impulse, the dread which woman inspires him -withal will be suddenly changed into aversion and savage -hatred. The erotomaniac ‘degenerate’ stands in the same position -to the woman as a dipsomaniac to intoxicating drinks. -Magnan<a name="FNanchor_185_185" id="FNanchor_185_185"></a><a href="#Footnote_185_185" class="fnanchor">[185]</a> has given an appalling picture of the struggles waged -in the mind of a dipsomaniac by the passionate eagerness for the -bottle, and the loathing and horror of it. The mind of an -erotomaniac presents a similar spectacle, but probably still -stronger struggles. These frequently lead the unhappy creature, -who sees no other means of escaping from his sexual obsession, -to self-mutilation. There are in Russia, as is well known, a -whole sect of ‘degenerates,’ the Skoptzi, by whom this is systematically -exercised, as the only effective treatment to escape the -devil and be saved. Pozdnyscheff, in the <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i>, is a -Skopetz without knowing it, and the sexual morality which -Tolstoi teaches in this narrative and in his theoretic writings is -the expression in literature of the sexual psychopathy of the -Skoptzi.</p> - -<p>The universal success of Tolstoi’s writings is undoubtedly -due in part to his high literary gifts. But that part is not the -greatest; for, as we have seen in the beginning of this chapter, -it was not his artistically most important creations, the works of -his best years, but his later mystical works, which have won for -him his body of believers. This effect is to be explained, not -on æsthetical, but on pathological grounds. Tolstoi would have -remained unnoticed, like any Knudsen of the seventeenth -century, if his extravagances as a degenerate mystic had not -found his contemporaries prepared for their reception. The -widespread hysteria from exhaustion was the requisite soil in -which alone Tolstoism could flourish.</p> - -<p>That the rise and expansion of Tolstoism is to be traced, not -to the intrinsic merit of Tolstoi’s writings, but to the mental -condition of his readers, is made clear in the most significant -manner by the difference in those parts of his system which -have made an impression in various countries. In every nation -just such tones awakened an echo as were attuned with its own -nervous system.</p> - -<p>In England it was Tolstoi’s sexual morality that excited the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -greatest interest, for in that country economic reasons condemn -a formidable number of girls, particularly of the educated classes, -to forego marriage; and, from a theory which honoured chastity -as the highest dignity and noblest human destiny, and branded -marriage with gloomy wrath as abominable depravity, these -poor creatures would naturally derive rich consolation for -their lonely, empty lives, and their cruel exclusion from the -possibility of fulfilling their natural calling. The <i>Kreutzer -Sonata</i> has, therefore, become the book of devotion of all the -spinsters of England.</p> - -<p>In France Tolstoism is particularly valued for the way in -which it casts out science, deposes the intellect from all offices -and dignities, preaches the return to implicit faith, and praises -the poor in spirit as alone happy. This is water to the mill of -neo-Catholics, and those mystics, from political motives, or from -degeneration, who erect a cathedral to pious symbolism, raise up -also a high altar to Tolstoi in their church.</p> - -<p>In Germany, on the whole, but little enthusiasm is evinced -for the abstinence-morality of the <i>Kreutzer Sonata</i>, and the -intellectual reaction of <i>My Confession</i>, <i>My Religion</i>, and <i>Fruits of -Enlightenment</i>. On the other hand, his followers in that country -exalt Tolstoi’s vague socialism and his morbid fraternal love into -their dogma. All the muddle-headed among our people who, -not from sober scientific conviction, but from hysterical emotionalism, -feel a leaning towards a sickly, impotent socialism, which -tends principally towards ministering cheap broth to proletarians, -and towards revelling in sentimental romances and melodramas -from the pretended life of the city worker, naturally -discovered in Tolstoi’s ‘give-me-something-communism,’ with -its scorn for all economic and moral laws, the expression of their—very -platonic!—love for the disinherited. And in the circles -in which Herr von Egidy’s watery rationalism (at least a hundred -years behind time) could rise into notoriety, and in which his first -writing could call forth nearly a hundred replies, assents, and -explanations, Tolstoi’s <i>Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>, with its -denial of the divine nature of Christ, and of existence after -death, with its effusions of a superabundance of feelings of -aimless love, its incomprehensible personal sanctification and -rhetoric morality, and especially with its astounding misinterpretation -of the clearest passages from Scripture, must indeed have -been an event. All the adherents of Herr von Egidy are predestined -followers of Tolstoi, and all Tolstoi’s admirers perpetrate -an inconsistency if they do not enter into the new Salvation -Army of Herr von Egidy.</p> - -<p>By the special <i>timbre</i> of the echo which Tolstoism calls -forth in different countries, he has become an instrument which -is better fitted than any other tendency of degeneration in contemporary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -literature for the determination, measurement, and -comparison, in kind and degree, of degeneration and hysteria -among those civilized nations in which the phenomenon of the -Dusk of the Nations has been observed.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c171" id="c171">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">THE RICHARD WAGNER CULT.</p> - -<p class="pn">WE have seen in a previous chapter that the whole mystic -movement of the period has its roots in romanticism, and hence -originally emanates from Germany. In England German -romanticism was metamorphosed into pre-Raphaelitism, in -France the latter engendered, with the last remains of its procreative -strength, the abortions of symbolism and neo-Catholicism, -and these Siamese twins contracted with Tolstoism -a mountebank marriage such as might take place between the -cripple of a fair and the wonder of a show-booth. While the -descendants of the emigrant (who on his departure from his -German home already carried in him all the germs of subsequent -tumefactions and disfigurements), so changed as to be almost -unrecognisable, grew up in different countries, and set about returning -to their native land to attempt the renewal of family -ties with their home-staying connections, Germany gave birth to -a new prodigy, who was in truth only reared with great trouble -to manhood, and for long years received but little notice or -appreciation, but who finally obtained an incomparably mightier -attractive force over the great fools’ fair of the present time than -all his fellow-competitors. This prodigy is ‘Wagnerism.’ It is -the German contribution to modern mysticism, and far outweighs -all that the other nations combined have supplied to that -movement. For Germany is powerful in everything, in evil as -in good, and the magnitude of its elementary force manifests -itself in a crushing manner in its degenerate, as well as in its -ennobling, efforts.</p> - -<p>Richard Wagner is in himself alone charged with a greater -abundance of degeneration than all the degenerates put together -with whom we have hitherto become acquainted. The stigmata -of this morbid condition are united in him in the most complete -and most luxuriant development. He displays in the general -constitution of his mind the persecution mania, megalomania -and mysticism; in his instincts vague philanthropy, anarchism, -a craving for revolt and contradiction; in his writings all the -signs of graphomania, namely, incoherence, fugitive ideation, -and a tendency to idiotic punning, and, as the groundwork of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -his being, the characteristic emotionalism of a colour at once -erotic and religiously enthusiastic.</p> - -<p>For Wagner’s persecution mania, we have the testimony of -his most recent biographer and friend, Ferdinand Praeger, who -relates that for years Wagner was convinced that the Jews -had conspired to prevent the representation of his operas—a -delirium inspired by his furious anti-Semitism. His megalomania -is so well known through his writings, his verbal utterances, -and the whole course of his life, that a bare reference -to it is sufficient. It is to be admitted that this mania was -essentially increased by the crazy procedure of those who -surrounded Wagner. A much firmer equilibrium than that -which obtained in Wagner’s mind would have been infallibly -disturbed by the nauseous idolatry of which Bayreuth was the -shrine. The <i>Bayreuther Blätter</i> is a unique phenomenon. -To me, at least, no other instance is known of a newspaper -which was founded exclusively for the deification of a living -man, and in every number of which, through long years, the -appointed priests of the temple have burned incense to their -household god, with the savage fanaticism of howling and -dancing dervishes, bent the knee, prostrated themselves before -him, and immolated all opponents as sacrificial victims.</p> - -<p>We will take a closer view of the graphomaniac Wagner. -His <i>Collected Writings and Poems</i> form ten large thick volumes, -and among the 4,500 pages which they approximately contain -there is hardly a single one which will not puzzle the unbiased -reader, either through some nonsensical thought or some impossible -mode of expression. Of his prose works (his poems -will be treated of further on), the most important is decidedly -<i>The Art-work of the Future</i>.<a name="FNanchor_186_186" id="FNanchor_186_186"></a><a href="#Footnote_186_186" class="fnanchor">[186]</a> The thoughts therein expressed—so -far as the wavering shadows of ideas in a mystically -emotional degenerate subject may be so called—occupied -Wagner during his whole life, and were again and again propounded -by him in ever new terms and phraseology. <i>The Opera -and the Drama</i>, <i>Judaism in Music</i>, <i>On the State and Religion</i>, -<i>The Vocation of the Opera</i>, <i>Religion and Art</i>, are nothing more -than amplifications of single passages of <i>The Art-work of the -Future</i>. This restless repetition of one and the same strain of -thought is itself characteristic in the highest degree. The clear, -mentally sane author, who feels himself impelled to say something, -will once for all express himself as distinctly and impressively -as it is possible for him to do, and have done with it. -He may, perhaps, return to the subject, in order to clear up -misconceptions, repel attacks, and fill up lacunæ; but he will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -never wish to rewrite his book, wholly or in part, two or three -times in slightly different words, not even if in later years he -attains to the insight that he has not succeeded in finding for it -an adequate form. The crazed graphomaniac, on the contrary, -cannot recognise in his book, as it lies finished before him, the -satisfying expression of his thoughts, and he will always be -tempted to begin his work afresh, a task which is endless, -because it must consist in giving a fixed linguistic form to ideas -which are formless.</p> - -<p>The fundamental thought of the <i>Art-work of the Future</i> is -this: The first and most original of the arts was that of dancing; -its peculiar essence is rhythm, and this has developed into -music; music, consisting of rhythm and tone, has raised -(Wagner says ‘condensed’) its phonetic element to speech, -and produced the art of poetry; the highest form of poetry -is the drama, which for the purpose of stage-construction, -and to imitate the natural scene of human action, has associated -itself with architecture and painting respectively; finally, -sculpture is nothing but the giving permanence to the appearance -of the actor in a dead rigid form, while acting is real -sculpture in living, flowing movement. Thus all the arts -group themselves around the drama, and the latter should unite -them naturally. Nevertheless they appear at present in isolation, -to the great injury of each and of art in general. This -reciprocal estrangement and isolation of the different arts is an -unnatural and decadent condition, and the effort of true artists -must be to win them back to their natural and necessary conjunction -with each other. The mutual penetration and fusion of -all arts into a single art will produce the genuine work of art. -Hence the work of art of the future is a drama with music and -dance, which unrolls itself in a landscape painting, has for a frame -a masterly creation of architectural art designed for the poetico-musical -end, and is represented by actors who are really sculptors, -but who realize their plastic inspirations by means of their own -bodily appearance.</p> - -<p>In this way Wagner has set forth for himself the evolution of -art. His system calls for criticism in every part. The historical -filiation of the arts which he attempts to establish is false. If -the original reciprocal connections of song, dance and poetry -be granted, the development of architecture, painting and -sculpture is certainly independent of poetry in its dramatic form. -That the theatre employs all the arts is true, but it is one of -those truths which are so self-evident that it is generally unnecessary -to mention them, and least of all with profound prophetic -mien and the grand priestly gestures of one proclaiming -surprising revelations. Everyone knows from experience that -the stage is in a theatrical building, that it displays painted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -decorations which represent landscapes or buildings, and that on -it there is speaking, singing and acting. Wagner secretly feels -that he makes himself ridiculous when he strains himself to -expound this trite matter of first experience in the Pythian mode, -with an enormous outlay of gush and exaltation ...; hence he -exaggerates it to such a degree as to turn it into an absurdity. -He not only asseverates that in the drama (more correctly -speaking, the opera, or the musical drama, as Wagner prefers to -call it) different arts co-operate, but he asserts that it is only -through this co-operation that each individual art is advanced -to its highest capacity of expression, and that the individual -arts must and will surrender their independence as an unnatural -error, in order to continue to exist only as collaborators of the -musical drama.</p> - -<p>The first asseveration is at least doubtful. In the cathedral -of Cologne architecture produces an impression without the -representation of a drama; the accompaniment of music would -add nothing whatever to the beauty and depth of Faust and -Hamlet; Goethe’s lyric poetry and the <i>Divina Commedia</i> need -no landscape-painting as a frame and background; Michael -Angelo’s <i>Moses</i> would hardly produce a deeper impression surrounded -by dancers and singers; and the <i>Pastoral Symphony</i> -does not require the accompaniment of words in order to exercise -its full charm. Schopenhauer, although Wagner admired -him as the greatest thinker of all time, expresses himself very -decidedly on this point. ‘The grand opera,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_187_187" id="FNanchor_187_187"></a><a href="#Footnote_187_187" class="fnanchor">[187]</a> ‘is, -properly speaking, no product of pure artistic sense, but rather -of the somewhat barbaric conception of elevating æsthetic enjoyment -through accumulation of means, simultaneity of quite -different impressions, and intensification of the effect through -the multiplication of the operating masses and forces; while, -on the other hand, music, as the mightiest of all arts, is able by -itself alone completely to occupy the mind which is susceptible -to it; indeed, its loftiest productions, to be appropriately -grasped and enjoyed, demand a mind wholly undivided and undiverted, -so that it may yield itself up to them, and lose itself in -them, in order completely to understand their incredible inwardness -of language. Instead of this, in highly complicated -operatic music the mind is besieged at the same time by way -of the eye, by means of the most variegated pomp, the most -fantastic pictures, and the liveliest impressions of light and -colour; while over and above this it is occupied with the story -of the piece.... Strictly speaking, then, one may call opera -an unmusical invention for the benefit of unmusical minds, into -which music must only be smuggled by means of a medium<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -foreign to it, that is, as a sort of accompaniment to a long spun-out, -insipid love-story, and its poetical thin broth; for the -libretto of an opera does not tolerate concise poetry, full of -genius and thought.’ This is an absolute condemnation of the -Wagnerian idea of the musical drama as the collective art-work -of the future. It might seem, it is true, that certain recent -experiments in psychophysics had come to the help of Wagner’s -theory of the reciprocal enhancement of the simultaneous -effects of different arts. Charles Féré<a name="FNanchor_188_188" id="FNanchor_188_188"></a><a href="#Footnote_188_188" class="fnanchor">[188]</a> has, in fact, shown that -the ear hears more keenly when the eye is simultaneously -stimulated by an agreeable (dynamogenous) colour; but, in the -first place, this phenomenon may also be interpreted thus: -that the keenness of hearing is enhanced not by the visual impression -as such, not simply as sense excitation, but only through -its dynamogenous quality, which arouses the whole nervous -system as well to a more lively activity. And then the question -in Féré’s experiments is merely one of simple sense-perceptions, -whereas the musical drama is supposed to awaken a higher -cerebral activity, to produce presentations and thoughts, together -with direct emotions; in which case each of the arts acting in -concert will produce, in consequence of the necessary dispersion -of the attention to it, a more feeble effect than if it appealed by -itself alone to sense and intellect.</p> - -<p>Wagner’s second assertion, that the natural evolution of each -art necessarily leads it to the surrender of its independence and -to its fusion with the other arts,<a name="FNanchor_189_189" id="FNanchor_189_189"></a><a href="#Footnote_189_189" class="fnanchor">[189]</a> contradicts so strongly all -experience and all the laws of evolution, that it can at once be -characterized as delirious. Natural development always proceeds -from the simple to the complex—not inversely; progress consists -in differentiation, <i>i.e.</i>, in the evolution of originally similar -parts into special organs of different structure and independent -functions, and not in the retrogression of differentiated beings of -rich specialization to a protoplasm without physiognomy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> - -<p>The arts have not arisen accidentally; their differentiation is -the consequence of organic necessity; once they have attained -independence, they will never surrender it. They can degenerate, -they can even die out, but they can never again shrink back -into the germ from which they have sprung. The effort to -return to beginnings is, however, a peculiarity of degeneration, -and founded in its deepest essence. The degenerate subject is -himself on the downward road from the height of organic development -which our species has reached; his imperfect brain is -incapable of the highest and most refined operations of thought; -he has therefore a strong desire to lighten them, to simplify the -multifariousness of phenomena and make them easier to -survey; to drag everything animate and inanimate down to lower -and older stages of existence, in order to make them more easy -of access to his comprehension. We have seen that the French -Symbolists, with their colour-hearing, wished to degrade man to -the indifferentiated sense-perceptions of the pholas or oyster. -Wagner’s fusion of the arts is a pendant to this notion. His -<i>Art-work of the Future</i> is the art-work of times long past. -What he takes for evolution is retrogression, and a return to a -primeval human, nay, to a pre-human stage.</p> - -<p>Still more extraordinary than the fundamental idea of the -book is its linguistic form. For example, let us estimate the -following remarks on musical art (p. 68): ‘The sea separates -and unites countries; thus musical art separates and unites the -two extreme poles of human art, dancing and poetry. It is the -heart of man; the blood which takes its circulation from it gives -to the outward flesh its warm living colour; but it nourishes -with an undulating, elastic force the nerves of the brain which -are directed inward’ [!!]. ‘Without the activity of the heart, -the activity of the brain would become a piece of mechanical -skill [!], the activity of the external limbs an equally -mechanical, emotionless procedure.’ ‘By means of the heart -the intellect feels itself related to the entire body [!]; the mere -sensuous man rises to intellectual activity’ [!]. ‘Now, the organ -of the heart [!] is <i>sound</i>, and its artistic language is music.’ What -here floated before the mind of Wagner was a comparison, in -itself senseless, between the function of music as the medium of -expression for the feelings, and the function of the blood as -the vehicle of nutritive materials for the organism. But as his -mystically-disposed brain was not capable of clearly grasping -the various parts of this intricate idea, and of arranging them -in parallel lines, he entangled himself in the absurdity of an -‘activity of the brain without activity of the heart’; of a ‘relation -between the intellect and the whole body through the -heart,’ etc., and finally attains to the pure twaddle of calling -‘sound’ the ‘organ of the heart.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>He wishes to express the very simple thought that music -cannot communicate definite images and judgments, but merely -feelings of a general character; and for this purpose devises -the following rigmarole (p. 88): ‘It is never able ... of itself -alone to bring the human individual, determined as to sensation -and morals, to an exactly perceptible, distinctive representation; -it is in its infinite involution always and only feeling; it appears -as an <i>accompaniment</i> of the moral deed, not as the <i>deed itself</i>; -it can place feelings and dispositions side by side, not develop -in necessary sequence one disposition from another; it is lacking -in <i>moral will</i>’ [!].</p> - -<p>Let the reader further bury himself in this passage (p. 159): -‘It is only and exactly in the degree to which the woman of -perfected womanliness, in her love for the man, and through her -absorption into his being, shall have developed the masculine -element as well as this womanliness, and brought it with the -purely womanly element in herself to a complete consummation; -in other words, in the degree in which she is not only the man’s -mistress, but also his friend, is the man able to find perfect -satisfaction in a woman’s love.’</p> - -<p>Wagner’s admirers asseverate that they understand this string -of words thrown together at random. Indeed, they find them -remarkably clear! This, however, should not surprise us. -Readers who through weakness of mind or flightiness of -thought are incapable of attention always understand everything. -For them there exists neither obscurity nor nonsense. -They seek in the words over which their absent gaze flits superficially, -not the author’s thoughts, but a reflection of their own -rambling dreams. Those who have lived lovingly observant in -children’s nurseries must have frequently seen the game in which -a child takes a book, or printed paper, and, holding it before his -face, generally upside down, begins gravely to read aloud, often -the story told him by his mamma yesterday before he dropped -asleep, or, more frequently, the fancies which at the moment are -buzzing in his little head. This is somewhat the procedure of -these blessed readers who understand everything. They do not -read what is in the books, but what they put into them; and as -far as the process and result of this mental activity are concerned, -it is certainly very much a matter of indifference what the -author has actually thought and said.</p> - -<p>The incoherence of Wagner’s thought, determined as it is by -the excitations of the moment, manifests itself in his constant -contradictions. At one time (p. 187) he asserts, ‘The highest -aim of mankind is the artistic; the most highly artistic is the -drama;’ and in a foot-note (p. 194) he exclaims, ‘These easy-going -creatures are fain to see and hear everything, except <i>the -real, undisfigured human being</i> who stands exhorting at the exit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -of their dreams. <i>But it is exactly this very human being whom -we must now place in the foreground.</i>’ It is evident that one of -these affirmations is diametrically opposed to the other. The -‘artistic’ ‘dramatic’ man is not the ‘real’ man, and it will be -impossible for him, who looks upon it as his task to occupy himself -with the real man, to recognise art as ‘the highest aim of -man,’ and to regard his ‘dreams’ as the most distinguished of -his activities.</p> - -<p>In one passage (p. 206) he says: ‘Who, therefore, will be <i>the -artist of the future</i>? Unquestionably the poet. But <i>who</i> will -be the poet? Incontestably the <i>interpreter</i>. Again, however, -<i>who</i> will be the interpreter? Necessarily the <i>association of all -artists</i>.’ If this has any sense at all, it can only be that in the -future the people will jointly write and act their dramas; and -that Wagner really meant this he proves in the passage (p. 225) -where he meets the objection he anticipated, that therefore the -mob is to be the creator of the art-work of the future, with -the words, ‘Bear in mind that this mob is in no way a -normal product of real human nature, but rather the artificial -result of your unnatural civilization; that all the devices and -abominations which disgust you in this mob are only the -desperate movements of the fight which real human nature is -carrying on against its cruel oppressor, modern civilization.’ -Let us contrast with these expressions the following passage -from the treatise, <i>What is German?</i><a name="FNanchor_190_190" id="FNanchor_190_190"></a><a href="#Footnote_190_190" class="fnanchor">[190]</a>: ‘The fact that from the -bosom of the German race there have sprung Goethe and Schiller, -Mozart and Beethoven, too easily seduces the greater number -of persons of mediocre gifts into regarding these great minds as -belonging by right to them, and to attempt, with the complacency -of a demagogue, to persuade the masses that they themselves -are Goethe and Schiller, Mozart and Beethoven.’ But -who, if not Wagner himself, has thus persuaded the masses, proclaiming -them to be the ‘artists of the future’? And this very -madness, which he himself recognises as such in the remark -quoted, has made a great impression on the multitude. They -have taken literally what Wagner, with the ‘complacency of a -demagogue,’ has persuasively said to them. They have really -imagined themselves to be the ‘artists of the future,’ and we -have lived to see societies formed in many places in Germany -who wanted to build theatres of the future, and themselves to -perform works of the future in them! And these societies were -joined not only by students or young commercial employés in -whom a certain propensity for acting plays comes as a malady -of adolescence, and who persuade themselves that they are -serving the ‘ideal’ when with childish vanity and in grotesque<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -theatrical costume they gesticulate and declaim before their -touched and admiring relatives and acquaintances. Nay, old -burgesses, bald and bulky, abandoned their sacred <i>skat</i>, and -even the thrice-holy morning tankard, and prepared themselves -devoutly for noble dramatic achievements! Since the memorable -occasion on which Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snout, and -Starveling rehearsed their admirable <i>Pyramus and Thisbe</i>, the -world has seen no similar spectacle. Emotional shopkeepers -and enthusiastic counter-jumpers got Wagner’s absurdities on -the brain, and the provincials and Philistines whom his joyful -message had reached actually set about with their united -strength to carry on the work of Goethe and Schiller, Mozart -and Beethoven.</p> - -<p>In the passages quoted, in which, in the most used-up style -of Rousseau, he glorifies the masses, speaks of ‘unnatural culture,’ -and calls ‘modern civilization’ ‘the cruel oppressor of -human nature,’ Wagner betrays that mental condition which -the degenerate share with enlightened reformers, born criminals -with the martyrs of human progress, namely, deep, devouring -discontent with existing facts. This certainly shows itself otherwise -in the degenerate than in reformers. The latter grow -angry over real evils only, and make rational proposals for their -remedy which are in advance of the time: these remedies may -presuppose a better and wiser humanity than actually exists, but, -at least, they are capable of being defended on reasonable grounds. -The degenerate subject, on the other hand, selects among the -arrangements of civilization such as are either immaterial or -distinctly suitable, in order to rebel against them. His fury has -either ridiculously insignificant aims or simply beats the air. -He either gives no earnest thought to improvement, or hatches -astoundingly mad projects for making the world happy. His -fundamental frame of mind is persistent rage against everything -and everyone, which he displays in venomous phrases, savage -threats, and the destructive mania of wild beasts. Wagner is a -good specimen of this species. He would like to crush ‘political -and criminal civilization,’ as he expresses it. In what, however, does -the corruption of society and the untenableness of the condition -of everything reveal themselves to him? In the fact that operas -are played with tripping airs, and ballets are performed! And -how shall humanity attain its salvation! By performing the -musical drama of the future! It is to be hoped that no criticism -of this universal plan of salvation will be demanded of me.</p> - -<p>Wagner is a declared anarchist. He distinctly develops the -teaching of this faction in the <i>Art-work of the Future</i> (p. 217): -‘<i>All</i> men have but <i>one</i> common <i>need</i> ... the need of <i>living</i> and -<i>being happy</i>. Herein lies the natural bond between all men.... -It is only the special needs which, according to time, place, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -individuality, make themselves known and increase, which in the -rational condition of future humanity can serve as a basis for -special associations.... These associations will change, will -take another form, dissolve and reconstitute themselves according -as those needs change and reappear.’<a name="FNanchor_191_191" id="FNanchor_191_191"></a><a href="#Footnote_191_191" class="fnanchor">[191]</a> He does not conceal -the fact that this ‘rational condition of future humanity’ ‘can be -brought about only by force’ (p. 228). ‘Necessity must force -us, too, through the Red Sea if we, purged of our shame, are to -reach the Promised Land. We shall not be drowned in it; it is -destructive only to the <i>Pharaohs</i> of this world, who have once -already been swallowed up—man and horse ... the arrogant, -proud Pharaohs who then forgot that once a poor shepherd’s -son with his shrewd advice had saved their land from starvation.’</p> - -<p>Together with this anarchistic acerbity, there is another -feeling that controls the entire conscious and unconscious -mental life of Wagner, viz., sexual emotion. He has been -throughout his life an erotic (in a psychiatric sense), and all his -ideas revolve about woman. The most ordinary incitements, -even those farthest removed from the province of the sexual -instinct, never fail to awaken in his consciousness voluptuous -images of an erotic character, and the bent of the automatic -association of ideas is in him always directed towards this pole -of his thought. In this connection let this passage be read -from the <i>Art-work of the Future</i> (p. 44), where he seeks to -demonstrate the relation between the art of dancing, music, and -poetry: ‘In the contemplation of this ravishing dance of the -most genuine and noblest muses, of the artistic man [?], we now -see the three arm-in-arm lovingly entwined up to their necks; -then this, then that one, detaching herself from the entwinement, -as if to display to the others her beautiful form in complete -separation, touching the hands of the others only with the -extreme tips of her fingers; now the one, entranced by a backward -glance at the twin forms of her closely entwined sisters, -bending towards them; then two, carried away by the allurements -of the one [!] greeting her in homage; finally all, in close -embrace, breast to breast, limb to limb, in an ardent kiss of love, -coalescing in one blissfully living shape. This is the love and -life, the joy and wooing of art,’ etc. (Observe the word-play: -<i>Lieben und Leben, Freuen und Freien</i>!) Wagner here visibly -loses the thread of his argument; he neglects what he really -wishes to say, and revels in the picture of the three dancing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -maidens, who have arisen before his mind’s eye, following with -lascivious longing the outline of their forms and their seductive -movements.</p> - -<p>The shameless sensuality which prevails in his dramatic -poems has impressed all his critics. Hanslick<a name="FNanchor_192_192" id="FNanchor_192_192"></a><a href="#Footnote_192_192" class="fnanchor">[192]</a> speaks of the -‘bestial sensuality’ in <i>Rheingold</i>, and says of <i>Siegfried</i>: ‘The -feverish accents, so much beloved by Wagner, of an insatiable -sensuality, blazing to the uttermost limits—this ardent moaning, -sighing, crying, and sinking to the ground, move us with -repugnance. The text of these love-scenes becomes sometimes, -in its exuberance, sheer nonsense.’ Compare in the first act of -the <i>Walküre</i>,<a name="FNanchor_193_193" id="FNanchor_193_193"></a><a href="#Footnote_193_193" class="fnanchor">[193]</a> in the scene between Siegmund and Sieglinde, the -following stage directions: ‘Hotly interrupting’; ‘embraces her -with fiery passion’; ‘in gentle ecstasy’; ‘she hangs enraptured -upon his neck’; ‘close to his eyes’; ‘beside himself’; ‘in the -highest intoxication,’ etc. At the conclusion, it is said, ‘The -curtain falls quickly,’ and frivolous critics have not failed to perpetrate -the cheap witticism, ‘Very necessary, too.’ The amorous -whinings, whimperings and ravings of <i>Tristan und Isolde</i>, the -entire second act of <i>Parsifal</i>, in the scene between the hero and -the flower-girls, and then between him and Kundry in Klingsor’s -magic garden, are worthy to rank with the above passages. It -certainly redounds to the high honour of German public morality, -that Wagner’s operas could have been publicly performed without -arousing the greatest scandal. How unperverted must -wives and maidens be when they are in a state of mind to -witness these pieces without blushing crimson, and sinking into -the earth for shame! How innocent must even husbands and -fathers be who allow their womankind to go to these representations -of ‘lupanar’ incidents! Evidently the German -audiences entertain no misgivings concerning the actions and -attitudes of Wagnerian personages; they seem to have no -suspicion of the emotions by which they are excited, and what -intentions their words, gestures and acts denote; and this -explains the peaceful artlessness with which these audiences -follow theatrical scenes during which, among a less childlike -public, no one would dare lift his eyes to his neighbour or -endure his glance.</p> - -<p>With Wagner amorous excitement assumes the form of mad -delirium. The lovers in his pieces behave like tom-cats gone mad, -rolling in contortions and convulsions over a root of valerian. -They reflect a state of mind in the poet which is well known to -the professional expert. It is a form of Sadism. It is the love -of those degenerates who, in sexual transport, become like wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -beasts.<a name="FNanchor_194_194" id="FNanchor_194_194"></a><a href="#Footnote_194_194" class="fnanchor">[194]</a> Wagner suffered from ‘erotic madness,’ which leads -coarse natures to murder for lust, and inspires ‘higher degenerates’ -with works like <i>Die Walküre</i>, <i>Siegfried</i>, and <i>Tristan und -Isolde</i>.</p> - -<p>Wagner’s graphomania is shown not only by the substance, -but also by the outward form of his writings. The reader will -have been able to remark in the quotations given what a misuse -Wagner makes of italics. He often has whole half-pages -printed in spaced letters. Lombroso expressly establishes this -phenomenon among graphomaniacs.<a name="FNanchor_195_195" id="FNanchor_195_195"></a><a href="#Footnote_195_195" class="fnanchor">[195]</a> It is sufficiently explained -by the peculiarity of mystical thought, so often set forth in this -work. No linguistic form which the mystically degenerate subject -can give to his thought-phantoms satisfies him; he is always conscious -that the phrases he is writing do not express the mazy -processes of his brain; and as he is forced to abandon the attempt -to embody these in words, he seeks, by means of notes of exclamation, -dashes, dots, and blanks, to impart to his writings more of -mystery than the words themselves can express.</p> - -<p>The irresistible propensity to play on words—another peculiarity -of graphomaniacs and imbeciles—is developed to a high -degree in Wagner. I will here give only a few examples from -the <i>Art-work of the Future</i>—p. 56: ‘Thus it [the science of -music] acquires through sound, which has become speech ... -its most <i>exalted satisfaction</i>, and at the same time its most -<i>satisfying exaltation</i>,’ p. 91: ‘Like a second Prometheus, -who from <i>Thon</i> (clay) formed men, Beethoven had striven to -form them from <i>Ton</i> (music). Not from clay or music (<i>Thon</i> -or <i>Ton</i>), but from both of these substances, should man, the -image of Zeus, the dispenser of life, be created.’ Special -attention may, however, be called to the following astounding -passage (p. 103): ‘If fashion or custom permitted us again to -adopt, in speech and writing, the genuine and true use of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -<i>Tichten</i> for <i>Dichten</i> (to compose poetry), we should thus obtain, -in the united names of the three primitive human arts, <i>Tanz</i>-, -<i>Ton</i>-, and <i>Tichtkunst</i> (dancing, music, and poetry), a beautifully -significant, sensuous image of the essence of this trinity of -sisters, viz., a perfect alliteration.... This alliteration would, -moreover, be peculiarly characteristic, on account of the position -held in it by <i>Tichtkunst</i> (poetry), for only as its last member -would <i>Tichtkunst</i> transform the alliteration into rhyme,’ etc.</p> - -<p>We now come to the mysticism of Wagner, which permeates -all his works, and has become one of the chief causes of his -influence over his contemporaries—at least, outside Germany. -Although he is irreligious through and through, and frequently -attacks positive religions, their doctrines and their priests, there -have, nevertheless, remained active in him from childhood -(passed in an atmosphere of Christian Protestant views and -religious practices) ideas and sentiments which he subsequently -transformed so strangely in his degenerate mind. This phenomenon, -viz., the persistence, in the midst of later doubts and -denials, of early-acquired Christian views, operating as an ever-active -leaven, singularly altering the whole mind, and at the -same time themselves suffering manifold decomposition and -deformation—may be frequently observed in confused brains. -We shall meet it, for example, in Ibsen. At the foundation of -all Wagner’s poems and theoretical writings there is to be found -a more or less potent sediment of the Catechism, distorted as -to its doctrines; and in his most luxuriant pictures, between -the thick, crude colours, we get glimpses of strange and hardly -recognisable touches, betraying the fact that the scenes are -brutally daubed on the pale background of Gospel reminiscences.</p> - -<p>One idea, or, more accurately, one word, has remained especially -deeply fixed in his mind, and pursued him throughout his -whole life as a real obsession, viz., the word ‘redemption.’ True, -it has not with him the value it possesses in the language of -theology. To the theologian ‘redemption,’ this central idea of the -whole Christian doctrine, signifies the sublime act of superhuman -love, which freely takes upon itself the greatest suffering, and -gladly bears it, that it may free from the power of evil those -whose strength is insufficient for such a task. So understood, -redemption presupposes three things. Firstly, we must assume -a dualism in nature, most distinctly developed in the Zend -religion; the existence of a first principle of good and one of -evil, between which mankind is placed, and becomes the cause -of their strife. Secondly, the one who is to be redeemed must be -free from all conscious and wilful fault; he must be the victim of -superior forces which he is himself incapable of warding off. -Thirdly in order that the redeemer’s act may be a true act of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -salvation and acquire power to deliver, he must, in the fulfilment -of a clearly recognised and purposed mission, offer himself in -sacrifice. It is true that a tendency has often asserted itself to -think of redemption as an act of grace, in which not only the -victims, but also sinners, may participate; but the Church has -always recognised the immorality of such a conception, and has -expressly taught that, in order to receive redemption, the guilty -must himself strive for it, through repentance and penance, and -not passively await it as a completely unmerited gift.</p> - -<p>This theological redemption is not redemption in Wagner’s -sense. With him it has never any clearly recognisable import, -and serves only to denote something beautiful and grand, which -he does not more closely specify. At the outset the word has -evidently made a deep impression on his imagination, and -he subsequently uses it like a minor chord, let us say <i>a</i>, <i>c</i>, <i>e</i>, -which is likewise without definite significance, but, nevertheless, -awakens emotion and peoples consciousness with floating presentations. -With Wagner someone is constantly being ‘redeemed.’ -If (in the <i>Art-work of the Future</i>) the art of painting ceases to -paint pictures, and produces thenceforth only decorations for the -theatre, this is its ‘redemption.’ In the same way the music -accompanying a poem is a ‘redeemed’ music. Man is ‘redeemed’ -when he loves a woman, and the people is ‘redeemed’ -when it plays at the drama. His compositions also turn upon -‘redemption.’ Nietzsche<a name="FNanchor_196_196" id="FNanchor_196_196"></a><a href="#Footnote_196_196" class="fnanchor">[196]</a> has already remarked this, and makes -merry over it, if with repulsively superficial witticisms. ‘Wagner,’ -he says, ‘has meditated on nothing so much as on redemption’ -(a wholly false assertion, since Wagner’s redemption-twaddle -is certainly no result of meditation, but only a mystical echo of -childish emotions); ‘his opera is the opera of redemption. -With him someone is always wanting to be redeemed—now a -male, now a female.... Who, if not Wagner, teaches us that -innocence has a predilection for redeeming interesting sinners -(the case of <i>Tannhäuser</i>)? Or that even the Wandering Jew will -be redeemed and become sedentary when he marries (the case of -<i>The Flying Dutchman</i>)? Or that depraved old wantons prefer -to be redeemed by chaste youths (the case of <i>Kundry</i>)? Or -that beauteous maidens like best to be redeemed by a knight -who is a Wagnerian (the case in <i>Meistersinger</i>)? Or that even -married women like to be redeemed by a knight (the case of -<i>Isolde</i>)? Or that the ancient god, after having morally compromised -himself in every respect, is redeemed by a free-thinker -and an immoral character (the case in the <i>Niebelungen</i>)? How -particularly admirable is this last profundity! Do you understand -it? As for me, defend me from understanding it.’</p> - -<p>The work of Wagner which may be truly termed ‘the opera<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -of redemption’ is <i>Parsifal</i>. Here we may catch Wagner’s mind -in its most nonsensical vagaries. In <i>Parsifal</i> two persons -are redeemed: King Amfortas and Kundry. The King has -allowed himself to become infatuated with the charms of -Kundry, and has sinned in her arms. As a punishment, the -magic spear which had been entrusted to him has been taken -from him, and be wounded by this sacred weapon. The wound -gapes and bleeds unceasingly, and causes him dreadful suffering. -Nothing can heal it but the spear itself which gave it. But ‘the -pure fool who through compassion knows’ can alone wrest the -spear from the wicked magician, Klingsor. Kundry, when a -young maiden, had seen the Saviour on the path of his Passion, -and had laughed at him. As a penalty for her act she is -doomed to live for ever, longing in vain for death, and seducing -to sin all men who approach her. Only if a man is able to -resist her allurements can she be redeemed from her curse. -(One man has, in fact, resisted her, the magician Klingsor. -Yet this victorious resistance has not redeemed her as it ought. -Why? Wagner does not reveal this by a single syllable.) It -is Parsifal who brings redemption to the two accursed ones. -The ‘pure fool’ has no inkling that he is predestined to redeem -Amfortas and Kundry, and he neither undergoes any suffering -nor exposes himself to any serious danger in accomplishing the -act of salvation. It is true that, in forcing his way into the enchanted -garden, he is obliged to have a small bout with its -knights, but this skirmish is far more a pleasure than an effort -for him, for he is far stronger than his adversaries, and, after -some playful passes, puts them to flight, bleeding and beaten. -He certainly resists the beauty of Kundry, and this is meritorious, -yet it hardly constitutes an act of deadly self-sacrifice. -He obtains the magic spear without any effort. Klingsor hurls -it at him to slay him, but the weapon ‘remains floating above -his head,’ and Parsifal has only to stretch out his hand to take -it at his convenience, and then to fulfil his mission.</p> - -<p>Every individual feature of this mystical piece is in direct -contrast to the Christian idea of redemption, which has nevertheless -inspired it. Amfortas is in need of redemption through -his own weakness and guilt, not on account of an invincible -fate, and he is redeemed without any assistance on his part -beyond whining and moaning. The salvation he is awaiting -and ultimately obtains has its source completely outside his will -and consciousness. He has no part in its attainment. Another -effects it for him, and bestows it on him as a gift. The redemption -is a purely external affair, a lucky windfall, and not the -reward of an inward moral struggle. Still more monstrous are the -conditions of Kundry’s redemption. Not only is she not allowed -to labour for her own salvation, but she is compelled to employ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -all her strength to prevent it; for her redemption depends on -her being despised by a man, and the task to which she has -been condemned is to turn to account all the seductive power of -beauty and passionate solicitation to win over the man. She -must by all possible means thwart the man by whom her redemption -is to come, from becoming her redeemer. If the -man yields to her charms, then the redemption is frustrated, not -through her fault, though by her action; if the man resists the -temptation, she obtains redemption without deserving it, because -in spite of her opposing effort. It is impossible to concoct a -situation more absurd and at the same time more immoral. -Parsifal the redeemer is, in fine, from beginning to end, a mystic -re-incarnation of ‘Hans in Luck’ in the German fairy-tale. -He succeeds in everything without personal effort. He sets out -to kill a swan, and finds the Grail and the royal crown. His -redeemership is no self-sacrifice, but a benefice. The favour of -Heaven has called him to an enviable, honourable office—on -what powerful recommendation Wagner does not disclose. But -a closer examination reveals worse things. Parsifal, the ‘pure -fool,’ is simply a precipitate of confused reminiscences of Christology. -Powerfully struck by the poetical elements of the -Saviour’s life and sufferings, Wagner has been impelled to externalize -his impressions and emotions, and has created Parsifal, -whom he causes to experience some of the most affecting scenes -of the Gospel, and who in his hands becomes (partly, perhaps, -without his being aware of it) at once a foolish and frivolous caricature -of Jesus Christ. In the mystical work, the temptation of -the Saviour in the desert is transformed into the temptation of -Parsifal by Kundry. The scene in the Pharisee’s house, where -the Magdalene anoints the Saviour’s feet, is reproduced exactly: -Kundry bathes and anoints Parsifal’s feet, and dries them with -her unbound hair; and the ‘pure fool’ plagiarizes the words of -Christ, ‘Thy sins be forgiven thee,’ in this exclamation: ‘Thus -I accomplish my first office; be baptized and believe on the -Redeemer.’ That the ordinary theatre-goer is not shocked by -this misused application of the Christ legend—nay, that in the -distorted fragments of the Gospel he is able to revive some of -the emotions it perhaps at one time excited in him—is conceivable. -But it is incomprehensible that earnest believers, and -especially zealous fanatics, have never perceived what a profanation -of their most sacred ideas is perpetrated by Wagner, when -he endows his Parsifal with traits of the Christ Himself.</p> - -<p>We may mention only one of the other absurd details of the -<i>Parsifal</i>. The aged Titurel has succumbed to the earthly penalty -of death, but through the Saviour’s mercy continues to live in the -grave. The sight of the Grail continually renews for a time his -waning vital strength. Titurel seems to attach a great value to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -this comfortless life-in-death existence. ‘By the mercy of the -Saviour I live in the tomb,’ he joyously cries from his coffin, -demanding with impetuous vehemence that the Grail be shown -him, in order that his life may thereby be prolonged. ‘Am I -to-day to see once more the Grail and live?’ he asks in anguish, -and because he receives no immediate answer thus laments, -‘Must I die unaccompanied by the Deliverer?’ His son, -Amfortas, hesitates, whereupon the old man gives his orders: -‘Unveil the Grail! The benediction!’ And when his wishes -are complied with, he exults: ‘Oh, sacred bliss! How bright -the Lord doth greet us to-day!’ Subsequently Amfortas has -for some time neglected the unveiling of the Grail, and hence -Titurel has had to die. Amfortas is in despair. ‘My father! -highly blessed of heroes!... I, who alone was fain to die, to -thee have I given death!’ From all this it undoubtedly results -that all the persons concerned see in life, even if it be the -shadowy and empty life of a being already laid in his coffin, -an exceedingly precious possession, and in death a bitter misfortune. -And this takes place in the same piece in which -Kundry endures eternal life as a frightful curse, and passionately -longs for death as a most delicious salvation! Is a more ridiculous -contradiction conceivable? Moreover, the Titurel episode -is a denial of all the premises of <i>Parsifal</i>, constructed as it is -on the foundation of the religious idea of personal persistence -after death. How can death frighten the man who is convinced -that the bliss of paradise awaits him? We are here in the -presence of the same non-comprehension of his own assumptions -which has already struck us in Dante Gabriel Rossetti and -Tolstoi. But this is precisely the peculiarity of morbidly mystic -thought. It unites mutually exclusive ideas; it shuns the law -of consistency, and imperturbably combines details which are -dumbfounded at finding themselves in company. We do not -observe this phenomenon in one who is a mystic through ignorance, -mental indolence, or imitation. He may take an absurd -idea as a point of departure for a train of thought; but -the latter unrolls itself rationally and consistently, and suffers -no gross contradiction among its particular members.</p> - -<p>As Christology inspired Wagner with the figures of <i>Parsifal</i>, -so did the Eucharist inspire him with the most effective scene -of the piece—the love-feast of the Grail. It is the <i>mise-en-scène</i> -of the Catholic Mass, with the heretical addition of one -Protestant feature—the partaking by the communicants of the -elements in both kinds. The unveiling of the Grail corresponds -to the elevation of the Host. The acolytes take the form of the -choir of boys and youths. In the antiphonal songs and the -actions of Amfortas, we find approximations to all four parts of -the Mass. The knights of the Grail intone a sort of stunted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -introit, the long plaint of Amfortas: ‘No! Let it not be unveiled! -Oh, may no one, no one, fathom the depths of this -torment!’ etc., may be regarded as a <i>Confiteor</i>. The boys sing -the offertory (‘Take ye my blood for the sake of our love!’ etc.). -Amfortas proceeds to the consecration; all partake in the -Communion, and there is even a parodied reminiscence of the -‘Ite, missa est’ in Gurnemanz’s exclamation, ‘Go out hence -upon thy way!’ Since Constantine the Great, since the elevation -of Christianity to the rank of a State religion, no poet has -dared do what Wagner has done; he has drawn theatrical -effects from the incomparable rich emotional content of the -function of the Mass. He felt profoundly the symbolism of the -Lord’s Supper; it provoked in him a powerful mystical excitement, -and the need arose in him of endowing the symbolical -event with a dramatic form, and of sensuously experiencing in -all its details and in its entirety that which in the sacrifice of -the Mass is only indicated, condensed, and spiritualized. He -wished to see and feel in his own person how the elect enjoy, -amid violent emotions, the body of Christ and His redeeming -blood; and how super-terrestrial phenomena, the purple gleaming -of the Grail and the downward hovering dove (in the final -scene), etc., make palpable the real presence of Christ and the -divine nature of the Eucharist. Just as Wagner has borrowed -from the Church his inspiration for the scenes in the Grail, and -then for his own purposes has popularized the liturgy in the -style of the <i>Biblia Pauperum</i>, so does the audience find again -the cathedral and high mass on his stage, and import into the -piece all the emotions left in their soul by Church ceremonies. -The real priest in his sacerdotal robes, the remembrance of his -gestures, of the hand-bell and the genuflexions of the servers, -the blue reek and perfume of the incense, the pealing of the -organ and the play of chequered sunlight through the stained -windows of the church—these are, in the heart of the public, -Wagner’s collaborators; and it is not his art which lulls them -into mystic ecstasy, but the fundamental mood inculcated in -the vast majority of white races by two centuries of Christian -sentiment.</p> - -<p>Mysticism is, as we know, always accompanied by eroticism, -especially in the degenerate, whose emotionalism has its chief -source in morbidly excited states of the sexual centres. -Wagner’s imagination is perpetually occupied with woman. -But he never sees her relation to man in the form of healthy -and natural love, which is a benefit and satisfaction for both -lovers. As with all morbid erotics (we have already remarked -this in Verlaine and Tolstoi), woman presents herself -to him as a terrible force of nature, of which man is the -trembling, helpless victim. The woman that he knows is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -gruesome Astarté of the Semites, the frightful man-eating Kali -Bhagawati of the Hindoos, an apocalyptic vision of smiling -bloodthirstiness, of eternal perdition and infernal torment, in -demoniacally beautiful embodiment. No poetical problem has -so profoundly moved him as the relation between man and this -his ensnaring destroyer. He has approached this problem from -all sides, and has given it different solutions corresponding to -his instincts and views of morality. The man frequently -succumbs to the temptress, but Wagner revolts against this -weakness, of which he is himself only too conscious, and in his -chief works makes the man offer a desperate, but finally -victorious, resistance. Not, however, by his own strength does -man tear himself from the paralyzing charm of woman. He -must receive supernatural aid. This proceeds most frequently -from a pure and unselfish virgin, who forms the antithesis to the -sphinx with soft woman’s body and lion’s paws. In conformity -with the psychological law of contrast, Wagner invents as a -counterpart to the terrible woman of his inmost perception an -angelic woman, who is all love, all devotion, all celestial mildness; -a woman who asks for nothing and gives all; a woman soothing, -caressing and healing; in a word, a woman for whom an unhappy -creature pants as he writhes, consumed by flames, in the -white-hot flames of Belit. Wagner’s Elizabeth, Elsa, Senta, -and Gertrude are extremely instructive manifestations of erotic -mysticism, in which the half-unconscious idea is struggling -for form, viz., that the safety of the sexually crazy degenerate -lies in purity, continence, or in the possession of a wife having -no sort of individuality, no desire and no rights, and hence incapable -of ever proving dangerous to the man.</p> - -<p>In one of his first compositions, as in his last, in <i>Tannhäuser</i> -as in <i>Parsifal</i>, he treats of the combat between man and his -corruptress, the fly versus the spider, and in this way testifies -that for thirty-three years, from youth to old age, the subject -has never been absent from his mind. In <i>Tannhäuser</i> it is the -beautiful devil Venus herself who ensnares the hero, and with -whom he has to wage a desperate conflict for the salvation of his -soul. The pious and chaste Elizabeth, this dream-being, woven -of moonlight, prayer, and song, becomes his ‘redeemer.’ In -<i>Parsifal</i> the beautiful devil is named Kundry, and the hero -escapes the danger with which she threatens his soul only -because he is ‘the pure fool,’ and is in a state of grace.</p> - -<p>In the <i>Walküre</i> Wagner’s imagination surrenders itself to unbridled -passion. He here represents the ardent man wildly and -madly abandoning himself to his appetite, without regard to the -dictates of society, and without attempting to resist the furious -impetuosity of his instinct. Siegmund sees Sieglinde, and -thenceforth has but one idea—to possess her. That she is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -another’s wife—nay, that he recognises her as his own sister—does -not check him for a moment. Those considerations are as -feathers before the storm. He pays for his night of pleasure by -his death the following morning. For with Wagner love is always -a fatality, and ever round its pillow blaze the flames of hell. And -as he has not made manifest in Sieglinde the images of carnage -and annihilation evoked in him by his idea of woman, he personifies -these separately in the <i>Walküre</i>. Their appearance in the -drama is for him a psychological need. The traits inseparable -in his mind from his conception of woman, and ordinarily -united by him in a single figure, are here separated and raised -to the dignity of independent types. Venus, Kundry, are seducer -and destroyer in one person. In the <i>Walküre</i> Sieglinde is only -the seducer, but the destroyer grows into a horde of gruesome -Amazons, who drink the blood of battling men, revel in the -spectacle of murderous blows, and rush with wild, exulting cries -across the corpse-strewn waste.</p> - -<p><i>Siegfried</i>, <i>Götterdämmerung</i>, <i>Tristan und Isolde</i> are exact -repetitions of the essential content of the <i>Walküre</i>. It is always -the dramatic embodiment of the same obsession of the terrors of -love. Siegfried sees Brunhilde in the midst of her fire-circle, -and both instantly fall into each other’s arms in a rage of love; -but Siegfried must expiate his happiness with his life, and falls -under the steel of Hagen. The mere death of Siegfried does -not suffice for Wagner’s imagination as the inevitable consequence -of love; destiny must show itself more terribly. The -castle of Asgard itself breaks out in flames, and the slave of -love in dying drags to his own perdition all the gods of heaven -along with him. <i>Tristan und Isolde</i> is the echo of this tragedy of -passion. Here also is the complete annihilation of the sentiment -of duty and self-conquest, by the springing up of love both in -Tristan and Isolde; and here also is death as the natural end -towards which love is hurried. To express his fundamental -mystic thought, that love is an awful fatality wherewith the unapproachable -powers of destiny visit the poor mortal incapable -of resistance, he has resort to a childishly clumsy device; he -introduces into his compositions love-philtres of potent spell, -now to explain the birth of the passion itself, and to indicate its -superhuman nature, as in <i>Tristan und Isolde</i>; now to withdraw -all the moral life of the hero from the control of his will, and -show him as the plaything of super-terrestrial forces, as in the -<i>Götterdämmerung</i>.</p> - -<p>Thus Wagner’s poems give us a deep insight into the world of -ideas of an erotically emotional degenerate nature. They reveal -the alternating mental conditions of a most reckless sensuality, of -a revolt of moral sentiment against the tyranny of appetite, of the -ruin of the higher man and his despairing repentance. As has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -already been said, Wagner is an admirer of Schopenhauer and -his philosophy. Like his master, he persuaded himself that life -is a misfortune, and non-existence salvation and happiness. -Love, as the constantly active incitement to the maintenance of -the species and continuance of life, with all its accompanying -sufferings, was bound to seem to him the source of all evil; and, -on the other hand, the highest wisdom and morality, to consist -in the victorious resistance of this incitement, in chastity, -sterility, the negation of the will to perpetuate the species. -And while his judgment bound him to these views, his instincts -attracted him irresistibly to woman, and forced him during his -whole life to do all that flouted his convictions and condemned -his doctrine. This discord between his philosophy and his -organic inclinations is the inner tragedy of his mental life, and -his poems form a unique whole, recounting the process of the -internal conflict. He sees a woman, at once loses himself, and -is absorbed in her charms (Siegmund and Sieglinde, Siegfried -and Brunhilde, Tristan and Isolde). This is a great sin, demanding -expiation; death alone is an adequate punishment -(final scenes in the <i>Walküre</i>, <i>Götterdämmerung</i>, <i>Tristan und -Isolde</i>). But the sinner has a timid and feeble excuse: ‘I could -not resist. I was the victim of superhuman powers. My -seducer was of the race of the gods’ (Sieglinde, Brunhilde). -‘Magic philtres deprived me of my reason’ (Tristan, Siegfried -in his relations with Gutrune). How glorious to be strong -enough to vanquish the devouring monster of appetite within! -How radiant and exalted the figure of a man able to plant his -foot on the neck of the demon woman! (Tannhäuser and -Parsifal). And, on the other hand, how beautiful and adorable -the woman who should not set ablaze the hell-fire of passion in -man, but aid him in quenching it; who should not exact of him -a revolt against reason, duty, and honour, but be an example to -him of renunciation and self-discipline; who, instead of enslaving -him, should, as his loving handmaid, divest herself of her -own nature, to blend herself with his; in a word, a woman who -would leave him safe in his defencelessness, because she herself -would be unarmed! (Elizabeth, Elsa, Senta, Gutrune). The -creation of these forms of woman is a sort of <i>De Profundis</i> of -the timid voluptuary, who feels the sting of the flesh, and implores -aid to protect him from himself.</p> - -<p>Like all the degenerates, Wagner is wholly sterile as a poet, -although he has written a long series of dramatic works. The -creative force capable of reproducing the spectacle of universal -normal life is denied him. He has recourse to his own mystico-erotic -emotions for the emotional content of his pieces, and the -external incidents forming their skeleton are purely the fruits of -reading, the reminiscences of books which have made an impression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -on him. This is the great difference between the -healthy and the degenerate poet who receives his sentiments at -second-hand. The former is able to ‘plunge into full human -life,’ as Goethe says; to seize it, and either make it enter all -breathing and palpitating into a poem which itself thus becomes a -part of natural life, or else remould it with idealizing art, suppressing -its accidental, accessory features, so as to make prominent -the essential; and in this way convincingly to reveal law behind -enigmatically bewildering phenomena. The degenerate subject, -on the contrary, can do nothing with life; he is blind and deaf -to it. He is a stranger in the midst of healthy men. He lacks -the organs necessary for the comprehension of life—nay, even -for its perception. To work from a model does not lie within -his powers. He can only copy existing sketches, and then -colour them subjectively with his own emotions. He can see -life only when it lies before him on paper in black and white. -While the healthy poet resembles the chlorophyllic plant, which -dives into the soil, and, by the honest labour of its own roots, -procures for itself the nutritive materials out of which it constructs -its blossoms and fruit, the degenerate poet has the nature -of a parasitic plant, which can only live on a host, and receives its -nutriment exclusively from the juices already elaborated by the -latter. There are modest parasites and proud parasites. Their -range extends from the insignificant lichen to the wondrous -rafflesia, the flower of which, a yard in breadth, illumines the -sombre forests of Sumatra with the wild magnificence of its blood-red -colour. Wagner’s poems have in them something of the carrion -stench and uncanny beauty of this plant of rapine and corruption. -With the single exception of the <i>Meistersinger</i>, they are -grafted on the Icelandic sagas, the epics of Gottfried of Strassburg, -Wolfram of Eschenbach, and the singer of the Wartburg -war in the Manessian manuscript, as on so many trunks of half-dead -trees, and they draw their strength from these. <i>Tannhäuser</i>, -the <i>Niebelungen Tetralogy</i>, <i>Tristan und Isolde</i>, <i>Parsifal</i>, -and <i>Lohengrin</i>, are constructed entirely from materials supplied -him by ancient literature. <i>Rienzi</i> he derives from written history, -and the <i>Fliegender Holländer</i> from the tradition already utilized -a hundred times. Among popular legends, that of the Wandering -Jew has made the deepest impression on his mind, on account -of its mysticism. He has elaborated it once in the <i>Fliegender -Holländer</i>; a second time transposed it feature for feature into -a feminine form in the person of Kundry, not without weaving -into this inversion some reminiscences of the legend of Herodias. -All this is patchwork and dilettantism. Wagner deceives himself -(probably unconsciously) as to his incapacity for creating human -beings, representing, not men, but gods and demi-gods, demons -and spectres, whose deeds are not to be explained by human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -motives, but by mysterious destinies, curses and prophecies, -fatal and magic forces. That which passes before our eyes in -Wagner’s pieces is not life, but spectres, witches’ sabbaths, or -dreams. He is a dealer in old clothes, who has bought at -second-hand the cast-off garments of fairy-tales, and makes of -them (often not without clever tailoring) new costumes, in which -we may recognise, strangely jumbled and joined, rags of ancient -gala stuffs and fragments of damascened suits of armour. But -these masquerading suits do not serve for clothes to a single -being of flesh and blood. Their apparent movements are produced -exclusively by the hand of Wagner, who has slipped into -the empty doublets and sleeves, and behind the flowing trains -and dangling robes, and kicks about in them with epileptic convulsions, -that he may awaken in the spectator the impression of -a ghostly animation in this obsolete wardrobe.</p> - -<p>Healthy geniuses have also, no doubt, allied themselves -with popular tradition or history, like Goethe in <i>Faust</i> and -<i>Tasso</i>. But what a difference between the respective treatment by -a healthy poet and a degenerate one of that which they find, of -that which is given! To the former it is a vessel which he fills -with genuine, fresh life, so that the new contents become the -essential part; to the latter, on the contrary, the outside is and -remains the chief thing, and his own activity consists at best in -choking the receptacle with the chaff of nonsensical phrases. -The great poets, too, lay claim to the cuckoo’s privilege of -laying their egg in a strange nest. But the bird which issues -from the egg is so much larger, handsomer and stronger than -the original denizens, that the latter are mercilessly driven from -their home and the former remains the sole possessor. When -the great poet puts his new wine into old bottles, he doubtless -shows a little indolence, a little poverty of invention and a -not very high-minded reckoning on the reader’s pre-existing -emotions. But he cannot be held too rigorously accountable for -this small amount of stinginess, because, after all, he gives us so -much that is his own. Imagine <i>Faust</i> deprived of all the portions -drawn from old popular books; there would still remain -nearly everything; there would remain all of the man who -thirsts for knowledge and seeks for it; all the struggle between -his baser instincts craving for satisfaction, and the higher -morality rejoicing in renunciation; in brief, just that which -makes the work one of the loftiest poems of humanity. If, on -the other hand, Wagner’s old ancestral marionettes are stripped -of their armour and brocades, there remains nothing, or, at best, -only air and a musty smell. Assimilating minds have hundreds -of times felt tempted to modernize <i>Faust</i>. The undertaking is so -sure of success that it is superfluous; Faust in dress-coat would -be no other than the unaltered embodiment of Goethe’s own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -Faust. But imagine Lohengrin, Siegmund, Tristan, Parsifal, -as contemporaries! They would not even serve for burlesque, -in spite of the Tannhäuser lampoon by the old Viennese poet -Nestroy.</p> - -<p>Wagner swaggered about the art-work of the future, and his -partisans hailed him as the artist of the future. He the artist -of the future! He is a bleating echo of the far-away past. His -path leads back to deserts long since abandoned by all life. -Wagner is the last mushroom on the dunghill of romanticism. -This ‘modern’ is the degraded heir of a Tieck, of a -La Motte-Fouqué—nay more, sad to say, of a Johann Friedrich -Kind. The home of his intellect is the Dresden evening paper. -He derives his subsistence from the legacy of mediæval poems, -and dies of starvation when the remittance from the thirteenth -century fails to arrive.</p> - -<p>The subject alone of the Wagnerian poems can raise a claim -to serious consideration. As for their form, it is beneath criticism. -The absurdity of his style, his shallowness, the awkwardness -of his versification, his complete inability to clothe his feelings -and thoughts in anything like adequate language—these -have been so often pointed out and exposed in detail that I may -spare myself the trouble of dwelling on these points. But one -faculty among the essential constituents of dramatic endowment -cannot be denied him—that of picturesque imagination. It is -developed in him to the point of genius. Wagner as a dramatist -is really a historical painter of the highest rank. Nietzsche (in his -skit, <i>Der Fall Wagner</i><a name="FNanchor_197_197" id="FNanchor_197_197"></a><a href="#Footnote_197_197" class="fnanchor">[197]</a>) perhaps means the same when, without -stopping at this important assertion, he calls Wagner, not only -‘magnetizer’ and ‘collector of gew-gaws,’ but also a ‘fresco-painter.’ -This he is in a degree never yet attained by any other dramatic -author in the whole world of literature. Every action embodies -itself for him in a series of most imposing pictures, which, when -they are composed as Wagner has seen them with his inner eye, -must overwhelm and enrapture the beholder. The reception of -the guests in the hall of the Wartburg; the arrival and departure -of Lohengrin in the boat drawn by the swan; the gambols of -the Rhine maidens in the river; the defiling of the gods over -the rainbow-bridge towards the castle of Asgard; the bursting -of the moonlight into Hunding’s hut; the ride of the Walküre -over the battlefield; Brunhilde in the circle of fire; the final -scene in <i>Götterdämmerung</i>, where Brunhilde flings herself on to -her horse and leaps into the midst of the funeral-pyre, while -Hagen throws himself into the surging Rhine, and the heavens -are aflame with the glow from the burning palace of the gods; the -love-feast of the knights in the castle of the Grail; the obsequies -of Titurel and the healing of Amfortas—these are pictures to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -which nothing hitherto in art approaches. It is on account of -this gift for inventing incomparably imposing spectacles that -Nietzsche has termed Wagner a ‘comedian.’ The word signifies -nothing, and, in so far as it may contain a tinge of contempt, is -unjust. Wagner is no comedian, but a born painter. If he had -been a healthy genius, endowed with intellectual equilibrium, -that is what he would undoubtedly have become. His inner -vision would have forced the brush into his hand, and constrained -him to realize it on canvas, by means of colour. -Leonardo da Vinci had the same gift. It made him the greatest -painter the world had yet known, and at the same time the -unsurpassed deviser and organizer of fêtes, pageants, triumphs, -and allegorical plays, which, perhaps more than his genius as -a painter, won for him the admiration of his princely patrons -Ludovico Moro, Isabella of Aragon, Cæsar Borgia, Charles VIII., -Louis XII., Francis I. But Wagner, as is the case with all -the degenerate, did not see clearly into his own nature. He did -not understand his natural impulses. Perhaps also, with the -feeling of his own deep organic feebleness, he dreaded the heavy -labour of drawing and painting, and, conformably with the law -of least effort, his instinct sought vent in the theatre, where his -inner visions were embodied by others—the decorative painters, -machinists, and actors—without requiring him to exert himself. -His pictures have unquestionably a large share in the effect -produced by his pieces. They are admired without an inquiry -into how far their introduction is warranted by the rational course -of the drama. However nonsensical as part of an action, they -justify their appearance, from an artistic standpoint, by their -intrinsic beauty, which makes of them independent æsthetical -phenomena. Through their enormous aggrandizement by the -media of the stage, their pictorial allurements are perceptible -even to the eye of the most crass Philistine, whose sense were -otherwise dead to them.</p> - -<p>Of Wagner the musician, more important to all appearance -than Wagner the author, dramatic poet and fresco-painter, I -treat lastly, because this task will give us a clear proof of his -degeneration, although this is very much more evident in his -writings than in his music, where certain stigmata of degeneration -are not so prominent, and where others appear as its unmistakable -advantages. The incoherence in words, noticeable -at once to an attentive person, does not exhibit itself in music -unless it is excessively strongly marked; the absurdity, the contradictions, -the twaddle, are hardly apparent in the language of -tones, because it is not the function of music to express an exact -meaning, and emotionalism is not in it an indication of disease, -since emotion is music’s proper essence.</p> - -<p>We know, moreover, that high musical talent is compatible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -with a very advanced state of degeneration—nay, even with pronounced -delusion, illusion, and idiocy. Sollier<a name="FNanchor_198_198" id="FNanchor_198_198"></a><a href="#Footnote_198_198" class="fnanchor">[198]</a> says: ‘We have -to deal with certain aptitudes very often manifested with great -intensity by idiots and imbeciles.... That for music especially -is often met with.... Although this may seem disagreeable -to musicians, it nevertheless proves that music is the least intellectual -of all the arts.’ Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_199_199" id="FNanchor_199_199"></a><a href="#Footnote_199_199" class="fnanchor">[199]</a> remarks: ‘It has been -observed that the aptitude for music has been displayed almost -involuntarily and unexpectedly among many sufferers from -hypochondria and mania, and even among the really insane.’ -He cites, with other cases, a mathematician attacked with -melancholia, who improvised on the piano; a woman seized -with megalomania, who ‘sang very beautiful airs, at the same -time improvising two different themes on the piano’; a patient -‘who composed very beautiful new and melodious tunes,’ etc.; -and he adds in explanation that those who are afflicted with -megalomania and general paralysis surpass other mental invalids -in musical talent, ‘and from the very same cause as that of their -unusual aptitude for painting, viz., their violent mental excitation.’</p> - -<p>Wagner the musician encounters his most powerful attacks -from musicians themselves. He himself bears witness to it:<a name="FNanchor_200_200" id="FNanchor_200_200"></a><a href="#Footnote_200_200" class="fnanchor">[200]</a> -‘Both my friends (Ferd. Hiller and Schumann) believed that they -very soon discovered me to be a musician of no remarkable endowment. -My success also has seemed to them to be due to the -libretti written by myself.’ In other language, the same old story—musicians -regarded him as a poet, and poets as a musician. -It is of course convenient to explain <i>a posteriori</i> the decisive -judgments of men who were at once prominent professionals -and sincere friends of Wagner by saying (after he had attained -success) that his tendency was too novel to be immediately -appreciated, or even understood, by them. This solution, however, -hardly applies to Schumann, as he was a friend to all -innovations, and audacities, even differing from his own, rather -attracted than shocked him. Rubinstein<a name="FNanchor_201_201" id="FNanchor_201_201"></a><a href="#Footnote_201_201" class="fnanchor">[201]</a> still makes important -reservations in regard to Wagner’s music; and among serious -contemporary musical critics who have witnessed the birth, -development and triumph of the Wagner cult, Hanslick remained -a long time recalcitrant, until at last, though not very -valiantly, he struck his colours in face of the overpowering fanaticism -of hysterical Wagnerphiles. What Nietzsche (in his <i>Der -Fall Wagner</i>) says against Wagner as a musician is unimportant, -since the brochure of abjuration is quite as insanely delirious as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -the brochure of deification (<i>Wagner in Bayreuth</i>) written twelve -years before.</p> - -<p>In spite of the unfavourable judgments of many of his professional -brethren, Wagner is incontestably an eminently gifted -musician. This coolly-expressed recognition will certainly seem -grotesque to Wagnerian fanatics, who place him above Beethoven. -But a serious inquirer into truth need not trouble himself about the -impressions provoked by Wagner among these persons. In the -first period of his productivity Wagner much oftener achieved -compositions of beauty than subsequently, and among these -many may be termed pearls of musical literature, and will for a -long time enjoy even the esteem of serious and rational people. -But Wagner the musician had to confront a lifelong enemy, -who forcibly prevented the full unfolding of his gifts, and this -enemy was Wagner the musical theorist.</p> - -<p>In his graphomaniacal muddle he concocted certain theories, -which represent so many fits of æsthetic delirium. The most -important of these are the dogmas of the <i>leit-motif</i> and of the -unending melody. Everyone now undoubtedly knows what -Wagner understood by the former. The expression has passed -into all civilized languages. The <i>leit-motif</i>, in which the -threshed-out discarded ‘programme music’ was bound logically -to culminate, is a sequence of tones supposed to express a -definite conception, and appears in the orchestration whenever -the composer intends to recall to the auditor the corresponding -conception. By the <i>leit-motif</i> Wagner transforms music into -dry speech. The orchestration, leaping from <i>leit-motif</i> to <i>leit-motif</i>, -no longer embodies general emotions, but claims to appeal -to memory and to reason, and communicate sharply defined -presentations. Wagner combines a few notes into a musical -figure, as a rule not even distinct or original, and makes this -arrangement with the auditor:—‘This figure signifies a combat, -that a dragon, a third a sword,’ etc. If the auditor does not -agree to the stipulation, the <i>leit-motifs</i> lose all significance, for -they possess in themselves nothing which compels us to grasp -the meaning arbitrarily lent them; and they cannot have -anything of this kind in them, because the imitative powers -of music are by its nature limited to purely acoustical -phenomena, or at most to those optical phenomena ordinarily -accompanied by acoustical phenomena. By imitating thunder, -music can express the notion of a thunderstorm; by the imitation -of the tones of a bugle, it can call up that of an army in such a -way that the listener can hardly have a doubt as to the significance -of the corresponding sequences of tones. On the other hand, -it is absolutely denied to music, with the means at its disposal, -to produce an unequivocal embodiment of the visible and -tangible world, let alone that of abstract thought. Hence the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -<i>leit-motifs</i> are at best cold symbols, resembling written characters, -which in themselves say nothing, and convey to the initiated and -the learned alone the given import of a presentation.</p> - -<p>Here again is found the phenomenon already repeatedly -indicated by us as a mark of the mode of thought among the -degenerate—the unconscious moon-struck somnambulous way -in which they transgress the most firmly-established limits of -the particular artistic domain, annul the differentiation of the -arts arrived at by long historical evolution, and lead them back -to the period of the lacustrines, nay, of the most primitive -troglodytes. We have seen that the pre-Raphaelites reduce the -picture to a writing which is no longer to produce its effect by -its pictorial qualities, but must express an abstract idea; and -that the Symbolists make of the word, that conventional -vehicle of a conception, a musical harmony, by whose aid they -endeavour to awaken not an idea, but a phonetic effect. In -precisely the same way Wagner wishes to divest music of its -proper essence, and to transform it from a vehicle of emotion -into a vehicle of rational thought. The disguise produced -by this interchange of costumes is in this way complete. -Painters proclaim themselves writers; poets behave like the -composers of symphonies; the musician plays the poet. Pre-Raphaelites -wishing to record a religious apothegm do not -make use of writing, which leaves nothing to be desired in the -way of convenience, and by which they would be distinctly -understood, but plunge into the labour of a highly-detailed -painting, costing them much time, and which, in spite of its -wealth of figures, is far from speaking so clearly to the intelligence -as a single line of rational writing. Symbolists desirous -of awakening a musical emotion do not compose a melody, -but join meaningless, though ostensibly musical words, capable, -perhaps, of provoking amusement or vexation, but not the -intended emotion. When Wagner wishes to express the idea -of ‘giant,’ ‘dwarf,’ ‘tarn-cap which makes the wearer invisible,’ -he does not say in words universally understood ‘giant,’ ‘dwarf,’ -‘tarn-cap’ (which makes the wearer invisible), but replaces these -excellent words by a series of notes, the sense of which no one -will divine without a key. Is anything more needed to expose -the complete insanity of this confusion of all the means of -expression, this ignorance of what is possible to each art?</p> - -<p>It is Wagner’s ambition to imitate those facetious students -who teach their dog to say ‘papa.’ He wants to perform the -trick of making music say the names ‘Schulze’ and ‘Müller’ -(=Smith and Jones). The score should, when necessary, supply -the place of the directory. Language does not suffice him. -He creates for himself a <i>volapük</i>, and demands that his hearers -should learn it. No admission without hard work! Those who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> -have not assimilated the vocabulary of the Wagnerian <i>volapük</i> -cannot understand his operas. It is useless to go to the trouble -of a journey to Bayreuth if one cannot talk fluently in <i>leit-motifs</i>. -And how pitiable after all is the result of this delirious -effort! H. von Wolzogen, the writer of the <i>Thematische -Leitfaden</i> (Thematic Guide) to the Niebelungen Tetralogy, -finds in all these four prodigious works only ninety <i>leit-motifs</i>. -A language of ninety words, however inflated they may be, -such as ‘motif of the weary Siegmund,’ ‘motif of the mania for -vengeance,’ ‘motif of bondage,’ etc.! with such a vocabulary -it would be impossible even to exchange ideas about the -weather with a native of Tierra del Fuego. A page of Sanders’ -lexicon contains more means of expression than Wolzogen’s -entire dictionary of the Wagnerian <i>leit-motif</i> language. The -history of art knows no more astounding aberration than this -<i>leit-motif</i> craze. To express ideas is not the function of music; -language provides for that as completely as could be desired. -When the word is accompanied by song or orchestra it is not -to make it more definite, but to re-enforce it by the intervention -of emotion. Music is a kind of sounding-board, in which the -word has to awake something like an echo from the infinite. -But such an echo of presentiment and mystery does not ring -out from <i>leit-motifs</i> coldly pasted together, as if by the labour -of a conscientious registrar.</p> - -<p>With the ‘unending melody,’ the second of Wagner’s tenets, -it is the same as with the <i>leit-motif</i>. It is a product of degenerate -thought; it is musical mysticism. It is the form in which -incapacity for attention shows itself in music. In painting, -attention leads to composition; the absence of it to a uniformly -photographic treatment of the whole field of vision as with the -pre-Raphaelites. In poetry, attention results in clearness of -ideas, consistency of statement, the suppression of the unimportant, -and the giving emphasis to the essential; its absence -leads to twaddle as with the graphomaniacs, and to a painful -prolixity in consequence of the indiscriminate recording of all -perceptions as with Tolstoi. Finally, in music attention -expresses itself in completed forms, <i>i.e.</i>, in well-defined melodies; -its absence, on the contrary, by the dissolution of form, the -obliteration of its boundary lines, and thus by unending melodies -as with Wagner. This parallelism is not an arbitrary play of -ideas, but an exact picture of the corresponding mental processes -among the different groups of degenerate subjects, producing -in the different arts different manifestations according to -their specific means and aims.</p> - -<p>Let us grasp what melody is. It is the regular grouping of -notes in a highly expressive series of tones. Melody in music -corresponds to what in language is a logically-constructed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -sentence, distinctly presenting an idea, and having a clearly-marked -beginning and ending. The dreamy rambling of half-formed -nebulous thoughts as little allows the mintage of -sentences of this kind, as does the fleeting agitation of the vague -bewildered emotion lead to the composition of a melody. The -emotions, too, have their own grades of distinctness. They, -too, can appear as chaotic, or as well-regulated states. In the -one case they stand out in the consciousness which grasps their -composition and their purpose as discriminable modes strongly -illuminated by the attention; in the other case they are a -disturbing enigma to consciousness, and perceived by it merely -as a generic excitement, as a sort of subterranean trembling and -rumbling of unknown origin and tendency. If the emotions -are intelligible, they will be fain to manifest themselves in a form -at once the most expressive and most easily grasped. If, on -the contrary, they are a generic continuous state, without -determined cause and discoverable aim, the music presenting -them to the senses will be as blurred and as nebulously fluctuating -in form as themselves. Melody may be said to be an effort of -music to say something definite. It is clear that an emotion -unconscious of its cause and its aims, and unilluminated by -attention, will not raise its musical expression to the height of -melody, precisely because it has nothing definite to say.</p> - -<p>A completed melody is a late acquisition of music, obtained -by it only after long evolution. In its historic, and still more in -its prehistoric, beginnings, the art of music knew it not. Music -springs originally from song, and the rhythmic noise (<i>i.e.</i>, noise -repeated in equal or regular intervals of time) of accompanying -stamping, knocking, or clapping of the hands; and song is -nothing but speech grown louder and moving in wider intervals -through emotional excitement. I should like to cite only one -passage from the almost unlimited literature on this hackneyed -subject. Herbert Spencer, in his well-known treatise on -<i>The Origin and Function of Music</i>,<a name="FNanchor_202_202" id="FNanchor_202_202"></a><a href="#Footnote_202_202" class="fnanchor">[202]</a> says: ‘All music is -originally vocal.... The dance-chants of savage tribes are very -monotonous, and in virtue of their monotony are much more -nearly allied to ordinary speech than are the songs of civilized -races.... The early poems of the Greeks, which, be it remembered, -were sacred legends embodied in that rhythmical, metaphorical -language which strong feeling excites, were not recited, -but chanted; the tones and the cadences were made musical by -the same influences which made the speech poetical.... This -chanting is believed to have been not what we call singing, but -nearly allied to our recitative; far simpler, indeed, if we may -judge from the fact that the early Greek lyre, which had but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> -<i>four</i> strings, was played in <i>unison</i> with the voice, which was -therefore confined to four notes.... That recitative—beyond -which, by the way, the Chinese and Hindoos seem never to -have advanced—grew naturally out of the modulations and -cadences of strong feeling, we have, indeed, still current -evidence. There are even now to be met with occasions on -which strong feeling vents itself in this form. Whoever has -been present when a meeting of Quakers was addressed by one -of their preachers (whose practice it is to speak only under the -influence of religious emotion) must have been struck by the -quite unusual tones, like those of a subdued chant, in which the -address was made.’</p> - -<p>Recitative, which is nothing but speech intensified, and allows -no recognition of completed forms of melody, is therefore the -most ancient form of music; it is the degree of development -reached by the art of music among savages, the ancient Greeks, -and contemporary races in Eastern Asia. Wagner’s ‘unending -melody’ is nothing but recitative, richly harmonized and animated, -but, nevertheless, recitative. The name bestowed by him -on his pretended invention must not mislead us. In the mouth -of the degenerate a word has never the meaning ascribed to it -by universal language. Wagner calmly applies the term -‘melody’—with a distinguishing adjective—to a form which is -actually the negation and suppression of melody. He designates -unending melody as an advance in music, while it is really -a return to its primeval starting-point. Here there recurs in -Wagner what we have so often laid stress upon in the preceding -chapters, viz., that by a strange optical illusion the degenerate -regard their atavism, their morbid reversion to the most remote -and lowest grades of evolution, as an ascent into the future.</p> - -<p>Wagner was led to his theory of unending melody by his -limited capacity for the invention of finite, that is of real, -melodies. His weakness in melodic creation has struck all impartial -musicians. In youth his power in this direction was -more abundant, and he succeeded in creating some superb -melodies (in <i>Tannhäuser</i>, <i>Lohengrin</i>, <i>Fliegende Höllander</i>). -With increasing age this power became more and more impoverished, -and in proportion as the torrent of melodic invention -dried up in him, he accentuated his theory of unending -melody with ever more obstinacy and asperity. Always there -reappears the well-known device of concocting a theory <i>a -posteriori</i> as a plausible ground for, and palliation of, what is -done through unconscious organic necessity. Wagner was incapable -of distinguishing the individual personages of his operas -by a purely musical characterization, and therefore he invented -the <i>leit-motif</i>.<a name="FNanchor_203_203" id="FNanchor_203_203"></a><a href="#Footnote_203_203" class="fnanchor">[203]</a> Experiencing a great difficulty, especially with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -advancing age, in creating true melodies, he set up the postulate -of the unending melody.</p> - -<p>All the other crotchets of his musical theory also find their -explanation in this clear consciousness of definite incompetency. -In the <i>Art-work of the Future</i> he overwhelms the theory of -counterpoint and the contrapuntists—those dull pedants who -abase the most vital of all arts to a desiccated, dead mathematics—with -a scorn intended to be biting, but producing the -effect of an echo of Schopenhauer’s invectives against the -German philosophers. Why? Because, as an inattentive -mystic, abandoned to amorphous dreams, he must feel intolerably -oppressed by the severe discipline and fixed rules of the -theory of composition, which gave a grammar to the musical -babbling of primeval times, and made of it a worthy medium -for the expression of the emotions of civilized men. He asserts -that pure instrumental music ended with Beethoven; that progress -after him is impossible; that ‘musical declamation’ is the -only path along which the art of music can further develop -itself. It may be that, after Beethoven, instrumental music will -make no progress for decades, or for centuries. He was such a -stupendous genius that it is, in fact, difficult to imagine how he -can be surpassed, or even equalled. Leonardo da Vinci, Shakespeare, -Cervantes, Goethe, produce a similar impression; and, in -truth, these geniuses have not yet been surpassed. It is also -conceivable that there are limits which it is impossible for any -given art to pass at all, so that a very great genius says the last -word for it, and after that no progress can be made in it. In -such a case, however, the aspirant should humbly say: ‘I -know that I cannot do better than the supreme master of my -art; I am therefore contented to labour as one of the <i>epigoni</i> in -the shadow of his greatness, content if my work expresses some -peculiarities of my individuality.’ He ought not in presumptuous -self-conceit to affirm: ‘There is no sense in emulating -the eagle-flight of the mighty one; progress now lies alone -in the flapping of my bats’-wings.’ But this is exactly what -Wagner does. Not being himself endowed with any great gift -for pure instrumental music, as his few symphonic works suffice -to prove, he decrees in the tone of infallibility: ‘Instrumental -music ended with Beethoven. It is an error to seek for anything -on this well-browsed field. The future of music lies in -the accompaniment of the word, and I am he who is to show -you the way into that future.’</p> - -<p>Here Wagner simply makes a virtue of his necessity, and of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> -his weakness a title of glory. The symphony is the highest -differentiation of musical art. In it music has wholly discarded -its relationship with words, and attained its highest independence. -Hence the symphony is the most musical of all that -music can produce. To disown it is to disown that music is a -special, differentiated art. To place above the symphony music -as an accompaniment of words is to raise the handmaiden to a -higher rank than her free-born mistress. It will never occur to -a composer, whose inmost being is charged with musical feeling -and thought, to seek words instead of musical themes for -the expression of that in him which is yearning for embodiment. -For if it does occur to him, it is a proof that in his -inmost being he is a poet or an author, and not a musician. -The choruses in the Ninth Symphony are not to be cited as -proof of the inaccuracy of this assertion. In that case Beethoven -was overmastered by an emotion so powerful and univocal, that -the more general and equivocal character of purely musical expression -could no longer suffice for him, and he was unconditionally -compelled to call in the aid of words. In the deeply -significant Biblical legend, even Balaam’s ass acquired the -power of speech when he had something definite to say. The -emotion which becomes clearly conscious of its content and aim -ceases to be a mere emotion, and transforms itself into presentation, -notion and judgment, but these express themselves, not -in music, but in articulate language. When Wagner, as a -fundamental principle, placed music as an accompaniment to -words above that which is purely instrumental, and not as a -medium for the expression of thought—for in regard to that -there can be no difference of opinion—but as a musical form -properly so called, he only proved that, in the inmost depths of -his nature, and by virtue of his organic disposition, he was not a -musician, but a confused mixture of a poet feeble in style, and -a painter lazy of brush, with a Javanese ‘gamelang’ accompaniment -buzzing in between. This is the case with most ‘higher -degenerates,’ except that the separate fragments of their strangely -intermingled hybrid talent are not so strong and great as -Wagner’s.</p> - -<p>The musical productions in which Wagner has been most -successful—the Venusberg music; the E flat, G, B flat, ‘Wigala-Weia’ -of the Rhinemaidens, repeated one hundred and thirty-six -times; the Walküre ride; the fire incantation; the murmur -of the forest; the Siegfried idyl; the Good-Friday spell; -magnificent compositions, and highly praised with justice—show -precisely the peculiarly unmusical character of his genius. All -these pieces have one thing in common that they depict. They -are not an inner emotion crying out from the soul in music, but the -mental vision of the gifted eye of a painter, which Wagner, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -gigantic power, but also with gigantic aberration, strives to fix in -tones instead of lines and colours. He avails himself of natural -sounds or noises, either imitating them directly, or awakening -ideas of them through association, reproducing the ripple and roar -of waves, the sough of the tree-top and the song of wild birds, -which are in themselves acoustic; or, by an acoustic parallelism, -the optical phenomena of the movements in the dance of voluptuous -female forms, the tearing along of fiercely snorting steeds, -the blazing and flickering of flames, etc. These creations are -not the outgrowth of emotional excitement, but have been produced -by external impressions conveyed through the senses; -they are not the utterance of a feeling but a reflection—<i>i.e.</i>, -something essentially optical. I might compare Wagner’s music, -at its very best, to the flight of flying-fishes. It is an astonishing -and dazzling spectacle, and yet unnatural. It is a straying from -a native to an alien element. Above all, it is something absolutely -barren and incapable of profiting either normal fishes or -normal birds.</p> - -<p>Wagner has felt this himself very forcibly; he was quite clear -on the point that no one could build further on the foundation -of his tone-paintings; for with reference to the efforts of musicians -eagerly desirous of founding a Wagner school, he complains<a name="FNanchor_204_204" id="FNanchor_204_204"></a><a href="#Footnote_204_204" class="fnanchor">[204]</a> -that ‘younger composers were most irrationally putting -themselves to trouble in imitating him.’</p> - -<p>A searching examination has thus shown us that this pretended -musician of the future is an out-and-out musician of -long-ago. All the characteristics of his talent point not forward, -but far behind us. His <i>leit-motif</i>, abasing music to a conventional -phonetic symbol, is atavism; his unending melody is -atavism, leading back the fixed form to the vague recitative of -savages; atavism, his subordination of highly differentiated instrumental -music to music-drama, which mixes music and poetry, -and allows neither of the two art-forms to attain to independence; -even his peculiarity of almost never permitting more than -one person on the stage to sing and of avoiding vocal polyphony -is atavism. As a personality he will occupy an important place -in music; as an initiator, or developer of his art, hardly any, or -a very narrow one. For the only thing that musicians of healthy -capacity can learn from him is to keep song and accompaniment -in opera closely connected with the words, to declaim with -sincerity and propriety, and to suggest pictorial ideas to the -imagination by means of orchestral effects. But I dare not -decide whether the latter is an enlargement or an upheaval of -the natural boundaries of musical art, and in any event disciples<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -of Wagner must use his rich musical palette with caution if they -are not to be led astray.</p> - -<p>Wagner’s mighty influence on his contemporaries is to be -explained, neither by his capacities as author and musician, nor -by any of his personal qualities, with the exception, perhaps, of -that ‘stubborn perseverance in one and the same fundamental -idea’ which Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_205_205" id="FNanchor_205_205"></a><a href="#Footnote_205_205" class="fnanchor">[205]</a> cites as a characteristic of graphomaniacs, -but by the peculiarities in the life of the present -nervous temperament. His earthly destiny resembles that of -those strange Oriental plants known as ‘Jericho roses’ (<i>Anastatica -asteriscus</i>), which, dingy-brown in colour, leathery and dry, -roll about, driven by every wind, until they reach a congenial -soil, when they take root and blossom into full-blown flowers. To -the end of his life Wagner’s existence was conflict and bitterness, -and his boastings had no other echo than the laughter not -only of rational beings, but, alas! of fools also. It was not until -he had long passed his fiftieth year that he began to know the -intoxication of universal fame; and in the last decade of his -life he was installed among the demi-gods. It had come to this, -that the world had, in the interval, become ripe for him—and for -the madhouse. He had the good fortune to endure until the -general degeneration and hysteria were sufficiently advanced to -supply a rich and nutritious soil for his theories and his art.</p> - -<p>The phenomenon repeatedly established and verified in these -pages, that lunatics fly to each other as iron filings to the magnet, -is quite strikingly observable in Wagner’s life. His first great -patroness was the Princess Metternich, daughter of the well-known -eccentric Count Sandor, and whose own eccentricities formed -material for the chronicle of the Napoleonic Court. His most -enthusiastic disciple and defender was Franz Liszt, whom I have -elsewhere characterized (see my <i>Ausgewählte Pariser Briefe</i>; -2<sup>te</sup> Auflage; Leipzig, 1887, p. 172), and of whom I will therefore -only briefly remark that he bore in his nature the greatest resemblance -to Wagner. He was an author (his works, filling six thick -volumes, have an honourable place in the literature of graphomaniacs), -composer, erotomaniac and mystic, all in an incomparably -lower degree than Wagner, whom he surpassed only in a -prodigiously developed talent for pianoforte-playing. Wagner -was an enthusiastic admirer of all graphomaniacs who came in his -way—<i>e.g.</i>, of that A. Gleizès expressly cited by Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_206_206" id="FNanchor_206_206"></a><a href="#Footnote_206_206" class="fnanchor">[206]</a> as -a lunatic, but whom Wagner praises in most exuberant terms;<a name="FNanchor_207_207" id="FNanchor_207_207"></a><a href="#Footnote_207_207" class="fnanchor">[207]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -and he even gathered round him a court of select graphomaniacs, -among whom may be mentioned Nietzsche, whose insanity -compelled his confinement in a madhouse; H. von Wolzogen, -whose <i>Poetische Laut-Symbolik</i> might have been written by the -most exquisite of French ‘Symbolists’ or ‘Instrumentists’;<a name="FNanchor_208_208" id="FNanchor_208_208"></a><a href="#Footnote_208_208" class="fnanchor">[208]</a> -Henri Porges, E. von Hagen, etc. But the most important -relations of this kind were with the unhappy King Louis II. -In him Wagner found the soul he needed. In him he met -with a full comprehension of all his theories and his creations. -It may be safely asserted that Louis of Bavaria created the -Wagner Cult. Only when the King became his protector did -Wagner and his efforts become of importance for the history -of civilization; not, perhaps, because Louis II. offered Wagner -the means of realizing the boldest and most sumptuous of his -artistic dreams, but chiefly because he placed the prestige of -his crown in the service of the Wagnerian movement. Let us -for a moment consider how deeply monarchical is the disposition -of the vast majority of the German people; how the knees of -the beery Philistine tremble as he reverentially salutes even an -empty court carriage; and how the hearts of well-bred maidens -flutter with ineffable inspiration at the sight of a prince! And -here was a real king, handsome as the day, young, surrounded -by legends, whose mental infirmity was at that time regarded -by all sentimentalists as sublime ‘idealism,’ displaying unbounded -enthusiasm for an artist, and reviving on a far larger -scale the relations between Charles Augustus and Goethe! -From that moment it was natural that Wagner should become -the idol of all loyal hearts. To share in the royal taste for the -‘ideal’ was a thing to be proud of. Wagner’s music became -provisionally a royal Bavarian music, adorned with crown and -escutcheon, till it should subsequently become an imperial -German music. At the head of the Wagnerian movement there -walks, as is fit, an insane king. Louis II. was able to bring -Wagner into vogue with the entire German nation (excepting, -of course, those Bavarians who were revolted by the King’s prodigalities); -nevertheless, no amount of grovelling obsequiousness -could by itself have produced a fanaticism for Wagner. That -the mere Wagner-fashion might attain to this height another -factor was necessary—the hysteria of the age.</p> - -<p>Although not so widespread as in France and England, this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -hysteria is not wanting in Germany, where during the last -quarter of a century it has continued to gain ground. Germany -has been longer protected from it than the civilized nations of -the West by the smaller development of large industry and by -the absence of large cities properly so called. In the last generation, -however, both of these gifts have been abundantly accorded -her, and two great wars have done the rest to make the nervous -system of the people susceptible to the pernicious influences of -the city and the factory system.</p> - -<p>The effect of war on the nerves of the participants has never -been systematically investigated; and yet how highly important -and necessary a work this would be! Science knows what disorders -are produced in man by a single strong moral shock, <i>e.g.</i>, -a sudden mortal danger; it has recorded hundreds and thousands -of cases in which persons saved from drowning, or present at a -fire on shipboard, or in a railway accident, or who have been -threatened with assassination, etc., have either lost their reason, -or been attacked by grave and protracted, often incurable, -nervous illnesses. In war hundreds of thousands are exposed to -all these fearful impressions at the same time. For months -cruel mutilation or sudden death menaces them at every step. -They are frequently surrounded by the spectacle of devastation, -conflagration, the most appalling wounds, and heaps of corpses -frightful to behold. Moreover, the greatest demands are made -on their strength; they are forced to march until they break -down, and cannot count on having adequate nourishment or sufficient -sleep. And shall there not appear among these hundreds -of thousands the effect which is proved to result from a single -one of the occurrences which take place by thousands during -war? Let it not be said that in a campaign a soldier becomes -callous to the horrors encompassing him. That merely signifies -that they cease to excite the attention of his consciousness. -They are nevertheless perceived by the senses and their cerebral -centres, and therefore leave their traces in the nervous system. -That the soldier does not at the moment notice the deep shock—nay, -even shattering—he has experienced, equally proves -nothing. ‘Traumatic hysteria,’ ‘railway spine,’ the nervous -maladies consequent on a moral shock, are also frequently unobserved -until months after the event occasioning them.</p> - -<p>In my belief, it can scarcely be doubted that every great war -is a cause of hysteria among multitudes, and that far the larger -number of soldiers, even completely unknown to themselves, -bring home from a campaign a somewhat deranged nervous -system. Of course this is much less applicable to the conquerors -than to the conquered, for the feeling of triumph is one -of the most pleasurable the human brain can experience, and -the force-producing (‘dynamogenous’) effect of this pleasurable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -feeling is well qualified to counteract the destructive influences -of the impressions produced by war. But it is difficult for it -to entirely annul these impressions, and the victors, like the -vanquished, no doubt leave a large part of their nervous -strength and moral health on the battlefield and in the -bivouac.</p> - -<p>The brutalization of the masses after every war has become -a commonplace. The expression originates in the perception -that after a campaign the tone of the people becomes fiercer -and rougher, and that statistics show more acts of violence. -The fact is correctly stated, but the interpretation is superficial. -If the soldier on returning home becomes more short-tempered, -and even has recourse to the knife, it is not because the war has -made him rougher, but because it has made him more excitable. -This increased excitability is, however, only one of the forms of -the phenomenon of nervous debility.</p> - -<p>Hence under the action of the two great wars in connection -with the development of large industries and the growth of large -towns, hysteria among the German people has, since 1870, -increased in an extraordinary manner, and we have very nearly -overtaken the unenviable start which the English and French -had over us in this direction. Now, all hysteria, like every form -of insanity, and for that matter like every disease, receives its -special form from the personality of the invalid. The degree -of culture, the character, propensities and habits of the deranged -person give the derangement its peculiar colour. Among the -English, always piously inclined, degeneration and hysteria were -bound to appear both mystical and religious. Among the -French, with their highly developed taste and widespread fondness -for all artistic pursuits, it was natural that hysteria should -take an artistic direction, and lead to the notorious extravagances -in their painting, literature and music. We Germans are in -general neither very pious nor very cultivated in matters of art. -Our comprehension of the beautiful in art expresses itself, for the -most part, in the idiotic ‘<i>Reizend!</i>’ (charming), and ‘<i>Entzückend!</i>’ -(ravishing), squeaked in shrill head-tones and with upturned -eyes by our well-bred daughters at the sight of a quaintly-shaved -poodle, and before the Darmstadt Madonna by Holbein, indiscriminately; -and in the grunts of satisfaction with which the plain -citizen pumps in his beer at a concert of his singing club. Not -that we are by nature devoid of a sense of the beautiful—I -believe, on the contrary, that in our deepest being we have more -of it than most other nations—but owing to unfavourable circumstances -this sense has not been able to attain development. -Since the Thirty Years’ War we have been too poor, we have had -too hard a struggle for the necessities of life to have anything -left for any sort of luxury; and our ruling classes, profoundly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> -Latinized and slaves to French fashion, were so estranged from -the masses, that for the last two centuries the latter could have -no part in the culture, taste, or æsthetic satisfactions of the -upper strata of society, separated from them by an impassable -gulf. As, therefore, the large majority of the German people -had no interest in art, and troubled themselves little about it, -German hysteria could not assume an artistic, æsthetic form.</p> - -<p>It assumed other forms, partly abominable, partly ignoble -and partly laughable. German hysteria manifests itself in anti-Semitism, -that most dangerous form of the persecution-mania, -in which the person believing himself persecuted becomes a -savage persecutor, capable of all crimes (the <i>persécuté persécuteur</i> -of the French mental therapeutics).<a name="FNanchor_209_209" id="FNanchor_209_209"></a><a href="#Footnote_209_209" class="fnanchor">[209]</a> Like hypochondriacs and -‘hémorroïdaires,’ the German hysterical subject is anxiously -concerned about his precious health. His crazes hinge on the -exhalations of his skin and the functions of his stomach. He -becomes a fanatic for Jaeger vests, and for the groats which -vegetarians grind for themselves. He gets vehemently affected -over Kneipp’s douches and barefoot perambulations on wet -grass. At the same time, he excites himself with morbid -sentimentalism (the ‘Zoophilia’ of Magnan) concerning the -sufferings of the frog, utilized in physiological experiments, and -through all this anti-Semitic, Kneippish, Jaegerish, vegetarian, -and anti-vivisection insanity, there rings out the fundamental -note of a megalomaniacal, Teutonomaniacal Chauvinism, against -which the noble Emperor Frederick vainly warned us. As a -rule, all these derangements appear simultaneously, and in nine -out of ten cases it is safe to take the proudly strutting wearer -of Jaeger’s garments for a Chauvinist, the Kneipp visionary for -a groats-dieted maniac, and the defender of the frog, thirsting -for the professor’s blood, for an anti-Semitist.</p> - -<p>Wagner’s hysteria assumed the collective form of German -hysteria. With a slight modification of Terence’s <i>Homo sum</i>, -he could say of himself, ‘I am a deranged being, and no kind of -derangement is a stranger to me.’ He could as an anti-Semitist -give points to Stoecker.<a name="FNanchor_210_210" id="FNanchor_210_210"></a><a href="#Footnote_210_210" class="fnanchor">[210]</a> He has an inimitable mastery -of Chauvinistic phraseology.<a name="FNanchor_211_211" id="FNanchor_211_211"></a><a href="#Footnote_211_211" class="fnanchor">[211]</a> Was he not able to convince -his hypnotized hysterical following that the heroes of his -pieces were primeval German figures—these Frenchmen and -Brabanters, these Icelanders and Norwegians, these women of -Palestine—all the fabulous beings he had fetched from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -poems of Provence and Northern France, and from the Northern -saga, who (with the exception of <i>Tannhäuser</i> and the <i>Meistersinger</i>) -have not a single drop of German blood or a single -German fibre in their whole body? It is thus that, in public -exhibitions, a quack hypnotist persuades his victims that they -are eating peaches instead of raw potatoes. Wagner became -an advocate for vegetarianism, and as the fruit needed for the -nourishment of the people in accordance with this diet exists in -abundance only in warm regions of the earth, he promptly -advised ‘the direction of a rational emigration to lands resembling -the South American peninsula, which, it has been -affirmed, might, through its superabundant productivity, supply -nourishment for the present population of the entire globe.’<a name="FNanchor_212_212" id="FNanchor_212_212"></a><a href="#Footnote_212_212" class="fnanchor">[212]</a> -He brandishes his knightly sword against the physiologists who -experiment on animals.<a name="FNanchor_213_213" id="FNanchor_213_213"></a><a href="#Footnote_213_213" class="fnanchor">[213]</a> He was not an enthusiast for wool, -because personally he preferred silk; and this is the only hiatus -in the otherwise complete picture. He did not live to witness -the greatness of the reverend Pastor Kneipp, otherwise he -probably would have found words of profound significance for -the primitive German sanctity of wet feet, and the redeeming -power vested in the knee-douche.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, the enthusiastic friendship of King Louis -had given Wagner the necessary prestige, and directed the universal -attention of Germany to him; when the German people -had learned to know him and his peculiarities, then all the -mystics of the Jewish sacrifice of blood, of woollen shirts, of the -vegetable <i>menu</i>, and sympathy cures, were compelled to raise -their pæans in his honour, for he was the embodiment of all their -obsessions. As for his music, they simply threw that into the -bargain. The vast majority of Wagner fanatics understood -nothing of it. The emotional excitement which the works of -their idol made them experience did not proceed from the -singers and the orchestra, but in part from the pictorial beauty -of the scenic tableaux, and in a greater measure from the -specific craze each brought with him to the theatre, and of which -each worshipped Wagner as the spokesman and champion.</p> - -<p>I do not, however, go so far as to assert that <i>skat</i><a name="FNanchor_214_214" id="FNanchor_214_214"></a><a href="#Footnote_214_214" class="fnanchor">[214]</a> patriotism, -and the heroic idealism of natural cures, rice with fruit, -‘away with the Jews!’ and flannel, alone made the hearts of -Wagner-bigots beat faster in blissful emotion when they were -listening to his music. This music was certainly of a nature to -fascinate the hysterical. Its powerful orchestral effects produced -in them hypnotic states (at the Salpêtrière hospital in Paris the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -hypnotic state is often induced by suddenly striking a gong), -and the formlessness of the unending melody was exactly suited -to the dreamy vagaries of their own thought. A distinct melody -awakens and demands attention, and is hence opposed to the -fugitive ideation of the weak brains of the degenerate. A flowing -recitative, on the contrary, without beginning or end, makes -no sort of demand on the mind—for most auditors trouble -themselves either not at all, or for a very short time, about the -hide-and-seek play of the <i>leit-motif</i>—one can allow one’s self to -be swayed and carried along by it, and to emerge from it at -pleasure, without any definite remembrance, but with a merely -sensual feeling of having enjoyed a hot, nervously exciting -tone-bath. The relation of true melody to the unending -melody is the same as that of a genre or historical painting to -the wayward arabesques of a Moorish mural decoration, repeated -a thousand times, and representing nothing definite; and -the Oriental knows how favourable the sight of his arabesques -is to ‘Kef’—that dreamy state in which Reason is lulled to sleep, -and crazy Imagination alone rules as mistress of the house.</p> - -<p>Wagner’s music initiated hysterically-minded Germans into -the mysteries of Turkish Kef. Nietzsche may make sport of this -subject with his idiotic play on words ‘<i>Sursum</i>—bum-bum,’ and -with his remarks about the German youth who seeks for -‘Ahnung’ (presentiments); but the fact is not to be denied that -a part of Wagner’s devotees—those who brought a diseased -mysticism with them to the theatre—found in him their satisfaction; -for nothing is so well qualified to conjure up ‘presentiments,’ -<i>i.e.</i>, ambiguous, shadowy borderland presentations, as a -music which is itself born of nebulous adumbrations of thought.</p> - -<p>Hysterical women were won over to Wagner chiefly by the -lascivious eroticism of his music, but also by his poetic representation -of the relation of man to woman. Nothing enchants -an ‘intense’ woman so much as demoniacal irresistibleness -on the part of the woman, and trembling adoration of her -supernatural power on the part of the man. In contrast to -Frederick William I., who cried in anger, ‘You should not fear, -but love me,’ women of this sort would rather shout to every -man, ‘You are not to love me, but to lie, full of dread and -terror, in the dust at my feet.’ ‘Frau’ Venus, Brunhilde, -Isolde, and Kundry have won for Wagner much more admiration -among women than have Elizabeth, Elsa, Senta, and -Gudrune.</p> - -<p>After Wagner had once conquered Germany, and a fervent -faith in him had been made the first article in the catechism of -German patriotism, foreign countries could not long withstand -his cult. The admiration of a great people has an extraordinary -power of conviction. Even its aberrations it forces with irresistible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -suggestion on other nations. Wagner was one of the foremost -conquerors in the German wars. Sadowa and Sedan -were fought in his behalf. The world, <i>nolens volens</i>, had to -take up its attitude with regard to a man whom Germany -proclaimed its national composer. He began his triumphal -march round the globe draped in the flag of Imperial Germany. -Germany’s enemies were his enemies, and this forced even -such Germans as withstood his influence to take his side -against foreign lands. ‘I beat my breast: I, too, have fought -for him against the French in speech and writing. I also -have defended him against the pastrycooks who hissed his -<i>Lohengrin</i> in Paris.’ How was one to get off this duty? -Hamlet thrusts at the arras, well knowing that Polonius stands -there; hence any son or brother of Polonius is bound resolutely -to attack Hamlet. Wagner had the good fortune to play the -part of the tapestry to the French Hamlets, giving them the -pretext for thrusting at the Polonius of Germany. As a result, -the attitude in the Wagner question of every German was -rigidly prescribed for him.</p> - -<p>To the zeal of Germans all manner of other things added -their aid in favouring the success of Wagner abroad. A minority, -composed in part of really independent men of honorably unprejudiced -minds, but in part also of degenerate minds with a morbid -passion for contradiction, took sides with him just because he -was blindly and furiously maligned by the Chauvinist majority, -who were a prey to national hatred. ‘It is contemptible,’ cried -the minority, ‘to condemn an artist because he is a German. -Art has no fatherland. Wagner’s music should not be judged with -the memory of Alsace-Lorraine.’ These views are so reasonable -and noble, that those who entertained them must have rejoiced -in them and been proud of them. On listening to Wagner, they -had the clear feeling, ‘We are better and cleverer than the -Chauvinists,’ and this feeling necessarily placed them at the -outset in such an agreeable and benevolent mood, that his music -seemed much more beautiful than they would have found it if -they had not been obliged first to stifle their vulgar and base -instincts, and fortify those which were more elevated, free and -refined. They erroneously ascribed to Wagner’s music the -emotions produced by their self-satisfaction.</p> - -<p>The fact that only in Bayreuth could this ‘music be heard, -unfalsified and in its full strength, was also of great importance -for the esteem in which it was held. If it had been played in -every theatre, if, without trouble and formalities, one could have -gone to a representation of Wagner as to one of <i>Il Trovatore</i>, -Wagner would not have obtained his most enthusiastic public -from foreign countries. To know the real Wagner it was necessary -to journey to Bayreuth. This could be done only at long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -intervals and at specified times; seats and lodgings had to be -obtained long in advance, and at great expenditure of trouble. -It was a pilgrimage requiring much money and leisure; hence -‘hoi polloi’ were excluded from it. Thus, the pilgrimage to -Bayreuth became a privilege of the rich and well-bred, and to -have been to Bayreuth came to be a great social distinction -among the snobs of both worlds. The journey was a thing to -make a great parade of and be haughty over. The pilgrim no -longer belonged to the vulgar crowd, but to the select few; he -became a hadji! Oriental sages so well know the peculiar -vanity of the hadjis, that one of their proverbs contains an -express warning against the pious man who has been thrice to -Mecca.</p> - -<p>Hence the pilgrimage to Bayreuth became a mark of -aristocracy, and an appreciation of Wagner’s music, in spite of -his nationality, was regarded as evidence of intellectual preeminence. -The prejudice in his favour was created, and provided -one went to him in this mood, there was no reason why -Wagner should not have the same influence on hysterical -foreigners as on hysterical Germans. <i>Parsifal</i> was especially -fitted completely to subjugate the French neo-Catholics and -Anglo-American mystics who marched behind the banner of the -Salvation Army. It was with this opera that Wagner chiefly -triumphed among his non-German admirers. Listening to the -music of <i>Parsifal</i> has become the religious act of all those who -wish to receive the Communion in musical form.</p> - -<p>These are the explanatory causes of Wagner’s conquest, -first of Germany, and then of the world. The absence of judgment -and independence among the multitude, who chant the -antiphony in the Psalter; the imitation of musicians possessed -of no originality, who witnessed his triumph, and, like genuine -little boys wanting ‘to be taken,’ clung to his coat-tails—these -did what was still needed to lay the world at his feet. As it is -the most widely diffused, so is Wagnerism the most momentous -aberration of the present time. The Bayreuth festival theatre, -the <i>Bayreuther Blätter</i>, the Parisian <i>Revue Wagnérienne</i>, are -lasting monuments by which posterity will be able to measure -the whole breadth and depth of the degeneration and hysteria -of the age.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c214" id="c214">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">PARODIES OF MYSTICISM.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">The</span> artistic and poetic forms of mysticism, which we have -studied hitherto, might perhaps inspire doubts in superficial or -insufficiently instructed minds as to their origin in degeneration, -and present themselves as manifestations of a genuine and -fertile talent. But beside them appear others, in which a state -of mind reveals itself which suddenly arrests and perplexes any -reader, however credulous, and however accessible to the suggestion -of printed words, and to self-puffing charlatanism. Books -and theories find publication, in which even the unlearned -observe the deep intellectual degradation of their authors. One -pretends to be able to initiate the reader into the black art, and -enable him to practise magic himself; another gives a poetical -form to definitely insane ideas, such as have been classified by -mental therapeutics; a third writes books as if prompted by -thoughts and feelings worthy of little children or idiots. A great -part of the works I have in view would justify, without further -consideration, the placing of their authors under constraint. -As, however, in spite of their manifest craziness, well-known -critics are bent upon discovering in them ‘the future,’ ‘fresh -nerve-stimulations,’ and beauties of a mysterious kind, and to -puff them by their chatter to gaping simpletons as revelations -of genius, it is not superfluous to devote some brief consideration -to them.</p> - -<p>A not very large amount of mysticism leads to belief; a -larger amount leads necessarily to superstition, and the more -confused, the more deranged, the mind is, so much the crazier -will be the kind of superstition. In England and America this -most frequently takes the form of spiritualism and the founding -of sects. The hysterical and deranged receive spiritual inspirations, -and begin to preach and prophesy, or they conjure up -spirits and commune with the dead. In English fiction ghost-stories -have begun to occupy a large place, and in English -newspapers to act glibly as stopgaps, as was done formerly in -the Continental press by the sea-serpent and the Flying Dutchman. -A society has been formed which has for its object the -collecting of ghost-stories, and testing their authenticity; and -even literary men of renown have been seized with the vertigo -of the supernatural, and condescend to serve as vouchers for the -most absurd aberrations.</p> - -<p>In Germany, too, spiritualism has found an entrance, although, -on the whole, it has not gained much ground. In the large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -towns there may be some small spiritualist bodies. The English -expression <i>trance</i> has become so familiar to some deranged -persons that they have adopted it in German as <i>trans</i>, imagining -apparently, with the popular etymology, that it means ‘beyond’ -instead of ‘ecstasy,’ or, in other words, the state in which, -according to the spiritualist hypothesis, the medium ought to find -himself who enters into communication with the world of spirits. -Nevertheless, spiritualism has as yet exerted little influence -on our literature. Excluding the later romanticists who have -fallen into childishness, notably the authors of tragedies based -on the idea of ‘fatality’ (<i>Schicksalstragödien</i>), few writers have -dared to introduce the supernatural into their creations otherwise -than allegorically. At most in Kleist and Kerner it attains -a certain importance, and healthy readers do not consider that as -a merit in the dramas of the unfortunate author of the <i>Hermannsschlacht</i>, -and in the <i>Seer of Prevorst</i> of the Swabian poet. On -the other hand, it must certainly be noted that it is the ghost -element precisely which has brought to these two writers, in -recent times, a renewal of youth and popularity among degenerate -and hysterical Germans. Maximilian Perty, who was -evidently born too soon, met with but rare and even rather -derisive notice from the less soft-headed generation which -preceded ours, for his bulky books on apparitions. And, among -contemporaries, none but Freiherr Karl du Prel has chosen the -spirit world as the special subject of his theoretic writings and -novels. After all, our plays, our tales, are very little haunted, -scarcely enough to make a schoolgirl shiver; and even among -the eminent foreign authors best known in Germany, such, for -example, as Tourgenieff, it is not the world of apparitions which -attracts German readers.</p> - -<p>The few ghost-seers whom we have at present in Germany -endeavour naturally to give their mental derangement a -scientific colouring, and appeal to individual professors of -mathematics and natural science who happen entirely to agree -with them, or are supposed to be partially inclined to do so. -However, their one sheet-anchor is Zöllner, who is simply a sad -proof of the fact that a professorship is no protection from madness; -and they can besides, at any rate, point to opportune -remarks of Helmholtz and other mathematicians on <i>n</i> dimensions, -which they, either intentionally or from mystical weakness -of mind, have misunderstood. In an analytical problem the -mathematician, instead of one, two, or three dimensions, may -place <i>n</i> dimensions without altering thereby the law of the -problem and its legitimately resulting corollaries, but it does -not occur to him to imagine, under the geometrical expression, -‘nth dimension,’ something given in space, and capable of being -apprehended by the senses. When Zöllner gives the well-known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -example of the inversion of the india-rubber ring which, because -only possible in the third dimension, necessarily appeared quite -inconceivable and supernatural to a bi-dimensional being, he -believes that he facilitates the comprehension of the formation of -a knot in a closed ring as an operation practicable in the fourth -dimension. In doing this he simply offers one more example of -the known tendency of the mystic to delude himself, as he does -others, with words which seem to signify something, and which a -simpleton is convinced oftener than not that he understands, -but which in reality express no idea, and are, therefore, empty -sound, void of import.</p> - -<p>France is about to become the promised land of believers in -ghosts. Voltaire’s countrymen have already got the start of the -pious Anglo-Saxons in dealings with the supernatural. I am -not now thinking of the lower ranks of the people, among whom -the book of dreams (<i>La Clé des Songes</i>) has never ceased to constitute -the family library, together with the Calendar, and, perhaps, -the ‘Paroissien’ (missal); nor of the fine ladies who at all -times have ensured excellent incomes to clairvoyantes and -fortune-tellers; but only of the male representatives of the -educated classes. Dozens of spiritualist circles count their -numbers by thousands. In numerous drawing-rooms of the -best (even in the opinion of the ‘most cultured’!) society, the -dead are called up. A monthly publication, <i>L’Initiation</i>, -announces, in weighty tones, and with a prodigality of philosophical -and scientific technicalities, the esoteric doctrine of the -marvels of the unearthly. A bi-monthly publication, <i>Annales -des Sciences Psychiques</i>, terms itself a ‘collection of observations -and researches.’ Next to these two most important periodicals, -a whole series of others exist, similar in tendency, and all having -a wide circulation. Strictly technical works on hypnotism and -suggestion run through edition after edition, and it has become -a profitable speculation for doctors without practice, who do not -attach much importance to the opinions of their colleagues, to -compile so-called manuals and text-books on these subjects, -which scientifically are completely worthless, but which are -bought up by the public like hot rolls. Novels have, with rare -exceptions, no longer any sale in France, but works on obscure -phenomena of nerve function go off splendidly, so that sagacious -publishers give their discouraged authors this advice: ‘Leave -novels for a time, and write on magnetism.’</p> - -<p>Some of the books on magic which have appeared of late years -in France connect their subject directly with the phenomena -of hypnotism and suggestion; for example, A. De Rochas’ -<i>Les États profonds de l’Hypnose</i>, and C. A. de Bodisco’s <i>Traits -de Lumière</i>, or ‘physical researches dedicated to unbelievers and -egoists.’ This has brought many observers to the idea that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -works and discoveries of the Charcot school in general have -given the impulse to the whole of this movement. Hypnotism, -say the representatives of this opinion, has brought such remarkable -facts to light that the accuracy of certain traditions, -popular beliefs and old records can no longer be doubted, -though hitherto they have been generally considered inventions -of superstition; possession, witch-spells, second-sight, healing -by imposition of hands, prophecy, mental communication at the -remotest distance without the intervention of words, have received -a new interpretation and have been recognised as possible. -What, then, more natural than that minds weak in balance, and of -insufficient scientific training, should become accessible to the -marvellous (against which they had shielded themselves, as long as -they considered it to be all old nurses’ fables), when they saw it -appear in the garb of science, and found themselves in the best -society by believing in it?</p> - -<p>Plausible as this opinion is, it is not the less false. It puts -the cart before the horse. It confounds cause with effect. No -completely sound mind has been led by the experiences of the -new hypnotic science into a belief in the marvellous. In former -times no attention was paid to obscure phenomena, or they were -passed by with eyes intentionally closed, because they could -not be fitted in to the prevailing system, and were consequently -held to be chimæras or frauds. For the last twelve years official -science has taken cognizance of them, and Faculties and -Academies are engaged upon them. But no one thinks of -them for a moment as supernatural, or supposes the working -of unearthly forces behind them. They class them with all -other natural phenomena which are accessible to the observation -of the senses, and are determined by the ordinary laws of nature. -Our knowledge has simply enlarged its frame, and admitted -an order of facts which in former times had remained beyond -its pale. Many processes of hypnosis are more or less -satisfactorily explained; others as yet not at all. But an -earnest and healthy mind attaches no great importance to this, -for he knows that the pretended explanation of phenomena -does not go very far, and that we have mostly to be satisfied to -determine them with certainty, and to know their immediate -conditions. I do not say that the new science has exhausted -its subject and has reached its limits. But whatever it may -bring to light of the unknown and the unexpected, it is not a -matter of doubt to the healthy mind that it will be accounted for -by natural means, and that the simple, ultimate laws of physics, -chemistry and biology cannot be shaken by these discoveries.</p> - -<p>If, therefore, so many people now interpret the phenomena of -hypnosis as supernatural, and indulge the hope that the conjuration -of the spirits of the dead, aerial voyages on Faust’s magic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -cloak, omniscience, etc., will soon be arts as common as reading -and writing, it is not the discoveries of science which have -brought them to this delusion, although the existing delusion is -happy to be able to pass itself off for science. Far from concealing -itself, as formerly, it exhibits itself proudly in the streets -on the arms of professors and academicians. Paulhan understands -the matter very well: ‘It is not the love of positive facts,’ -he says,<a name="FNanchor_215_215" id="FNanchor_215_215"></a><a href="#Footnote_215_215" class="fnanchor">[215]</a> ‘which has carried minds away; there has been a -certain kind of return for the love of the marvellous in desires -formerly satisfied, and which, now repressed, slumbered unacknowledged -in a latent condition. Magic, sorcery, astrology, -divination, all these ancient beliefs correspond to a need of -human nature; that of being able easily to act upon the external -world and the social world; that of possessing, by means relatively -easy, the knowledge requisite to make this action possible -and fruitful.’ The stormy outburst of superstition has by no -means been let loose through hypnological researches; it merely -launches itself into the channels they have dug. We have here -already repeatedly drawn attention to the fact that unbalanced -minds always adapt their crazes to the prevailing views, and -usurp by predilection the most recent discoveries of science to -explain them. The physicists were still far from occupying -themselves with magnetism and electricity, when the persons -attacked by persecution-mania were already referring their own -unpleasant sensations and hallucinations to the electric currents -or sparks which their persecutors were supposed to cast on them -through walls, ceilings and floors; and in our days the degenerate -were equally the first to appropriate to themselves the -results of hypnological researches, and to employ them as -‘scientific’ proofs of the reality of spirits, angels and devils. -But the degenerate started with the belief in miracles; it is -one of their peculiar characteristics,<a name="FNanchor_216_216" id="FNanchor_216_216"></a><a href="#Footnote_216_216" class="fnanchor">[216]</a> and it was not first called -forth by the observations of Parisian and Nancy hypnologists.</p> - -<p>If another proof were needed in support of this affirmation, -it could be found in the fact that the greater number of -‘occultists,’ as they call themselves, in their treatises on occult -arts and magic sciences, scorn to fall back on the results of -hypnological experiments, and, without any pretext of -‘modernity,’ without any concession to honest investigation of -nature, have direct recourse to the most ancient traditions. -Papus (the pseudonym of a physician, Dr. Encausse) writes -a <i>Traité méthodique de Science occulte</i>, an enormous large-octavo -volume of 1,050 pages, with 400 illustrations, which -introduces the reader to the cabala, magic, necromancy and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -cheiromancy, astrology, alchemy, etc., and to which an old, not -undeserving savant, Adolf Franck, of the Institute of France, was -imprudent enough to write a long eulogistic preface, presumably -without having even opened the book himself. Stanislaus de -Guaita, revered with awe by the adepts as past master in the -Black Art, and arch-magician, gives two treatises, <i>Au Seuil -du Mystère and Le Serpent de la Genèse</i>, so darkly profound -that, in comparison, Nicolas Flamel, the great alchemist, whom -no mortal has ever comprehended, seems clear and transparent -as crystal. Ernest Bose confines himself to the theory of the -sorcery of the ancient Egyptians. His book, <i>Isis dévoilée, ou -l’Egyptologie sacrée</i>, has for the sub-title: ‘Hieroglyphics, -papyri, hermetic books, religion, myths, symbols, psychology, -philosophy, morals, sacred art, occultism, mysteries, initiation, -music.’ Nehor has likewise his speciality. If Bosc unveils -Egyptian mysteries, Nehor reveals the secrets of Assyria and -Babylonia. <i>Les Mages et le Secret magique</i> is the name of the -modest pamphlet in which he initiates us into the profoundest -magic arts of the Chaldean Mobeds, or Knights Templars.</p> - -<p>If I do not enter more fully into these books, which have -found readers and admirers, it is because I am not quite certain -that they are intended to be in earnest. Their authors read -and translate so fluently Egyptian, Hebraic and Assyriac texts, -which no professional Orientalist has yet deciphered; they quote -so frequently and so copiously from books which are found in -no library in the world; they give with such an imperturbable -air exact instructions how to resuscitate the dead, how to preserve -eternal youth, how to hold intercourse with the inhabitants -of Sirius, how to divine beyond all the limits of time and space, -that one cannot get rid of the impression that they wished, in -cold blood, to make fun of the reader.</p> - -<p>Only one of all these master-sorcerers is certainly to be taken -in good faith, and as he is at the same time intellectually the -most eminent among them, I will deal with him somewhat more -in detail. This is M. Joséphin Péladan. He has even arrogated -to himself the Assyrian royal title of ‘Sar,’ under which he is -generally known. The public authorities alone do not give him -his Sar title; but then they do not usually recognise any titles -of nobility in France. He maintains he is the descendant of -the old Magi, and the possessor of all the mental legacies of -Zoroaster, Pythagoras and Orpheus. He is, moreover, the -direct heir of the Knights Templars and Rosicrucians, both of -which orders he has amalgamated and revived under a new form -as the ‘Order of the Rosy Cross.’ He dresses himself archaically -in a satin doublet of blue or black; he trims his extremely -luxuriant blue-black hair and beard into the shape in use among -the Assyrians; he affects a large upright hand, which might be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -taken for mediæval character, writes by preference with red or -yellow ink, and in the corner of his letter-paper is delineated, as -a distinctive mark of his dignity, the Assyrian king’s cap, with -the three serpentine rolls opening in front. As a coat of arms -he has the device of his order; on an escutcheon divided by -sable and argent a golden chalice surmounted by a crimson rose -with two outspread wings, and overlaid with a Latin cross in -sable. The shield is surmounted by a coronet with three -pentagrams as indents. M. Péladan has appointed a series of -commanders and dignitaries of his order (‘grand-priors,’ -‘archons,’ ‘æsthetes’), which numbers, besides, ‘postulants’ and -‘grammarians’ (scholars). He possesses a special costume as -grand-master and Sar (in which his life-sized portrait has been -painted by Alexandre Séon), and a composer, who belongs to -the order, has composed for him a special fanfare, which on -solemn occasions is to be played by trumpets at his entrance. -He makes use of extraordinary formulæ. His letters he calls -‘decrees,’ or commands (<i>mandements</i>). He addresses the -persons to whom they are directed either as ‘magnifiques,’ or -‘peers,’ sometimes also ‘dearest adelphe,’ or ‘synnoède.’ He -does not call them ‘sir,’ but ‘your lordship’ (<i>seigneurie</i>). The -introduction is: ‘Health, light and victory in Jesus Christ, in -the only God, and in Peter, the only king’; or ‘<i>Ad Rosam -per Crucem, ad Crucem per Rosam, in eâ, in eis gemmatus resurgam</i>.’ -This is at the same time the heraldic motto of the -Order of the Rosy Cross. At the conclusion is usually, ‘<i>Amen. -Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nominis tui gloriæ solæ.</i>’ He -writes the name of his order, with a cross inserted in the middle, -thus: ‘<i>Rose</i> ✠ <i>Croix.</i>’ His novels he calls ‘<i>éthopées</i>,’ himself -as their author ‘<i>éthopoète</i>,’ his dramas ‘<i>wagneries</i>,’ their table of -contents ‘<i>éumolpées</i>.’</p> - -<p>Every one of his books is ornamented with a large number -of symbols. That which appears the most often is a vignette -showing on a column a cowering form with the head of a woman -breathing flames, and with a woman’s breast, lion’s paws, and -the lower part of the body of a wasp or dragon-fly, terminating -in an appendage similar to the tail of a fish. The work itself is -always preceded by some prefaces, introductions and invocations, -and is often followed by pages of the same nature. I -take as an example the book entitled, <i>Comment on devient -Mage</i>.<a name="FNanchor_217_217" id="FNanchor_217_217"></a><a href="#Footnote_217_217" class="fnanchor">[217]</a> After the two title-pages adorned with a great number -of symbolical images (winged Assyrian bulls, the mystic rose -cross, etc.), comes a long dedication ‘to Count Antoine de la -Rochefoucauld, grand-prior of the temple, archon of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -Rose ✠ Cross.’ Then follows in Latin a ‘prayer of St. Thomas -Aquinas, well suited to warn the reader against the possible -errors of this book’; after this, an <i>élenctique</i> (counter-demonstration) -containing a sort of profession of Catholic faith; next, an -‘invocation to ancestors’ in the style of the Chaldean prayers; -lastly, a long allocution ‘to the contemporary young man,’ after -which the book properly begins.</p> - -<p>At the head of every chapter appear nine mysterious formulæ. -Here are two examples: ‘I. The Neophyte. Divine Name: -Jud (the Hebrew letter so called). Sacrament: Baptism. -Virtue: Faith. Gift: Fear of God. Beatitude: Poor in spirit. -Work: Teaching. Angel: Michael. Arcanum: Unity. Planet: -Samas. II. Society. Divine Name: Jah—El (in Hebrew characters, -which Péladan evidently cannot read, for he turns it -into El-lah). Sacrament: Consecration. Virtue: Hope. Gift: -Pity. Beatitude: Gentleness. Work: Counsel. Angel: Gabriel. -Arcanum: Duality. Planet: Sin.’</p> - -<p>Of the further contents of this mighty volume I think no -examples need be given. They correspond exactly with the -headings of these chapters.</p> - -<p>The novels or ‘éthopées’ of M. Péladan, of which nine have -appeared hitherto, but of which the author has announced fourteen, -are arranged in groups of seven, the mystical number. -He has even established a <i>Schéma de Concordance</i>,<a name="FNanchor_218_218" id="FNanchor_218_218"></a><a href="#Footnote_218_218" class="fnanchor">[218]</a> which -claims to give a synopsis of their leading ideas. Let us hear -how he explains his works:</p> - -<p>‘First series of seven: I. The supreme vice. Moral and mental -Diathesis of the Latin decline—Merodach, summit of conscious -will, type of absolute entity; Alta, prototype of the monk in -contact with the world; Courtenay, inadequate man-of-fate, -bewitched by social facts; L. d’Este, extreme pride, the grand -style in evil; Coryse, the true young maiden; La Nine, the -wicked Androgyne, or, better, Gynander; Dominicaux, conscious -reprobate, character of the irremediable, resulting from a -specious æsthetic theory for every vice, which kills consciousness -and, in consequence, conversion. Every novel has a Merodach, -that is, an abstract Orphic principle, as opposed to an -ideal enigma.</p> - -<p>‘II. Inquisitive. Parisian clinical collective-phenomenism. -Ethics: Nebo; the systematic, sentimental will. Erotics: Paula, -passionate with Androgynous Prism. The great horror, the -Beast with two backs, in Gynander (IX.), metamorphosing -itself into unisexual corruption. Inquisitive, that is the everyday -and the everybody of instinct. Gynander, the Goethesque -midnight, and the exceptional,’ etc.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<p>I have taken pains to reproduce faithfully all M. Péladan’s -whimsical methods of expression. That his <i>Concordance</i> can -give even the slightest idea of the contents of his novels, I do -not for a moment believe. I will, therefore, say a few words -about these in non-magian language.</p> - -<p>They all move in the three following circles of ideas, variously -penetrating and intersecting each other: The highest intellectual -aim of man is to hear and thoroughly to appreciate Wagnerian -music; the highest development of morality consists in renouncing -sexuality and in transforming one’s self into a hybrid -hermaphrodite (Androgyne and Gynander); the higher man -can quit and retake his body at pleasure, soar into space as an -‘astral being,’ and subject to his will the entire supernatural -power of the world of spirits, of the good as well as the bad.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, in every romance a hero appears who unites in -himself the distinctive marks of both sexes, and resists with -horror the ordinary sexual instincts, who plays or enjoys the -music of Wagner, enacts in his own life some scene from the Wagnerian -drama, and conjures up spirits or has to repel their attacks.</p> - -<p>If anyone wishes to trace the origin of all these delirious -ideas, it will not be difficult to discover how they arose. One -day while reading the Bible Péladan alighted on the name of -the Babylonian king, Merodach Baladan. The similarity of -sound between ‘Baladan’ and ‘Péladan’ gave an impulse to his -imagination to establish relations between himself and the -Biblical Babylonian king. Once he began to reflect on this, he -found a resemblance, in the cast of his features, the colour of his -hair, and the growth of his beard, to the heads of Assyrian -kings on the alabaster casts from the palace at Nineveh. Thus -he easily arrived at the idea that he was possibly a descendant -of Baladan, or of other Assyrian kings, or, at least, that it would -be a curious thing if he were. And he continued to work out -this thought, until one day he resolutely took the title of Sar. -If he were descended from the kings of Babylon, he could also -be the heir of the wisdom of the Magi. So he began to proclaim -the Magian esoteric doctrine. To these musings were added -afterwards the impressions he received on a pilgrimage to -Bayreuth, from <i>Tristan</i>, and especially from <i>Parsifal</i>. In -fancy he wrought his own life into the legend of the Grail, -looked upon himself as a knight of the Grail, and created his -order of the ‘Rose Croix,’ which is entirely composed of -reminiscences of <i>Parsifal</i>. His invention of the asexual hybrid -being shows that his imagination is actively preoccupied with -presentations of a sexual character, and unconsciously seeks to -idealize the ‘contrary sexual feelings.’</p> - -<p>The mental life of Péladan permits us to follow, in an extremely -well-marked instance, the ways of mystic thought. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -is wholly dominated by the association of ideas. A fortuitous -assonance awakens in him a train of thought which urges him -irresistibly to proclaim himself an Assyrian king and Magus, -without his attention being in a condition to make him realize -the fact that a man can be called Péladan without being, therefore, -necessarily descended from a Biblical Baladan. The -meaningless flow of words of the mediæval scholastics misleads -him, because he is continually thinking by way of analogy, that -is to say, because he follows exclusively the play of the association -of ideas provoked by the most secondary and superficial -resemblances. He receives every artistic suggestion with the -greatest ease. If he hears Wagner’s operas, he believes himself -to be a Wagnerian character; if he reads of the Knights -Templars and Rosicrucians, he becomes the Grand-Master -of the Temple, and of all other secret orders. He has the -peculiar sexual emotionalism of the ‘higher degenerates,’ and -this endows him with a peculiar fabulous shape, which, at once -chaste and lascivious, embodies, in curiously demonstrative -manner, the secret conflicts which take place in his consciousness -between unhealthily intensified instincts, and the judgment -which recognises their dangerous character.</p> - -<p>Does Péladan believe in the reality of his delusions? In other -words, does he take himself seriously? The answer to this -question is not so simple as many perhaps think. The two -beings which exist in every human mind are, in a nature such as -Péladan’s, a prey to a strange conflict. His unconscious nature -is quite transfused with the <i>rôle</i> of a Sar, a Magus, a Knight of -the Holy Grail, Grand-Master of the Order, etc., which he has -invented. The conscious factor in him knows that it is all nonsense, -but it finds artistic pleasure in it, and permits the unconscious -life to do as it pleases. It is thus that little girls behave -who play with dolls, caressing or punishing them, and treating -them as if they were living beings, all the time well aware that -in reality they have before them only an object in leather and -porcelain.</p> - -<p>Péladan’s judgment has no power over his unconscious impulses. -It is not in his power to renounce the part of a Sar or -a Magus, or no longer to pose as grand-master of an order. He -cannot abstain from perpetually returning to his ‘Androgynous’ -absurdity. All these aberrations, as well as the invention of -neologisms and the predilection for symbols, the prolix titles, -and the casket-series of prefaces, so characteristic of the ‘higher -degenerates,’ proceed from the depths of his organic temperament, -and evade the influence of his higher centres. On its -conscious side Péladan’s cerebral activity is rich and beautiful. -In his novels there are pages which rank among the most -splendid productions of a contemporary pen. His moral ideal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -is high and noble. He pursues with ardent hatred all that is -base and vulgar, every form of egoism, falsehood, and thirst for -pleasure; and his characters are thoroughly aristocratic souls, -whose thoughts are concerned only with the worthiest, if somewhat -exclusively artistic, interests of humanity. It is deeply to -be regretted that the overgrowth of morbidly mystic presentations -should render his extraordinary gifts completely sterile.</p> - -<p>Far below Péladan stands Maurice Rollinat, who ought, -nevertheless, to be mentioned first, because he embodies in a -very instructive manner a definite form of mystic degeneration, -and next because all French, and many foreign, hysterical -persons honour in him a great poet.</p> - -<p>In his poems, which with characteristic self-knowledge he -entitles <i>Les Névroses</i><a name="FNanchor_219_219" id="FNanchor_219_219"></a><a href="#Footnote_219_219" class="fnanchor">[219]</a> (Nervous Maladies) he betrays all the -stigmata of degeneration, which by this time ought to be -familiar enough to the reader for me to content myself with a -brief notice of them.</p> - -<p>He feels in himself criminal impulses (<i>Le Fantôme du Crime</i>):</p> - -<p>‘Wicked thoughts come into my soul in every place, at all -hours, in the height of my work.... I listen in spite of myself -to the infernal tones which vibrate in my heart where Satan -knocks; and although I have a horror of vile saturnalias, of -which the mere shadow suffices to anger me, I listen in spite of -myself to the infernal tones.... The phantom of crime across -my reason prowls around (in my skull).... Murder, rape, -robbery, parricide, pass through my mind like fierce lightnings....’</p> - -<p>The spectacle of death and corruption has a strong attraction -for him. He delights in putrefaction and revels in disease.</p> - -<p>‘My ghostly belovèd, snatched by death, played before me -livid and purple.... Bony nakedness, chaste in her leanness! -Hectic beauty as sad as it is ardent!... Near her a coffin ... -greedily opened its oblong jaws, and seemed to call her....’ -(<i>L’Amante macabre</i>).</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Mademoiselle Squelette!<br /> -Je la surnommais ainsi:<br /> -Elle était si maigrelette!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Crachant une gouttelette<br /> -De sang très peu cramoisi...<br /> -Elle était si maigrelette!...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Sa phthisie étant complète;...<br /> -Sa figure verdelette...<br /> -Un soir, à l’espagnolette<br /> -Elle vint se pendre ici.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Horreur! une cordelette<br /> -Décapitait sans merci<br /> -Mademoiselle Squelette:<br /> -Elle était si maigrelette!’</p> - -<p class="pp10"><i>Mademoiselle Squelette.</i></p> - -<p class="p1">‘That I might rescue the angelically beautiful dead from the -horrible kisses of the worm I had her embalmed in a strange -box. It was on a winter’s night. From the ice-cold, stiff and -livid body were taken out the poor defunct organs, and into -the open belly, bloody and empty, were poured sweet-smelling -salves....’ (<i>La Morte embaumée</i>).</p> - -<p>‘Flesh, eyebrows, hair, my coffin and my winding-sheet, the grave -has eaten them all; its work is done.... My skull has attested -its shrinking, and I, a scaling, crumbling residue of death, -have come to look back with regret upon the time when I was -rotting, and the worm yet fasted not....’ (<i>Le mauvais Mort</i>).</p> - -<p>This depravity of taste will not seldom be observed among -the deranged. In Rollinat it merely inspires loathsome verses; -among others it leads them to the eager devouring of human -excretions, and, in its worst forms, to being enamoured of a -corpse (<i>Necrophilia</i>).</p> - -<p>Violent erotomaniacal excitement expresses itself in a series of -poems (<i>Les Luxures</i>), which not only celebrate the most unbridled -sensuality, but also all the aberrations of sexual psychopathy.</p> - -<p>But the most conspicuous are the sensations of undefined -horrors which continually beset him. Everything inspires him -with anguish; all the sights of Nature appear to him to enclose -some frightful mystery. He is always expecting, in trembling, -some unknown terror.</p> - -<p>‘I always shudder at the strange look of some boot and some -shoe. Ay, you may shrug your shoulders mockingly, I do -shudder; and suddenly, on thinking of the foot they cover, I -ask myself: “Is it mechanical, or living?” ...’ (<i>Le Maniaque</i>).</p> - -<p>‘My room is like my soul.... Heavy curtains, very ancient, -cling round the deep bed; long fantastic insects dance and -crawl on the ceiling. When my clock strikes the hour it makes -an appalling noise; every swing of the pendulum vibrates, and -is strangely prolonged.... Furniture, pictures, flowers, even -the books, all smell of hell and poison; and the horror, which -loves me, envelops this prison like a pall....’ (<i>La Chambre</i>).</p> - -<p>‘The library made me think of very old forests; thirteen iron -lamps, oblong and spectral, poured their sepulchral light day -and night on the faded books full of shadow and secrets. I -always shuddered when I entered. I felt myself in the midst -of fogs and death-rattles, drawn on by the arms of thirteen -pale armchairs, and scanned by the eyes of thirteen great -portraits....’ (<i>La Bibliothèque</i>).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘In the swamp full of malice, which clogs and penetrates his -stockings, he hears himself faintly called by several voices -making but one. He finds a corpse as sentinel, which rolls its -dull eyeballs, and moves its corruption with an automatic -spring. I show to his dismayed eyes fires in the deserted -houses, and in the forsaken parks beds full of green rose.... -And the old cross on the calvary hails him from afar, and -curses him, crossing its stern arms as it stretches out and -brandishes them....’ (<i>La Peur</i>).</p> - -<p>I will not weary by multiplying examples, and will only -quote the titles of a few more poems: <i>The Living Grave</i>; -<i>Troppmann’s Soliloquy</i> (a well-known eight-fold murderer); <i>The -Crazy Hangman</i>; <i>The Monster</i>; <i>The Madman</i>; <i>The Headache</i> -(<i>La Céphalalgie</i>); <i>The Disease</i>; <i>The Frenzied Woman</i>; -<i>Dead Eyes</i>; <i>The Abyss</i>; <i>Tears</i>; <i>Anguish</i>; <i>The Slow Death-struggle</i>; -<i>The Interment</i>; <i>The Coffin</i>; <i>The Death-knell</i>; <i>Corruption</i>; -<i>The Song of the Guillotined</i>, etc.</p> - -<p>All these poems are the production of a craze, which will be -frequently observed among degenerates. Even Dostojevski, -who is known to have been mentally afflicted, suffered from it -also. ‘As soon as it grew dusk,’ he relates of himself,<a name="FNanchor_220_220" id="FNanchor_220_220"></a><a href="#Footnote_220_220" class="fnanchor">[220]</a> ‘I -gradually fell into that state of mind which so often overmasters -me at night since I have been ill, and which I shall -call mystic fright. It is a crushing anxiety about something -which I can neither define nor even conceive, which does not -actually exist, but which perhaps is about to be realized -suddenly, at this very moment, to appear and rise up before me -like an inexorable, horrible, unshapen fact.’ Legrain<a name="FNanchor_221_221" id="FNanchor_221_221"></a><a href="#Footnote_221_221" class="fnanchor">[221]</a> quotes a -degenerate lunatic whose mania began ‘with feelings of fear and -anguish at some fancy.’ Professor Kowalewski<a name="FNanchor_222_222" id="FNanchor_222_222"></a><a href="#Footnote_222_222" class="fnanchor">[222]</a> indicates as -degrees of mental derangement in degeneration—first, neurasthenia; -secondly, impulses of ‘obsession’ and feelings of morbid -anguish. Legrand du Saulle<a name="FNanchor_223_223" id="FNanchor_223_223"></a><a href="#Footnote_223_223" class="fnanchor">[223]</a> and Morel<a name="FNanchor_224_224" id="FNanchor_224_224"></a><a href="#Footnote_224_224" class="fnanchor">[224]</a> describe this state -of groundless, undefined fear, and coin for it the not very happy -word ‘Panophobia.’ Magnan calls it more correctly ‘Anxiomania’—frenzied -anguish—and speaks of it as a very common -stigma of degeneration. The anguish mania is an error of consciousness, -which is filled with presentations of fear, and transfers -their cause into the external world, while, as a matter of fact, -they are stimulated by pathological processes within the -organism. The invalid feels oppressed and uneasy, and imputes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -to the phenomena which surround him a threatening and sinister -aspect, in order to explain to himself his dread, the origin of -which escapes him, because it is rooted in the unconscious.</p> - -<p>As in Rollinat we have learnt to know the poet of anxiomania, -so shall we find in another author, whose name has -become widely known in the last two years, in the Belgian, -Maurice Maeterlinck, an example of an utterly childish idiotically-incoherent -mysticism. He reveals the state of his mind most -characteristically in his poems,<a name="FNanchor_225_225" id="FNanchor_225_225"></a><a href="#Footnote_225_225" class="fnanchor">[225]</a> of which I will give a few -examples. Here is the first of the collection—<i>Serres chaudes</i>:</p> - -<p>‘O hot-house in the middle of the woods. And your doors -ever closed! And all that is under your dome! And under -my soul in your analogies!</p> - -<p>‘The thoughts of a princess who is hungry; the tedium -of a sailor in the desert; a brass-band under the windows of -incurables.</p> - -<p>‘Go into the warm moist corners! One might say, ‘tis a -woman fainting on harvest-day. In the courtyard of the -infirmary are postilions; in the distance an elk-hunter passes -by, who now tends the sick.</p> - -<p>‘Examine in the moonlight! (Oh, nothing there is in its -place!) One might say, a madwoman before judges, a battle-ship -in full sail on a canal, night-birds on lilies, a death-knell -towards noon (down there under those bells), a halting-place for -the sick in the meadows, a smell of ether on a sunny day.</p> - -<p>‘My God! my God! when shall we have rain and snow and -wind in the hot-house?’</p> - -<p>These idiotic sequences of words are psychologically interesting, -for they demonstrate with instructive significance the -workings of a shattered brain. Consciousness no longer elaborates -a leading or central idea. Representations emerge just as -the wholly mechanical association of ideas arouses them. There -is no attention seeking to bring order into the tumult of images -as they come and go, to separate the unconnected, to suppress -those that contradict each other, and to group those which are -allied into a single logical series.</p> - -<p>A few more examples of these fugitive thoughts exclusively -under the rule of unbridled association. Here is one entitled -<i>Bell-glasses</i> (<i>Cloches de verre</i>):</p> - -<p>‘O bell-glasses! Strange plants for ever under shelter! -While the wind stirs my senses without! A whole valley of -the soul for ever still! And the enclosed lush warmth towards -noon! And the pictures seen through the glass!</p> - -<p>‘Never remove one of them! Several have been placed on -old moonlight. Look through their foliage. There is perhaps -a vagabond on a throne; one has the impression that corsairs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -are waiting on the pond, and that antediluvian beings are about -to invade the towns.</p> - -<p>‘Some have been placed on old snows. Some have been -placed on ancient rains. (Pity the enclosed atmosphere!) I -hear a festival solemnized on a famine Sunday; there is an -ambulance in the middle of the house, and all the daughters of -the king wander on a fast-day across the meadows.</p> - -<p>‘Examine specially those of the horizon! They cover carefully -very old thunderstorms. Oh, there must be somewhere an -immense fleet on a marsh! And I believe that the swans -have hatched ravens. (One can scarcely distinguish through the -dampness.)</p> - -<p>‘A maiden sprinkles the ferns with hot water; a troop of -little girls watch the hermit in his cell; my sisters have fallen -asleep on the floor of a poisonous grotto!</p> - -<p>‘Wait for the moon and the winter, among these bells, -scattered at last on the ice.’</p> - -<p>Another called <i>Soul</i> (<i>Ame</i>):</p> - -<p>‘My soul! O my soul truly too much sheltered! And these -flocks of desires in a hot-house! Awaiting a storm in the -meadows! Let us go to the most sickly: they have strange -exhalations. In the midst of them I cross a battlefield with -my mother. They are burying a brother-in-arms at noon, while -the sentries take their repast.</p> - -<p>‘Let us go also to the weakest; they have strange sweats: -here is a sick bride, treachery on Sunday, and little children in -prison. (And further across the mist.) Is it a dying woman at -the door of a kitchen? Or a nun, who cleans vegetables at the -foot of the bed of an incurable?</p> - -<p>‘Let us go lastly to the saddest: (at the last because they have -poisons). O my lips accept the kisses of one wounded!</p> - -<p>‘All the ladies of the castle are dead of hunger this summer -in the towers of my soul! Here is the dawn, which enters into -the festival! I have a glimpse of sheep along the quays, and -there is a sail at the windows of the hospital!</p> - -<p>‘It is a long road from my heart to my soul! And all the -sentries are dead at their posts!</p> - -<p>‘One day there was a poor little festival in the suburbs of my -soul! They mowed the hemlock there one Sunday morning; -and all the convent virgins saw the ships pass by on the canal -one sunny fast-day. While the swans suffered under a poisonous -bridge. The trees were lopped about the prison; medicines -were brought one afternoon in June, and meals for the patients -were spread over the whole horizon!</p> - -<p>‘My soul! And the sadness of it all, my soul! and the sadness -of it all!’</p> - -<p>I have translated with the greatest exactness, and not omitted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -one word of the three ‘poems.’ Nothing would be easier than -to compose others on these models, overtrumping even those of -Maeterlinck—<i>e.g.</i>, ‘O Flowers! And we groan so heavily under -the very old taxes! An hour-glass, at which the dog barks in -May; and the strange envelope of the negro who has not slept. -A grandmother who would eat oranges and could not write! -Sailors in a ballroom, but blue! blue! On the bridge this -crocodile and the policeman with the swollen cheek beckons -silently! O two soldiers in the cowhouse, and the razor is -notched! But the chief prize they have not drawn. And on -the lamp are ink-spots!’ etc. But why parody Maeterlinck? -His style bears no parody, for it has already reached the extreme -limits of idiocy. Nor is it quite worthy of a mentally -sound man to make fun of a poor devil of an idiot.</p> - -<p>Certain of his poems consist simply of assonances, linked -together without regard to sense and meaning, <i>e.g.</i>, one which is -entitled <i>Ennui</i>:</p> - -<p>‘The careless peacocks, the white peacocks have flown, the -white peacocks have flown from the tedium of awaking; I see -the white peacocks, the peacocks of to-day, the peacocks that -went away during my sleep, the careless peacocks, the peacocks -of to-day, reach lazily the pond where no sun is, I hear the -white peacocks, the peacocks of ennui, waiting lazily for the -times when no sun is.’</p> - -<p>The French original reveals why these words were chosen; -they contain almost all the nasal sounds, ‘en’ or ‘an’ or ‘aon’: -‘<i>Les paons nonchalants, les paons blancs ont fui, les paons blancs -ont fui l’ennui du réveil; je vois les paons blancs ... atteindre -indolents l’étang sans soleil</i>,’ etc. This is a case of that form of -echolalia which is observed not seldom among the insane. One -patient says, <i>e.g.</i>, ‘<i>Man kann dann ran Mann wann Clan Bann -Schwan Hahn</i>,’ and he continues to grind similar sounds till he -is either tired, or takes a word spoken before him as a starting-point -for a new series of rhymes.</p> - -<p>If Maeterlinck’s poems are read with some attention, it is soon -seen that the muddled pictures which follow each other pell-mell -as in a dream, are borrowed from a very limited circle of -ideas, which have either generally, or only for him, an emotional -content. ‘Strange,’ ‘old,’ ‘distant,’ are the adjectives he constantly -repeats; they have this in common that they indicate -something indistinct, not definitely recognisable, away on the -bounds of the distant horizon, corresponding, therefore, to the -nebulous thought of mysticism. Another adjective which sets -him dreaming is ‘slow’ (<i>lent</i>). It also influences the French -Symbolists, and hence their fondness for it. They evidently -associated it with the idea of the movements of the priest -reading the Mass, and it awakens in them the emotions of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -mysticism of faith. They betray this association of ideas by -this, that they frequently use <i>lent</i> together with <i>hiératique</i> -(sacerdotal). Maeterlinck, moreover, is constantly thinking of -hospitals with their sick, and of everything connected with them -(nuns, invalids’ diet, medicines, surgical operations, bandages, -etc.), of canals with ships and swans, and of princesses. The -hospitals and the canals, which are a feature in the Belgian -landscape, may be connected with the first impressions of his -childhood, and therefore produce emotions in him. The princesses, -on the contrary, shut up in towers, suffering hunger, -going astray, wading through swamps, etc., have evidently -remained fixed in his imagination from the childish ballads of -the pre-Raphaelites, one of which, by Swinburne, was given -above as an example. Hospitals, canals, princesses, these are -the pictures which always recur with the obstinacy of obsessions, -and in the midst of the nebulous chaos of his jargon, -alone show some sort of firm outline.</p> - -<p>A few of his poems are written in the traditional poetical -form; others, on the contrary, have neither measure nor rhyme, -but consist of lines of prose, arbitrarily changing in length, not -according to the style of Goethe’s free poems, or of Heine’s -<i>North Sea Songs</i>, which ripple by with very strongly marked -rhythmic movement, but deaf, jolting and limping, as the items -of an inventory. These pieces are a servile imitation of the -effusions of Walt Whitman, that crazy American to whom -Maeterlinck was necessarily strongly attracted, according to the -law I have repeatedly set forth—that all deranged minds flock -together.</p> - -<p>I should like here to interpolate a few remarks on Walt -Whitman, who is likewise one of the deities to whom the -degenerate and hysterical of both hemispheres have for some -time been raising altars. Lombroso ranks him expressly among -‘mad geniuses.’<a name="FNanchor_226_226" id="FNanchor_226_226"></a><a href="#Footnote_226_226" class="fnanchor">[226]</a> Mad Whitman was without doubt. But a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -genius? That would be difficult to prove. He was a vagabond, -a reprobate rake, and his poems<a name="FNanchor_227_227" id="FNanchor_227_227"></a><a href="#Footnote_227_227" class="fnanchor">[227]</a> contain outbursts of erotomania -so artlessly shameless that their parallel in literature -could hardly be found with the author’s name attached. For -his fame he has to thank just those bestially sensual pieces -which first drew to him the attention of all the pruriency of -America. He is morally insane, and incapable of distinguishing -between good and evil, virtue and crime. ‘This is the deepest -theory of susceptibility,’ he says in one place, ‘without preference -or exclusion; the negro with the woolly head, the bandit -of the highroad, the invalid, the ignorant—none are denied.’ -And in another place he explains he ‘loves the murderer and -the thief, the pious and good, with equal love.’ An American -driveller, W. D. O’Connor, has called him on this account ‘The -good gray Poet.’ We know, however, that this ‘goodness,’ -which is in reality moral obtuseness and morbid sentimentality, -frequently accompanies degeneration, and appears even in the -cruellest assassins, for example, in Ravachol.</p> - -<p>He has megalomania, and says of himself:</p> - -<p>‘From this hour I decree that my being be freed from all -restraints and limits.</p> - -<p>‘I go where I will, my own absolute and complete master.</p> - -<p>‘I breathe deeply in space. The east and the west are mine.</p> - -<p>‘Mine are the north and south. I am greater and better than -I thought myself.</p> - -<p>‘I did not know that so much boundless goodness was in -me....</p> - -<p>‘Whoever disowns me causes me no annoyance.</p> - -<p>‘Whoever recognises me shall be blessed, and will bless me.’</p> - -<p>He is mystically mad, and announces: ‘I have the feeling of -all. I am all, and believe in all. I believe that materialism is -true, and that spiritualism is also true; I reject nothing.’ And -in another still more characteristic passage:</p> - -<p class="pp4s p1">‘Santa Spirita [<i>sic!</i>], breather, life,<br /> -Beyond the light, lighter than light,<br /> -Beyond the flames of hell, joyous, leaping easily above hell,<br /> -Beyond Paradise, perfumed solely with mine own perfume,<br /> -Including all life on earth, touching, including God, including Saviour and Satan,<br /> -Ethereal, pervading all, for without me what were all? what were God?<br /> -Essence of forms, life of the real identities ...<br /> -Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man, I, the general soul.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In his patriotic poems he is a sycophant of the corrupt -American vote-buying, official-bribing, power-abusing, dollar-democracy, -and a cringer to the most arrogant Yankee conceit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -His war-poems—the much renowned <i>Drum Taps</i>—are chiefly -remarkable for swaggering bombast and stilted patter.</p> - -<p>His purely lyrical pieces, with their ecstatic ‘Oh!’ and ‘Ah!’ -with their soft phrases about flowers, meadows, spring and -sunshine, recall the most arid, sugary and effeminate passages of -our old Gessner, now happily buried and forgotten.</p> - -<p>As a man, Walt Whitman offers a surprising resemblance to -Paul Verlaine, with whom he shared all the stigmata of -degeneration, the vicissitudes of his career, and, curiously -enough, even the rheumatic ankylosis. As a poet, he has -thrown off the closed strophe as too difficult, measure and -rhyme as too oppressive, and has given vent to his emotional -fugitive ideation in hysterical exclamations, to which the definition -of ‘prose gone mad’ is infinitely better suited than it is -to the pedantic, honest hexameters of Klopstock. Unconsciously, -he seemed to have used the parallelism of the Psalms, -and Jeremiah’s eruptive style, as models of form. We had in -the last century the <i>Paramythien</i> of Herder, and the insufferable -‘poetical prose’ of Gessner already mentioned. Our healthy -taste soon led us to recognise the inartistic, retrogressive character -of this lack of form, and that error in taste has found no -imitator among us for a century. In Whitman, however, his -hysterical admirers commend this <i>réchauffé</i> of a superannuated -literary fashion as something to come; and admire, as an invention -of genius, what is only an incapacity for methodical work. -Nevertheless, it is interesting to point out that two persons so -dissimilar as Richard Wagner and Walt Whitman have, in -different spheres, under the pressure of the same motives, -arrived at the same goal—the former at ‘infinite melody,’ which -is no longer melody; the latter at verses which are no longer -verses, both in consequence of their incapacity to submit their -capriciously vacillating thoughts to the yoke of those rules -which in ‘infinite’ melody, as in lyric verse, govern by measure -and rhyme.</p> - -<p>Maeterlinck, then, in his poems is a servile imitator of crazy -Walt Whitman, and carries his absurdities still further. Besides -his poems he has written things to which one cannot well refuse -the name of plays, since they are cast in the form of dialogues. -The best known of them is <i>The Princess Maleine</i>.<a name="FNanchor_228_228" id="FNanchor_228_228"></a><a href="#Footnote_228_228" class="fnanchor">[228]</a></p> - -<p>The ‘dramatis personæ,’ as he, true to the romantic and -mystical practice of the pre-Raphaelites and Symbolists, entitles -the list of his characters, are as follows: Hjalmar, King of one -part of Holland; Marcellus, King of another part of Holland; -Prince Hjalmar, son of King Hjalmar; little Allan, son of -Queen Anne; Angus, friend to Prince Hjalmar; Stephano and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -Vanox, officers of Marcellus; Anne, Queen of Jütland; Godeliva, -wife of King Marcellus; Princess Maleine, daughter of -Marcellus and Godeliva; Maleine’s nurse; Princess Uglyane, -daughter of Queen Anne. With them come all the old well-known -jointed dolls and puppets out of the dustiest corners of -the old lumber-rooms of romance—a fool, three poor people, -two old peasants, courtiers, pilgrims, a cripple, beggars, vagabonds, -an old woman, seven (the mystic number!) nuns, etc.</p> - -<p>The names which Maeterlinck gives to his figures should be -noted. As a Fleming, he knows very well that Hjalmar is not -Dutch, but Scandinavian; that Angus is Scotch. But he makes -this confusion intentionally, in order to obliterate the distinct -outlines with which he appears to surround his figures, when he -calls them ‘Kings of Holland’; in order again to detach them -from the firm ground on which he pretends to place them and to -suppress their co-ordinates, which assign them a place in space -and time. They may wear clothes, have names and take a -human rank, but all the while they are only shadows and clouds.</p> - -<p>King Hjalmar comes with Prince Hjalmar to the castle of -Marcellus in order to ask for the hand of the Princess Maleine. -The two young people see each other for the first time, and -only for a few minutes, but they instantly fall in love with each -other. At the banquet in honour of the King a quarrel breaks -out, about which we learn no particulars; King Hjalmar is -seriously offended, swears revenge, and leaves the castle in a -rage. In the interlude Hjalmar wages war against Marcellus, -kills him and his wife, Godeliva, and at once razes his castle and -town to the ground. Princess Maleine and her nurse were on -this occasion—how, why and by whom is not explained—immured -in a vaulted room in a tower; then the nurse, after -three days’ work with her finger-nails, loosens a stone in the -wall, and the two women obtain their liberty.</p> - -<p>Since Maleine loves Hjalmar and cannot forget him, they -make their way towards his father’s castle. Things are going -very badly in Hjalmar’s castle. There Queen Anne of Jütland -resides, who has been driven away by her subjects, and with her -grown-up daughter Uglyane and her little son Allan (here also -the Dane is systematically given a Scottish name), has found -hospitality with King Hjalmar. Queen Anne has turned the -head of the old man. She has become his mistress, rules him -completely, and makes him ill in body and soul. She wishes -that his son should marry her daughter. Hjalmar is in despair -about his father’s collapse. He detests his morganatic step-mother, -and shudders at the thought of a marriage with -Uglyane. He believes Maleine to have been slain with her -parents in the war, but he cannot yet forget her.</p> - -<p>Maleine has in the meantime been wandering with her nurse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -through a kind of enchanted forest, and through an incomprehensible -village, where she has uncanny meetings with all sorts of -people, beggars, vagabonds, peasants, old women, etc., interchanging -odd talk, and reaches Hjalmar’s castle, where no one knows -her. She is, however, in spite of this, at once appointed as lady-in-waiting -to the Princess Uglyane.</p> - -<p>One evening Prince Hjalmar decides to make advances to -Uglyane, and with that object he gives her a nocturnal rendezvous -in the park of the castle, not a secret, but, so to speak, -an official, lovers’ tryst, to which he, with his father’s consent, -and she, with her mother’s, is to go. Maleine hinders it by -telling Uglyane, who is splendidly attiring and adorning herself, -that Prince Hjalmar has gone into the forest and will not -come. She then goes herself into the park, and makes herself -known to Hjalmar, who arrives punctually. He leads her in -great delight to his father, who receives her as his future -daughter-in-law, and there is no further talk of his betrothal to -Uglyane. Queen Anne determines to get rid of the intruder. -She behaves at first in a friendly manner, assigns her a beautiful -room in the castle, then in the night she forces the King, who -for a long time resists her, to penetrate into Maleine’s room, -where she puts a cord round the Princess’s neck and strangles -her. Signs and wonders accompany the deed: a tempest forces -open a window, a comet appears, a wing of the castle falls in -ruins, a forest bursts into flames, swans fall wounded out of the -air, etc., etc.</p> - -<p>Next morning the body of the Princess Maleine is discovered. -King Hjalmar, whom the night’s murder has robbed of the last -remnant of reason, betrays the secret of the deed. Prince -Hjalmar stabs Queen Anne, and then plunges the dagger into -his own heart. Thereupon the piece closes thus:</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> Come away, my poor lord.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> Good God! good God! She is waiting now on the wharf of hell!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> Come away! come away!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> Is there anybody here that fears the curses of the dead?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Angus.</span> Ay, my lord, I do.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> Well, you close their eyes, and let us be gone.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> Ay, ay. Come hence! come hence!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> I will; I will. Oh, oh! how lonely I shall feel hereafter! I am -steeped in misery up to my ears at seventy-seven years of age. But where -are you?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse!</span> Here, here!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> You will not feel angry with me? Let us go to breakfast. Will -there be salad for breakfast? I should like a little salad.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> Yes, yes. You shall have some, my lord.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">King.</span> I do not know why; I feel somewhat melancholy to-day. Good -God! good God! How unhappy the dead do look!</p> - -<p class="pr2">[<i>Exit with</i> <span class="smcap">Nurse</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Angus.</span> Another night such as this, and all our heads will have turned white.</p> - -<p class="pi4h">[<i>Exeunt all save the</i> <span class="smcap">Nuns</span>, <i>who begin singing the Miserere while -conveying the corpses towards the bed. The church bells cease -sounding. Nightingales are heard warbling without. A cock -jumps on the window-sill, and crows.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">When we begin to read this piece we are startled, and ask: -‘Why is all this so familiar to me? Of what does it remind -me?’ After a few pages it all at once becomes clear: the whole -thing is a kind of cento from Shakespeare! Every character, -every scene, every speech in any way essential to the piece! -King Hjalmar is put together out of King Lear and Macbeth; -Lear in his madness and manner of expressing himself, Macbeth -in his share in the murder of the Princess Maleine. Queen -Anne is patched up out of Lady Macbeth and Queen Gertrude; -Prince Hjalmar is unmistakably Hamlet, with his obscure -speeches, his profound allusions and his inner struggles between -filial duty and morality; the nurse is from Romeo and Juliet; -Angus is Horatio; Vanox and Stephano are Rosenkranz and -Guildenstern, with an admixture of Marcellus and Bernardo, and -all the subordinate characters, the fool, the doctor, the courtiers, -etc., bear the physiognomy of Shakespeare’s characters.</p> - -<p>The piece begins in the following manner:</p> - -<p class="pc1"><i>The Gardens of the Castle.</i><br /> -<i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Stephano</span> <i>and</i> <span class="smcap">Vanox</span>.</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Vanox.</span> What o’clock is it?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Stephano.</span> Judging from the moon, it should be midnight.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Vanox.</span> I think ‘tis going to rain.</p> - -<p class="pn1">Let us compare this with the first scene in <i>Hamlet</i>:</p> - -<p class="pc1"><i>A platform before the Castle.</i><br /> -<span class="smcap">Francisco</span> ... <span class="smcap">Bernardo</span>.</p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Francisco.</span> You come most carefully upon your hour.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernardo.</span> ‘Tis now struck twelve....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Francisco.</span> ... ‘Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart, etc.</p> - -<p class="pn1">One could, if it were worth while, trace scene for scene, word for -word, from some passage in Shakespeare. In the <i>Princesse -Maleine</i> we find in succession the fearfully stormy night from -<i>Julius Cæsar</i> (Act I., Scene 3); the entrance of King Lear into -the palace of Albany (Act I., Scene 4 ... ‘<span class="smcap">Lear</span>: Let me -not stay a jot for dinner; go, get it ready,’ etc.); the night -scene in <i>Macbeth</i>, where Lady Macbeth induces her husband to -commit murder; the thrice-repeated ‘Oh! oh! oh!’ of Othello -which Queen Anne here utters; Hamlet’s conversation with -Horatio, etc. The death of the Princess Maleine has been -inspired by memories both of Desdemona suffocated and of -Cordelia hanged. All this is jumbled up in the craziest manner, -and often distorted almost beyond recognition, or given the -opposite meaning; but, with a little attention, one can always -find one’s way.</p> - -<p>Let us imagine a child, at the age when he is able to follow -the conversation of grown-up people, attending a performance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -or a reading of <i>Hamlet</i>, <i>Lear</i>, <i>Macbeth</i>, <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> and -<i>Richard II.</i>, and who on his return to the nursery should relate -in his own way to his little brothers and sisters what he had -heard. We should in this way get a correct idea of the composition -of <i>Princesse Maleine</i>. Maeterlinck has crammed himself -with Shakespeare, and reproduces the pieces undigested, yet -repulsively altered and with the beginnings of foul decomposition. -This is an unappetizing picture, but it alone can serve -to illustrate the mental process which goes on in the so-called -‘creations’ of the degenerate. They read greedily, receive a -very strong impression in consequence of their emotionalism; -this pursues them with the force of an ‘obsession,’ and they do -not rest till they have reproduced, sadly travestied, what they -have read. Thus their works resemble the coins of the -barbarians, which are imitations of Roman and Greek models, -while betraying that their artificers could not read or understand -the letters and symbols inscribed on them.</p> - -<p>Maeterlinck’s <i>Princesse Maleine</i> is a Shakespearian anthology -for children or Tierra del Fuegians. The characters of the -British poet have gone to make parts for the actors in a theatre -of monkeys. They still remind us more or less of the attitudes -and movements of the persons whom they ape, but they have -not a human brain in their heads, and cannot say two connected -and rational words. Here are a few examples of the manner -in which Maeterlinck’s people converse:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">King Marcellus in the First Act (Scene 2) endeavours to -dissuade the Princess Maleine from loving Hjalmar.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Well, Maleine!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> My lord?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Do you not understand?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> What, my lord?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Will you promise me to forget Hjalmar?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> My lord!...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> What say you? Do you still love Hjalmar?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Ay, my lord.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Ay, my lord. Oh, devils and tempests! she coolly confesses -it. She dares to tell me this without shame. She has seen Hjalmar once -only, for one single afternoon, and now she is hotter than hell.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Godeliva.</span> My lord!...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Be silent, you. “Ay, my lord!” and she is not yet fifteen! -Ha! it makes one long to kill them then and there....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Godeliva.</span> My lord....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> Isn’t she free to love, just like anyone else? Do you mean to -put her under a glass case? Is this a reason to bully a poor child? She -has done no harm....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Oh, she has done no harm!... Now, in the first place, -hold your peace, you.... I am not addressing you; and it is doubtless at -your prompting, you procuress....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Godeliva.</span> My lord!...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nurse.</span> A procuress! I a procuress!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Will you let me speak? Begone! begone, both of you! -Oh! I know well enough you have put your heads together, and that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -season of scheming and plotting has set in; but wait awhile.... Now, -Maleine, ... you should be reasonable. Will you promise to be reasonable?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Ay, my lord.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> There! come now. Therefore you will not think any more -of this marriage?...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Ay.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Ay? You mean you will forget Prince Hjalmar?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> No.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> You do not yet give up Prince Hjalmar?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> No.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Marcellus.</span> Now, supposing I compel you? Ay, I! and supposing I -have you put under lock and key? and supposing I separate you for evermore -from your Hjalmar with his puny, girlish face? What say you? (<i>She -weeps.</i>) Ha! that’s it—is’t? Begone, and we shall see about that—begone!</p> -</div> - -<p class="p1">Next, the scene in the second act, where Maleine and Hjalmar -meet in the gloomy park of the castle:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> ... Come!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Not yet.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Uglyane! Uglyane!</p> - -<p class="pi4h">[<i>Kisses her. Here the waterfall, blown about by the wind, collapses -and splashes them.</i></p> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Oh! what have you done?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> It is the fountain.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Oh, oh!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> It’s the wind.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am afraid.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Think not of that any longer. Let us get further away. Let -us not think of that any more. Ah, ah, ah! I am wet all over.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> There is somebody weeping, close by us.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Somebody weeping?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am afraid.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> But cannot you hear that it’s only the wind?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> What are all those eyes on the tree, though?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Where? Ha! those are the owls. They have returned. I -will put them to flight. (<i>Throws earth at them.</i>) Away! away!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> There is yonder one that will not go.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Where is it?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> On the weeping willow.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Away!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> He is not gone.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Away, away!</p> - -<p class="pr2">[<i>Throws earth at the owl.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Oh! you have thrown earth on me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Thrown earth on you?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> Ay, it fell on me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Oh, my poor Uglyane!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am afraid.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Afraid—at my side?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> There are flames amid the trees.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> That is nothing—mere lightning. It has been very sultry -to-day.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am afraid. Oh! who can be digging so at the ground around -us?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> That is nothing. ‘Tis but a mole—a poor little mole at work.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">(The mole in Hamlet! To our old acquaintance greeting!)</p> - -<p class="pbq p1"><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am afraid.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">After some more conversation in the same style:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> What are you thinking of?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I feel sad.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Sad? Now, what are your sad thoughts about, Uglyane?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am thinking of Princess Maleine.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> What do you say?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am thinking of Princess Maleine.<a name="FNanchor_229_229" id="FNanchor_229_229"></a><a href="#Footnote_229_229" class="fnanchor">[229]</a></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Do you know Princess Maleine?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am Princess Maleine.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> You are not Uglyane?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am Princess Maleine.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> What! you Princess Maleine? Dead! But Princess Maleine -is dead!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Maleine.</span> I am Princess Maleine.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Has anyone anywhere in the poetry of the two worlds ever -seen such complete idiocy? These ‘Ahs’ and ‘Ohs,’ this want -of comprehension of the simplest remarks, this repetition four -or five times of the same imbecile expressions, gives the truest -conceivable clinical picture of incurable cretinism. These parts -are precisely those most extolled by Maeterlinck’s admirers. -According to them, all has been chosen with a deep artistic -intention. A healthy reader will scarcely swallow that. Maeterlinck’s -puppets say nothing, because they have nothing to say. -Their author has not been able to put a single thought into -their hollow skulls, because he himself possesses none. The -creatures moving on his stage are not thinking and speaking -human beings, but tadpoles or slugs, considerably more stupid -than trained fleas at a fair.</p> - -<p>Moreover, <i>Princesse Maleine</i> is not altogether a Shakespearian -dream. The ‘seven nuns,’ <i>e.g.</i>, belong to Maeterlinck. -They are an astounding invention. They are ever -marching like demented geese through the piece, winding in -and out, with their psalm-singing, through all the rooms and -corridors of the King’s castle, through the court, through the -park, through the forest, coming unexpectedly round a corner -in the middle of a scene, trotting across the stage and off at the -other side without anyone understanding whence they come, -whither they go, or for what purpose they are brought on at all. -They are a living ‘obsession,’ mixing itself irresistibly in all the -incidents of the piece. Here also we find all the intellectual fads -which we noticed in the <i>Serres Chaudes</i>. The Princess Maleine -is herself the embodiment of the hungry, sick, strayed princesses, -wandering over the meadows, who haunt these poems, and -undoubtedly sprang from Swinburne’s ballad of <i>The King’s -Daughters</i>. The canals also play their part (p. 18). ‘And the -expression of her eyes! It seemed as though one were all of a -sudden in a great stream [Fr. <i>canal</i>] of fresh water....’ (p. 110). -‘We have been to look at the windmills along the canal,’ etc.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -And sick people and illness are mentioned on almost every -page (p. 110):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Anne.</span> I was fever-stricken myself.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The King.</span> Everyone is fever-stricken on arriving here.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> There is much fever in the village, etc.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Besides <i>Princesse Maleine</i>, Maeterlinck has written some other -pieces. One, <i>L’Intruse</i> (The Intruder), deals with the idea that -in a house where a sick person lies <i>in extremis</i>, Death intrudes -towards midnight, that he walks audibly through the garden, -makes at first a few trial strokes with his scythe on the grass -before the castle, then knocks at the door, forces it open because -they will not admit him, and carries off his victim. In a second, -<i>Les Aveugles</i> (The Blind), we are shown how a number of blind -men, the inmates of a blind asylum, were led by an old priest -into a forest, how the priest died suddenly without a sound, how -the blind men did not at first notice this, but becoming at length -uneasy, groped about, succeeded in touching the corpse, already -growing cold, assured themselves by questioning each other that -their leader was dead, and then in terrible despair awaited death -by hunger and cold. For this charming story takes place on a -wild island in the far north; and between the wood and the -asylum lies a river, crossed by only one bridge, which the blind -cannot find without a guide. It never occurs either to Maeterlinck -or to his inconsolable blind men as possible that in the -asylum, where, as is expressly mentioned, there are attendant -nuns, the long absence of the whole body of blind men would -be noticed, and someone sent out to look for them. The reader -will not expect me to point out in detail the craziness of the -assumption in both these pieces, or that, after these examples, -I should relate and analyze two other pieces of Maeterlinck’s, -<i>Les Sept Princesses</i> (‘seven,’ of course!) and <i>Pelléas et Mélisande</i>.</p> - -<p><i>The Intruder</i> has been translated into several languages, and -performed in many towns. The Viennese laughed at its imbecility. -In Paris and London men shook their heads. In -Copenhagen an audience of appreciators of the ‘poetry of the -future’ was touched, enraptured and inspired. This demonstrates -the hysteria of to-day quite as much as the piece itself.</p> - -<p>The history of Maeterlinck’s celebrity is especially remarkable -and instructive. This pitiable mental cripple vegetated for years -wholly unnoticed in his corner in Ghent, without the Belgian -Symbolists, who outbid even the French, according him the -smallest attention; as to the public at large, no one had a -suspicion of his existence. Then one fine day in 1890 his writings -fell accidentally into the hands of the French novelist, Octave -Mirbeau. He read them, and whether he desired to make fun -of his contemporaries in grand style, or whether he obeyed some -morbid ‘impulsion’ is not known; it is sufficient to say that he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -published in <i>Le Figaro</i> an article of an unheard-of extravagance, -in which he represented Maeterlinck as the most brilliant, -sublime, moving poet which the last three hundred years had -produced, and assigned him a place near—nay, above Shakespeare. -And then the world witnessed one of the most extraordinary -and most convincing examples of the force of -suggestion. The hundred thousand rich and cultivated readers -to whom the <i>Figaro</i> addresses itself immediately took up the -views which Mirbeau had imperiously suggested to them. They -at once saw Maeterlinck with Mirbeau’s eyes. They found in -him all the beauties which Mirbeau asserted that he perceived -in him. Andersen’s fairy-tale of the invisible clothes of the -emperor repeated itself line for line. They were not there, but -the whole court saw them. Some imagined they really saw the -absent state robes; the others did not see them, but rubbed -their eyes so long that they at least doubted whether they saw -them or not; others, again, could not impose upon themselves, -but dared not contradict the rest. Thus Maeterlinck became at -one stroke, by Mirbeau’s favour, a great poet, and a poet of the -‘future.’ Mirbeau had also given quotations which would have -completely sufficed for a reader who was not hysterical, not -given over irresistibly to suggestion, to recognise Maeterlinck -for what he is, namely, a mentally debilitated plagiarist; but -these very quotations wrung cries of admiration from the <i>Figaro</i> -public, for Mirbeau had pointed them out as beauties of the -highest rank, and one knows that a decided affirmation is sufficient -to compel hypnotic subjects to eat raw potatoes as oranges, -and to believe themselves to be dogs or other quadrupeds.</p> - -<p>Everywhere apostles were quickly at hand to proclaim, interpret -and extol the new master. The ‘mashers’ of the critic -world, whose ambition is set on being the first to assume—nay, -where it is possible, to foretell—the very latest fashions, the -fashion of to-morrow, as much in the styles of literature, as in -the colour and shape of neckties, vied with each other in deifying -Maeterlinck. Ten editions of his <i>Princesse Maleine</i> have been -sold out since Mirbeau’s suggestion, and, as I have said before, -his <i>Aveugles</i> and <i>Intruse</i> have been performed in various places.</p> - -<p>We now know the different forms under which the mysticism -of degeneration manifests itself in contemporary literature. The -magism of a Guaita and a Papus, the Androgyne of a Péladan, -the anxiomania of a Rollinat, the idiotic drivelling of a Maeterlinck, -may be regarded as its culminating aberrations. At least -I cannot myself imagine that it would be possible for mysticism -to go beyond, even by the thickness of a hair, these extreme -points without even the hysterical, the devotees and the snobs of -fashion, who are still in some degree capable of discernment, -recognising in it a profound and complete intellectual darkness.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc2 large"><a name="c241" id="c241">BOOK III.</a></p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>EGO-MANIA.</i></p> - -<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="pch">THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EGO-MANIA.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">However</span> dissimilar such individualities as Wagner and Tolstoi, -Rossetti and Verlaine, may at first sight appear, we have, nevertheless, -encountered in all of them certain common traits, to -wit, vague and incoherent thought, the tyranny of the association -of ideas, the presence of obsessions, erotic excitability, religious -enthusiasm, by which we may recognise them as members of -one and the same intellectual family, and justify their union into -one single group—that of mystics.</p> - -<p>We must go a step farther and say that not only the mystics -among the degenerate, but in the main all the degenerate, of -whatever nature they may be, are moulded from the same clay. -They all show the same lacunæ, inequalities, and malformations -in intellectual capacity, the same psychic and somatic stigmata. -If, then, anyone, having a certain number of degenerate subjects -to judge from, were to bring into prominence and represent as -their exclusive peculiarity merely mystical thought in some, -merely erotic emotionalism in others, merely vague, barren, -fraternal love and a mania for regenerating the world, or -else merely an impulsion to commit acts of a criminal nature, -etc., he would manifestly be seeing only one side of the -phenomenon, and taking no account of the rest. One or -another stigma of degeneration may, in a given case, be -especially apparent; but, on duly careful inspection, the -presence of all the others, or, at least, indications of them, will -be discerned.</p> - -<p>To the celebrated French alienist, Esquirol, is due the signal -merit of having discovered that there are forms of mental derangement -in which thought proceeds apparently in a perfectly -rational manner, but in which, in the midst of intelligent and -logical cerebral activity, some insane presentations appear, like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -erratic boulders, thus enabling us to recognise the subject as -mentally diseased. But Esquirol has committed the fault of -not digging deep enough; his observation is too much on -the surface. It was through this that he came to introduce -into science the notion of ‘monomania,’ that is, of well-delimitated, -partial madness, of an isolated, fixed idea beside -which all the rest of the intellectual life operates with sanity. -This was an error. There is no monomania. Esquirol’s own pupil, -the elder Falret, has sufficiently proved it, and our Westphal, -from whose other merits I have no wish to detract, was far -from standing in the forefront of research, when, half a century -after Esquirol, and thirty years after Falret, he still described -the ‘fear of space,’ or agoraphobia, as a special mental malady, -or kind of monomania. What is apparently monomania is in -reality an indication of a profound organic disorder which never -reveals itself by one single phase of folly. A fixed idea never -exists in isolation.<a name="FNanchor_230_230" id="FNanchor_230_230"></a><a href="#Footnote_230_230" class="fnanchor">[230]</a> It is always accompanied by other irregularities -of thought and feeling, which, it is true, at a cursory -glance, may not be so distinctly remarked as the more strongly -developed insane idea. Recent clinical observation has discovered -a long series of similar fixed ideas or ‘monomanias,’ and -recognised the fact that they are one and all the consequence of a -fundamental disposition of the organism, viz., of its degeneration. -It was unnecessary for Magnan to give a special name to each -symptom of degeneration, and to draw up in array, with almost -comical effect, the host of ‘phobias’ and ‘manias.’ Agoraphobia -(fear of open space), claustrophobia (fear of enclosed space), rupophobia -(fear of dirt), iophobia (fear of poison), nosophobia (fear of -sickness), aichmophobia (fear of pointed objects), belenophobia -(fear of needles), cremnophobia (fear of abysses), trichophobia (fear -of hair), onomatomania (folly of words or names), pyromania (incendiary -madness), kleptomania (madness for theft), dipsomania -(madness for drink), erotomania (love madness), arithmomania -(madness of numbers), oniomania (madness for buying), etc. This -list might be lengthened at pleasure, and enriched by nearly all -the roots of the Greek dictionary. It is simply philologico-medical -trifling. None of the disorders discovered and described by -Magnan and his pupils, and decorated with a sonorous Greek -name, forms an independent entity, and appears separately; and -Morel is right in disregarding as unessential all these varied -manifestations of a morbid cerebral activity, and adhering to the -principal phenomenon which lies at the base of all the ‘phobias<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>’ -and ‘manias,’ namely, the great emotionalism of the degenerate.<a name="FNanchor_231_231" id="FNanchor_231_231"></a><a href="#Footnote_231_231" class="fnanchor">[231]</a> -If to emotionalism, or an excessive excitability, he had added -the cerebral debility, which implies feebleness of perception, will, -memory, judgment, as well as inattention and instability, he would -have exhaustively characterized the nature of degeneration, and -perhaps prevented psychiatry from being stuffed with a crowd -of useless and disturbing designations. Kowalewski approached -much nearer to the truth in his well-known treatise,<a name="FNanchor_232_232" id="FNanchor_232_232"></a><a href="#Footnote_232_232" class="fnanchor">[232]</a> where he -has represented all the mental disorders of the degenerate as -one single malady, which merely presents different degrees of -intensity, and which induces in its mildest form neurasthenia; -under a graver aspect impulsions and groundless anxieties; and, -in its most serious form, the madness of brooding thought or -doubt. Within these limits may be ranged all the particular -‘manias’ and ‘phobias’ which at present swarm in the literature -of mental therapeutics.</p> - -<p>But if it be untenable to make a particular malady out of -every symptom in which the fundamental disorder (<i>i.e.</i>, degeneration) -shows itself, it should not, on the other hand, be -ignored that among certain of the degenerate a group of morbid -phenomena distinctly predominates, without involving the -absence of the other groups. Thus, it is permissible to distinguish -among them certain principal species, notably, beside -the mystics, of whom we have studied the most remarkable -representatives in contemporary art and poetry, the ego-maniacs -(<i>Ichsüchtigen</i>). It is not from affectation that I use this word -instead of the terms ‘egoism’ (<i>Selbstsucht</i>) and ‘egoist,’ so -generally employed. Egoism is a lack of amiability, a defect -in education, perhaps a fault of character, a proof of insufficiently -developed morality, but it is not a disease. The egoist -is quite able to look after himself in life, and hold his place in -society; he is often also, when the attainment of low ends only -is in view, even more capable than the superior and nobler man, -who has inured himself to self-abnegation. The ego-maniac, on -the contrary, is an invalid who does not see things as they are, does -not understand the world, and cannot take up a right attitude -towards it. The difference I make in German between <i>Ichsucht</i> -and <i>Selbstsucht</i>, the French also make in their language, where -a careful writer will never confound the word ‘egotisme,’ -borrowed from the English, with ‘egoïsme’—that is, selfishness.</p> - -<p>Of course the reader to whom the mental physiognomy of ego-maniacs -is shown ought always to remember that, if the principal -representatives of this species and of that of the mystics are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -characterized with sufficient clearness, the confines of the latter -type are fluctuating. The ego-maniacs are, on the one hand, at -once mystics, erotics, and, though it seems paradoxical, even affect -occasionally an appearance of philanthropy; among the mystics, -on the other hand, we frequently meet with a strongly-developed -ego-mania. There are certain specimens among the degenerate -in whom all the disorders are produced to such an equal degree -that it is doubtful whether they ought to be classed with the -mystics or the ego-maniacs. As a general rule, however, co-ordination -under one class or the other will not be very difficult.</p> - -<p>That egoism is a salient feature in the character of the degenerate -has been unanimously confirmed by all observers. ‘The -degenerate neither knows nor takes interest in anything but -himself,’ says Roubinovitch;<a name="FNanchor_233_233" id="FNanchor_233_233"></a><a href="#Footnote_233_233" class="fnanchor">[233]</a> and Legrain<a name="FNanchor_234_234" id="FNanchor_234_234"></a><a href="#Footnote_234_234" class="fnanchor">[234]</a> asserts that he -‘has ... only one occupation, that of satisfying his appetites.’ -This peculiarity establishes a bond which unites the highest of the -degenerate to the lowest, the insane genius to the feeble mental -cripple. ‘All delirious geniuses,’ remarks Lombroso, ‘are very -much captivated by, and preoccupied with, their own selves,’<a name="FNanchor_235_235" id="FNanchor_235_235"></a><a href="#Footnote_235_235" class="fnanchor">[235]</a> -and Sollier writes on the subject of their antipodes, the imbeciles: -‘Undisciplined as they are, they obey only through fear, -are often violent, especially to those who are weaker than themselves, -humble and submissive towards those they feel to be -stronger. They are without affection, egoistic in the highest -degree, braggarts.’<a name="FNanchor_236_236" id="FNanchor_236_236"></a><a href="#Footnote_236_236" class="fnanchor">[236]</a></p> - -<p>The clinicist is satisfied with indicating the fact of this -characteristic egoism, but for ourselves we wish further to investigate -what are its organic roots, why the degenerate must -be more than egoistic, why he must be an ego-maniac, and cannot -be otherwise.</p> - -<p>In order to understand how the consciousness of the ‘I’ -(morbidly exaggerated and frequently increasing to megalomania) -originates, we must recall how the healthy consciousness -of the ‘I’ is formed.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, not my intention here to treat of the whole -theory of cognition. It is only the most important results of -this science, so highly developed in the present day, that can -find place in this work.</p> - -<p>It has become a philosophical commonplace that we know -directly only those changes which take place in our own -organism. If, in spite of this, we are able to form an image of -the external world surrounding us, from perceptions derived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -only from within, it is because we trace the changes in our -organism which we have perceived to causes exterior to it; and -from the nature and force of the changes taking place in our -organism draw conclusions as to the nature and force of the -external events causing them.</p> - -<p>How we come in general to assume that there is something -exterior, and that changes perceived by us only in our organism -can have causes which are not in the organism itself, is a question -over which metaphysics has cudgelled its brain for centuries. -So little has it found an answer, that, in order to put an end to -this difficulty anyhow, it has simply denied the very question, and -jumped to the conclusion that the ‘I’ has actually no knowledge -of a ‘not-I,’ of an external world, and cannot have it because -there is no external world at all, that what we so call is a creation -of our mind, and exists only in our thought as a presentation, -but not outside our ‘I’ as a reality.</p> - -<p>It is a fact characteristic of the soporific action exercised by -the sound of a word on the human mind that this wholly senseless -cackle, glib, well arranged and formed into the philosophical -system of idealism, should have thoroughly satisfied for nearly -eight generations the greater number of professional metaphysicians, -from Berkeley to Fichte, Schelling and Hegel. These -wise men repeated, in a tone of conviction, the doctrine of the -non-existence of the ‘not-I,’ and it did not trouble them that -they themselves contradicted constantly, in all their actions, their -own fustian; that they devoted themselves from their birth to -their death to an uninterrupted series of absolutely absurd -actions, if there were no objective external world; that therefore -they themselves recognised their system to be but wind and -shadow, a childish game with words devoid of sense. And the -most logical among these grave drivellers, Bishop Berkeley, -did not even observe that after all he had not obtained, even at -the price of the total abdication of common sense, the answer -he sought to the fundamental question of knowledge, for his -dogmatic idealism denies, it is true, the reality of the external -world, but admits with frivolous thoughtlessness that there are -other minds outside of him, Berkeley, and even a universal -mind. Thus, then, even according to him, the ‘I’ is not all; -there is still something outside of the ‘I,’ a ‘not-I’; there does -exist an external world, if only under the form of immaterial -spirits. This, however, brings up the question, How does -Berkeley’s ‘I’ come to conceive the existence of something -outside of itself, the existence of a ‘not-I’? That was the -question which had to be answered, and, in spite of its sacrificing -the whole world of phenomena, Berkeley’s idealism, like the -idealism of every one of his successors, makes no reply to it -whatsoever.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> - -<p>Metaphysics could find no answer to the question, because the -latter, as stated by the former, does not admit of an answer. -Scientific psychology—<i>i.e.</i>, psycho-physiology—does not encounter -the same difficulties. It does not take the finished ‘I’ -of the adult, clearly conscious of himself, feeling himself distinctly -opposed to the ‘not-I’ to the entire external world, but -it goes back to the beginnings of this ‘I,’ investigates in what -manner it is formed, and then finds that, at a time when the -idea of the existence of a ‘not-I,’ would be really inexplicable, -this idea, in fact, was absolutely non-existent, and that, when -we do meet it, the ‘I’ has already had experiences which completely -explain how it could and must arrive at the formation of -the idea of a ‘not-I.’</p> - -<p>We may assume that a certain degree of consciousness is the -accompanying phenomenon of every reaction of the protoplasm -on external action—<i>i.e.</i>, is a fundamental quality of living -matter. Even the simplest unicellular living organisms move -with obvious intention towards certain goals, and away from certain -points; they distinguish between foods and such materials -as are unfit for nutrition; thus they have a species of will and -judgment, and these two activities presuppose consciousness.<a name="FNanchor_237_237" id="FNanchor_237_237"></a><a href="#Footnote_237_237" class="fnanchor">[237]</a> -What may be the nature of this consciousness localized in protoplasm -not yet even differentiated into nerve-cells, is a thing -of which it is impossible for the human mind to form a definite -idea. The only thing we can presuppose with any certainty -is that in the crepuscular consciousness of a unicellular -organism, the notion of an ‘I’ and a ‘not-I,’ which is opposed -to it, does not exist. The cell feels changes in itself, and these -changes provoke others, in accordance with established bio-chemical -or bio-mechanical laws; it receives an impression to -which it responds by a movement, but it has certainly no idea -that the impression is caused by a process in the external world, -and that its movement reacts on the external world.</p> - -<p>Even among animals very much higher in the scale, and -considerably more advanced in differentiation, a consciousness -of the ‘Ego,’ properly so called, is inconceivable. How can -the ray of a star-fish, the bud of a tunicate, of a botryllus, -the half of a double animal (diplozoon), the tube of an -actinia, or of some other coral polypus, be aware of itself as a -separate ‘I,’ seeing that, though it is an animal, it is at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -same time a portion of a composite animal, of a colony of -animals, and must perceive impressions which strike it directly, -as well as those experienced by a companion of the same -colony? Or can certain large worms, many of the species of -Eunice, for example, have an idea of their ‘Ego,’ when they -neither feel nor recognise portions of their own bodies as constituent -parts of their individuality, and begin to eat their tails -when, by any accident in coiling themselves, it happens to lie -in front of their mouths?</p> - -<p>The consciousness of the ‘Ego’ is not synonymous with -consciousness in general. While the latter is probably an -attribute of all living matter, the former is the result of the -concordant action of a nervous tissue highly differentiated and -‘hierarchized,’ or brought into a relation of mutual dependence. -It appears very late in the series of organic evolution, and is, -up to the present, the highest vital phenomenon of which we -have knowledge. It arises little by little from experiences -which the organism acquires in the course of the natural activity -of its constituent parts. Every one of our nerve-ganglia, every -one of our nerve-fibres, and even every cell, has a subordinate -and faint consciousness of what passes in it. As the whole -nervous system of our body has numerous communications -between all its parts, it perceives in its totality something of all -the stimulations of its parts, and the consciousness which accompanies -them. In this manner there arises in the centre -where all the nerve ducts of the whole body meet, <i>i.e.</i>, in the -brain, a total consciousness composed of innumerable partial -consciousnesses, having evidently for its object only the processes -of its own organism. In the course of its existence, and -that at a very early period, consciousness distinguishes two -kinds of wholly different perceptions. Some appear without -preparation, others accompanied and preceded by other -phenomena. No act of will precedes the stimulation of the -senses, but such an act does precede every conscious movement. -Before our senses perceive anything, our consciousness has no -notion of what they will perceive; before our muscles execute -a movement, an image of this movement is elaborated in the -brain, or spinal marrow (in the case of a reflex action). There -exists then, beforehand, a presentation of the movement which -the muscles will execute. We feel clearly that the immediate -cause of the movement lies in ourselves. On the other hand, -we have no similar feelings in regard to sense-impressions. -Again, we learn by the muscular sense the realization of motor -images elaborated by our consciousness; on the other hand, we -experience nothing similar when we elaborate a motor image -not having our own muscles exclusively for its object. We -wish, for example, to raise our arm. Our consciousness elaborates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -this image, the brachial muscles obey, and consciousness receives -the communication that the image has been realized by the -brachial muscles. Next, we wish to raise or throw a stone with -our arm. Our consciousness elaborates a motor image, involving -our own muscles and the stone. When we are executing -the desired and meditated movement, our consciousness receives -sensations from the muscles in activity, but not from the -stone. Thus it perceives the movements which are accompanied -by muscular sensations, and others which appear without -this accompaniment.</p> - -<p>In order thoroughly to comprehend the formation of our -consciousness of the ‘Ego,’ and the presentation of the existence -of a ‘non-Ego,’ we must consider a third point. All the -parts, all the cells of our body, have their own separate consciousness, -which accompanies every one of their excitations. -These excitations are occasioned partly by the activity of -nutrition, of assimilation, of the cleavage of the nucleus—that -is to say, by the vital processes of the cell itself, and partly by -action of the environment. The excitations which proceed -from the interior, the bio-chemical and bio-mechanical processes -of the cell, are continued, and endure as long as the life of the -cell itself. The stimulations which are the result of the action -of the environment only appear, of course, with this action, <i>i.e.</i>, -not continuously, but intermittently. The vital processes in -the cell have direct value and significance only for the cell -itself, not for the whole organism; actions of the environment -may become important for the whole organism. The principal -organ, the brain, acquires the habit of neglecting the excitations -relating to the interior vital activity of the cell—first, because -they are continuous, and we perceive distinctly only a change of -state, not a state itself; and then, because the cell accomplishes its -own functions by its own energy, which renders the interference -of the brain useless. The brain takes notice, on the contrary, -of excitations which are produced by action <i>ab extra</i>—first, -because they appear with interruptions; and, secondly, because -they may necessitate an adaptation of the whole organism, -which could only take place through the intervention of the -brain.</p> - -<p>It cannot be doubted that the brain has knowledge also of -the internal excitations of the organism, and only for the -reasons already stated is not, as a general rule, distinctly -conscious of them. If through illness a disturbance is produced -in the functions of the single cell, we at once become conscious of -the processes in the cell—we feel the diseased organ, it stimulates -our attention; the whole organism is uncomfortable and out of -tune. It is sensations of this kind, which, in a healthy state, -do not distinctly reach our consciousness, that make up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -sensation of our body, our organic ‘I,’ the so-called cœnæsthesis -or general sensibility.</p> - -<p>Cœnæsthesis, the organic dimly-conscious ‘I,’ rises into the -clear consciousness of the ‘Ego,’ by excitations of the second -order, reaching the brain from the nerves and muscles, for they -are stronger and more distinct than the others, and are interrupted. -The brain learns the changes produced in the nervous -system by external causes, and the contraction of the muscles. -How it has knowledge of the latter is still obscure. It has been -recently asserted that the muscular sense has for its seat the -nerves of the joints. This is certainly false. We have distinct -sensations of the contractions of muscles which put no joint in -movement—for example, of the orbicular and constrictor muscles. -Then there are the cramps and spasms even of isolated muscular -fibres, which likewise do not produce a change of position in the -joints. But in any case the perceptions of muscular sense exist, -however they are or are not produced.</p> - -<p>Thus consciousness very soon learns that the muscular -movements it perceives are preceded by certain acts accomplished -by itself, namely, the elaboration of motor images, and -the despatch of impulses to the muscles. It receives knowledge -of these movements twice, one after the other—it perceives -them, first, directly as its own presentation and act of -volition, as a motor image elaborated in the nerve-centres; and -immediately afterwards as an impression arising from the -muscular nerves as accomplished movement. It acquires the -habit of connecting its own acts—those previously elaborated -motor images—with the muscular movements, and of regarding -the latter a consequence of the former—in short, of thinking -causally. If consciousness has adopted the habit of causality, -it seeks a cause in all its perceptions, and can no longer imagine -a perception without a cause. The cause of muscular perceptions—that -is, of movements consciously willed—it finds in itself. -The cause of nervous perceptions—that is, the information -reported by the nervous system concerning the excitations -which it experiences—it does not find in itself. But the latter -must have a cause. Where is it? As it is not in consciousness, -it must necessarily exist somewhere else; there must then -be something else outside consciousness, and so consciousness -comes, through the habit of causal thought, to assume the -existence of something outside itself, of a ‘not-I,’ of an external -world, and to project into it the cause of the excitations which -it perceives in the nervous system.</p> - -<p>Experience teaches that the distinction between the ‘I’ and -the ‘not-I’ is really only a question of a habit of thought, of a -form of thought, and not of an effective, certain knowledge, -which carries in itself the criteria of its accuracy and certitude.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -When, in consequence of a morbid disturbance, our sensory -nerves or their centres of perception are excited, and consciousness -acquires knowledge of this excitation, it imputes to it without -hesitation, according to its habit, an external cause existing -in the ‘not-I.’ Hence arise illusions and hallucinations, which -the patient takes for realities, and that so positively that there -is absolutely no means of convincing him that he perceives facts -passing within him, not outside of him. In the same manner -consciousness concludes that the movements executed unconsciously -are occasioned by an extraneous will. It perceives the -movement, but it has not noticed that the habitual internal -cause, viz., a motor image and an act of the will, has preceded -it; hence it places the cause of the movement without hesitation -in the ‘not-I,’ although it resides in the ‘I,’ and is only -occasioned by subordinate centres, the activity of which remains -concealed from consciousness. This it is which gives rise to -spiritualism, which, in so far as it is in good faith and not openly -a hocus-pocus, is simply a mystical attempt to explain movements, -the real cause of which consciousness does not find in -itself, and which it places, in consequence, in the ‘not-I.’</p> - -<p>In ultimate analysis, the consciousness of the ‘Ego,’ and notably -the opposition of the ‘Ego’ and the ‘non-Ego,’ is an illusion of -the senses and a fallacy of thought. Every organism is related -to a species, and, over and above that, to the universe. It is -the direct material continuation of its parents; it is itself continued -directly and materially in its descendants. It is composed -of the same materials as the whole environing world; -these materials are constantly penetrating into it, transforming -it, producing in it all the phenomena of life and consciousness. -All the lines of action of the forces of nature are prolonged -in its interior; it is the scene of the same physical and chemical -processes in action throughout the universe. What pantheism -divines and clothes in needlessly mystic words is clear, sober -fact, namely, the unity of nature, in which each organism is also -a part related to the whole. Certain parts are more nearly connected; -others are more separated from one another. Consciousness -perceives only the closely-knit parts of its physical -basis, not those more remote. Thus it falls into the illusion -that the parts near together alone belong to it, and that the -more distant are strangers to it, and to consider itself as an -‘individuum,’ confronting the world as a separate world or -microcosm. It does not observe that the ‘I,’ so rigidly posited, -has no fixed limits, but continues and spreads beneath the -threshold of consciousness, with an ever-diminishing distinctness -of separation, to the extreme depths of nature, till it blends -there with all the other constituents of the universe.</p> - -<p>We may now resume much more briefly the natural history of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -the ‘I’ and the ‘not-I,’ and present it in a few formulæ. Consciousness -is a fundamental quality of living matter. The -highest organism itself is only a colony of the simplest organisms—that -is to say, of living cells—differentiated diversely in order -to qualify the colony for higher functions than the simple cell -can accomplish. The collective or ego-consciousness of the -colony is composed of the individual consciousness of the parts. -The ego-consciousness has an obscure and disregarded part -which relates to the vital functions of the cells, or the -cœnæsthesis, and a clear, privileged part which is attentive to -the excitations of the sensory nerves, and to the voluntary -activity of the muscles, and which recognises them. Clear consciousness -learns from experience that acts of will precede -voluntary movements. It arrives at the assumption of causality. -It observes that the sensorial excitations are not caused by anything -contained in itself. It is compelled, in consequence, to -transfer this cause, the assumption of which it cannot renounce, -elsewhere, and is necessarily first brought by this to the presentation -of a ‘not-I,’ and afterwards to the development of this -‘not-I’ into an apparent universe.</p> - -<p>The old spiritualistic psychology, which regards the ‘Ego’ -as something entirely different from the body, as a special -unitary substance, maintains that this ‘Ego’ considers its own -body as something not identical with it, as opposed to the ‘Ego’ -properly so called, as something external—in fact, as ‘non-Ego.’ -Thus, it denies cœnæsthesis—that is to say, an absolutely certain -empirical fact. We constantly have an obscure sensation of the -existence of all parts of our body, and our ego-consciousness -immediately experiences a change if the vital functions of any -one of our organs or tissues suffers a disturbance.<a name="FNanchor_238_238" id="FNanchor_238_238"></a><a href="#Footnote_238_238" class="fnanchor">[238]</a></p> - -<p>Development advances from the unconscious organic ‘I’ to -the clear conscious ‘I,’ and to the conception of the ‘not-I.’ -The infant probably has cœnæsthesis even before, in any case -after, its birth, for it feels its vital internal processes, shows -satisfaction when they are in healthy action, manifests its discomfort -by movements and cries, which are also only a movement -of the respiratory and laryngeal muscles, when any disturbances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -appear there, perceives and expresses general states -of the organism, such as hunger, thirst and fatigue. But clear -consciousness does not yet exist for it; the brain has not yet -taken command over the inferior centres. Sense-impressions -are perhaps perceived, but certainly not yet grouped into ideas; -the greater part of the movements are preceded by no conscious -act of will, and are only reflex actions—that is, manifestations -of those local consciousnesses which later become so obscure -as to be imperceptible, when the cerebral consciousness has -attained its full clearness. Little by little the higher centres -develop; the child begins to give heed to its sense-impressions, -to form from its perceptions ideas, and to make voluntary movements -adapted to an end. With the awakening of its conscious -will the birth of the consciousness of its ‘Ego’ is linked. The -child apprehends that it is an individual. But its internal -organic processes occupy it very much more than does the -procedure of the external world, transmitted to it by the sensory -nerves, and its own states fill up its consciousness more or less -completely. The child is, for this reason, a model of egoism, -and, until it reaches a more advanced age, is wholly incapable -of displaying either attention or interest in anything at all which -is not directly connected with itself, its needs and inclinations. -By the continued culture of his brain man finally arrives at that -degree of maturity in which he acquires a just idea of his -relations to other men and to Nature. Then consciousness pays -less and less regard to the vital processes in its own organism, -and more and more to the stimulations of its senses. It only -notices the former when they reveal pressing necessities; it is, -on the contrary, always concerned with the latter when in a -waking state. The ‘I’ retires decidedly behind the ‘not-I,’ -and the image of the world fills the greater part of consciousness.</p> - -<p>As the formation of an ‘I,’ of an individuality clearly conscious -of its separate existence, is the highest achievement of living -matter, so the highest degree of development of the ‘I’ consists -in embodying in itself the ‘not-I,’ in comprehending the world, -in conquering egoism, and in establishing close relations with -other beings, things and phenomena. Auguste Comte, and -after him Herbert Spencer, have named this stage ‘altruism,’ -from the Italian word <i>altrui</i>, ‘others.’ The sexual instinct -which forces an individual to seek for another individual is as -little altruism as the hunger which incites the hunter to follow -an animal in order to kill and eat it. There can be no question -of altruism until an individual concerns himself about another -being from sympathy or curiosity, and not in order to satisfy an -immediate, pressing necessity of his body, the momentary -hunger of some organ.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>Not till he attains to altruism is man in a condition to maintain -himself in society and in nature. To be a social being, -man must feel with his fellow-creatures, and show himself sensitive -to their opinion about him. Both the one and the other -presuppose that he is capable of so vividly representing to himself -the feelings of his fellow-creatures as to experience them -himself. He who is not capable of imagining the pain of -another with sufficient clearness to suffer the same himself will -not have compassion, and he who cannot exactly feel for himself -what impression an action or an omission on his part will make -on another will have no regard for others. In both cases he will -soon see himself excluded from the human community as the -enemy of all, and treated as such by all, and very probably he -will perish. And to defend himself against destructive natural -forces and turn them to his advantage, man must know them -intimately—that is, he must be able distinctly to picture their -effects. A clear presentation of the feelings of others, and of -the effects of natural forces, presupposes the faculty of occupying -himself intensively with the ‘not-I.’ While a man is attending -to the ‘not-I,’ he is not thinking of his ‘Ego,’ and the latter -descends below the level of consciousness. In order that the -‘not-I’ should in this way prevail over the ‘I,’ the sensory -nerves must properly conduct the external impressions, the -cerebral centres of perception must be sensitive to the excitations -of the sensory nerves, the highest centres must develop, in -a sure, rapid and vigorous manner, the perceptions into ideas, -unite these into conceptions and judgments, and, on occasion, -transform them into acts of volition and motor impulses. And -as the greatest part of these different activities is accomplished -by the gray cortex of the frontal lobes, this means that this gray -cortex must be well developed and work vigorously.</p> - -<p>It is thus that a sane man appears to us. He perceives little -and rarely his internal excitations, but always and clearly his -external impressions. His consciousness is filled with images of -the external world, not with images of the activity of his organs. -The unconscious work of his inferior centres plays an almost -vanishing part by the side of the fully conscious work of the -highest centres. His egoism is no stronger than is strictly -necessary to maintain his individuality, and his thoughts and -actions are determined by knowledge of Nature and his fellow-creatures, -and by the consideration he owes to them.</p> - -<p>Quite otherwise is the spectacle offered by the degenerate person. -His nervous system is not normal. In what the digression -from the norm ultimately consists we do not know. Very probably -the cell of the degenerate is formed a little differently from -that of sane men, the particles of the protoplasm are otherwise -and less regularly disposed; the molecular movements take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -place, in consequence, in a less free and rapid, less rhythmic -and vigorous, manner. This is, however, a mere undemonstrable -hypothesis. Nevertheless, it cannot reasonably be doubted that -all the bodily signs or ‘stigmata’ of degeneration, all the arrests -and inequalities of development that have been observed, have -their origin in a bio-chemical and bio-mechanical derangement -of the nerve-cell, or, perhaps, of the cell in general.</p> - -<p>In the mental life of the degenerate the anomaly of his nervous -system has, as a consequence, the incapacity of attaining to the -highest degree of development of the individual, namely, the -freely coming out from the factitious limits of individuality, <i>i.e.</i>, -altruism. As to the relation of his ‘Ego’ to his ‘non-Ego,’ the -degenerate man remains a child all his life. He scarcely appreciates -or even perceives the external world, and is only occupied -with the organic processes in his own body. He is more than -egoistical, he is an ego-maniac.</p> - -<p>His ego-mania may spring directly from different circumstances -of his organism. His sensory nerves may be obtuse, are, in -consequence, but feebly stimulated by the external world, transmit -slowly and badly their stimuli to the brain, and are not in a -condition to incite it to a sufficiently vigorous perceptive and -ideational activity. Or his sensory nerves may work moderately -well, but the brain is not sufficiently excitable, and does -not perceive properly the impressions which are transmitted to -it from the external world.</p> - -<p>The obtuseness of the degenerate is attested by almost all -observers. From the almost illimitable number of facts which -could be adduced on this point, we will only give a very concise, -but sufficiently characteristic selection. ‘Among many idiots,’ -says Sollier, ‘there is no distinction between sweet and bitter. -When sugar and colocynth are administered to them alternately, -they manifest no change of sensation.... Properly speaking, -taste does not exist among them.... Besides this, there are -perversions of taste. We are not speaking here of complete -idiots ... but even of imbeciles who eat ordure or repulsive -things ... even their own excrements.... The same remarks -apply to smell. Perhaps sensibility appears still more absolutely -obtuse for smells than for taste.... Tactile sensibility -is very obtuse in general, but it is always uniformly so.... -Sometimes it might be a question whether there is not -complete anæsthesia.’<a name="FNanchor_239_239" id="FNanchor_239_239"></a><a href="#Footnote_239_239" class="fnanchor">[239]</a> Lombroso has examined the general -sensitiveness of skin in sixty-six criminals, and has found it -obtuse in thirty-eight among them, and unequal in the two halves -of the body in forty-six.<a name="FNanchor_240_240" id="FNanchor_240_240"></a><a href="#Footnote_240_240" class="fnanchor">[240]</a> In a later work he sums up in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -these words his observations of sensorial acuteness in the degenerate: -‘Inaccessible to the feeling of pain, themselves without feeling, -they never understand pain even in others.’<a name="FNanchor_241_241" id="FNanchor_241_241"></a><a href="#Footnote_241_241" class="fnanchor">[241]</a> Ribot traces -the ‘diseases of personality’ (that is, the false ideas of the ‘I’) -to ‘organic disturbances, of which the first result is to depress -the faculty of feeling in general; the second, to pervert it.’ ‘A -young man whose conduct had always been excellent suddenly -gave himself up to the worst inclinations. It was ascertained -that in his mental condition there was no sign of evident alienation, -but it could be seen that the whole outer surface of the -skin had become absolutely insensible.’ ‘It may seem strange -that weak and false sensitivity ... that is, that simple disturbances -or sensorial alterations should disorganize the “Ego.” -Nevertheless, observation proves it.’<a name="FNanchor_242_242" id="FNanchor_242_242"></a><a href="#Footnote_242_242" class="fnanchor">[242]</a> Maudsley<a name="FNanchor_243_243" id="FNanchor_243_243"></a><a href="#Footnote_243_243" class="fnanchor">[243]</a> describes -some cases of degeneration among children whose skin was insensible, -and remarks: ‘They cannot feel impressions as they -naturally should feel them, nor adjust themselves to their surroundings, -with which they are in discord; and the motor -outcomes of the perverted affections of self are accordingly of a -meaningless and destructive character.’<a name="FNanchor_244_244" id="FNanchor_244_244"></a><a href="#Footnote_244_244" class="fnanchor">[244]</a></p> - -<p>The defective sensibility of the degenerate, confirmed by all -observers, is, moreover, susceptible of different interpretations. -Whereas many consider it a consequence of the pathological condition -of the sensory nerves, others believe that the perturbation -has its seat, not in these nerves, but in the brain; not in the ducts, -but in the centres of perception. To quote one of the most eminent -among the psycho-physiologists of the new school, Binet<a name="FNanchor_245_245" id="FNanchor_245_245"></a><a href="#Footnote_245_245" class="fnanchor">[245]</a> -has proved that, ‘if a portion of the body of a person is insensible, -he is ignorant of what passes there; but, on the other -hand, the nervous centres in connection with this insensible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -region can continue to act; the result is that certain acts, often -simple, but sometimes very complicated, can be accomplished in -the body of a hysterical subject, without his knowledge; much -more, these acts can be of a psychical nature, and manifest -an intelligence which will be distinct from that of the subject, -and will constitute a second “I” co-existent with the first. -For a long time there was a misconception of the true nature -of hysterical anæsthesia, and it was compared to a common -anæsthesia from organic causes, due, for example, to the interruption -of afferent nerves. This view must be wholly abandoned, -and we know now that hysterical anæsthesia is not -a true insensibility; it is insensibility from unconsciousness -from mental disaggregation; in a word, it is psychical insensibility.’</p> - -<p>Most frequently it is not a question of simple cases, where it -is the sensory nerves alone, or only the cerebral centres which -work badly, but of mixed cases, where the two apparatuses have -a diversely varying part in the disturbance. But whether the -nerves do not conduct the impressions to the brain, or the brain -does not perceive, or does not raise the impressions brought -to it into consciousness, the result is always the same, -viz., the external world will not be correctly and distinctly -grasped by consciousness, the ‘not-I’ will not be suitably represented -in consciousness, the ‘I’ will not experience the necessary -derivation of the exclusive preoccupation with the processes -taking place in its own organism.</p> - -<p>The natural healthy connection between organic sensations -and sense-perceptions is much more strongly displaced when to -the insensibility of the sensory nerves, or of the centres of perception, -or both, is added an unhealthily modified and intensified -vital activity of the organs. Then the organic ego-sensibility, -or cœnæsthesis, advances irrepressibly into the foreground, -overshadowing in great part or wholly the perceptions of the -external world in consciousness, which no longer takes notice -of anything but the interior processes of the organism. In -this way there originates that peculiar hyper-stimulation or -emotionalism constituting, as we have seen, the fundamental -phenomenon of the intellectual life of the degenerate. For the -fundamental emotional tone, despairing or joyful, angry or tearful, -which determines the colour of his presentations as well as the -course of his thoughts, is the consequence of phenomena taking -place in his nerves, vessels and glands.<a name="FNanchor_246_246" id="FNanchor_246_246"></a><a href="#Footnote_246_246" class="fnanchor">[246]</a> The consciousness of -the emotionally degenerate subject is filled with obsessions which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -are not inspired by the events of the external world, and by -impulsions which are not the reaction against external stimulation. -To this is added next the unfailing weakness of will of -the degenerate person, which makes it impossible for him to -suppress his obsessions, to resist his impulsions, to control -his fundamental moods, to keep his higher centres to the -attentive pursuit of objective phenomena. According to the -saying of the poet, the necessary result of these conditions is -that the world must be differently reflected in such heads than -it is in normal ones. The external world, the ‘not-I,’ either does -not exist at all in the consciousness of an emotionally degenerate -subject, or it is merely represented there as on a faintly reflecting -surface, by a scarcely recognisable, wholly colourless image, or, -as in a concave or convex mirror, by a completely distorted, -false image; consciousness, on the other hand, is imperiously -monopolized by the somatic ‘I,’ which does not permit the -mind to be occupied with anything but the painful or tumultuous -processes taking place in the depths of the organs.</p> - -<p>Badly-conducting sensory nerves, obtuse perceptive centres in -the brain, weakness of will with its resulting incapacity of attention, -morbidly irregular and violent vital processes in the cells, -are therefore the organic basis on which ego-mania develops.</p> - -<p>The ego-maniac must of necessity immensely over-estimate his -own importance and the significance of all his actions, for he is -only engrossed with himself, and but little or not at all with external -things. He is therefore not in a position to comprehend -his relation to other men and the universe, and to appreciate properly -the part he has to play in the aggregate of social institutions. -There might at this juncture be an inclination to confound ego-mania -with megalomania, but there is a characteristic difference -between the two states. Megalomania, it is true, is itself, like -its clinical complement, the delusion of persecution, occasioned -by morbid processes within the organism obliging consciousness -perpetually to be attending to its own somatic ‘Ego.’ More -especially the unnaturally increased bio-chemical activity of the -organs gives rise to the pleasantly extravagant presentations of -megalomania, while retarded or morbidly aberrant activity -gives rise to the painful presentations of the delusion of persecution.<a name="FNanchor_247_247" id="FNanchor_247_247"></a><a href="#Footnote_247_247" class="fnanchor">[247]</a> -In megalomania, however, as in the delusion of persecution, -the patient is constantly engrossed with the external<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -world and with men; in ego-mania, on the contrary, he almost -completely withdraws himself from them. In the systematically -elaborated delirium of the megalomaniac and persecution-maniac, -the ‘not-I’ plays the most prominent part. The patient accounts -for the importance his ‘Ego’ obtains in his own eyes by the -invention of a grand social position universally recognised, or -by the inexorable hostility of powerful persons, or groups of -persons. He is Pope, or Emperor, and his persecutors are -the chief men in the State, or great social powers, the police, -the clergy, etc. His delirium, in consequence, takes account of -the State and society; he admits their importance, and attaches -the greatest value, in one case, to the homage, in the other to the -enmity, of his neighbours. The ego-maniac, on the contrary, does -not regard it as necessary to dream of himself as occupying -some invented social position. He does not require the world -or its appreciation to justify in his own eyes himself as the -sole object of his own interest. He does not see the world -at all. Other people simply do not exist for him. The whole -‘non-Ego’ appears in his consciousness merely as a vague shadow -or a thin cloud. The idea does not even occur to him that he -is something out of the common, that he is superior to other -people, and for this reason either admired or hated; he is alone -in the world; more than that, he alone is the world and everything -else, men, animals, things are unimportant accessories, -not worth thinking about.</p> - -<p>The less diseased are the conducting media, the centres of nutrition, -perception and volition, so much the weaker naturally will -the ego-mania be, and so much the more harmlessly will it be -manifested. Its least objectionable expression is the comic -importance which the ego-maniac often attributes to his sensations, -inclinations and activities. Is he a painter? he has no -doubt that the whole history of the universe only hinges on -painting, and on his pictures in particular. Is he a writer of -prose or verse? he is convinced that humanity has no other -care, or at least no more serious care, than for verses and books. -Let it not be objected that this is not peculiar to ego-maniacs, -but is the case with the vast majority of mankind. Assuredly -everyone thinks what he is doing is important, and that man -would not be worth much who performed his work so heedlessly -and so superficially, with so little pleasure and conscientiousness, -that he himself could not look upon it with respect. -But the great difference between the rational and sane man and -the ego-maniac is, that the former sees clearly how subordinate -his occupation is to the rest of humanity, although it fills his -life and exacts his best powers, while the latter can never -imagine that any exertion to which he devotes his time and -efforts can appear to others as unimportant and even puerile.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> -An honest cobbler, resoleing an old boot, gives himself up heart -and soul to his work, nevertheless he admits that there are far -more interesting and important things for humanity than the -repairing of damaged sole-leather. The ego-maniac, on the -contrary, if he is a writer, does not hesitate to declare, like -Mallarmé, ‘The world was made to lead up to a fine book.’ This -absurd exaggeration of one’s own occupations and interests produces -in literature the Parnassians and the Æsthetes.</p> - -<p>If degeneration is deeper, and ego-mania is stronger, the -latter no longer assumes the comparatively innocent form of -total absorption in poetic and artistic cooings, but manifests -itself as an immorality, which may amount to moral madness. -The tendency to commit actions injurious to himself or society is -aroused now and then even in a sane man when some obnoxious -desire demands gratification, but he has the will and the power -to suppress it. The degenerate ego-maniac is too feeble of -will to control his impulsions, and cannot determine his actions -and thoughts by a regard to the welfare of society, because -society is not at all represented in his consciousness. He is a -solitary, and is insensible to the moral law framed for life in -society, and not for the isolated individual. It is evident that -for Robinson Crusoe the penal code did not exist. Alone on -his island, having only Nature to deal with, it is obvious he -could neither kill, steal, nor pillage in the sense of the penal -code. He could only commit misdemeanours against himself. -Want of insight and of self-control are the only immoralities -possible to him. The ego-maniac is a mental Robinson Crusoe, -who in his imagination lives alone on an island, and is at the -same time a weak creature, powerless to govern himself. The -universal moral law does not exist for him, and the only thing -he may possibly see and avow, perhaps also regret a little, is -that he sins against the moral law of the solitary, <i>i.e.</i>, against -the necessity of controlling instincts in so far as they are -injurious to himself.</p> - -<p>Morality—not that learnt mechanically, but that which we -feel as an internal necessity—has become, in the course of -thousands of generations, an organized instinct. For this reason, -like all other organized instincts, it is exposed to ‘perversion,’ -to aberration. The effect of this is that an organ, or the whole -organism, works in opposition to its normal task and its natural -laws, and cannot work otherwise.<a name="FNanchor_248_248" id="FNanchor_248_248"></a><a href="#Footnote_248_248" class="fnanchor">[248]</a> In perversion of taste the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> -patient seeks greedily to swallow all that ordinarily provokes -the deepest repugnance, <i>i.e.</i>, is instinctively recognised as noxious, -and rejected for that reason—decaying organic matter, ordure, -pus, spittle, etc. In perversion of smell he prefers the odours -of putrefaction to the perfume of flowers. In perversion of the -sexual appetite he has desires which are directly contrary to -the purpose of the instinct, <i>i.e.</i>, the preservation of the species. -In perversion of the moral sense the patient is attracted by, and -feels delight in, acts which fill the sane man with disgust and -horror. If this particular perversion is added to ego-mania, -we have before us not merely the obtuse indifference towards -crime which characterizes moral madness, but delight in crime. -The ego-maniac of this kind is no longer merely insensible to -good and evil, and incapable of discriminating between them, -but he has a decided predilection for evil, esteems it in others, -does it himself every time he can act according to his inclination, -and finds in it the peculiar beauty that the sane man finds -in good.</p> - -<p>The moral derangement of an ego-maniac, with or without -perverted moral instincts, will naturally manifest itself in ways -varying according to the social class to which he belongs, as -well as according to his personal idiosyncrasies. If he is a -member of the disinherited class, he is simply either a fallen -or degraded being, whom opportunity has made a thief, who -lives in horrible promiscuity with his sisters or daughters, etc., -or is a criminal from habit and profession. If he is cultivated -and well-to-do, or in a commanding position, he commits misdemeanours -peculiar to the upper classes which have as their -object not the gratification of material needs, but of other kinds -of craving. He becomes a Don Juan of the drawing-room, and -carries shame and dishonour without hesitation into the family of -his best friend. He is a legacy-hunter, a traitor to those who -trust in him, an intriguer, a sower of discord, and a liar. On the -throne he may even develop into a rapacious animal, and to a -universal conqueror. With a limited tether he becomes Charles -the Bad the Count d’Evreux and King of Navarre, Gilles de -Rais, the prototype of Blue Beard, or Cæsar Borgia; and, with -a wider range, Napoleon I. If his nervous system is not strong -enough to elaborate imperious impulsions, or if his muscles are -too feeble to obey such impulsions, all these criminal inclinations -remain unsatisfied, and only expend themselves by way of his -imagination. The perverted ego-maniac is then only a platonic -or theoretic malefactor, and if he embraces the literary career, -he will concoct philosophic systems to justify his depravity, or -will employ an accommodating rhetoric in verse and prose to -celebrate it, bedizen it and present it under as seductive a form -as possible. We then find ourselves in the presence of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -literary phases called Diabolism and Decadentism. ‘Diaboliques’ -and ‘décadents’ are distinguished from ordinary criminals merely -in that the former content themselves with dreaming and -writing, while the latter have the resolution and strength to act. -But they have this bond in common, of being both of them -‘anti-social beings.’<a name="FNanchor_249_249" id="FNanchor_249_249"></a><a href="#Footnote_249_249" class="fnanchor">[249]</a></p> - -<p>A second characteristic which is shared by all ego-maniacs -is their incapacity to adapt themselves to the conditions in -which they live, whether they assert their anti-social inclinations -in thought or action, in writings or as criminals. This want of -adaptability is one of the most striking peculiarities of the -degenerate, and it is to them a source of constant suffering, and -finally of ruin. It is a necessary result, however, of the constitution -of his central nervous system. The indispensable premise -of adaptation is the having an exact presentation of the facts -to which a man must adapt himself.<a name="FNanchor_250_250" id="FNanchor_250_250"></a><a href="#Footnote_250_250" class="fnanchor">[250]</a> I cannot avoid the ruts<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> -in the road if I do not see them; I cannot ward off the blow I -do not see coming; it is impossible to thread a needle if its eye -is not seen with sufficient clearness, and if the thread is not -carried with steady hand to the right spot. All this is so -elementary it is scarcely necessary to say it. What we term -power over Nature is, in fact, adaptation to Nature. It is an -inexact expression to say we make the forces of Nature subject -to us. In reality we observe them, we learn to know their -peculiarities, and we manage so that the tendencies of natural -forces and our own desires coincide. We construct a wheel at -the point where the water power, by natural law, must fall, and -we have then the advantage that the wheel turns according to -our needs. We know that electricity flows along copper wire, -and so, with cunning submission to its peculiar ways, we lay -down copper lines to the place where we want it, and where its -action would be useful to us. Without knowledge of Nature,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -therefore, no adaptation, and without adaptation no possibility of -profiting by its forces. Now, the degenerate subject cannot adapt -himself, because he has no clear idea of the circumstances to -which he ought to adapt himself, and he does not obtain from -them any clear idea, because, as we know, he has bad nerve-conductors, -obtuse centres of perception, and feeble attention.</p> - -<p>The active cause of all adaptation, as of all effort in general—and -adaptation is nothing else than an effort of a particular -kind—is the wish to satisfy some organic necessity, or to escape -from some discomfort. In other words, the aim of adaptation -is to give feelings of pleasure, and to diminish or suppress the -feelings of discomfort. The being incapable of self-adaptation -is for this reason far less able to procure agreeable, and avoid -disagreeable, sensations than the normal being; he runs up -against every corner, because he does not know how to avoid -them; and he longs in vain for the luscious pear, because he -does not know how to catch hold of the branch on which it -hangs. The ego-maniac is a type of such a being. He must, -therefore, necessarily suffer from the world and from men. -Hence at heart he is bad-tempered, and turns in wrathful discontent -against Nature, society and public institutions, irritated -and offended by them, because he does not know how to -accommodate himself to them. He is in a constant state of -revolt against all that exists, and contrives how he may destroy -it, or, at least, dreams of destruction. In a celebrated passage -Henri Taine indicates ‘exaggerated self-esteem’ and ‘dogmatic -argument’ as the roots of Jacobinism.<a name="FNanchor_251_251" id="FNanchor_251_251"></a><a href="#Footnote_251_251" class="fnanchor">[251]</a> This leads to contempt -for and rejection of institutions already established, and hence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -not invented or chosen by himself. He considers the social -edifice absurd because it is not ‘a work of logic,’ but of history.</p> - -<p>Besides these two roots of Jacobinism which Taine has -brought to light, there is yet another, and the most important, -that has escaped his attention, viz., the inability of the degenerate -to adapt himself to given circumstances. The ego-maniac is -condemned by his natural organization to be a pessimist and a -Jacobin. But the revolutions he wishes for, preaches, and perhaps -effectively accomplishes, are barren as regards progress. -He is, as a revolutionary, what an inundation or cyclone would -be as a street-sweeper. He does not clear the ground with -conscious aim, but blindly destroys. This distinguishes him -from the clear-minded innovator, the true revolutionary, who is -a reformer, leading suffering and stagnating humanity from time -to time by toilsome paths into a new Canaan. The reformer -hurls down with pitiless violence, if violence is necessary, the -ruins which have become obstacles, in order to make way for -useful constructions; the ego-maniac raves against everything -that stands upright, whether useful or useless, and does not think -of clearing the building-ground after the devastation; his pleasure -consists in seeing heaps of rubbish overgrown by noxious weeds -where once walls and gables reared themselves.</p> - -<p>There is an impassable gulf between the sane revolutionary -and the ego-maniac Jacobin. The former has positive ideals, -the latter has not. The former knows what he is striving for; -the latter has no conception how that which irritates him could -be changed for the better. His thoughts do not reach so far; -he never troubles himself to question what will replace the -things destroyed. He knows only that everything frets him, -and he desires to vent his muddled and blustering ill-humour -on all around him. Hence it is characteristic that the foolish -necessity to revolt of this kind of revolutionary frequently turns -against imaginary evils, follows puerile aims, or even fights -against those laws which are wise and beneficent. Here they -form a ‘league against lifting the hat in saluting’; there they -oppose compulsory vaccination; another time they rise in protest -against taking the census of the population; and they have -the ridiculous audacity to conduct these silly campaigns with -the same speeches and attitudes that the true revolutionaries -assume—for example, in the service of suppression of slavery, -or liberty of thought.</p> - -<p>To the ego-maniac’s incapacity for adaptation is often added -the mania for destruction, or clastomania, which is so frequently -observed among idiots and imbeciles, and in some forms of -insanity.<a name="FNanchor_252_252" id="FNanchor_252_252"></a><a href="#Footnote_252_252" class="fnanchor">[252]</a> In a child the instinct of destruction is normal. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -is the first manifestation of the desire to exert muscular -strength. Very soon, however, the desire is aroused to exert its -strength, not in destroying, but in creating. Now, the act of -creating has a psychic premise, viz., attention. This being -absent in the degenerate, the impulse to destroy, which can -be gratified without attention, by disorderly and casual movements, -does not rise in them to the instinct of creation.</p> - -<p>Hence, discontent as the consequence of incapacity of adaptation, -want of sympathy with his fellow-creatures arising from -weak representative capacity, and the instinct of destruction, as -the result of arrested development of mind, together constitute -the anarchist, who, according to the degree of his impulsions, -either merely writes books and makes speeches at popular -meetings, or has recourse to a dynamite bomb.</p> - -<p>Finally, in its extreme degree of development, ego-mania -leads to that folly of Caligula in which the unbalanced mind -boasts of being ‘a laughing lion,’ believes himself above all restraints -of morality or law, and wishes the whole of humanity -had one single head that he might cut it off.</p> - -<p>The reader who has hitherto followed me will now, I hope, -quite comprehend the psychology of ego-mania. As I have -stated above, consciousness of the ‘Ego’ originates from the sensations -of the vital processes in all parts of our body, and the conception -of the ‘non-Ego’ from changes in our organs of special -sense. How, generally speaking, we arrive at the assumption of -the existence of a ‘not-I,’ I have explained above in detail, -hence it is unnecessary to repeat it here. If we wish to leave -the firm soil of positively established facts, and risk ourselves on -the somewhat shaky ground of probable assumptions, we may -say that consciousness of the ‘Ego’ has its anatomical basis in the -sympathetic system, and the conception of the ‘not-I’ in the -cerebro-spinal system. In a healthy man the perception of -vital internal facts does not rise above the level of consciousness. -The brain receives its stimulations far more from the sensory, -than from the sympathetic nerves. In consciousness the presentation -of the external world greatly outweighs the consciousness -of the ‘Ego.’ In the degenerate, either (1) vital internal -facts are morbidly intensified, or proceed abnormally, and are -therefore constantly perceived by consciousness; or (2) the -sensory nerves are obtuse, and the perceptional centres weak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -and sluggish; or (3) perhaps these two deviations from the norm -co-exist. The result in all three cases is that the notion of the -‘Ego’ is far more strongly represented in consciousness than -the image of the external world. The ego-maniac, consequently, -neither knows nor grasps the phenomenon of the -universe. The effect of this is a want of interest and sympathy, -and an incapacity to adapt himself to nature and humanity. -The absence of feeling, and the incapacity of adaptation, frequently -accompanied by perversion of the instincts and impulses, -make the ego-maniac an anti-social being. He is a -moral lunatic, a criminal, a pessimist, an anarchist, a misanthrope, -and he is all these, either in his thoughts and his feelings, -or also in his actions. The struggle against the anti-social -ego-maniac, his expulsion from the social body, are necessary -functions of the latter; and if it is not capable of accomplishing -it, it is a sign of waning vital power or serious ailment. Toleration, -and, above all, admiration, of the ego-maniac, be he one in -theory or in practice, is, so to speak, a proof that the kidneys of -the social organism do not accomplish their task, that society -suffers from Bright’s disease.</p> - -<p>In the following chapters we shall study the forms under -which ego-mania manifests itself in literature, and we shall find -occasion to treat in detail of many points to which at this stage -mere allusion has been sufficient.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c266" id="c266">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">PARNASSIANS AND DIABOLISTS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">It</span> has become the custom to designate the French Parnassians -a school, but those who are comprised under this denomination -have always refused to allow themselves to be included under -a common name. ‘The Parnassus?’ ... exclaimed one of the -most undoubted Parnassians, M. Catulle Mendès.<a name="FNanchor_253_253" id="FNanchor_253_253"></a><a href="#Footnote_253_253" class="fnanchor">[253]</a> ‘We have -never been a school!... The Parnassus! We have not -even written a preface!... The Parnassus originated from the -necessity of reaction against the looseness of poetry issuing from -the adherents of Murger, Charles Bataille, Amédée Rolland, -Jean du Boys; then it became a league of minds, who sympathized -in matters of art....’</p> - -<p>The name ‘Parnassiens’ was, in fact, applied to a whole series -of poets and writers who have scarcely a point in common -between them. They are united by a purely external bond; -their works have been brought out by the Parisian editor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -Alphonse Lemerre, who was able to make Parnassians, as the -editor Cotta, in the first half of this century, made German -classics. The designation itself emanates from a sort of -almanac of the Muses, which Catulle Mendès published in 1860 -under the title, <i>Le Parnasse contemporain: recueil de vers -nouveaux</i>, and which contains contributions from almost all the -poets of the period.</p> - -<p>With most of the names of this numerous group I do not -need to concern myself, for those who bear them are not -degenerate, but honest average men, correctly twittering what -others have first sung to them. They have exercised no sort -of direct influence on contemporary thought, and have only -indirectly contributed to strengthen the action of a few leaders -by grouping themselves around them in the attitude of disciples, -and in permitting them thus to present themselves with an -imposing retinue, which always makes an impression on vacuous -minds.</p> - -<p>The leaders alone are of importance in my inquiries. It is -of them we think when we speak of the Parnassians, and it is -from their peculiarities that the artistic theory attributed to <i>Le -Parnasse</i> has been derived. Embodied most completely in -Théophile Gautier, it can be summed up in two words: perfection -of form and <i>impassibilité</i>, or impassiveness.</p> - -<p>To Gautier and his disciples the form is everything in poetry; -the substance has no importance. ‘A poet,’ says he,<a name="FNanchor_254_254" id="FNanchor_254_254"></a><a href="#Footnote_254_254" class="fnanchor">[254]</a> ‘say -what you will, is a labourer; he ought not to have more intelligence -than a labourer, or know any other trade than his -own, otherwise he will do it badly. I hold the mania that -there is for putting them on an ideal pedestal is perfectly absurd; -nothing is less ideal than a poet.... The poet is a keyboard -[<i>clavecin</i>], and nothing more. Every idea in passing lays its -finger on a key; the key vibrates and gives its note, that is all.’ -In another place he says: ‘For the poet, words have in themselves, -and outside the sense they express, a beauty and value -of their own, like precious stones as yet uncut, and set in -bracelets, necklaces, or rings; they charm the connoisseur who -looks at them, and sorts them with his finger in the little -bowl where they are stored.’<a name="FNanchor_255_255" id="FNanchor_255_255"></a><a href="#Footnote_255_255" class="fnanchor">[255]</a> Gustave Flaubert, another -worshipper of words, takes entirely this view of the subject -when he exclaims:<a name="FNanchor_256_256" id="FNanchor_256_256"></a><a href="#Footnote_256_256" class="fnanchor">[256]</a> ‘A beautiful verse meaning nothing, is -superior to a verse less beautiful meaning something.’ By the -words ‘beautiful’ and ‘less beautiful,’ Flaubert here understands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -‘names with triumphant syllables, sounding like the blast of -clarions,’ or ‘radiant words, words of light.’<a name="FNanchor_257_257" id="FNanchor_257_257"></a><a href="#Footnote_257_257" class="fnanchor">[257]</a> Gautier only -credited Racine, for whom he, a romanticist, naturally had a profound -contempt, with one verse of any value:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La fille de Minos et de Pasiphae.’</p> - -<p class="p1">The most instructive application of this theory is found in a -piece of poetry by Catulle Mendès, entitled <i>Récapitulation</i>, which -begins as follows:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Rose, Emmeline,<br /> -Margueridette,</p> -<p class="pp10">Odette,</p> -<p class="pp8">Alix, Aline.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Paule, Hippolyte,<br /> -Lucy, Lucile,</p> -<p class="pp10">Cécile,</p> -<p class="pp8">Daphné, Mélite.</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Artémidore,<br /> -Myrrha, Myrrhine,</p> -<p class="pp10">Périne,</p> -<p class="pp8">Naïs, Eudore.’</p> - -<p class="pn1">Eleven stanzas of the same sort follow, which I will dispense -with reproducing, and then this final strophe:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘Zulma, Zélie,<br /> -Régine, Reine,</p> -<p class="pp10">Irène!...</p> -<p class="pp8">Et j’en oublie.’<a name="FNanchor_258_258" id="FNanchor_258_258"></a><a href="#Footnote_258_258" class="fnanchor">[258]</a></p> - -<p class="p1">‘And I forget the rest’—this is the only one of the sixty lines -of the piece which has any sense, the fifty-nine others being -composed of women’s names only.</p> - -<p>What Catulle Mendès intends here is clear enough. He -wishes to show the state of a libertine’s soul, who revels in the -remembrance of all the women he has loved, or with whom he -has flirted. In the mind of the reader the enumeration of their -names is to give rise to voluptuous images of a troop of young -girls, ministrants of pleasure, of pictures of a harem or of the -paradise of Mahomet. But apart from the length of the list, -which makes the piece insupportably wearisome and chilling, -Mendès does not attain the desired effect for yet a second -reason—because his artificiality betrays at the first glance the -profound insincerity of his pretended emotion. When before -the mind of a gallant the figures of the Phyllises of his pastoral -idylls present themselves, and he really feels the necessity -of tenderly murmuring their names, he certainly does not -think of arranging these names as a play on words (Alix—Aline,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -Lucy—Lucile, Myrrha—Myrrhine, etc.). If he is cold-blooded -enough to give himself up to this barren desk-work, he -cannot possibly find himself in the lascivious ecstasy which the -piece is supposed to express and impart. This emotion, immoral -and vulgar in its boasting, would still have the right, like every -genuine affection of the soul, of being lyrically expressed. But -a list of unmeaning names, artificially combined, and arranged -according to their assonance, implies nothing. According to -the art theory of the Parnassians, however, <i>Récapitulation</i> is -poetry—nay, the ideal of poetry—for it ‘ne signifie rien,’ as -Flaubert requires, and is wholly composed of words which, -according to Th. Gautier, ‘ont en eux-mêmes une beauté et une -valeur propres.’</p> - -<p>Another eminent Parnassian, Théodore de Banville,<a name="FNanchor_259_259" id="FNanchor_259_259"></a><a href="#Footnote_259_259" class="fnanchor">[259]</a> without -pushing to its extreme limits, with the intrepid logic of Catulle -Mendès, the theory of verbal resonance bare of all meaning, has -professed it with a sincerity to which homage is due. ‘I charge -you,’ he exclaims to poets in embryo, ‘to read as much as -possible, dictionaries, encyclopædias, technical works treating of -all the professions, and of all the special sciences, catalogues of -libraries and of auctions, handbooks of museums—in short, all -the books which can increase your stock of words, and give you -instruction on their exact sense, proper or figurative. Directly -your head is thus furnished you will be already well prepared -to find rhymes.’ The only essential thing in poetry, according -to Banville, is to catch rhymes. To compose a piece of poetry -on any subject, he teaches his disciples: ‘All the rhymes on -this subject must first of all be known. The remainder, the -soldering, that which the poet must add to stop up the holes -with the hand of an artist and workman—these are called the -plugs. I should like to see those who counsel us to avoid the -plugs bind two planks together with the help of thought.’ The -poet—Banville thus sums up his doctrine—has no ideas in his -brain; he has only sounds, rhymes, and play on words -(<i>calembours</i>). This play on words inspires his ideas, or his -simulacra of ideas.</p> - -<p>Guyau rightly uses this criticism with regard to the æsthetic -theory of the Parnassians established by Banville.<a name="FNanchor_260_260" id="FNanchor_260_260"></a><a href="#Footnote_260_260" class="fnanchor">[260]</a> ‘The search -for rhyme, pushed to the extreme, tends to make the poet lose -the habit of logically connecting his ideas—that is to say, in -reality to think—for to think, as Kant has said, is to unite and -to bind. To rhyme, on the contrary, is to place in juxtaposition -words necessarily unconnected.... The cult of rhyme for -rhyme’s sake introduces into the brain itself of the poet, little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> -by little, a kind of disorder and permanent chaos; all the -usual laws of association, all the logic of thought is destroyed -in order to be replaced by the chance encounter of sounds.... -Periphrasis and metaphor are the only resources for good -rhyming.... The impossibility in seeking for rich rhymes, -of remaining simple, involves in its turn a consequent risk of -a certain lack of sincerity. Freshness of spontaneous feeling -will disappear in the too consummate artist in words; he will -lose that respect for thought as such which ought to be the first -quality of the writer.’</p> - -<p>Where Guyau commits an error is when he says that the cult -of rhyme for rhyme’s sake ‘introduces into the brain even of the -poet a kind of disorder and permanent chaos.’ The proposition -must be reversed. ‘Permanent chaos’ and ‘disorder’ in the -brain of the poet are there already; the exaggeration of the -importance of rhyme is only a consequence of this state of mind. -Here we have again to deal with a form of that inaptitude for -attention, well known to us, which is a peculiarity of the degenerate -subject. The course of his ideas is determined, not by a -central idea round which the will groups all other ideas, suppressing -some and strengthening others with the help of attention; but -by the wholly mechanical association of ideas, awakened in the -case of the Parnassians by a similar or identical verbal sound. -His poetical method is pure echolalia.</p> - -<p>The Parnassian theory of the importance of form, notably of -rhyme, for poetry, of the intrinsic value of beauty in the sound -of words, of the sensuous pleasure to be derived from sonorous -syllables without regard to their sense, and of the uselessness, -and even harmfulness, of thought in poetry, has become decisive -in the most recent development of French poetry.<a name="FNanchor_261_261" id="FNanchor_261_261"></a><a href="#Footnote_261_261" class="fnanchor">[261]</a> The -Symbolists, whom we have studied in an earlier chapter, -hold closely to this theory. These poor in spirit, who only -babble ‘sonorous syllables’ without sense, are the direct descendants -of the Parnassians.</p> - -<p>The Parnassian theory of art is mere imbecility. But the ego-mania -of the degenerate minds who have concocted it reveals -itself in the enormous importance they attribute to their hunt -for rhymes, to their puerile pursuit of words which are ‘tonitruants’ -and ‘rayonnants.’ Catulle Mendès ends a poem (<i>La -seule Douceur</i>), where he describes in the most fulsome manner -a series of the pleasures of life, with this envoi: ‘Prince, I lie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -Beneath the Twins or the Urn (? Aquarius) to make noble -words rhyme together in one’s book, this is the sole joy of life.’<a name="FNanchor_262_262" id="FNanchor_262_262"></a><a href="#Footnote_262_262" class="fnanchor">[262]</a> -He who is not of this opinion is simply said to forfeit his -humanity. Thus it is that Baudelaire calls Paris ‘a Capernaum, -a Babel peopled by the imbecile and useless, not over-fastidious -in their ways of killing time, and wholly inaccessible to literary -pleasures.’<a name="FNanchor_263_263" id="FNanchor_263_263"></a><a href="#Footnote_263_263" class="fnanchor">[263]</a> To treat as imbecile those who look upon a senseless -jumble of rhymes and a litany of so-called beautiful proper -names as of no value, is a stupid self-conceit at which one -might well laugh. But Baudelaire goes so far as to speak of the -‘useless.’ No one has a right to live who is inaccessible to -what he calls ‘literary pleasures’—that is, an idiotic echolalia! -Because he cultivates the art of playing on words with a puerile -seriousness, everyone must place the same importance as he -does on his infantile amusements, and whoever does not do so -is not simply a Philistine or an inferior being, without susceptibility -or refinement—no, he is a ‘useless creature.’ If -this simpleton had the power, he would no doubt wish to -pursue his idea to the end and sweep the ‘useless’ out of the -ranks of the living, as Nero put to death those who did not -applaud his acting in the theatre. Can the monstrous ego-mania -of one demented be more audaciously expressed than in -this remark of Baudelaire’s?</p> - -<p>The second characteristic of the Parnassians, after their insane -exaggeration of the value for humanity of the most external -form for poetry and rhyming, is their ‘impassibility,’ or impassivity. -They themselves, of course, will not admit that this -term is applicable to them. ‘Will they ever have done with this -humbug!’ angrily cried Leconte de Lisle, when interrogated on -the subject of ‘impassibility,’ and Catulle Mendès says, ‘Because -Glatigny has written a poem entitled <i>Impassible</i>, and because I -myself wrote this line, the avowed pose in which is belied in the -course of the poem,</p> - -<p> -‘“Pas de sanglots humains dans le chant des poètes!”<a name="FNanchor_264_264" id="FNanchor_264_264"></a><a href="#Footnote_264_264" class="fnanchor">[264]</a><br /> -</p> - -<p>it has been concluded that the Parnassians were or wished to -be “impassive.” Where do they find it, where do they see it, -this icy equanimity, this dryness which they have ascribed -to us?’<a name="FNanchor_265_265" id="FNanchor_265_265"></a><a href="#Footnote_265_265" class="fnanchor">[265]</a></p> - -<p>Criticism, in sooth, has chosen its word badly. ‘Impassibility<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>’ -in art, in the sense of complete indifference to the drama -of nature and of life, there cannot be. It is psychologically -impossible. All artistic activity, in so far as it is not the mere -imitation of disciples, but flows from an original necessity, is a -reaction of the artist upon received impressions. Those which -leave him completely indifferent inspire the poet with no verse, -the painter with no picture, the musician with no tone composition. -Impressions must strike him in some way or other, -they must awaken in him some emotion, in order that he may -have the idea at all of giving them an objective artistic form. -In the infinite volume of phenomena flowing uniformly past his -senses, the artist has distinguished the subject he treats with the -peculiar methods of his art; he has exercised a selective activity, -and has given the preference to this subject over others. This -preference presupposes sympathy or antipathy; the artist, therefore, -must have felt something on perceiving his subject. The -sole fact that an author has written a poem or a book testifies -that the subject treated of has inspired him with curiosity, -interest, anger, an agreeable or disagreeable emotion, that it has -compelled his mind to dwell upon it. This is, therefore, the -contrary of indifference.</p> - -<p>The Parnassians are not impassive. In their poems there is -whimpering, cursing and blasphemy, and the utterance of joy, -enthusiasm and sorrow. But what tortures them or enchants -them is exclusively their own states, their own experiences. -The only foundation of their poetry is their ‘Ego.’ The sorrow -and joy of other men do not exist for them. Their ‘impassibilité’ -is, therefore, not impassivity, but rather a complete -absence of sympathy. The ‘tower of ivory’ in which, according -to the expression of one of them, the poet lives and proudly -withdraws himself from the indifferent mob, is a pretty name -given to his obtuseness in regard to the being and doing of his -fellow-creatures. All this has been well discerned by that -beneficently clear-minded critic, M. Ferdinand Brunetière. -‘One of the worst consequences,’ he writes, ‘that they [the -theories of the Parnassians, and, in particular, those of Baudelaire] -may involve, is, by isolating art, to isolate the artist as -well, making him an idol to himself, and as it were enclosing -him in the sanctuary of his “Ego.” Not only, then, does his work -become a question merely concerned with himself—of his griefs -and his joys, his loves and his dreams—but, in order to develop -himself in the direction of his aptitudes, there is no longer anything -which he respects or spares, there is nothing he will not -subordinate to himself; which is, to speak by the way, the true -definition of immorality. To make one’s self the centre of -things, from a philosophical point of view, is as puerile an -illusion as to see in man “the king of creation,” or in the earth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -what the ancients called “the navel of the world”; but, from -the purely human point of view, it is the glorification of egoism, -and, consequently, the negation itself of solidarity.’<a name="FNanchor_266_266" id="FNanchor_266_266"></a><a href="#Footnote_266_266" class="fnanchor">[266]</a></p> - -<p>Thus Brunetière notices the ego-mania of the Parnassians, and -affirms their anti-social principles, their immorality; he believes, -however, that they have freely chosen their point of view. This -is his only error. They are not ego-maniacs by free choice, but -because they must be, and cannot be otherwise. Their ego-mania -is not a philosophy or a moral doctrine; it is their -malady.</p> - -<p>The impassivity of the Parnassians is, as we have seen, a -callousness with regard, not to everything, but only to their -fellow-creatures, united to the tenderest love for themselves. -But their ‘impassibility’ has yet another aspect, and those who -have found the term have probably thought above all of this, -without having given themselves a complete account of it. The -indifference which the Parnassians display, and of which they -are particularly proud, applies less to the joys and sufferings of -their fellow-creatures than to the universally recognised moral -law. For them there is neither virtue nor vice, but only the -beautiful and the ugly, the rare and the commonplace. They -took their point of view ‘beyond good and evil,’ long before -the moral madness of Frederick Nietzsche found this formula. -Baudelaire justifies it in the following terms: ‘Poetry ... has -no other aim than itself; it cannot have any other, and no -poem will be so great, so noble, so truly worthy of the name of -poem, as that which will have been written only for the pleasure -of writing a poem. I do not wish to say—be it well understood—that -poetry may not ennoble morals, that its final result may -not be to raise man above vulgar interests. This would evidently -be an absurdity. I say that, if the poet has pursued a -moral aim he has diminished his poetical power, and it is not -imprudent to wager that his work will be bad. Poetry cannot, -under pain of death or degradation, assimilate itself to science or -morals. It has not truth for its object, it has only itself.’ And -Th. Gautier, who records this remark, wholly approves of it. -‘On the high summits he [the poet] is at peace: <i>pacem summa -tenent</i>,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_267_267" id="FNanchor_267_267"></a><a href="#Footnote_267_267" class="fnanchor">[267]</a> in employing an image which occurs dozens of -times in Nietzsche.</p> - -<p>Let us nail here first of all a current sophistical artifice -employed by Baudelaire. The question to which he wishes to -reply is this: Is poetry to be moral or not? Suddenly he -smuggles science, with which it has nothing to do, into his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -demonstration, names it in the same breath with morality, shows -triumphantly that science has nothing in common with poetry, -and then acts as though he had demonstrated the same thing -on the subject of morality. Now, it does not occur to any -reasonable man of the present day to demand of poetry the -teaching of scientific truths, and for generations no serious poet -has thought of treating of astronomy or physics in a didactic -poem. The only question which some minds would wish to -consider as an open one is that of knowing if we may, or may -not, exact of poetry that it be moral, and it is this question that -Baudelaire answers by an unproven affirmative, and by a crafty -shuffling.</p> - -<p>I have no wish to linger here on this question, not because it -embarrasses me and I should like to avoid it, but because it -seems to me more in place to discuss it when considering the -disciples of the ‘Parnassus,’ the ‘Décadents,’ and the Æsthetes, -who have pushed the doctrine to its extreme. I will for the -present leave uncontradicted the assertion of the Parnassians, -that poetry has not to trouble itself about morality. The poet -ought to stand ‘beyond good and evil.’ But that could only -reasonably signify an absolute impartiality; it can only amount -to this—that the poet, in considering some action or aspect, -simply aspires to find himself confronted by a drama, which he -judges only for its beauty or ugliness, without even asking if it -is moral or not. A poet of this kind must necessarily see, then, -as many beautiful as ugly things, as many moral as immoral. -For, taking all in all, moral and beautiful things in humanity -and Nature are at least as frequent as the contrary, and must -even preponderate. For we consider as ugly, either what presents -a deviation from laws which are familiar to us, and to which -we have adapted ourselves, or that in which we recognise the -manifestation of anything prejudicial to us; and we regard as -immoral all that is contrary to the prosperity, or even the -maintenance, of society. Now, the mere fact that we have -looked to find laws is a proof that phenomena corresponding to -recognised laws, and consequently agreeable to us, must be far -more numerous than the phenomena in contradiction to those -laws, and therefore repulsive; and so, too, the maintenance of -society is a proof that conservative and favourable, <i>i.e.</i>, moral, -forces must be more vigorous than destructive, <i>i.e.</i>, immoral, -forces. Hence, in a poem which while it did not trouble itself -about morals, was nevertheless truly impartial, as it pretended -to be, morality would be represented on a scale at least as -large as, and even somewhat larger than, immorality. But in -the poetry of the Parnassians this is not the case. It delights -almost exclusively in depravity and ugliness. Théophile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -Gautier extols, in <i>Mademoiselle de Maupin</i>, the basest sensuality, -which, if it should become the general rule, would carry humanity -back to the condition of savages living in sexual promiscuousness -without individual love, and without any family institutions -whatever; Sainte-Beuve, in other respects more romanticist -than Parnassian, builds in his novel <i>Volupté</i> an altar to sexual -pleasure, at which the ancient Asiatic adorers of Ashtaroth -could, without hesitation, have performed their worship; Catulle -Mendès, who began his literary career by being condemned for -a moral outrage (brought upon himself by his play <i>Le Roman -d’une Nuit</i>) exalts in his later works, of which I will not quote -the titles, one of the most abominable forms of unnatural -license; Baudelaire sings of carrion, maladies, criminals and -prostitutes; in short, if one contemplates the world in the -mirror of Parnassian poetry, the impression received is that it -is composed exclusively of vices, crimes and corruption without -the smallest intermixture of healthy emotions, joyous aspects -of Nature and human beings feeling and acting honestly. In -perpetual contradiction to himself, as becomes a truly degenerate -mind, the same Baudelaire, who in one place does not wish poetry -to be confounded with morality, says in another place: ‘Modern -art has an essentially devilish [<i>démoniaque</i>] tendency. And it -seems that this infernal side of his nature, which man takes a -pleasure in explaining to himself, increases daily, as if the devil -amused himself by magnifying it through artificial processes, in -imitation of the poultry-farmers, patiently cramming the human -species in his hen-yards to prepare for himself a more succulent -nourishment.’<a name="FNanchor_268_268" id="FNanchor_268_268"></a><a href="#Footnote_268_268" class="fnanchor">[268]</a></p> - -<p>There is no indifference here to virtue or vice; it is an -absolute predilection for the latter, and aversion for the former. -Parnassians do not at all hold themselves ‘beyond good or -evil,’ but plunge themselves up to the neck in evil, and as far -as possible from good. Their feigned ‘impartiality’ with regard -to the drama of morality or immorality is in reality a passionate -partisanship for the immoral and the disgusting. It was wrong, -therefore, to think of characterizing them by ‘impassibility.’ -Just as they lack feeling only towards their fellow-creatures, -and not towards themselves, so they are only cold and indifferent -towards good, not towards evil; the latter attracts them, on the -contrary, as forcibly, and fills them as much with feelings of -pleasure, as the good attracts and rejoices the sane majority -of men.</p> - -<p>This predilection for evil has been discerned by many -observers, and a good number have endeavoured to explain it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -philosophically. In a lecture on ‘Evil as the Object of Poetical -Representation,’ Franz Brentano says:<a name="FNanchor_269_269" id="FNanchor_269_269"></a><a href="#Footnote_269_269" class="fnanchor">[269]</a></p> - -<p>‘Since what is presented in tragedy appears so little desirable -and cheerful, it suggests the idea that these explanations (of the -pleasure we find in it) are less to be sought in the excellence of -the subject than in some peculiar need of the public, which finds -a response alone in the things thus exhibited.... Can it be -that man feels, from time to time, the need of a melancholy -emotion, and longs for tragedy as for something which satisfies -this need in the most efficacious way, assisting him, so to speak, -to weep heartily for once?... If for a long time no passions, -such as tragedies excite, have had sway in us, the power to -experience them demands anew, in some way, to manifest itself, -and it is tragedy which comes to our aid; we feel the emotions -painfully, it is true, but at the same time we experience a beneficial -alleviation of our need. I think I have observed similar -facts a hundred times—less in myself than in others, in those, -for example, who devour with avidity the newspaper report of -the “latest murder.”’</p> - -<p>Professor Brentano here confounds first of all, with a lamentable -levity, what is evil and what is saddening—two wholly -different concepts. The death of a beloved being, for example, -is saddening, but there is nothing evil in it, <i>i.e.</i>, immoral, unless, -by a subtle quibble, it is proposed to interpret as an immorality -the action of natural forces in the dissolution of the individual. -Further, he gives as an explanation what is only a perfectly -superficial paraphrase—Why do we take pleasure in evil? Because -...we have evidently in us a tendency to take pleasure -in evil! <i>Opium facit dormire quia est in eo virtus dormitiva.</i> -M. Fr. Paulhan has treated the question more seriously, but -neither do we get very far with him. ‘A contemplative, broad, -inquisitive, penetrating mind,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_270_270" id="FNanchor_270_270"></a><a href="#Footnote_270_270" class="fnanchor">[270]</a> ‘with profound moral -tendencies, which can nevertheless sink into oblivion in great part -during scientific research or æsthetic contemplation; sometimes -also with a slight natural perversion, or simply a marked tendency -towards certain pleasures, whatever they may be, which -are not an evil in themselves, and may even be a good, but of -which the abuse is an evil—such are the foundations of the -sentiment (love of evil) which is occupying us. The idea of evil, -by flattering a taste, finds a solid point of support; and there is -one reason more why it is agreeable—in that it satisfies, ideally, -an inclination which reason hinders from being satisfied really to -satiety.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here again is this sequence of ideas revolving in a circle, like -a cat at play biting its tail: we have a taste for evil, because we -find a taste for evil. The intellectual ineptitude which M. Paulhan -here reveals is so much the more surprising in that, some pages -above, he came very near the true solution of the enigma. -‘There are morbid states,’ he there says, ‘where the appetites are -depraved; the patient eagerly swallows coal, earth, or things still -worse. There are others in which the will is vitiated, and the -character warped in some point. The pathological examples are -striking, and the case of the Marquis de Sade is one of the most -characteristic.... One sometimes finds enjoyment in the evils -suffered by one’s self, just as in those of others. The sentiments -of voluptuousness, sorrow and pity, which psychology has -studied, appear to betray sometimes a veritable perversion, and -to contain as elements the love of sorrow for sorrow itself.... -Often one has to do with people who desire their own weal -primarily, and then the woe of others. One or other of these -psychical states is visible in many cases of wickedness; for -example, in the fact of a rich manufacturer falsely accusing a -young man, who is going to marry, of being affected by a -venereal disease, and maintaining his assertion <i>for the pleasure</i> of -doing so ... or, again, of a young villain who relishes the pleasure -of theft to the point of crying: “Even if I were rich, I -should always like to steal.” Even the sight of physical suffering -is not always disagreeable; many people seek it.... This perversion -is probably of all times and of all countries.... It -would seem that into the mind of a man of our times there -might enter a certain enjoyment in upsetting the order of -nature, which does not appear to have been manifested before -with a similar intensity. It is one of the thousand forms of -recoiling on one’s self which characterizes our advanced civilization.’ -Here M. Paulhan touches the kernel of the question, -without remarking it or being arrested by it. The love of evil -is not a universally human attribute; it is an ‘aberration’ and a -‘perversion,’ and ‘one of the thousand forms of recoiling on one’s -self,’ otherwise more briefly and more clearly expressed as ego-mania.</p> - -<p>The literature of penal legislation and mental therapeutics has -registered hundreds of cases of aberration in which the patient -has felt a passionate predilection for the evil and horrible, for -sorrow and death. I should like to quote only one characteristic -example: ‘In the autumn of 1884 there died, in a Swiss prison, -Marie Jeanneret, a murderess. After having received a good -education she devoted herself to the care of the sick, not for -the love of doing good, but to satisfy a mad passion. The -sufferings, groans and distorted features of the sick filled her -with secret voluptuousness. She implored the doctors, on her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -knees and with tears, to allow her to assist in dangerous operations, -in order to be able to gratify her cravings. The death-agony -of a human being afforded her the height of enjoyment. -Under the pretext of a disease of the eyes, she had consulted -several oculists, and had obtained from them belladonna and -other poisons. Her first victim, a woman, was her friend; others -followed; the doctors, to whom she had recommended herself -as nurse, having no suspicions, the less so because she frequently -changed her residence. An attempt failing in Vienna -led to discovery; she had poisoned not less than nine persons, -but felt neither repentance nor shame. In prison her most -ardent wish was to fall dangerously ill, in order to satiate herself -in the looking-glass with the contortions of her own features.’<a name="FNanchor_271_271" id="FNanchor_271_271"></a><a href="#Footnote_271_271" class="fnanchor">[271]</a></p> - -<p>Thus we recognise, in the light of clinical observation, the true -nature of the Parnassians. Their impassivity, in so far as it is -mere indifference to the sufferings of others, and to virtue and -vice, proceeds from their ego-mania, and is a consequence of -their obtuseness, which makes it impossible for them to receive -a sufficiently keen presentation of the external world, hence also -of sorrow, vice, or ugliness, so as to be able to respond by normal -reactions, by aversion, indignation, or pity. But in cases where -impassivity constitutes a declared predilection for what is evil -and disgusting, we can see the same aberration which makes of -the imbecile a cruel torturer of animals,<a name="FNanchor_272_272" id="FNanchor_272_272"></a><a href="#Footnote_272_272" class="fnanchor">[272]</a> and of Marie Jeanneret, -cited above, a tenfold poisoner. The whole difference -consists in the degree of impulsion. If it is strong enough, its -consequences are heartless acts and crimes. If it is elaborated -by diseased centres with insufficient force, it can be satisfied by -imagination alone, by poetic or artistic activity.</p> - -<p>Of course there have been attempts made to defend aberration -as something justified and voluntary, and even to erect it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -into an intellectual distinction. Thus it is that M. Paul Bourget<a name="FNanchor_273_273" id="FNanchor_273_273"></a><a href="#Footnote_273_273" class="fnanchor">[273]</a> -puts into the mouth of the ‘Décadents,’ with little artifices of -style which do not permit a moment’s doubt that he is expressing -his own opinion, the following argument: ‘We delight in what -you call our corruptions of style, and we delight at the same -time the refined people of our race and our time. It remains to -be seen whether our exception is not an aristocracy, and -whether, in the æsthetic order, the majority of suffrages represents -anything else than the majority of ignorances.... It is a -self-deception not to have the courage of one’s intellectual pleasure. -Let us delight, therefore, in our singularities of ideal and -of form, even if we must shut ourselves up in a solitude without -visitors.’</p> - -<p>It seems scarcely necessary to show that by these arguments, -in which M. Bourget anticipates the whole delirious ‘philosophy’ -of Nietzsche, every crime can be glorified as an ‘aristocratic’ -action. The assassin has ‘the courage of his intellectual pleasure,’ -the majority which does not approve of him is a majority -of the ‘ignorant,’ he delights in the ‘singularity’ of his ‘ideal,’ -and for this reason must at the most allow himself to be shut up -in ‘a solitude without visitors,’ <i>i.e.</i>, to speak plainly, in a -reformatory, if ‘the majority of ignorances’ does not have him -hanged or guillotined. Has not the ‘Décadent’ Maurice Barrès -defended and justified Chambige, a specimen of the murderer -for love of murder, with Bourget’s theory?</p> - -<p>This same repulsive theorist of the most abandoned anti-social -ego-mania denies also that one can speak of a mind as -diseased or healthy. ‘There is,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_274_274" id="FNanchor_274_274"></a><a href="#Footnote_274_274" class="fnanchor">[274]</a> ‘from the metaphysical -observer’s point of view, neither disease nor health of -the soul; there are only psychological states, for he perceives in -our sufferings and in our faculties, in our virtues and in our -vices, in our volitions and in our renunciations, only changing -combinations, inevitable, and therefore normal, subject to the -known laws of the association of ideas. Only prejudice, in -which the ancient doctrine of final causes and the belief in the -definite aim of the universe reappear, can make us consider the -loves of Daphnis and Chloë in the valley as natural and healthy, -and the loves of a Baudelaire as artificial and unwholesome.’</p> - -<p>To bring this silly sophistry down to its just value, common-sense -has only to recollect the existence of lunatic asylums. But -common-sense has not the right of suffrage among the rhetoricians -of M. Paul Bourget’s stamp. We reply to him, then, with -a seriousness he does not merit, that in fact every vital manifestation, -those of the brain as of any other organ, is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> -necessary and only possible effect of the causes which occasion -them, but that, according to the state of the organ and of its -elementary parts, its activity, necessary and natural as such, can -be useful or hurtful to the whole organism. Whether the world -has a purpose is a question that can altogether be left indecisive, -but the activity of each part of the organism has nevertheless, -if not the aim, at least unquestionably the effect, of -preserving the whole organism; if it does not produce this -effect, and if, on the contrary, it thwarts it, it is injurious to the -whole organism, and for such an injurious activity of any particular -organ language has coined the word ‘disease.’ The -sophist who denies that there may be disease and health must -also logically deny that there may be life and death, or, at -least, that death may have some sort of importance. For, as a -matter of fact, given a certain activity of its parts which we call -morbid, the organism perishes, while with an activity of another -nature, which we qualify as healthy, it lives and thrives. As -long, then, as Bourget does not lay down the dogma that pain -is as agreeable as pleasure, decrepitude as satisfactory as vigour, -and death as desirable as life, he proves that he does not know, -or dares not draw from his premise, the just conclusion which -would immediately make the absurdity of it apparent.</p> - -<p>The whole theory which must explain and justify the predilection -for evil has, besides, been invented as an after-thought. -The inclination for what is evil and disgusting existed first, and -was not a consequence of philosophical considerations and self-persuasion. -We have here merely another case of that method -of our consciousness, so often attested in the course of these -inquiries, which consists of inventing rational causes for the -instincts and acts of the unconscious.</p> - -<p>In the predilection of the Parnassians for the immoral, criminal -and ugly, we have to deal merely with an organic aberration, and -with nothing else. To pretend that inclinations of this kind -exist in all men, even in the best and sanest, and are merely -stifled by him, while the Parnassians give the rein to theirs, is an -arbitrary and unproved assertion. Observation and the whole -march of the historical development of humanity contradict it.</p> - -<p>There may be repulsion and attraction in nature—no one -denies it. A glance at the magnetic poles, at the positive and -negative electrodes, suffices to establish this fact. We find this -phenomenon again among the lowest forms of life. Certain -materials attract, others repel them. There is no question here -of an inclination or an expression of the will. We must -rather consider the process as purely mechanical, having its -reason probably in molecular relations which are still unknown -to us. Microbiology gives to the attitude of micro-organisms -towards attractive and repulsive matter the name of ‘chemotaxis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>’ -or chimiotaxia, invented by Pfeffer.<a name="FNanchor_275_275" id="FNanchor_275_275"></a><a href="#Footnote_275_275" class="fnanchor">[275]</a> In higher organisms -the conditions are naturally not so simple. Among them also, -it is true, the ultimate cause of inclinations and aversions is -certainly chimiotactic, but the effect of chimiotaxia must necessarily -manifest itself under another form. A simple cell such -as a bacillus, for example, is repelled directly when it penetrates -into the radius of a chimic body which repels it. But the cell -constituting a portion of a higher organism has not this liberty -of movement. It cannot change its place independently. If it -is now chimiotactically repelled, it cannot escape from the pernicious -action, but must remain exposed to it, and submit to the -disturbances in its vital activity. If these are sufficiently serious -to injure the functions of the whole organism, the latter obtains -knowledge of it, endeavours to perceive their cause, discovers it -also, as a general rule, and does for the suffering cell what the -latter cannot do alone, namely, shields it from the repelling -action. The organism necessarily acquires experience in its -defence against pernicious influences. It learns to know the -circumstances in which they appear, and no longer permits -matters to reach the stage of the really chimiotactic effect, but -for the most part evades disturbing matters before they can -exert a really direct repulsion. The knowledge acquired by the -individual becomes hereditary, transforms itself into an organized -faculty of the species, and the organism feels subjectively, as a -discomfort which may amount to pain, the warning that a pernicious -influence is acting upon it, and that it has to avoid it. -To escape from pain becomes one principal function of the -organism, which it cannot insufficiently provide against or -neglect without expiating that negligence by its ruin.</p> - -<p>In the human being processes take place not otherwise than -as they have been here described. The hereditary organized -experience of the species warns him of the noxiousness of -influences to which he is frequently exposed. His outposts -against naturally hostile forces are his senses. Taste and smell -give him, as to repulsive chimiotactic matter, the impressions of -nausea and of stench; the different kinds of skin-sensations -make him aware, through sensations of pain, heat, or cold, that -a given contact is unfavourable to him; eye and ear place him -on his guard, by loud, shrill, discordant sensations, against the -mechanical effects of certain physical phenomena. Finally, the -higher cerebral centres respond to recognised noxious influences -of a composite nature, or to the representation of them by an -equally composite reaction of aversion in different degrees of -intensity, from simple discomfort to horror, indignation, dismay, -or fury.</p> - -<p>The vehicle of this hereditary, organized, racial experience<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -is the unconscious life; to it is confided defence against simple, -frequently recurring noxious influences. Nausea at intolerable -tastes, repugnance to insufferable smells, the fear of dangerous -animals, natural phenomena, etc., have become for it an instinct -to which the organism abandons itself without reflection—<i>i.e.</i>, -without the intervention of consciousness. But the human -organism learns to distinguish and avoid not only all that is -directly prejudicial to itself; it acts in the same way with regard -to that which menaces it not as an individual, but as a racial -being, as a member of an organized society; antipathy to -influences injurious to the maintenance or prosperity of the -society becomes in him an instinct. But this enriching of -organized unconscious cognition represents a higher degree of -development than many human beings attain to. The social -instincts are those that a man acquires last of all, and, in conformity -to a known law, he loses them first when he retrogrades -in his organic development.</p> - -<p>Consciousness has occasion to declare the dangerous nature -of phenomena, and to defend the organism against it, only if -these phenomena are either quite new, or very rare, so that they -cannot be hereditarily recognised and dreaded; or if they enclose -in themselves many different elements, and do not act directly, -but only by their more or less remote consequences, so that to -know them exacts a complex activity of representation and -judgment.</p> - -<p>Thus aversion is always the instinctive, or conscious cognition -of a noxious influence. Pleasure, its opposite, is not merely, -as has been sometimes maintained, the absence of discomfort—<i>i.e.</i>, -a negative state—but something positive. Every part of the -organism has definite needs which assert themselves as a conscious -or unconscious tendency, as an inclination or appetite; the -satisfaction of these needs is felt as a pleasure which can rise to a -feeling of bliss. The first need of each organ is to manifest itself -in activity. Its simple activity is a source of pleasure to it, so long -as it does not go beyond its powers. The activity of the cerebral -centres consists in receiving impressions, and in transforming -them into representations and movements. This activity produces -in them feelings of pleasure; they have in consequence a -strong desire to receive impressions so as to be put into activity -by them, and experience feelings of pleasure.</p> - -<p>This, broadly sketched, is the natural history of the feelings of -pleasure and pain. The reader who has mastered it will experience -no difficulty in comprehending the nature of aberration.</p> - -<p>Unconscious life is subject to the same biological laws as conscious -life. The vehicle of the unconscious is the same nervous -tissue—although, it may be, another portion of the system—in -which consciousness is also elaborated. The unconscious is just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -as little infallible as consciousness. It can be more highly -developed or retarded in its development; it can be more or less -stupid or intelligent. If the unconscious is incompletely -developed, it distinguishes badly and judges falsely, it deceives -itself in the knowledge of what is prejudicial or favourable to it, -and instinct becomes unreliable or obtuse. Then we get the -phenomenon of indifference to what is ugly, loathsome, immoral.</p> - -<p>We know that among the degenerate divers arrested developments -and malformations appear. Particular organs or entire -systems of organs are arrested at a degree of development which -corresponds to infancy, or even to the fœtal life. If the highest -cerebral centres of the degenerate stop in their development -at a very low stage, they become imbeciles or idiots. If the -arrest of development strikes the nervous centres of unconscious -life, the degenerate lose the instincts which, in normal beings, -find expression in nausea and disgust at certain noxious influences; -I might say, their unconscious life suffers from imbecility -or idiocy.</p> - -<p>Again, we have seen in the preceding chapter that the impressionability -of the nerves and brain in the degenerate subject is -blunted. Hence he only perceives strong impressions, and it is -only these which excite his cerebral centres to that intellectual -and motor activity which produces in them feelings of pleasure. -Now, disagreeable impressions are naturally stronger than agreeable -or indifferent impressions, for if they were not stronger we -should not feel them as painful, and they would not induce the -organism to make efforts to defend itself. To procure, then, the -feelings of pleasure which are linked with the activity of the -cerebral centres, to satisfy the need of functioning which is -peculiar to the cerebral centres as to all the other organs, the -degenerate person seeks impressions which are strong enough to -excite to activity his obtuse and inert centres. But such impressions -are precisely those which the healthy man feels as -painful or repugnant. Thus, the aberrations or perversions of -the degenerate find explanation. They have a longing for -strong impressions, because these only can put their brains into -activity, and this desired effect on their centres is only exercised -by impressions that sane beings dread because of their violence, -<i>i.e.</i>, painful, repugnant and revolting impressions.</p> - -<p>To say that every human being has secretly a certain predilection -for the evil and the abominable is absurd: the only little -spark of truth contained in this foolish assertion is, that even the -normal human being becomes obtuse when fatigued, or exhausted -by illness; <i>i.e.</i>, he falls into the state which, in the degenerate, is -chronic. Then he presents naturally the same phenomena as we -have attested in the case of the latter, although in a much lower<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span> -degree. He may find pleasure, then, in crime and ugliness, and -in the former rather than in the latter; for crimes are social -injuries, while uglinesses are the visible form of forces unfavourable -to the individual; but social instincts are feebler than the -instincts of self-preservation. Consequently they are sooner -put to sleep, and for this reason the repulsion against crime -disappears more quickly than that against ugliness. In any -case, this state is also an aberration in the normal being, -but imputable to fatigue, and in him is not chronic, as in -the degenerate, nor does it amount to the hidden fundamental -character of his being, as the sophists who calumniate him -pretend.</p> - -<p>An uninterrupted line of development leads from the French -romantic school to the Parnassians, and all the germs of the -aberrations which confront us in full expansion among the latter -can be distinguished in the former. We have seen in the preceding -book how superficial and poor in ideas their poetry is, -how they exalt their imagination above the observation of reality, -and what importance they assign to their world of dreams. -Sainte-Beuve, who at first joined their group, says on this -subject, with a complacency which proves he was not conscious -of expressing any blame: ‘The Romance School ... had a -thought, a cult, viz., love of art and passionate inquisitiveness for -a vivid expression, a new turn, a choice image, a brilliant rhyme: -they wished for every one of their frames a peg of gold. [A remarkably -false image, let it be said in passing. A rich frame -may be desired for a picture, but as to the nail which supports it, -regard will be had to its solidity and not to its preciousness.] -Children if you will, but children of the Muses, who never -sacrifice to ordinary grace [<i>grâce vulgaire</i>].’<a name="FNanchor_276_276" id="FNanchor_276_276"></a><a href="#Footnote_276_276" class="fnanchor">[276]</a></p> - -<p>Let us hold this admission firmly, that the romantic writers -were children; they were so in their inaptitude to comprehend -the world and men, in the seriousness and zeal with which they -gave themselves up to their game of rhymes, in the artlessness -with which they placed themselves above the precepts of morality -and good sense in use among adults. Let us exaggerate this -childishness a little (without allying with it the wild and exuberant -imagination of a Victor Hugo, and his gift of lightning-like -rapidity of association, evoking the most startling antitheses), and -we obtain the literary figure of Théophile Gautier, whom the -imbecile Barbey d’Aurevilly could name in the same breath with -Goethe,<a name="FNanchor_277_277" id="FNanchor_277_277"></a><a href="#Footnote_277_277" class="fnanchor">[277]</a> evidently for the sole reason that the sound of the -great German poet’s name in French pronunciation has a certain -resemblance to that of Gautier, but of whom one of his admirers,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> -M. J. K. Huysmans, says:<a name="FNanchor_278_278" id="FNanchor_278_278"></a><a href="#Footnote_278_278" class="fnanchor">[278]</a> ‘Des Esseintes [the hero of his -novel] became gradually indifferent to Gautier’s work; his -admiration for that incomparable painter had gone on diminishing -from day to day, and now he was more astonished than -delighted by his indifferent descriptions. The impression left -by the objects was fixed on his keenly observant eye, but it was -localized there, and had not penetrated further into his brain -and flesh [?]; like a monstrous reflector, he was constantly -limited to reverberate his environment with an impersonal -distinctness.’</p> - -<p>When M. Huysmans regards Gautier as an impersonal mirror -of reality, he is the victim of an optical illusion. In verse as in -prose, Gautier is a mechanical worker, who threads one line of -glittering adjectives after another, without designing anything -particular. His descriptions never give a clear outline of the -object he wishes to depict. They recall some crude mosaic of -the later Byzantine decadence, the different stones of which are -lapis-lazuli, malachite, chrysoprase and jasper, and which yield, -for this reason, an impression of barbarous splendour, while -scarcely any design is discernible. In his ego-mania, lacking all -sympathy with the external world, he does not suspect what -sorrows and joys its drama encloses, and just as he feels nothing -in the prospect before him, so neither can he awaken in the -reader emotion of any sort by his listless and affected attempts -to render it. The only emotions of which he is capable, apart -from his arrogance and vanity, are those connected with sex; -hence, in his works we merely find alternations between glacial -coldness and lubricity.</p> - -<p>If we exaggerate Théophile Gautier’s worship of form and -lasciviousness, and if to his indifference towards the world and -men we associate the aberration which caused it to degenerate -into a predilection for the bad and the loathsome, we have -before us the figure of Baudelaire. We must stop there awhile, -for Baudelaire is—even more than Gautier—the intellectual -chief and model of the Parnassians, and his influence dominates -the present generation of French poets and authors, and a -portion also of English poets and authors, to an omnipotent -degree.</p> - -<p>It is not necessary to demonstrate at length that Baudelaire -was a degenerate subject. He died of general paralysis, after he -had wallowed for months in the lowest depths of insanity. But -even if no such horrible end had protected the diagnosis from -all attack, there would be no doubt as to its accuracy, seeing -that Baudelaire showed all the mental stigmata of degeneration -during the whole of his life. He was at once a mystic and an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -erotomaniac,<a name="FNanchor_279_279" id="FNanchor_279_279"></a><a href="#Footnote_279_279" class="fnanchor">[279]</a> an eater of hashish and opium;<a name="FNanchor_280_280" id="FNanchor_280_280"></a><a href="#Footnote_280_280" class="fnanchor">[280]</a> he felt himself -attracted in the characteristic fashion by other degenerate minds, -mad or depraved, and appreciated, for example, above all -authors, the gifted but mentally-deranged Edgar Poe, and the -opium-eater Thomas de Quincey. He translated Poe’s tales, and -devoted to them an enthusiastic biography and critique, while -from the <i>Confessions of an Opium-Eater</i>, by De Quincey, he compiled -an exhaustive selection, to which he wrote extravagant -annotations.</p> - -<p>The peculiarities of Baudelaire’s mind are revealed to us in -the collection of his poems, to which he has given a title -betraying at once his self-knowledge and his cynicism: <i>Les -Fleurs du Mal</i>—‘The Flowers of Evil.’ The collection is not -complete. There lack some pieces which only circulate in manuscript, -because they are too infamous to bear the full publicity -of a marketable book. I will take my quotations, however, -from the printed verses only, which are quite sufficient to -characterize their author.</p> - -<p>Baudelaire hates life and movement. In the piece entitled -<i>Les Hiboux</i>, he shows us his owls sitting in a row, motionless, -under the black yews, and continues:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Leur attitude au sage enseigne<br /> -Qu’il faut en ce monde qu’il craigne<br /> -Le tumulte et le mouvement.</p> - -<p class="pp6 p1">L’homme ivre d’une ombre qui passe<br /> -Porte toujours le châtiment<br /> -D’avoir voulu changer de place.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Beauty says of herself, in the piece of that name:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes;<br /> -Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">He abhors the natural as much as he loves the artificial. Thus -he depicts his ideal world (<i>Rêve Parisien</i>):</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘De ce terrible paysage<br /> -Que jamais œil mortel ne vit,<br /> -Ce matin encore l’image,<br /> -Vague et lointaine, me ravit....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘J’avais banni de ces spectacles<br /> -Le végétal irrégulier....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Je savourais dans mon tableau<br /> -L’enivrante [!] monotonie<br /> -Du métal, du marbre et de l’eau.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Babel d’escaliers et d’arcades<br /> -C’était un palais infini,<br /> -Plein de bassins et de cascades<br /> -Tombant dans l’or mat ou bruni;</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et des cataractes pesantes,<br /> -Comme des rideaux de cristal,<br /> -Se suspendaient, éblouissantes,<br /> -A des murailles de métal.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Non d’arbres, mais de colonnades<br /> -Les étangs dormants s’entouraient,<br /> -Où de gigantesques naïades,<br /> -Comme des femmes, se miraient.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Des nappes d’eau s’épanchaient, bleues,<br /> -Entre des quais roses et verts,<br /> -Pendant des millions de lieues,<br /> -Vers les confins de l’univers;</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘C’étaient des pierres inouïes<br /> -Et des flots magiques; c’étaient<br /> -D’immenses glaces éblouies<br /> -Par tout ce qu’elles reflétaient.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et tout, même la couleur noire,<br /> -Semblait fourbi, clair, irisé....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Nul astre d’ailleurs, nuls vestiges<br /> -De soleil, même au bas du ciel,<br /> -Pour illuminer ces prodiges,<br /> -Qui brillaient d’un feu personnel (!)</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et sur ces mouvantes merveilles<br /> -Planait (terrible nouveauté!<br /> -Tout pour l’œil, rien pour les oreilles!)<br /> -Un silence d’eternité.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Such is the world he represents to himself, and which fills -him with enthusiasm: not an ‘irregular’ plant, no sun, no stars, -no movement, no noise, nothing but metal and glass, <i>i.e.</i>, something -like a tin landscape from Nuremberg, only larger and of -more costly material, a plaything for the child of an American -millionaire suffering from the wealth-madness of parvenus, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> -a little electric lamp in the interior, and a mechanism which -slowly turns the glass cascades, and makes the glass sheet of -water slide. Such must necessarily be the aspect of the ego-maniac’s -ideal world. Nature leaves him cold or repels him, -because he neither perceives nor comprehends her; hence, where -the sane man sees the picture of the external world, the ego-maniac -is surrounded by a dark void in which, at most, uncomprehended -nebulous forms are hovering. To escape the horror -of them he projects, as from a magic-lantern, coloured shadows -of the images which fill his consciousness; but these representations -are rigid, inert, uniform and infantile, like the morbid and -weak cerebral centres by which they are elaborated.</p> - -<p>The incapacity of the ego-maniac to feel aright external -impressions, and the toil with which his brain works, are also -the key of the frightful tedium of which Baudelaire complains, -and of the profound pessimism with which he contemplates the -world and life. Let us hear him in <i>Le Voyage</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Nous avons vu partout...<br /> -Le spectacle ennuyeux de l’immortel péché:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La femme, esclave vile, orgueilleuse et stupide,<br /> -Sans rire s’adorant et s’aimant sans dégôut;<br /> -L’homme, tyran goulu, paillard, dur et cupide,<br /> -Esclave de l’esclave et ruisseau dans l’égout;</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Le bourreau qui jouit, le martyr qui sanglote;<br /> -La fête qu’assaisonne et parfume le sang;...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et les moins sots, hardis amants de la démence,<br /> -Fuyant le grand troupeau parqué par le Destin,<br /> -Et se réfugiant dans l’opium immense [!].<br /> -—Tel est du globe entier l’éternel bulletin...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O Mort, vieux capitaine, il est temps! levons l’ancre!<br /> -Ce pays nous ennuie, O Mort! Appareillons!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Nous voulons...<br /> -Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu’importe?<br /> -Au fond de l’Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau!’</p> - -<p class="p1">This desperate cry towards the ‘new’ is the natural complaint -of a brain which longs to feel the pleasures of action, and -greedily craves a stimulation which his powerless sensory nerves -cannot give him. Let a sane man imagine the state of mind -into which he would fall if he were imprisoned in a cell where -no ray of light, no noise, no scent from the outer world would -reach him. He would then have an accurate idea of the chronic -state of mind in the ego-maniac, eternally isolated by the imperfection -of his nervous system from the universe, from its -joyous sounds, from its changing scenes and from its captivating -movement. Baudelaire cannot but suffer terribly from ennui, -for his mind really learns nothing new and amusing, and is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -forced constantly to indulge in the contemplation of his ailing -and whimpering self.</p> - -<p>The only pictures which fill the world of his thought are -sombre, wrathful and detestable. He says (<i>Un Mort joyeux</i>):</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Dans une terre grasse et pleine d’escargots<br /> -Je veux creuser moi-même une fosse profonde<br /> -Où je puisse à loisir étaler mes vieux os<br /> -Et dormir dans l’oubli comme un requin dans l’onde...<br /> -Plutôt que d’implorer une larme du monde<br /> -Vivant, j’aimerais mieux inviter les corbeaux<br /> -A saigner tous les bouts de ma carcasse immonde.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O vers! noir compagnons sans oreille et sans yeux,<br /> -Voyez venir à vous un mort libre et joyeux!’</p> - -<p class="p1">In <i>La Cloche fêlée</i>, he says of himself:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘... Mon âme est fêlée, et lorsqu’en ses ennuis<br /> -Elle veut de ses chants peupler l’air froid des nuits<br /> -Il arrive souvent que sa voix affaiblie</p> - -<p class="pp6 p1">Semble le râle épais d’un blessé qu’on oublie<br /> -Au bord d’un lac de sang, sous un grand tas de morts.’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Spleen</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp8s p1">‘...on triste cerveau...</p> -<p class="pp6">C’est.. un immense caveau<br /> -Qui contient plus de morts que la fosse commune.<br /> -—Je suis un cimetière abhorré de la lune<br /> -Où, comme des remords, se traînent de longs vers....’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Horreur sympathique</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Cieux déchirés comme des grèves,<br /> -En vous se mire mon orgueil!<br /> -Vos vastes nuages en deuil.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Sont les corbillards de mes rêves,<br /> -Et vos lueurs sont le reflet,<br /> -De l’Enfer où mon cœur se plaît!’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Le Coucher du Soleil romantique</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Une odeur de tombeau dans les ténèbres nage,<br /> -Et mon pied peureux froisse, au bord du marécage,<br /> -Des crapauds imprévus et de froids limaçons.’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Dance macabre</i>: The poet speaking to a skeleton:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Aucuns t’appelleront une caricature,<br /> -Qui ne comprennent pas, amants ivres de chair,<br /> -L’élégance sans nom de l’humaine armature.<br /> -Tu réponds, grand squelette, à mon goût le plus cher!...’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Une Charogne</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Rappelez-vous l’objet que nous vîmes, mon âme,</p> -<p class="pp7">Ce beau matin d’été si doux:</p> -<p class="pp6">Au détour d’un sentier une charogne infâme</p> -<p class="pp7">Sur un lit semé de cailloux,</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Les jambes en l’air, comme une femme lubrique</p> -<p class="pp7">Brûlante et suant les poisons,</p> -<p class="pp6">Ouvrait d’une façon nonchalante et cynique</p> -<p class="pp7">Son ventre plein d’exhalaisons....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et le ciel regardait la carcasse superbe [!]</p> -<p class="pp7">Comme une fleur s’épanouir.</p> -<p class="pp6">La puanteur était si forte, que sur l’herbe</p> -<p class="pp7">Vous crûtes vous évanouir....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et pourtant vous serez semblable à cette ordure,</p> -<p class="pp7">A cette horrible infection,</p> -<p class="pp6">Étoile de mes yeux, soleil de ma nature,</p> -<p class="pp7">Vous, mon ange et ma passion!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Oui! telle vous serez, ô la reine des grâces,</p> -<p class="pp7">Après les derniers sacrements,</p> -<p class="pp6">Quand vous irez, sous l’herbe et les floraisons grasses,</p> -<p class="pp7">Moisir parmi les ossements....’</p> - -<p class="p1">That which pleases Baudelaire most are these pictures of -death and corruption which I could quote in still greater numbers -if I did not think that these examples sufficed. However, next -to the frightful and the loathsome it is the morbid, the criminal -and the lewd, which possess the strongest attraction for him.</p> - -<p><i>Le Rêve d’un Curieux</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Connais-tu, comme moi, la douleur savoureuse?...’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Spleen</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Mon chat sur le carreau cherchant une litière<br /> -Agite sans repos son corps maigre et galeux....’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Le Vin du Solitaire</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Un baiser libertin de la maigre Adeline....’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Le Crépuscule du Soir</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Voici le soir charmant, ami du criminel; ...<br /> -Et l’homme impatient se change en bête fauve....’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>La Destruction</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1"> -‘Sans cesse à mes côtés s’agite le Démon....<br /> -Je l’avale et le sens qui brûle mon poumon<br /> -Et l’emplit d’un désir éternel et coupable....</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il me conduit....<br /> -Haletant et brisé de fatigue, au milieu<br /> -Des plaines de l’Ennui, profondes et désertes,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et jette dans mes yeux....<br /> -Des vêtements souillés, des blessures ouvertes,<br /> -Et l’appareil sanglant de la Destruction!’</p> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Une Martyre</i> he describes complacently and in detail a -bedroom in which a young, presumably pretty courtesan has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span> -been murdered; the assassin had cut off her head and carried it -away. The poet is only curious to know one thing:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘L’homme vindicatif que tu n’as pu, vivante,</p> -<p class="pp7">Malgré tant d’amour, assouvir,</p> -<p class="pp6">Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et complaisante</p> -<p class="pp7">L’immensité de son désir?’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Femmes damnées</i>, a piece dedicated to the worst aberration of -degenerate women, terminates with this ecstatic apostrophe to -the heroines of unnatural vice:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O vierges, ô démons, ô monstres, ô martyres,<br /> -De la réalité grands esprits contempteurs,<br /> -Chercheuses d’infini, dévotes et satyres,<br /> -Tantôt pleines de cris, tantôt pleines de pleurs,</p> - -<p class="pp6 p1">Vous que dans votre enfer mon âme a poursuivies,<br /> -Pauvres sœurs, je vous aime autant que je vous plains....’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>Préface</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Si le viol, le poison, le poignard, l’incendie,<br /> -N’ont pas encore brodé de leurs plaisants dessins<br /> -Le canevas banal de nos piteux destins,<br /> -C’est que notre âme, hélas! n’est pas assez hardie....’</p> - -<p class="p1">But if he is not bold enough to commit crimes himself, he -does not leave a moment’s doubt that he loves them, and much -prefers them to virtue, just as he prefers the ‘end of autumns, -winters, springs steeped in mud,’ to the fine season of the year -(<i>Brumes et Pluies</i>). He is ‘hostile to the universe rather than -indifferent’ (<i>Les sept Vieillards</i>). The sight of pain leaves him -cold, and if tears are shed before him they only evoke in his -mind the image of a landscape with running waters.</p> - -<p><i>Madrigal triste</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Que m’importe que tu sois sage?<br /> -Sois belle! et sois triste! Les pleurs<br /> -Ajoutent un charme au visage,<br /> -Comme le fleuve au paysage.’</p> - -<p class="p1">In the struggle between <i>Abel et Caïn</i> he takes the part of the -latter without hesitation:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race d’Abel, dors, bois et mange;<br /> -Dieu te sourit complaisamment.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, dans la fange<br /> -Rampe et meurs misérablement.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race d’Abel, ton sacrifice<br /> -Flatte le nez du Séraphin.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, ton supplice<br /> -Aura-t-il jamais une fin?</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race d’Abel, vois tes semailles<br /> -Et ton bétail venir à bien;</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, tes entrailles<br /> -Hurlent la faim comme un vieux chien.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race d’Abel, chauffe ton ventre<br /> -A ton foyer patriarchal;</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, dans ton antre<br /> -Tremble de froid, pauvre chacal!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ah! race d’Abel, ta charogne<br /> -Engraissera le sol fumant!</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, ta besogne<br /> -N’est pas faite suffisamment.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race d’Abel, voici ta honte:<br /> -Le fer est vaincu par l’épieu! [?]</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Race de Caïn, au ciel monte<br /> -Et sur la terre jette Dieu!’</p> - -<p>If he prays it is to the devil (<i>Les Litanies de Satan</i>):</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Gloire et louange à toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs<br /> -Du Ciel, où tu régnas, et dans les profondeurs<br /> -De l’Enfer, où, vaincu, tu rêves en silence!<br /> -Fais que mon âme un jour, sous l’Arbre de Science,<br /> -Près de toi se repose....’</p> - -<p class="p1">Here there mingles with the aberration that mysticism which -is never wanting in the degenerate. Naturally, the love of evil -can only take the form of devil-worship, or diabolism, if the -subject is a believer, if the supernatural is held to be a real thing. -Only he who is rooted with all his feelings in religious faith will, -if he suffers from moral aberration, seek bliss in the adoration of -Satan, in impassioned blasphemy of God and the Saviour, in -the violation of the symbols of faith, or will wish to incite unnatural -voluptuousness by mortal sin and infernal damnation, -though humouring it in the <i>messe noire</i>, in the presence of a -really consecrated priest, and in a hideous travesty of all the -forms of the liturgy.</p> - -<p>Besides the devil, Baudelaire adores only one other power, -viz., voluptuousness. He prays thus to it (<i>La Prière d’un -Païen</i>):</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ah! ne ralentis pas tes flammes!<br /> -Réchauffe mon cœur engourdi,<br /> -Volupté, torture des âmes!...<br /> -Volupté, sois toujours ma reine!’</p> - -<p class="p1">To complete the portrait of this mind, let us cite two more -of his peculiarities. He suffers first from images of perpetual -anguish, as his piece testifies (<i>Le Gouffre</i>), which is valuable as -a confession:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘... Tout est abîme,—action, désir, rêve,<br /> -Parole! et sur mon poil qui tout droit se relève<br /> -Mainte fois de la peur je sens passer le vent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘En haut, en bas, partout, la profondeur, la grève, -Le silence, l’espace affreux et captivant...<br /> -Sur le fonde de mes nuits, Dieu, de son doigt savant,<br /> -Dessine un cauchemar multiforme et sans trêve.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘J’ai peur du sommeil comme on a peur d’un grand trou,<br /> -Tout plein de vague horreur, menant on ne sait où;<br /> -Je ne vois qu’infini par toutes les fenêtres,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Et mon esprit, toujours du vertige hanté,<br /> -Jalouse du néant l’insensibilité.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Baudelaire describes here accurately enough that obsession -of degenerates which is called ‘fear of abysses’ (cremnophobia).<a name="FNanchor_281_281" id="FNanchor_281_281"></a><a href="#Footnote_281_281" class="fnanchor">[281]</a> -His second peculiarity is his interest in scents. He is attentive -to them, interprets them; they provoke in him all kinds of -sensations and associations. He expresses himself thus on this -subject in <i>Correspondances</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Les parfums, les couleurs, et les sons se répondent.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il est des parfums frais comme des chairs d’enfants,<br /> -Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies,<br /> -—Et d’autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ayant l’expansion des choses infinies,<br /> -Comme l’ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l’encens,<br /> -Qui chantent les transports de l’esprit et des sens.’</p> - -<p class="p1">He loves woman through his sense of smell ... (‘Le parfum -de tes charmes étranges,’ <i>A une Malabaraise</i>), and never fails, -in describing a mistress, to mention her exhalations.</p> - -<p><i>Parfum exotique</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Quand les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d’automne,<br /> -Je respire l’odeur de ton sein chaleureux,<br /> -Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux<br /> -Qu’eblouissent les feux d’un soleil monotone.’</p> - -<p class="p1"><i>La Chevelure</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘O toison, moutonnant jusque sur l’encolure!<br /> -O boucles! O parfum chargé de nonchaloir!...</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘La langoureuse Asie et la brûlante Afrique,<br /> -Tout un monde lointain, absent, presque défunt,<br /> -Vit dans tes profondeurs, forêt aromatique!’</p> - -<p class="p1">Naturally, instead of good odours, he prefers the perfumes -which affect the healthy man as stinks. Putrefaction, decomposition -and pestilence charm his nose.</p> - -<p><i>Le Flacon</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il est de forts parfums pour qui toute matière<br /> -Est poreuse. On dirait qu’ils pénètrent le verre...<br /> -Parfois on trouve un vieux flacon qui se souvient,<br /> -D’où jaillit toute vive une âme qui revient.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Voilà le souvenir enivrant qui voltige<br /> -Dans l’air troublé; les yeux se ferment; le vertige<br /> -Saisit l’âme vaincue et la pousse à deux mains<br /> -Vers un gouffre obscurci de miasmes humains;</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Il la terrasse au bord d’un gouffre séculaire,<br /> -Où, Lazare odorant déchirant son suaire,<br /> -Se meut dans son réveil le cadavre spectral<br /> -D’un vieil amour ranci, charmant et sepulcral.</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Ainsi, quand je serai perdu dans la memoire<br /> -Des hommes, dans le coin d’une sinistre armoire<br /> -Quand on m’aura jeté, vieux flacon désolé,<br /> -Décrépit, poudreux, sale, abject, visqueux, fêlé,</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘Je serai ton cercueil, aimable pestilence!<br /> -Le témoin de ta force et de ta virulence,<br /> -Cher poison préparé par les anges!...’</p> - -<p class="p1">We now know all the features which compose Baudelaire’s -character. He has the ‘cult of self’;<a name="FNanchor_282_282" id="FNanchor_282_282"></a><a href="#Footnote_282_282" class="fnanchor">[282]</a> he abhors nature, movement -and life; he dreams of an ideal of immobility, of eternal -silence, of symmetry and artificiality; he loves disease, ugliness -and crime; all his inclinations, in profound aberration, are -opposed to those of sane beings; what charms his sense of -smell is the odour of corruption; his eye, the sight of carrion, -suppurating wounds and the pain of others; he feels happy in -muddy, cloudy, autumn weather; his senses are excited by -unnatural pleasures only. He complains of frightful tedium -and of feelings of anguish; his mind is filled with sombre -ideas, the association of his ideas works exclusively with sad -or loathsome images; the only thing which can distract or -interest him is badness—murder, blood, lewdness and falsehood. -He addresses his prayers to Satan, and aspires to hell.</p> - -<p>He has attempted to make his peculiarities pass for a comedy -and a studied pose. In a note placed at the head of the first -edition (1857) of the <i>Fleurs du Mal</i>, he says: ‘Among the -following pieces, the most characteristic ... has been considered, -at least by men of intellect, only for what it really is: -the imitation of the arguments of ignorance and fury. Faithful -to his painful programme, the author has had, like a good -comedian, to fashion his mind to all sophisms, as to all corruptions. -This candid declaration will, doubtless, not prevent honest critics -from ranking him among the theologians of the people,’ etc. -Some of his admirers accept this explanation or appear to accept -it. ‘His intense disdain of the vulgar,’ murmurs Paul Bourget, -‘breaks out in extremes of paradox, in laborious mystification.... -Among many readers, even the keenest, the fear of being -duped by this grand disdainer hinders full admiration.’<a name="FNanchor_283_283" id="FNanchor_283_283"></a><a href="#Footnote_283_283" class="fnanchor">[283]</a> The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -term has become a commonplace of criticism for Baudelaire; he -is a ‘mystificateur’; everything for him is only a deception; -he himself neither feels nor believes anything he expresses in his -poetry. It is twaddle, and nothing else. A rhetorician of the -Paul Bourget sort, threshing straw, and curling scraps of paper, -may believe that an inwardly free man is capable of preserving -artificially, all his life long, the attitude of a galley-slave or a -madman, well knowing he is only acting a comedy. The expert -knows that the choice of an attitude, such as Baudelaire’s, is -a proof in itself of deep-seated cerebral disturbance.</p> - -<p>Mental therapeutics has declared that persons who simulate -insanity with some perseverance, even with a rational object, as, -for example, in the case of certain criminals on their trial, in order -to escape punishment, are almost without exception really mad,<a name="FNanchor_284_284" id="FNanchor_284_284"></a><a href="#Footnote_284_284" class="fnanchor">[284]</a> -although not to the degree they try to represent, just as the -inclination to accuse one’s self, or to boast, of imaginary crimes -is a recognised symptom of hysteria. The assertion of Baudelaire -himself, that his Satanism is only a studied <i>rôle</i>, has no -sort of value whatever. As is so frequently the case among -the ‘higher degenerates,’ he feels in his heart that his aberrations -are morbid, immoral and anti-social, and that all decent -persons would despise him or take pity on him, if they were convinced -that he was really what he boasts of being in his poems; -he has recourse, consequently, to the childish excuse that malefactors -also often have on their lips, viz., ‘that it was not meant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -seriously.’ Perhaps also Baudelaire’s consciousness experienced -a sincere horror of the perverse instincts of his unconscious life, -and he sought to make himself believe that with his Satanism he -was laughing at the Philistines. But such a tardy palliation -does not deceive the psychologist, and is of no importance for his -judgment.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c296" id="c296">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">DECADENTS AND ÆSTHETES.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">As</span> on the death of Alexander the Great his generals fell on the -conqueror’s empire, and each one seized a portion of land, so -did the imitators that Baudelaire numbered among his contemporaries -and the generation following—many even without -waiting for his madness and death—take possession of some one -of his peculiarities for literary exploitation. The school of -Baudelaire reflects the character of its master, strangely distorted; -it has become in some sort like a prism, which diffracts this light -into its elementary rays. His delusion of anxiety (anxiomania), -and his predilection for disease, death and putrefaction (necrophilia), -have fallen, as we have seen in the preceding book, to -the lot of M. Maurice Rollinat. M. Catulle Mendès has inherited -his sexual aberrations and lasciviousness, and besides all the -newer French pornographists rely upon them for proving the -‘artistic raison d’être’ of their depravity. Jean Richepin, in -<i>La Chanson des Gueux</i>, has spied in him, and copied, his glorification -of crime, and, further, in <i>Les Blasphèmes</i>, has swelled Baudelaire’s -imprecations and prayers to the devil to the size of a fat -volume, in a most dreary and wearisome manner. His mysticism -suckles the Symbolists, who, after his example, pretend to -perceive mysterious relations between colours and the sensations -of the other senses, with this difference, that they hear colours -while he smelt them; or, if you will, they have an eye in their -ear, while he saw with the nose. In Paul Verlaine we meet again -his mixture of sensuality and pietism. Swinburne has established -an English depot for his Sadism, compounded of lewdness and -cruelty, for his mysticism and for his pleasure in crime, and -I greatly fear that Giosué Carducci himself, otherwise so richly -gifted and original, must have turned his eyes towards the -<i>Litanies de Satan</i>, when he wrote his celebrated <i>Ode à Satan</i>.</p> - -<p>The diabolism of Baudelaire has been specially cultivated by -Villiers de l’Isle-Adam and Barbey d’Aurevilly. These two men -have, in addition to the general family likeness of the degenerate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -a series of special features in common. Villiers and Barbey -attributed to themselves, as the deranged frequently do, a -fabulous genealogy; the former aspired to be a descendant of -Count de l’Isle-Adam, the celebrated Marshal and Grand-Master -of Malta (who as such could not be married, be it understood!), -and he claimed one day, in a letter addressed to the Queen of -England, the surrender of Malta in virtue of his right of heritage. -Barbey annexed the aristocratic surname of d’Aurevilly, and -during the whole of his life spoke of his noble race—which -had no existence. Both made a theatrical display of fanatical -Catholicism, but revelled at the same time in studied blasphemies -against God.<a name="FNanchor_285_285" id="FNanchor_285_285"></a><a href="#Footnote_285_285" class="fnanchor">[285]</a> Both delighted in eccentricities of -costume and modes of life, and Barbey had the habit of graphomaniacs, -which we know already, of writing his letters and his -literary works with different coloured inks. Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, -and still more Barbey d’Aurevilly, created a class of -poetry to the worship of the devil, which recalls the craziest -depositions of witches of the Middle Ages when put to the -torture. Barbey especially may be said to have gone, in this -respect, to the limits of the imaginable. His book <i>Le Prêtre -marié</i> might be written by a contemporary of witch-burners; -but it is surpassed in its turn by <i>Les Diaboliques</i>, a collection of -crack-brained histories, where men and women wallow in the -most hideous license, continually invoking the devil, extolling -and serving him. All the invention in these ravings Barbey -stole with utter shamelessness from the books of the Marquis de -Sade, without a shade of shame; that which belongs properly to -him is the colouring of Catholic theology he gives to his profligacies. -If I only speak in general terms of the books mentioned -here, without entering into details, without summarizing the -contents, or quoting characteristic passages, it is because my -demonstrations do not require a plunge into this filth, and it is -sufficient to point the finger from afar at the sink of vice which -testifies to Baudelaire’s influence on his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>Barbey, the imitator of Baudelaire, has himself found an -imitator in M. Joséphin Péladan, whose first novel, <i>Vice suprême</i>, -occupies an eminent place in the literature of diabolism. M. -Péladan, who had not yet promoted himself to the dignity of a -first-class Assyrian king, paraphrases in his book what he means -by ‘<i>vice suprême</i>’: ‘Let us deny Satan! Sorcery has always -sorcerers ... superior minds which have no need of conjuring-book, -their thought being a page written by hell for hell. -Instead of the kid they have killed the good soul within them, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> -are going to the Sabbath of the Word.’ [May the reader not -stumble over obscurities! What were Péladan if he were not -mystical?] ‘They assemble to profane and soil the idea. Existing -vice does not satisfy them; they invent, they rival each -other in seeking for, <i>new evil</i>, and if they find it they applaud -each other. Which is worst, the Sabbath-orgies of the body or -those of the mind, of criminal action or of perverted thought? -To reason, justify, to apotheosize evil, to establish its ritual, to -show the excellence of it—is this not worse than to commit it? -To adore the demon, or love evil, the abstract or the concrete -term of one and the same fact. There is blindness in the gratification -of instinct, and madness in the perpetration of misdeeds; -but to conceive and theorize exacts a calm operation of the -mind which is the <i>vice suprême</i>.’<a name="FNanchor_286_286" id="FNanchor_286_286"></a><a href="#Footnote_286_286" class="fnanchor">[286]</a></p> - -<p>Baudelaire has expressed this much more concisely in one -single verse: ‘<i>La conscience dans le Mal</i>’ (‘consciousness in -evil’).<a name="FNanchor_287_287" id="FNanchor_287_287"></a><a href="#Footnote_287_287" class="fnanchor">[287]</a></p> - -<p>The same Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, who has copied his -diabolism from Baudelaire, has appropriated the predilection of -the latter for the artificial, and has raised it to a funny pitch in -his novel <i>L’Ève future</i>. In this half-fantastic half-satirical and -wholly mad book, he imagines, as the next development of -humanity, a state in which the woman of flesh and blood -will be abolished, and be replaced by a machine to which he -allows (which is a little contradictory) the shape of a woman’s -body, and which it will be sufficient with the help of a screw so to -dispose, in order to obtain from it at once whatever happens -to be desired: love, caprices, infidelity, devotion, every perversion -and every vice. This is in sooth even more artificial than -Baudelaire’s tin and glass landscape!</p> - -<p>A later disciple, M. Joris Karl Huysmans, is more instructive -than all those imitators of Baudelaire who have only developed -the one or the other side of him. He has undertaken the toilsome -task of putting together, from all the isolated traits which -are found dispersed in Baudelaire’s poems and prose writings, a -human figure, and of presenting to us Baudelairism incarnate and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -living, thinking and acting. The book in which he shows us -his model ‘Decadent’ is entitled <i>A Rebours</i> (‘Against the -Grain’).</p> - -<p>The word ‘décadent’ was borrowed by the French critics, in -the fifties, from the history of the declining Roman Empire, -to characterize the style of Théophile Gautier, and notably of -Baudelaire. At the present time the disciples of these two -writers, and of their previous imitators, claim it as a title of -honour. Otherwise than with the expressions ‘pre-Raphaelites’ -and ‘Symbolists,’ we possess an exact explanation of the sense -which those who speak of ‘decadence’ and ‘decadents’ attach -to these words.</p> - -<p>‘The style of decadence,’ says Théophile Gautier,<a name="FNanchor_288_288" id="FNanchor_288_288"></a><a href="#Footnote_288_288" class="fnanchor">[288]</a> ‘... is -nothing else than art arrived at that extreme point of maturity -produced by those civilizations which are growing old with their -oblique suns[!]—a style that is ingenious, complicated, learned, -full of shades of meaning and research, always pushing further -the limits of language, borrowing from all the technical vocabularies, -taking colours from all palettes, notes from all keyboards, -forcing itself to express in thought that which is most -ineffable, and in form the vaguest and most fleeting contours; -listening, that it may translate them, to the subtle confidences -of the neuropath, to the avowals of ageing and depraved passion, -and to the singular hallucinations of the fixed idea verging on -madness. This style of decadence is the last effort of the Word -(<i>Verbe</i>), called upon to express everything, and pushed to the -utmost extremity. We may remind ourselves, in connection -with it, of the language of the Later Roman Empire, already -mottled with the greenness of decomposition, and, as it were, -gamy (<i>faisandée</i>), and of the complicated refinements of the -Byzantine school, the last form of Greek art fallen into deliquescence. -Such is the inevitable and fatal idiom of peoples -and civilizations where factitious life has replaced the natural -life, and developed in man unknown wants. Besides, it is no -easy matter, this style despised of pedants, for it expresses new -ideas with new forms and words that have not yet been heard. -In opposition to the classic style, it admits of shading, and these -shadows teem and swarm with the larvæ of superstitions, the -haggard phantoms of insomnia, nocturnal terrors, remorse which -starts and turns back at the slightest noise, monstrous dreams -stayed only by impotence, obscure phantasies at which the daylight -would stand amazed, and all that the soul conceals of the -dark, the unformed, and the vaguely horrible, in its deepest and -furthest recesses.’</p> - -<p>The same ideas that Gautier approximately expresses in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -rigmarole, Baudelaire enumerates in these terms: ‘Does it not -seem to the reader, as it does to me, that the language of the later -Latin decadence—the departing sigh of a robust person already -transformed and prepared for the spiritual life—is singularly -appropriate to express passion as it has been understood and felt -by the modern poetic world? Mysticism is the opposite pole of -that magnet in which Catullus and his followers, brutal and purely -epidermic poets, have only recognised the pole of sensuality. In -this marvellous language, solecism and barbarism appear to me -to convey the forced negligences of a passion which forgets -itself and mocks at rules. Words, received in a new acceptation, -display the charming awkwardness of the Northern barbarian -kneeling before the Roman beauty. Even a play on words, -when it enters into these pedantic stammerings, does it not -display the wild and bizarre grace of infancy?’<a name="FNanchor_289_289" id="FNanchor_289_289"></a><a href="#Footnote_289_289" class="fnanchor">[289]</a></p> - -<p>The reader, who has the chapter on the psychology of mysticism -present to his mind, naturally at once recognises what is -hidden behind the word-wash of Gautier and Baudelaire. Their -description of the state of mind which the ‘decadent’ language -is supposed to express is simply a description of the disposition -of the mystically degenerate mind, with its shifting nebulous -ideas, its fleeting formless shadowy thought, its perversions and -aberrations, its tribulations and impulsions. To express this -state of mind, a new and unheard-of language must in fact be -found, since there cannot be in any customary language designations -corresponding to presentations which in reality do not -exist. It is absolutely arbitrary to seek for an example and a -model of ‘decadent’ expression in the language of the Later -Roman Empire. It would be difficult for Gautier to discover in -any writer whatever of the fourth or fifth century the ‘mottled -greenness of decomposition and, as it were, gamy’ Latin which so -greatly charms him. M. Huysmans, monstrously exaggerating -Gautier’s and Baudelaire’s idea, as is the way with imitators, -gives the following description of this supposed Latin of the fifth -century: ‘The Latin tongue, ... now hung [!], completely -rotten, ... losing its members, dropping suppurations, scarcely -preserving, in the total decay of its body, some firm parts which -the Christians detached in order to pickle them in the brine of -their new language.’<a name="FNanchor_290_290" id="FNanchor_290_290"></a><a href="#Footnote_290_290" class="fnanchor">[290]</a></p> - -<p>This debauch in pathological and nauseous ideas of a deranged -mind with gustatory perversion is a delirium, and has no -foundation whatever in philological facts. The Latin of the -later period of decadence was coarse and full of errors, in consequence -of the increasing barbarity in the manners and taste of -the readers, the narrow-mindedness and grammatical ignorance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -of the writers, and the intrusion of barbarous elements into its -vocabulary. But it was very far from expressing ‘new ideas -with new forms’ and from taking ‘colours from all palettes’; it -surprises us, on the contrary, by its awkwardness in rendering -the most simple thoughts, and by its profound impoverishment. -The German language has also had a similar period of decadence. -After the Thirty Years’ War, even the best writers, a -Moscherosch, a Zinkgref, a Schupp, were ‘often almost incomprehensible’ -with ‘their long-winded and involved periods,’ and -‘their deportment as distorted as it was stiff’;<a name="FNanchor_291_291" id="FNanchor_291_291"></a><a href="#Footnote_291_291" class="fnanchor">[291]</a> the grammar -displayed the worst deformities, the vocabulary swarmed with -strange intruders, but the German of those desolate decades was -surely not ‘decadent’ in the sense of Gautier’s, Baudelaire’s and -Huysmans’ definitions. The truth is, that these degenerate -writers have arbitrarily attributed their own state of mind to the -authors of the Roman and Byzantine decadence, to a Petronius, -but especially to a Commodianus of Gaza, an Ausonius, a -Prudentius, a Sidonius Apollinaris, etc., and have created in -their own image, or according to their morbid instincts, an ‘ideal -man of the Roman decadence,’ just as Rousseau invented the -ideal savage and Chateaubriand the ideal Indian, and have -transported him by their own imagination into a fabulous past -or into a distant country. M. Paul Bourget is more honest -when he refrains from fraudulently quoting the Latin authors of -the Latin decline, and thus describes the ‘decadence,’ independently -of his Parnassian masters: ‘The word “decadence” -denotes a state of society which produces too great a number of -individuals unfit for the labours of common life. A society -ought to be assimilated to an organism. As an organism, in -fact, it resolves itself into a federation of lesser organisms, which -again resolve themselves into a federation of cells. The individual -is the social cell. In order that the whole organism -should function with energy, it is necessary that the component -organisms should function with energy, but with a subordinate -energy. And in order that these inferior organisms should -themselves function with energy, it is necessary that their component -cells should function with energy, but with a subordinate -energy. If the energy of the cells becomes independent, the -organisms composing the total organism cease likewise to subordinate -their energy to the total energy, and the anarchy which -takes place constitutes the decadence of the whole.’<a name="FNanchor_292_292" id="FNanchor_292_292"></a><a href="#Footnote_292_292" class="fnanchor">[292]</a></p> - -<p>Very true. A society in decadence ‘produces too great a -number of individuals unfit for the labours of common life’;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -these individuals are precisely the degenerate; ‘they cease to -subordinate their energy to the total energy,’ because they are -ego-maniacs, and their stunted development has not attained to -the height at which an individual reaches his moral and intellectual -junction with the totality, and their ego-mania makes the -degenerate necessarily anarchists, <i>i.e.</i>, enemies of all institutions -which they do not understand, and to which they cannot adapt -themselves. It is very characteristic that M. Bourget, who sees -all this, who recognises that ‘decadent’ is synonymous with -inaptitude for regular functions and subordination to social aims, -and that the consequence of decadence is anarchy and the ruin -of the community, does not the less justify and admire the -decadents, especially Baudelaire. This is ‘la conscience dans le -mal’ of which his master speaks.</p> - -<p>We will now examine the ideal ‘decadent’ that Huysmans -draws so complacently and in such detail for us, in <i>A Rebours</i>. -First, a word on the author of this instructive book. Huysmans, -the classical type of the hysterical mind without originality, who -is the predestined victim of every suggestion, began his literary -career as a fanatical imitator of Zola, and produced, in this first -period of his development, romances and novels in which (as in -<i>Marthe</i>) he greatly surpassed his model in obscenity. Then he -swerved from naturalism, by an abrupt change of disposition, -which is no less genuinely hysterical, overwhelmed this tendency -and Zola himself with the most violent abuse, and began to ape -the Diabolists, particularly Baudelaire. A red thread unites -both of his otherwise abruptly contrasted methods, viz., his -lubricity. That has remained the same. He is, as a languishing -‘Decadent,’ quite as vulgarly obscene as when he was a -bestial ‘Naturalist.’</p> - -<p><i>A Rebours</i> can scarcely be called a novel, and Huysmans, in -fact, does not call it so. It does not reveal a history, it has no -action, but presents itself as a sort of portrayal or biography of -a man whose habits, sympathies and antipathies, and ideas on -all possible subjects, specially on art and literature, are related to -us in great detail. This man is called Des Esseintes, and is the -last scion of an ancient French ducal title.</p> - -<p>The Duke Jean des Esseintes is physically an anæmic and -nervous man of weak constitution, the inheritor of all the vices -and all the degeneracies of an exhausted race. ‘For two centuries -the Des Esseintes had married their children to each -other, consuming their remnant of vigour in consanguineous -unions.... The predominance of lymph in the blood appeared.’ -(This employment of technical expressions and empty phrases, -scientific in sound, is peculiar to many modern degenerate -authors and to their imitators. They sow these words and -expressions around them, as the ‘learned valet’ of a well-known<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -German farce scatters around him his scraps of French, -but without being more cognizant of science than the latter was -of the French language.) Des Esseintes was educated by the -Jesuits, lost his parents early in life, squandered the greater part -of his patrimony in foolish carousing which overwhelmed him -with ennui, and soon retired from society, which had become -insupportable. ‘His contempt for humanity increased; he -understood at last that the world is composed for the most part -of bullies and imbeciles. He had certainly no hope of discovering -in others the same aspirations and the same hatreds, no hope -of uniting himself with a kindred spirit delighting in a diligent -decrepitude [!] as he did. Enervated, moody, exasperated by -the inanity of interchanged and accepted ideas, he became like -a person aching all over, till at last he was constantly excoriating -his epidermis, and suffering from the patriotic and -social nonsense which was dealt out each morning in the newspapers.... -He dreamed of a refined Thebaid, of a comfortable -desert, a warm and unmoving ark, where he would take refuge -far from the incessant flood of human stupidity.’</p> - -<p>He realizes this dream. He sells his possessions, buys Government -stock with the ruins of his fortune, draws in this way an -annual income of fifty thousand francs, buys himself a house -which stands alone on a hill at some distance from a small -village near Paris, and arranges it according to his own taste.</p> - -<p>‘The artificial appeared to Des Esseintes as the distinguishing -mark of human genius. As he expressed it, the day of nature -is past: by the disgusting uniformity of its landscapes and skies, -it has positively exhausted the attentive patience of refined -spirits. In sooth, what platitude of a specialist who sees no -further than his own line! what pettiness of a tradeswoman -keeping this or that article to the exclusion of every other! -what a monotonous stock of meadows and trees! what a commonplace -agency for mountains and seas!’ (p. 31).</p> - -<p>He banishes, in consequence, all that is natural from his -horizon, and surrounds himself by all that is artificial. He sleeps -during the day, and only leaves his bed towards evening, in -order to pass the night in reading and musing in his brightly-lit -ground-floor. He never crosses the threshold of his house, -but remains within his four walls. He will see no one, and even -the old couple who wait on him must do their work while he is -asleep, so as not to be seen by him. He receives neither letters -nor papers, knows nothing of the outer world. He never has an -appetite, and when by chance this is aroused, ‘he dips his roast -meat, covered with some extraordinary butter, into a cup of tea -[oh, the devil!], a faultless mixture of Si-a-Fayun, Mo-yu-tan -and Khansky, yellow teas brought from China and Russia by -special caravans’ (p. 61).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> - -<p>His dining-room ‘resembled a ship’s cabin,’ with ‘its little -French window opening in the wainscot like a port-hole.’ It -was built within a larger room pierced by two windows, one of -which was exactly opposite the port-hole in the wainscot. A -large aquarium occupied the whole space between the port-hole -and this window. In order, then, to give light to the cabin, the -daylight had to pass through the window, the panes of which -had been replaced by plate glass, and then through the water. -‘Sometimes, in the afternoon, when by chance Des Esseintes -was awake and up, he set in motion the play of the pipes and -conduits which emptied the aquarium and filled it afresh with -pure water, introducing into it drops of coloured essences, thus -producing for himself at pleasure the green or muddy yellow, -opalescent or silver, tones of a real river, according to the colour -of the sky, the greater or less heat of the sun, the more or less -decided indications of rain; in a word, according to the season -and the weather. He would then imagine himself to be between-decks -on a brig, and contemplated with curiosity marvellous -mechanical fish, constructed with clock-work, which passed -before the window of the port-hole, and clung to the sham weeds, -or else, while breathing the smell of the tar with which the -room had been filled before he entered, he examined the coloured -engravings hung on the walls representing steamers sailing for -Valparaiso and La Plata, such as are seen at steamship agencies, -and at Lloyd’s’ (p. 27).</p> - -<p>These mechanical fish are decidedly more remarkable than -Baudelaire’s landscapes in tin. But this dream of an ironmonger, -retired from business and become an idiot, was not the only -pleasure of the Duc des Esseintes, who despised so deeply the -‘stupidity and vulgarity of men,’ although, of all his acquaintance, -probably not one would have stooped to ideas so asinine as -these mechanical fish with clock-work movements. When he -wishes to do himself a particularly good turn, he composes and -plays a gustatory symphony. He has had a cupboard constructed -containing a series of little liqueur barrels. The taps of all the -barrels could be opened or shut simultaneously by an engine set -in motion by pressure on a knob in the wainscot, and under -every tap stood an ‘imperceptible’ goblet, into which, on the -turning of the cock, a drop fell. Des Esseintes called this liquor-cupboard -his ‘mouth organ.’ (Notice all these ridiculous complications -to mix a variety of liqueurs! As if it required all this -deeply thought out mechanism!) ‘The organ was then open. -The stops labelled “flute, horn, voix céleste,” were drawn out -ready for action. Des Esseintes drank a drop here and there, -played internal symphonies, and succeeded in procuring in the -throat sensations analogous to those that music offers to the ear. -Each liqueur corresponded in taste, according to him, to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span> -sound of an instrument. Dry curaçoa, for example, to the -clarionet, the tone of which is acescent and velvety; kümmel -brandy to the oboë, with its sonorous nasal sound; mint and -anisette to the flute, which is at the same time sugary and peppery, -squeaking and sweet; while, to complete the orchestra, kirsch -rages with the blast of a trumpet; gin and whisky scarify the -palate with their shrill outbursts of cornets and trombones; -liqueur-brandy fulminates with the deafening crash of the -tuba; while Chios-raki and mastic roll on to the mucous -membrane like the thunder-claps of cymbals and kettledrums -struck with the arm!’ Thus he plays ‘string quartettes under -the vault of his palate, representing with the violin old eau-de-vie, -smoky and subtle, sharp and delicate; with the tenor -simulated by strong rum;’ with vespetro as violoncello, and -bitters as double bass; green chartreuse was the major, and benedictine -the minor key,’ etc. (p. 63).</p> - -<p>Des Esseintes does not only hear the music of the liqueurs: -he sniffs also the colour of perfumes. As he has a mouth organ, -he possesses a nasal picture-gallery, <i>i.e.</i>, a large collection of flasks -containing all possible odorous substances. When his taste-symphonies -no longer give him pleasure, he plays an olfactory -tune. ‘Seated in his dressing-room before his table ... a -little fever disturbed him, he was ready for work.... With -his vaporizers he injected into the room an essence formed -of ambrosia, Mitcham lavender, sweet peas, ess. bouquet, an -essence which, when it is distilled by an artist, deserves the -name by which it is known, viz., “extract of flowery meadow.” -Then, in this meadow, he introduced an exact fusion of tuberose, -of orange and almond flower, and forthwith artificially-created -lilacs sprang up, while limes winnowed each other, pouring down -upon the earth their pale emanations. Into this decoration, laid -on in broad outlines ... he blew ... a light rain of human -and quasi-feline essences, savouring of skirts, and indicating the -powdered and painted woman, the stephanotis, ayapana, -opoponax, cypress, champak, and sarcanthus: on which he -juxtaposed a suspicion of syringa, in order to instil into the -factitious atmosphere which emanated from them a natural -bloom of laughter bathed in sweat (!!), and of joys which riot -boisterously in full sunshine’ (pp. 154-157).</p> - -<p>We have seen how slavishly M. Huysmans, in his drivel about -tea, liqueurs and perfumes, follows to the letter the fundamental -principle of the Parnassians—of ransacking technical dictionaries. -He has evidently been forced to copy the catalogues of commercial -travellers dealing in perfumes and soaps, teas and -liqueurs, to scrape together his erudition in current prices.</p> - -<p>That Des Esseintes should be made ill by this mode of life is -not surprising. His stomach rejects all forms of food, and this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -renders the highest triumph of his love for the artificial possible: -he is obliged to be nourished by means of peptonized injections, -hence, in a way, diametrically opposed to nature.</p> - -<p>Not to be too prolix, I omit many details, <i>e.g.</i>, an endless -description of tones associated with colours (pp. 17-20); of -orchids which he loves, because they have for him the appearance -of eruptions, scars, scabs, ulcers and cancers, and seem -covered with dressings, plastered with black mercurial axunge, -green belladonna unguents (p. 120 <i>et seq.</i>); an exposition of the -mystical aspect of precious and half-precious stones (pp. 57-60), -etc. We will only acquaint ourselves with a few more peculiarities -of taste in this decadent type:</p> - -<p>‘The wild spirit, the rough, careless talent of Goya captivated -him; but the universal admiration which Goya’s works had -gained deterred him somewhat, and for many years he had -ceased having them framed.... Indeed, if the finest tune in -the world becomes vulgar, insupportable, as soon as the public -hum it and barrel-organs seize upon it, the work of art to which -false artists are not indifferent, which is not disputed by fools, -which is not content with stirring up the enthusiasm of some, -even it becomes, by this very means, for the initiated polluted, -commonplace and almost repulsive’ (p. 134).</p> - -<p>The reference to barrel-organs is a trick calculated to mislead -the inattentive reader. If a beautiful tune becomes insupportable -as played on barrel-organs, it is because the organs are -false, noisy and expressionless, <i>i.e.</i>, they modify the very essence -of the tune and drag it down to vulgarity; but the admiration -of the greatest fool himself changes absolutely nothing in a work -of art, and those who have loved it for its qualities will again -find all these qualities complete and intact, even when the looks -of millions of impassive Philistines have crawled over it. The -truth is, the decadent, bursting with silly vanity, here betrays -involuntarily his inmost self. The fellow has not, in fact, the -smallest comprehension of art, and is wholly inaccessible to the -beautiful as to all external impressions. To know if a work of -art pleases him or not, he does not look at the work of art—oh -no! he turns his back and anxiously studies the demeanour of -the people standing before it. Are they enthusiastic, the decadent -despises the work; do they remain indifferent, or even appear -displeased, he admires it with full conviction. The ordinary man -always seeks to think, to feel, and to do the same as the multitude; -the decadent seeks exactly the contrary. Both derive -the manner of seeing and feeling, not from their internal convictions, -but from what the crowd dictate to them. Both lack all -individuality, and they are obliged to have their eyes constantly -fixed on the crowd to find their way. The decadent is, therefore, -an ordinary man with a <i>minus</i> sign, who, equally with the latter,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -only in a contrary sense, follows in the wake of the crowd, and -meanwhile makes things far more difficult for himself than the -ordinary man; he is also constantly in a state of irritation, while -the latter as constantly enjoys himself. This can be summed up -in one proposition—the decadent snob is an anti-social Philistine, -suffering from a mania for contradiction, without the smallest -feeling for the work of art itself.</p> - -<p>Des Esseintes reads occasionally between his gustatory and -olfactory <i>séances</i>. The only works which please him are naturally -those of the most extreme Parnassians and Symbolists. For -he finds in them (p. 266) ‘the death-struggle of the old language, -after it had become ever mouldier from century to century, was -ending in dissolution, and in the attainment of that deliquescence -of the Latin language which gave up the ghost in the mysterious -concepts and enigmatical expressions of St. Boniface and St. -Adhelm. Moreover, the decomposition of the French language -had set in all at once. In the Latin language there was a long -transition, a lapse of 400 years, between the speckled and -beautiful speech of Claudian and Rutilius, and the gamy speech -of the eighth century. In the French language no lapse of time, -no succession in age, had taken place; the speckled (<i>tacheté</i>) and -superb style of the brothers De Goncourt and the gamy style of -Verlaine and Mallarmé rubbed elbows in Paris, existing at the -same time and in the same century.’</p> - -<p>We now know the taste of a typical decadent in all directions. -Let us cast another glance at his character, morals, sentiments -and political views.</p> - -<p>He has a friend, D’Aigurande, who one day thinks of marrying. -‘Arguing from the fact that D’Aigurande possessed no -fortune, and that the dowry of his wife was almost nothing, he -(Des Esseintes) perceived in this simple desire an infinite perspective -of ridiculous misfortunes.’ In consequence (!) he encouraged -his friend to commit this folly, and what had to happen -did happen: the young couple lacked money, everything became -a subject for altercations and quarrels; in short, the life of both -became insupportable. He amused himself out of doors; she -‘sought by the expedients of adultery to forget her rainy and -dull life.’ By common consent they cancelled their contract and -demanded a legal separation. ‘My plan of battle was exact, -Des Esseintes then said to himself, experiencing the satisfaction -of those strategists who see their long-foreseen manœuvres succeeding.’</p> - -<p>Another time, in the Rue de Rivoli, he comes upon a boy of -about sixteen years old, a ‘pale, cunning-looking’ child, smoking -a bad cigarette, and who asks him for a light. Des Esseintes offers -him Turkish aromatic cigarettes, enters into conversation with -him, learns that his mother is dead, that his father beats him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -and that he works for a cardboard-box maker. ‘Des Esseintes -listened thoughtfully. “Come and drink,” said he, and led him -into a café, where he made him drink some very strong punch. -The child drank in silence. “Come,” said Des Esseintes suddenly, -“do you feel inclined for some amusement this evening? I will -treat you.”’ And he leads the unfortunate boy into a disorderly -house, where his youth and nervousness astonish the girls. While -one of these women draws the boy away, the landlady asks Des -Esseintes what was his idea in bringing them such an imp. The -decadent answers (p. 95): ‘I am simply trying to train an -assassin. This boy is innocent, and has reached the age when -the blood grows hot; he might run after the girls in his quarter, -remain honest while amusing himself.... Bringing him here, -on the contrary, into the midst of a luxury of which he had no -conception, and which will engrave itself forcibly on his memory, -in offering him every fortnight such an unexpected treat, he will -get accustomed to these pleasures from which his means debar -him. Let us admit that it will require three months for them to -become absolutely necessary to him.... Well, at the end of -three months I discontinue the little <i>rente</i> which I am going to -pay you in advance for this good action, and then he will steal -in order to live here.... He will kill, I hope, the good gentleman -who will appear inopportunely while he is attempting to -break open his writing-table. Then my aim will be attained; I -shall have contributed, to the extent of my resources, in creating -a villain, one more enemy of that hideous society which fleeces -us.’ And he leaves the poor defiled boy on this first evening -with these words: ‘Return as quickly as possible to your father.... -Do unto others what you would not wish them to do to -you; with this rule you will go a long way. Good-evening. -Above all, don’t be ungrateful. Let me hear of you as soon as -possible through the police news.’</p> - -<p>He sees the village children fighting for a piece of black bread -covered with curd cheese; he immediately orders for himself a -similar slice of bread, and says to his servant: ‘Throw this -bread and cheese to those children who are doing for each other -in the road. Let the feeblest be crippled, not manage to get a -single piece, and, besides, be well whipped by their parents -when they return home with torn breeches and black eyes; that -will give them an idea of the life that awaits them’ (p. 226).</p> - -<p>When he thinks of society, this cry bursts from his breast: -‘Oh, perish, society! Die, old world!’ (p. 293).</p> - -<p>Lest the reader should feel curious as to the course of Des -Esseintes’ history, let us add that a serious nervous illness -attacks him in his solitude, and that his doctor imperiously -orders him to return to Paris and the common life. Huysmans, in -a second novel, ‘<i>Là-bas</i>,’ shows us what Des Esseintes eventually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -does in Paris. He writes a history of Gilles de Rais, the wholesale -murderer of the fifteenth century, to whom Moreau de Tours’ book -(treating of sexual aberrations) has unmistakably called the -attention of the Diabolist band, who are in general profoundly -ignorant, but erudite on this special subject of erotomania. -This furnishes M. Huysmans with the opportunity of burrowing -and sniffing with swinish satisfaction into the most horrible -filth. Besides this, he exhibits in this book the mystic side of -decadentism; he shows us Des Esseintes become devout, but -going at the same time to the ‘black mass’ with a hysterical -woman, etc. I have no occasion to trouble myself with this -book, as repulsive as it is silly. All I wished was to show the -ideal man of decadentism.</p> - -<p>We have him now, then, the ‘super-man’ (<i>surhomme</i>) of -whom Baudelaire and his disciples dream, and whom they wish -to resemble: physically, ill and feeble; morally, an arrant -scoundrel; intellectually, an unspeakable idiot who passes his -whole time in choosing the colours of stuffs which are to -drape his room artistically, in observing the movements of mechanical -fishes, in sniffing perfumes and sipping liqueurs. His -raciest notion is to keep awake all night and to sleep all day, -and to dip his meat into his tea. Love and friendship are -unknown to him. His artistic sense consists in watching the -attitude of people before some work, in order immediately to -assume the opposite position. His complete inadaptability -reveals itself in that every contact with the world and men -causes him pain. He naturally throws the blame of his discomfort -on his fellow-creatures, and rails at them like a fish-wife. -He classes them all together as villains and blockheads, -and he hurls at them horrible anarchical maledictions. The -dunderhead considers himself infinitely superior to other people, -and his inconceivable stupidity only equals his inflated adoration -of himself. He possesses an income of 50,000 francs, and must -also have it, for such a pitiable creature would not be in a -position to draw one sou from society, or one grain of wheat -from nature. A parasite of the lowest grade of atavism, a sort -of human sacculus,<a name="FNanchor_293_293" id="FNanchor_293_293"></a><a href="#Footnote_293_293" class="fnanchor">[293]</a> he would be condemned, if he were poor, -to die miserably of hunger in so far as society, in misdirected -charity, did not assure to him the necessaries of life in an idiot -asylum.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p> - -<p>If M. Huysmans in his Des Esseintes has shown us the -Decadent with all his instincts perverted, <i>i.e.</i>, the complete -Baudelairian with his anti-naturalism, his æsthetic folly and his -anti-social Diabolism, another representative of decadent literature, -M. Maurice Barrès, is the incarnation of the pure ego-mania -of the incapacity of adaptation in the degenerate. He has dedicated -up to the present a series of four novels to the <i>culte du -moi</i>, and has annotated, besides, an edition of the three first in a -brochure much more valuable for our inquiry than the novels -themselves, inasmuch as all the sophisms by which consciousness -forces itself to explain <i>a posteriori</i> the impulsions of morbid -unconscious life appear here conveniently summed up in a sort -of philosophical system.</p> - -<p>A few words on M. Maurice Barrès. He first made himself -talked of by defending, in the Parisian press, his friend Chambige, -the Algerian homicide, a logical cultivator of the ‘Ego.’ -Then he became a Boulangist deputy, and later he canonized -Marie Bashkirtseff, a degenerate girl who died of phthisis, a -victim to moral madness, with a touch of the megalomania -and the mania of persecution, as well as of morbid erotic exaltation. -He invoked her as ‘Our Lady of the wagon-lit’ (<i>Notre -Dame du Sleeping</i>).<a name="FNanchor_294_294" id="FNanchor_294_294"></a><a href="#Footnote_294_294" class="fnanchor">[294]</a></p> - -<p>His novels, <i>Sous l’[Œil des Barbares</i>, <i>Un Homme libre</i>, <i>Le -Jardin de Bérénice</i>, and <i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>, are constructed after -the artistic formula established by M. Huysmans. The description -of a human being, with his intellectual life, and his -monotonous, scarcely modulated external destinies, gives the -author a pretext for expressing his own ideas on all possible -subjects; on Leonardo da Vinci and Venice;<a name="FNanchor_295_295" id="FNanchor_295_295"></a><a href="#Footnote_295_295" class="fnanchor">[295]</a> on a French -provincial museum and the industrial art of the Middle Ages;<a name="FNanchor_296_296" id="FNanchor_296_296"></a><a href="#Footnote_296_296" class="fnanchor">[296]</a> -on Nero,<a name="FNanchor_297_297" id="FNanchor_297_297"></a><a href="#Footnote_297_297" class="fnanchor">[297]</a> Saint Simon, Fourier, Marx, and Lassalle.<a name="FNanchor_298_298" id="FNanchor_298_298"></a><a href="#Footnote_298_298" class="fnanchor">[298]</a> Formerly -it was the custom to utilize these excursions into all possible -fields of discussion as articles for newspapers or monthly -periodicals, and afterwards to collect them in book form. But -experience has taught that the public does not exhibit much -interest in these collections of essays, and the Decadents have -adopted the clever ruse of connecting them by means of a -scarcely perceptible thread of narrative, and presenting them to -their readers as a novel. The English novelists of the preceding -century, then Stendhal, Jean Paul and Goethe himself, -have also made use of these insertions of the author’s personal -reflections in the course of the story; but with them (with the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span> -exception, perhaps, of Jean Paul) these interpellations were at -least subordinated to the work of art as a whole. It was -reserved for M. Huysmans and his school to give them the -chief place, and to transform the novel from an epic poem in -prose into a hybrid mixture of <i>Essais</i> of Montaigne, of <i>Parerga -et Paralipomena</i> of Schopenhauer, and the effusions in the diary -of a girl at a boarding-school.</p> - -<p>M. Barrès makes it no secret that he has described his own life -in his novels, and that he considers himself a typical representative -of a species. ‘These monographs ... are,’ he says,<a name="FNanchor_299_299" id="FNanchor_299_299"></a><a href="#Footnote_299_299" class="fnanchor">[299]</a> ‘a communication -of a type of young man already frequently met with, -and which, I feel sure, will become still more numerous among -the pupils who are now at the Lycée.... These books ... -will eventually be consulted as documents.’</p> - -<p>What is the nature of this type? Let us answer this question -in the author’s own words. The hero of the novels is ‘somewhat -literary, proud, fastidious and <i>désarmé</i>’ (<i>Examen</i>, p. 11); ‘a young -<i>bourgeois</i> grown pale, and starving for all pleasures’ (p. 26); -‘discouraged by contact with men’ (p. 34); he is one of those -‘who find themselves in a sad state in the midst of the order of -the world ... who feel themselves weak in facing life’ (p. 45). -Can one imagine a more complete description of the degenerate -incapable of adaptation, badly equipped for the struggle for -existence, and for this reason hating and fearing the world and -men, but shaken at the same time by morbid desires?</p> - -<p>This poor shattered creature, who was necessarily rendered an -ego-maniac by the weakness of will in his imperfect brain, and -the perpetual turmoil of his unhealthy organs, raises his infirmities -to the dignity of a system which he proudly proclaims. -‘Let us keep to our only reality, to our “I”’ (p. 18). ‘There is -only one thing which we know and which really exists.... This -sole tangible reality, it is the “I,” and the universe is only a -fresco which it makes beautiful or ugly. Let us keep to our “I.” -Let us protect it against strangers, against Barbarians’ (p. 45).</p> - -<p>What does he mean by Barbarians? These are the ‘beings -who possess a dream of life opposed to that which he (the hero -of one of his books) forms of it. If they happen to be, moreover, -highly cultured, they are strangers and adversaries for him.’ -A young man ‘obliged by circumstances to meet persons who -are not of his <i>patrie psychique</i>’ experiences ‘a shock.’ ‘Ah! -what matters to me the quality of a soul which contradicts -some sensibility? I hate these strangers who impede, or turn -aside the development of such a delicate hesitating and self-searching -“I,” these Barbarians through whom more than -one impressionable young man will both fail in his career and -not find his joy of living’ (p. 23). ‘Soldiers, magistrates,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span> -moralists, teachers,’ these are the Barbarians who place obstacles -in the way of the development of the “I”’ (p. 43). In one -word, the ‘I’ who cannot take his bearings in the social order -regards all the representatives and defenders of that order as -his enemies. What he would like would be ‘to give himself up -without resistance to the force of his instincts’ (p. 25), to distinguish -‘where lie his sincere curiosity, the direction of his -instinct, and his truth’ (p. 47). This idea of setting instinct, -passion and the unconscious life free from the superintendence -of reason, judgment and consciousness recurs hundreds of times -in the author’s novels. ‘Taste takes the place of morality’ -(<i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>, p. 3). ‘As a man, and a free man, may I -accomplish my destiny, respect and favour my interior impulsion, -without taking counsel of anything outside me’ (p. 22). ‘Society -enclosed by a line of demarcation! You offer slavery to whoever -does not conform to the definitions of the beautiful and the -good adopted by the majority. In the name of humanity, as -formerly in the name of God and the City, what crimes are devised -against the individual!’ (p. 200). ‘The inclinations of man ought -not to be forced, but the social system must be adapted to -them’ (p. 97). (It would be very much more simple to adapt -the inclinations of a single man to the social system which is a -law to millions of men, but this does not seem to suggest itself -to our philosopher!)</p> - -<p>It is absolutely logical that M. Barrès, after having shown us -in his three first novels or <i>idéologies</i> the development of his -‘cultivator of the <i>moi</i>,’ should make the latter become an -anarchist and an <i>ennemi des lois</i>. But he feels himself that the -objection will be justly raised, that society cannot exist without -a law and an order of some sort, and he seeks to forestall this -objection by asserting that everyone knows how to behave himself, -that instinct is good and infallible: ‘Do you not feel,’ he -says (p. 177), ‘that our instinct has profited by the long -apprenticeship of our race amid codes and religions?’ He -admits then that ‘codes and religions’ have their use and -necessity, but only at a primitive period of human history. -When the instincts were still wild, bad and unreasonable, they -required the discipline of the law. But now they are so perfect -that this guide and master is no longer necessary to them. But -there are still criminals. What is to be done with them? ‘By -stifling them with kisses and providing for their wants they -would be prevented from doing any harm.’ I should like to see -M. Barrès obliged to use his method of defence against a night -attack of garrotters!</p> - -<p>To allow one’s self to be carried away by instincts is, in other -words, to make unconscious life the master of consciousness, -to subordinate the highest nervous centres to the inferior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -centres. But all progress rests on this, that the highest -centres assume more and more authority over the entire -organism, that judgment and will control and direct ever more -strictly the instincts and passions, that consciousness encroaches -ever further on the domain of the unconscious, and continually -annexes new portions of the latter. Of course, instinct expresses -a directly felt need, the satisfaction of which procures a direct -pleasure. But this need is often that of a single organ, and its -satisfaction, however agreeable to the organ which demands it, -may be pernicious, and even fatal, to the total organism. Then -there are anti-social instincts, the gratification of which is not -directly injurious to the organism itself, it is true, but makes life -in common with the race difficult or impossible, worsening consequently -its vital conditions, and preparing its ruin indirectly. -Judgment alone is fitted to oppose these instincts by the representation -of the needs of the collective organism and of the -race, and the will has the task of ensuring the victory over -suicidal instinct to the rational representation. Judgment -may be deceived, for it is the result of the work of a highly -differentiated and delicate instrument, which, like all fine and -complicated machinery, gets out of order more easily than a -simpler and rougher tool. Instinct, the inherited and organized -experience of the race, is as a rule more sure and reliable. -This must certainly be admitted. But what harm is done if -judgment does make a mistake for once in the opposition -which it offers to instinct? The organism is, as a rule, only -deprived of a momentary feeling of pleasure; it suffers therefore -at most a negative loss; the will, on the other hand, will -have made an effort, and acquired strength by the exercise, -and this is for the organism a positive gain, which nearly always -at least balances those negative losses.</p> - -<p>And then all these considerations take for granted the perfect -health of the organism, for in such a one only does the unconscious -work as normally as consciousness. But we have -seen above that the unconscious itself is subject to disease; it -may be stupid, obtuse and mad, like consciousness; it then -ceases completely to be dependable; then the instincts are as -worthless guides as are the blind or drunken; then the organism, -if it gives itself up to them, must stagger to ruin and death. The -only thing which can sometimes save it in this case is the constant, -anxious, tense vigilance of the judgment, and as the latter is -never capable, by its own resources, of resisting a strong flood of -revolted and riotous instincts, it must demand reinforcements -from the judgment of the race, <i>i.e.</i>, from some law, from some -recognised morality.</p> - -<p>Such is the foolish aberration of the ‘cultivators of the “I.”’ -They fall into the same errors as the shallow psychologists of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -the eighteenth century, who only recognised reason; they only -see one portion of man’s mental life, <i>i.e.</i>, his unconscious life; -they wish to receive their law only from instinct, but wholly -neglect to notice that instinct may become degenerate, diseased, -exhausted, and thereby be rendered as useless for legislative -purposes as a raving lunatic or an idiot.</p> - -<p>Besides, M. Barrès contradicts his own theories at every step. -While he pretends to believe that instincts are always good, -he depicts many of his heroines, with the most tender expressions -of admiration, as veritable moral monsters. The ‘little -princess’ in <i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i> is a feminine Des Esseintes: she -boasts of having been, as a child, ‘the scourge of the house’ -(p. 146). She looks upon her parents as her ‘enemies’ (p. 149). -She loves children ‘less than dogs’ (p. 284). Naturally, she -gives herself at once to every man that strikes her eye, for, -otherwise, where would be the use of being a ‘cultivator of the -“Ego,”’ and an adept at the law of instinct? Such are the good -beings of M. Barrès, who no longer need laws, because they -have ‘profited by the long apprenticeship of our race.’</p> - -<p>Yet a few more traits to complete the mental portrait of this -Decadent. He makes his ‘little princess’ relate: ‘When I was -twelve years old, I loved, as soon as I was alone in the country, -to take off my shoes and stockings and plunge my bare feet into -warm mud. I passed hours in this way, and that gave me a -thrill of pleasure through all my body.’ M. Barrès resembles his -heroine; he ‘experiences a thrill of pleasure through all his -body’ when he ‘plunges himself into warm mud.’</p> - -<p>‘There is not a detail in the biography of Berenice which is -not shocking’—thus begins the third chapter of the <i>Jardin de -Bérénice</i>. ‘I, however, retain of it none but very delicate sensations.’ -This Berenice was a dancer at the Eden Theatre in -Paris, whom her mother and elder sister had sold as a little child -to some old criminals, and whom a lover took away later from -the prostitution which had already stained her infancy. This -lover dies and leaves her a considerable fortune. The hero -of the novel, who had known her as a gutter-child, meets -her at Arles, where he presents himself as the Boulangist -candidate for the Chamber, and he resumes his ancient relations -with her. What charms him most in their intercourse, -and increases his pleasure in the highest degree, is the -idea of the intense love she felt for her dead lover, and the -abandonment with which she had reposed in his arms. ‘My -Berenice, who still bears on her pale lips and against her -dazzling teeth the kisses of M. de Transe [the lover in question].... -The young man who is no more has left her as much passion -as can be contained in a woman’s heart’ (p. 138). The feeling -which M. Barrès seeks to crown with the help of inflated, grandiloquent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -expressions is simply the well-known excitement that -hoary sinners feel at the sight of the erotic exploits of others. -All those who are conversant with Parisian life know what is -meant in Paris by a <i>voyeur</i>, or pryer. M. Barrès reveals himself -here as a metaphysical <i>voyeur</i>. And yet he would wish to make -us believe that his little street-walker, whose dirty adventures -he describes with the warmth of love and the enthusiasm of a -dilettante, is in reality a symbol; it is only as a Symbolist that he -claims to have formed her. ‘A young woman is seen about a -young man. Is it not rather the history of a soul with its two -elements, female and male?’ Or is it by the side of the ‘I’ -which guards itself, wishes to know and establish itself, also the -imagination in a young and sensitive person, for the taste -pleasure and for vagabondage?<a name="FNanchor_300_300" id="FNanchor_300_300"></a><a href="#Footnote_300_300" class="fnanchor">[300]</a> One may well ask him, where is -the ‘symbolism’ in the biographical details of Petite Secousse, -the name that he gives to his ‘symbol.’</p> - -<p>Disease and corruption exercise the customary Baudelairian -attraction over him. ‘When Berenice was a little girl,’ he says, -in the <i>Jardin de Bérénice</i> (p. 72), ‘I much regretted that she had -not some physical infirmity.... A blemish is what I prefer -above everything ... flatters the dearest foibles of my mind.’ -And in one place (p. 282) an engineer is scoffed at ‘who wishes -to substitute some pond for carp for our marshes full of beautiful -fevers.’</p> - -<p>The stigmata of degeneracy known as zoöphilia, or excessive -love for animals, is strongly shown in him. When he wishes -particularly to edify himself he runs ‘to contemplate the beautiful -eyes of the seal, and to distress himself over the mysterious -sufferings of these tender-hearted animals shown in their basin, -brothers of the dogs and of us.’<a name="FNanchor_301_301" id="FNanchor_301_301"></a><a href="#Footnote_301_301" class="fnanchor">[301]</a> The only educator that -M. Barrès admits is—the dog. ‘The education which a dog -gives is indeed excellent!... Our collegians, overloaded with -intellectual acquisitions, which remain in them as notions, not -as methods of feeling, weighted by opinions which they are -unable thoroughly to grasp, would learn beautiful ease from the -dog, the gift of listening, the instinct of their “I.”’<a name="FNanchor_302_302" id="FNanchor_302_302"></a><a href="#Footnote_302_302" class="fnanchor">[302]</a> And it -must not be imagined that in such passages as these he is -quizzing himself or mocking the Philistine who may by inadvertence -have become a reader of the book. The part played by -two dogs in the novel testifies that the phrases quoted are meant -in bitter earnest.</p> - -<p>Like all the truly degenerate, M. Barrès reserves for the hysterical -and the demented all the admiration and fraternal love which -he has not expended on seals and dogs. We have already mentioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -his enthusiastic regard for poor Marie Bashkirtseff. His -idea of Louis II. of Bavaria is incomparable. The unfortunate -King is, in his eyes, an <i>insatisfait</i> (<i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>, p. 201); he -speaks of ‘his being carried away beyond his native surroundings, -his ardent desire to make his dream tangible, the wrecking -of his imagination in the clumsiness of execution’ (p. 203). -Louis II. is ‘a most perfect ethical problem’ (p. 200). ‘How -could this brother of Parsifal, so pure, so simple, who set the -prompting of his heart in opposition to all human laws—how -could he suffer a foreign will to interfere in his life? And it -really seems that to have drawn Dr. Gudden under water was -his revenge upon a barbarian who had wished to impose his rule -of life upon him’ (p. 225). It is in such phrases that M. Barrès -characterizes a madman, whose mind was completely darkened, -and who for years was incapable of a single reasonable idea! -This impudent fashion of blinking a fact which boxed his ears -on both sides; this incapacity to recognise the irrationality in the -mental life of an invalid, fallen to the lowest degree of insanity; -this obstinacy in explaining the craziest deeds as deliberate, -intentional, philosophically justified and full of deep sense, throw -a vivid light on the state of mind in the Decadent. How could -a being of this kind discern the pathological disturbance of his -own brain, when he does not even perceive that Louis II. was -not ‘an ethical problem,’ but an ordinary mad patient, such as -every lunatic asylum of any size contains by dozens?</p> - -<p>We now understand the philosophy and moral doctrine of -the Barrès type of the ‘cultivators of the “I.”’ Only one word -more on their conduct in practical life. The hero of the <i>Jardin -de Bérénice</i>, Philippe, is the happy guest of Petite Secousse, in -the house which her last lover had left to her. After some time -he wearies of the latter’s ‘educational influence’; he leaves her, -and strongly advises her to marry his opponent in the election—which -she does. ‘The enemy of the laws,’ an anarchist of the -name of André Maltère, condemned to prison for several months -for a newspaper article eulogizing a dynamite attempt, has become, -by his trial, a celebrity of the day. A very rich orphan -offers him her hand, and the ‘little princess’ her love. He -marries the rich girl, whom he does not love, and continues to -love the ‘little princess,’ whom he does not marry. For this is -what the ‘culture of his “I”’ exacts. To satisfy his æsthetic inclinations -and to ‘act’ by word and pen, he must have money, -and to relieve the needs of his heart he must have the ‘little -princess.’ After some months of marriage he finds it inconvenient -to dissimulate his love for the ‘little princess’ before his -wife. He allows her then to guess at the needs of his heart. -His wife understands philosophy. She is ‘comprehensive.’ She -goes herself to the ‘little princess,’ takes her to the noble<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span> -anarchist, and from this moment Maltère lives rich, loved, happy, -and satisfied between heiress and mistress, as becomes a superior -nature. M. Barrès believes he has here created ‘a rare and -exquisite type.’ He deceives himself. The cultivators of the -‘I,’ like the Boulangist Philippe and the anarchist André, meet -by thousands in all large towns, only the police know them -under another name. They call them <i>souteneurs</i>. The moral -law of the brave anarchist has long been that of the gilded Paris -prostitutes, who from time immemorial have kept ‘<i>l’amant de -cœur</i>,’ at the same time as the ‘other,’ or the ‘others.’</p> - -<p>Decadentism has not been confined to France alone; it has -also established a school in England. We have already mentioned, -in the preceding book, one of the earliest and most -servile imitators of Baudelaire—Swinburne. I had to class him -among the mystics, for the degenerative stigma of mysticism -predominates in all his works. He has, it is true, been train-bearer -to so many models that he may be ranked among the -domestic servants of a great number of masters; but, finally, he -will be assigned a place where he has served longest, and that -is among the pre-Raphaelites. From Baudelaire he has -borrowed principally diabolism and Sadism, unnatural depravity, -and a predilection for suffering, disease and crime. -The ego-mania of decadentism, its love of the artificial, its -aversion to nature, and to all forms of activity and movement, -its megalomaniacal contempt for men and its exaggeration of the -importance of art, have found their English representative -among the ‘Æsthetes,’ the chief of whom is Oscar Wilde.</p> - -<p>Wilde has done more by his personal eccentricities than by -his works. Like Barbey d’Aurevilly, whose rose-coloured silk -hats and gold lace cravats are well known, and like his disciple -Joséphin Péladan, who walks about in lace frills and satin -doublet, Wilde dresses in queer costumes which recall partly -the fashions of the Middle Ages, partly the rococo modes. He -pretends to have abandoned the dress of the present time -because it offends his sense of the beautiful; but this is only a -pretext in which probably he himself does not believe. What -really determines his actions is the hysterical craving to be -noticed, to occupy the attention of the world with himself, to -get talked about. It is asserted that he has walked down Pall -Mall in the afternoon dressed in doublet and breeches, with a -picturesque biretta on his head, and a sunflower in his hand, -the quasi-heraldic symbol of the Æsthetes. This anecdote has -been reproduced in all the biographies of Wilde, and I have -nowhere seen it denied. But is a promenade with a sunflower -in the hand also inspired by a craving for the beautiful?</p> - -<p>Phasemakers are perpetually repeating the twaddle, that it is -a proof of honourable independence to follow one’s own taste<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -without being bound down to the regulation costume of the -Philistine cattle, and to choose for clothes the colours, materials -and cut which appear beautiful to one’s self, no matter how -much they may differ from the fashion of the day. The answer -to this cackle should be that it is above all a sign of anti-social -ego-mania to irritate the majority unnecessarily, only to gratify -vanity, or an æsthetical instinct of small importance and easy to -control—such as is always done when, either by word or deed, a -man places himself in opposition to this majority. He is -obliged to repress many manifestations of opinions and desires -out of regard for his fellow-creatures; to make him understand -this is the aim of education, and he who has not learnt to impose -some restraint upon himself in order not to shock others is called -by malicious Philistines, not an Æsthete, but a blackguard.</p> - -<p>It may become a duty to combat the vulgar herd in the cause -of truth and knowledge; but to a serious man this duty will -always be felt as a painful one. He will never fulfil it with a light -heart, and he will examine strictly and cautiously if it be really -a high and absolutely imperative law which forces him to be -disagreeable to the majority of his fellow-creatures. Such an -action is, in the eyes of a moral and sane man, a kind of martyrdom -for a conviction, to carry out which constitutes a vital -necessity; it is a form, and not an easy form, of self-sacrifice, for -it means the renunciation of the joy which the consciousness of -sympathy with one’s fellow-creatures gives, and it exacts the -painful overthrow of social instincts, which, in truth, do not -exist in deranged ego-maniacs, but are very strong in the -normal man.</p> - -<p>The predilection for strange costume is a pathological aberration -of a racial instinct. The adornment of the exterior has its -origin in the strong desire to be admired by others—primarily -by the opposite sex—to be recognised by them as especially -well-shaped, handsome, youthful, or rich and powerful, or as preeminent -through rank or merit. It is practised, then, with the -object of producing a favourable impression on others, and is a -result of thought about others, of preoccupation with the race. -If, now, this adornment be, not through mis-judgment but -purposely, of a character to cause irritation to others, or lend itself -to ridicule—in other words, if it excites disapproval instead of -approbation—it then runs exactly counter to the object of the art -of dress, and evinces a perversion of the instinct of vanity.</p> - -<p>The pretence of a sense of beauty is the excuse of consciousness -for a crank of the conscious. The fool who masquerades -in Pall Mall does not see himself, and, therefore, does not enjoy -the beautiful appearance which is supposed to be an æsthetic -necessity for him. There would be some sense in his conduct if -it had for its object an endeavour to cause others to dress in -accordance with his taste; for them he sees, and they can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span> -scandalize him by the ugliness, and charm him by the beauty, of -their costume. But to take the initiative in a new artistic style -in dress brings the innovator not one hair’s breadth nearer his -assumed goal of æsthetic satisfaction.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, an Oscar Wilde goes about in ‘æsthetic -costume’ among gazing Philistines, exciting either their ridicule -or their wrath, it is no indication of independence of character, -but rather from a purely anti-socialistic, ego-maniacal recklessness -and hysterical longing to make a sensation, justified by no -exalted aim; nor is it from a strong desire for beauty, but from -a malevolent mania for contradiction.</p> - -<p>Be that as it may, Wilde obtained, by his buffoon mummery, -a notoriety in the whole Anglo-Saxon world that his poems and -dramas would never have acquired for him. I have no reason -to trouble myself about these, since they are feeble imitations -of Rossetti and Swinburne, and of dreary inanity. His prose -essays, on the contrary, deserve attention, because they exhibit -all the features which enable us to recognise in the ‘Æsthete’ the -comrade in art of the Decadent.</p> - -<p>Like his French masters, Oscar Wilde despises Nature. -‘Whatever actually occurs is spoiled for art. All bad poetry -springs from genuine feeling. To be natural is to be obvious, -and to be obvious is to be inartistic.’<a name="FNanchor_303_303" id="FNanchor_303_303"></a><a href="#Footnote_303_303" class="fnanchor">[303]</a></p> - -<p>He is a ‘cultivator of the Ego,’ and feels deliciously indignant -at the fact that Nature dares to be indifferent to his important -person. ‘Nature is so indifferent, so unappreciative. Whenever -I am walking in the park here, I always feel that I am no more -to her than the cattle that browse on the slope’ (p. 5).</p> - -<p>With regard to himself and the human species, he shares the -opinion of Des Esseintes. ‘Ah! don’t say that you agree with -me. When people agree with me I always feel that I must be -wrong’ (p. 202).</p> - -<p>His ideal of life is inactivity. ‘It is only the Philistine who -seeks to estimate a personality by the vulgar test of production. -This young dandy sought to be somebody rather than to do -something’ (p. 65). ‘Society often forgives the criminal; it -never forgives the dreamer. The beautiful sterile emotions that -art excites in us are hateful in its eyes.... People ... are always -coming shamelessly up to one ... and saying in a loud, stentorian -voice, “What are you doing?” whereas, “What are you -thinking?” is the only question that any civilized being should -ever be allowed to whisper to another.... Contemplation ... -in the opinion of the highest culture, is the proper occupation of -man.... It is to do nothing that the elect exist. Action is -limited and relative. Unlimited and absolute is the vision of -him who sits at ease and watches, who walks in loneliness and -dreams’ (pp. 166-168). ‘The sure way of knowing nothing about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span> -life is to try to make one’s self useful’ (p. 175). ‘From time to -time the world cries out against some charming artistic poet, -because, to use its hackneyed and silly phrase, he has “nothing -to say.” But if he had something to say, he would probably say -it, and the result would be tedious. It is just because he has -no new message that he can do beautiful work’ (p. 197).</p> - -<p>Oscar Wilde apparently admires immorality, sin and crime. In -a very affectionate biographical treatise on Thomas Griffith Wainwright, -designer, painter, and author, and the murderer of several -people, he says: ‘He was a forger of no mean or ordinary capabilities, -and as a subtle and secret poisoner almost without rival in -this or any age. This remarkable man, so powerful with “pen, -pencil, and poison,”’ etc. (p. 60). ‘He sought to find expression -by pen or poison’ (p. 61). ‘When a friend reproached him with -the murder of Helen Abercrombie, he shrugged his shoulders -and said, “Yes; it was a dreadful thing to do, but she had very -thick ankles”’ (p. 86). ‘His crimes seem to have had an important -effect upon his art. They gave a strong personality to -his style, a quality that his early work certainly lacked’ (p. 88). -‘There is no sin except stupidity’ (p. 210). ‘An idea that is not -dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all’ (p. 179).</p> - -<p>He cultivates incidentally a slight mysticism in colours. ‘He,’ -Wainwright, ‘had that curious love of green which in individuals -is always the sign of a subtle, artistic temperament, and in nations -is said to denote a laxity, if not a decadence of morals’ (p. 66).</p> - -<p>But the central idea of his tortuously disdainful prattling, -pursuing as its chief aim the heckling of the Philistine, and -laboriously seeking the opposite pole to sound common-sense, -is the glorification of art. Wilde sets forth in the following -manner the system of the ‘Æsthetes’: ‘Briefly, then, their -doctrines are these: Art never expresses anything but itself. -It has an independent life, just as Thought has, and develops -purely on its own lines.... The second doctrine is this: All -bad art comes from returning to Life and Nature, and elevating -them into ideals. Life and Nature may sometimes be used as -part of Art’s rough material, but before they are of any real -service to Art they must be translated into artistic conventions. -The moment Art surrenders its imaginative medium [?] it surrenders -everything. As a method Realism is a complete failure, -and the two things that every artist should avoid are modernity -of form and modernity of subject matter.<a name="FNanchor_304_304" id="FNanchor_304_304"></a><a href="#Footnote_304_304" class="fnanchor">[304]</a> To us who live in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span> -the nineteenth century, any century is a suitable subject for art -except our own. The only beautiful things are the things -that do not concern us.... It is exactly because Hecuba is -nothing to us that her sorrows are so suitable a motive for a -tragedy....’<a name="FNanchor_305_305" id="FNanchor_305_305"></a><a href="#Footnote_305_305" class="fnanchor">[305]</a> (pp. 52-54). The third doctrine is that Life -imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life. This results not -merely from Life’s imitative instinct, but from the fact that the -self-conscious aim of Life is to find expression, and that Art -offers it certain beautiful forms through which it may realize -that energy’ (p. 65).</p> - -<p>On this third point—the influence of art on life—Wilde does -not refer to the fact, long ago established by me, that the -reciprocal relation between the work of art and the public -consists in this, that the former exercises suggestion and the -latter submits to it.<a name="FNanchor_306_306" id="FNanchor_306_306"></a><a href="#Footnote_306_306" class="fnanchor">[306]</a> What he actually wished to say was that -nature—not civilized men—develops itself in the direction of -forms given it by the artist. ‘Where, if not from the Impressionists, -do we get those wonderful brown fogs that come -creeping down our streets, blurring the gas-lamps and changing -the houses into monstrous shadows? To whom, if not to them -and their master, do we owe the lovely silver mists that brood -over our river, and turn to faint forms of fading grace, curved -bridge and swaying barge? The extraordinary change that has -taken place in the climate of London during the last ten years -is entirely due to this particular school of Art’ (p. 40). If he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -simply wished to affirm that formerly fog and mist were not felt -to be beautiful, and that the artistic rendering of them first drew to -them the attention of the multitude, nothing could be said in contradiction; -he would have propounded just a hackneyed commonplace -with misplaced sententiousness. He asserts, however, that -painters have changed the climate, that for the last ten years there -have been fogs in London, because the Impressionists have -painted fogs—a statement so silly as to require no refutation. -It is sufficient to characterize it as artistic mysticism. Lastly, -Wilde teaches the following: ‘Æsthetics are higher than -ethics. They belong to a more spiritual sphere. To discern -the beauty of a thing is the finest point to which we can -arrive. Even a colour-sense is more important in the development -of the individual than a sense of right and wrong’ -(pp. 210, 211).</p> - -<p>Thus the doctrine of the ‘Æsthetes’ affirms, with the Parnassians, -that the work of art is its own aim; with the Diabolists, -that it need not be moral—nay, were better to be immoral; with -the Decadents, that it is to avoid, and be diametrically opposed -to, the natural and the true; and with all these schools of the -ego-mania of degeneration, that art is the highest of all human -functions.</p> - -<p>Here is the place to demonstrate the absurdity of these -propositions. This can, of course, be done only in the concisest -manner. For to treat fully of the relation of the beautiful to -morals and truth to Nature, of the conception of aim in artistic -beauty, and of the rank held by art among mental functions, it -would be necessary to expound the whole science of æsthetics, on -which the somewhat exhaustive text-books amount to a considerable -number of volumes; and this cannot be my purpose -in this place. Hence I shall of necessity only recapitulate the -latest results in a series of the clearest and most obvious -deductions possible, which the attentive reader will be able -without difficulty to develop by his own reflection.</p> - -<p>The ‘bonzes’ of art, who proclaim the doctrine of ‘art for -art’s sake,’ look down with contempt upon those who deny -their dogma, affirming that the heretics who ascribe to works -of art any aim whatsoever can be only pachydermatous Philistines, -whose comprehension is limited to beans and bacon, or stock-jobbers -with whom it is only a question of profit, or sanctimonious -parsons making a professional pretence of virtue. -They believe that they are supported in this by such men as -Kant, Lessing, etc., who were likewise of the opinion that the -work of art had but one task to perform—that of being beautiful. -We need not be overawed by the great names of these guarantors. -Their opinion cannot withstand the criticism to which it has -been subjected during the last hundred years by a great number<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -of philosophers (I name only Fichte, Hegel and Vischer), and -its inadequacy follows from the fact, among others, that it -allows absolutely no place for the ugly as an object of artistic -representation.</p> - -<p>Let us remind ourselves how works of art and art in general -originated.</p> - -<p>That plastic art originally sprang from the imitation of Nature -is a commonplace, open justly to the reproach that it does not -enter deeply enough into the question. Imitation is without -doubt one of the first and most general reactions of the -developed living being upon the impressions it receives from -the external world. This is a necessary consequence of the -mechanism of the higher activity of the nervous system. Every -compound movement must be preceded by the representation -of this movement, and, conversely, no representation of movement -can be elaborated without at least a faint and hinted -accomplishment of the corresponding movement by the muscles. -Upon this principle depends, for example, the well-known -‘thought-reading.’ As often, therefore, as a being (whose -nervous system is developed highly enough to raise perceptions -to the rank of representations) acquires knowledge, <i>i.e.</i>, forms -for itself a representation of any phenomenon whatever comprising -in itself a more or less molar form of movement -(molecular movements, and, <i>a fortiori</i>, vibrations of ether -are not directly recognised as changes of position in space), it -has also a tendency to transform the representation into a -movement resembling it, and hence to imitate the phenomenon, -in that form, naturally, which, with its means, it is capable of -realizing. If every representation be not embodied in perceptible -movement, the cause is to be traced to the action of -the inhibitive mechanism of the brain, which does not permit -every representation at once to set the muscles into activity. -In a state of fatigue inhibition is relaxed, and, in fact, all sorts -of unintentional imitations make their appearance, as, for -example, symmetrical movements, such as the left hand involuntarily -and aimlessly makes of those executed by the right -hand in writing, etc. There is also a rare disease of the -nerves<a name="FNanchor_307_307" id="FNanchor_307_307"></a><a href="#Footnote_307_307" class="fnanchor">[307]</a> hitherto observed chiefly in Russia, and especially in -Siberia, there called <i>myriachit</i>, in which inhibition becomes -completely disorganized, so that the diseased persons are forced -at once to imitate any action seen by them, even if it be -disagreeable or pernicious to them. If, for example, they see -someone fall, they are compelled to throw themselves also to -the ground, even if they are standing in a muddy road.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> - -<p>Except in disease and fatigue, the action of inhibition is -suspended only when the excitation produced in the nervous -system by an impression is strong enough to vanquish it. If -this impression is disagreeable, or menacing, the movements -set loose by it are those of defence or flight. If, on the -contrary, the impression is pleasant, or if it is surprising -without being disquieting, then the reaction of the organism -against it is a movement without objective aim, most frequently -a movement of imitation. Hence, among healthy men possessed -of well-working inhibitory mechanism in their nervous system, -this movement does not appear with every phenomenon, but -only with such as strike it forcibly, fix its attention, engage -and stimulate it—in a word, cause an emotion. Activity of -imitation (and the plastic arts are at bottom nothing but -residuary traces of imitative movements) has consequently an -immediate organic aim, viz., the freeing of the nervous system -from an excitation set up in it by some visual cause. If -the excitation is not caused by the sight of any external -phenomenon, but by an internal organic state (<i>e.g.</i>, sexual -<i>erethism</i>), or by a representation of an abstract nature (<i>e.g.</i>, the -joy of victory, sorrow, or longing), it likewise transforms itself, -it is true, into movements; but these are naturally not imitative. -They embody no motor representation, but are in part such -as have for their sole end the relaxing of the nerve-centres -overcharged with motor impulsions, as in the dance, in outcries, -song and music, and in part such as disburden the centres of -ideation, like declamation, lyric and epic poetry. If artistic -activity is frequently exercised and facilitated by habit, it no -longer requires emotions of extraordinary strength to provoke -it. As often, then, as man is excited by such external or -internal impressions as demand no action (conflict, flight, -adaptation), but reach his consciousness in the form of a mood, -he relieves his nervous system of this excitation through some -kind of artistic activity, either by means of the plastic arts or -by music and poetry.</p> - -<p>Hence imitation is not the source of the arts, but one of the -media of art; the real source of art is emotion. Artistic -activity is not its own end, but it is of direct utility to the -artist; it satisfies the need of his organism to transform its -emotions into movement. He creates the work of art, not for -its own sake, but to free his nervous system from a tension. -The expression, which has become a commonplace, is psycho-physiologically -accurate, viz., the artist writes, paints, sings, -or dances the burden of some idea or feeling off his mind.</p> - -<p>To this primary end of art—the subjective end of the self-deliverance -of the artist—a second must be added, viz., the -objective end of acting upon others. Like every other animal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> -living in society and partly dependent upon it, man has, in consequence -of his racial instinct, the aspiration to impart his own -emotions to those of his own species, just as he himself participates -in the emotions of those of his own species. This strong -desire to know himself in emotional communion with the -species is sympathy, that organic base of the social edifice.<a name="FNanchor_308_308" id="FNanchor_308_308"></a><a href="#Footnote_308_308" class="fnanchor">[308]</a> -In advanced civilization, where the original natural motives of -actions are partly obscured and partly replaced by artificial -motives, and the actions themselves receive an aim other than -the theoretical one proper to them, the artist is, it is true, not -limited to sharing his emotions with others, but creates his work -of art with the accessory purpose of becoming famous—a wish -springing none the less from social instincts, since it is directed -towards obtaining the applause of his fellow-creatures, or even -of earning money, a motive no longer social, but purely egoistic. -This vulgarly egoistic motive is still the only one influencing -the countless imitators who practise art, not from original -strong desire, and as the natural and necessary mode of -expressing their emotions, but whose artistic activity is caused -by the envy with which they regard the success of others in -art.</p> - -<p>Once we have established, as a fact, that art is not practised -for its own sake alone, but that it has a double aim, subjective -and objective, viz., the satisfaction of an organic want of the -artist, and the influencing of his fellow-creatures, then the -principles by which every other human activity pursuing the -same end is judged are applicable to it, <i>i.e.</i>, the principles of -law and morality.</p> - -<p>We test every organic desire to see whether it be the outcome -of a legitimate need or the consequence of an aberration; -whether its satisfaction be beneficial or pernicious to the -organism. We distinguish the healthy from the diseased -impulse, and demand that the latter be combated. If the -desire seeks its satisfaction in an activity acting upon others, -then we examine to see if this activity is reconcilable with -the existence and prosperity of society, or dangerous to it. -The activity imperilling society offends against law and custom, -which are nothing but an epitome of the temporary notions of -society concerning what is beneficial and what is pernicious -to it.</p> - -<p>Notions healthy and diseased, moral and immoral, social or -anti-social, are as valid for art as for every other human -activity, and there is not a scintilla of reason for regarding a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -work of art in any other light than that in which we view every -other manifestation of an individuality.</p> - -<p>It is easily conceivable that the emotion expressed by the -artist in his work may proceed from a morbid aberration, may -be directed, in an unnatural, sensual, cruel manner, to what is -ugly or loathsome. Ought we not in this case to condemn -the work and, if possible, to suppress it? How can its right to -exist be justified? By claiming that the artist was sincere -when he created it, that he gave back what was really existing -in him, and for that reason was subjectively justified in his -artistic expansion? But there is a candour which is wholly -inadmissible. The dipsomaniac and clastomaniac are sincere -when they respectively drink or break everything within reach. -We do not, however, acknowledge their right to satisfy their -desire. We prevent them by force. We put them under -guardianship, although their drunkenness and destructiveness -may perhaps be injurious to no one but themselves. And still -more decidedly does society oppose itself to the satisfaction of -those cravings which cannot be appeased without violently -acting upon others. The new science of criminal anthropology -admits without dispute that homicidal maniacs, certain incendiaries, -many thieves and vagabonds, act under an impulsion; -that through their crimes they satisfy an organic craving; that -they outrage, kill, burn, idle, as others sit down to dinner, simply -because they hunger to do so; but in spite of this and because -of this, it demands that the appeasing of the sincere longings -of these degenerate creatures be prevented by all means, and, -if needs be, by their complete suppression. It never occurs to -us to permit the criminal by organic disposition to ‘expand’ -his individuality in crime, and just as little can it be expected -of us to permit the degenerate artist to expand his individuality -in immoral works of art. The artist who complacently represents -what is reprehensible, vicious, criminal, approves of it, -perhaps glorifies it, differs not in kind, but only in degree, from -the criminal who actually commits it. It is a question of the -intensity of the impulsion and the resisting power of the -judgment, perhaps also of courage and cowardice; nothing else. -If the actual law does not treat the criminal by intention so -rigorously as the criminal in act, it is because criminal law -pursues the deed, and not the purpose; the objective phenomenon, -not its subjective roots. The Middle Ages had places -of sanctuary where criminals could not be molested for their -misdemeanours. Modern law has done away with this institution. -Ought art to be at present the last asylum to which -criminals may fly to escape punishment? Are they to be able -to satisfy, in the so-called ‘temple’ of art, instincts which the -policeman prevents them from appeasing in the street? I do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span> -not see how a privilege so inimical to society can be willingly -defended.</p> - -<p>I am far from sharing Ruskin’s opinion that morality alone, -and nothing else, can be demanded of a work of art. Morality -alone is not sufficient. Otherwise religious tracts would be the -finest literature, and the well-known coloured casts of sacred -subjects turned out wholesale in Munich factories would be the -choicest sculpture. Excellence of form maintains its rights -in all the arts, and gives to the finest creation its artistic value. -Hence the work need not be moral. More accurately, it need -not be designed expressly to preach virtue and the fear of God, -and to be destined for the edification of devotees. But between -a work without sanctified aim and one of wilful immorality -there is a world of difference. A work which is indifferent from -a moral point of view will not be equally attractive or satisfying -to all minds, but it will offend and repel no one. An explicitly -immoral work excites in healthy persons the same feelings of -displeasure and disgust as the immoral act itself, and the form -of the work can change nothing of this. Most assuredly morality -alone does not give beauty to a work of art. But beauty without -morality is impossible.</p> - -<p>We now come to the second argument with which the -Æsthetes wish to defend the right of the artist to immorality. -The work of art, they say, need only be beautiful. Beauty lies -in the form. Hence the content is a matter of indifference. -This may be vice and crime; but it cannot derogate from the -excellences of form if these be present.</p> - -<p>He alone can venture to advance such principles who is without -the least inkling of the psycho-physiology of the æsthetic -feelings. Everyone who has studied this subject in the least -knows that two kinds of the beautiful are distinguished—the -sensuously-beautiful and the intellectually-beautiful. We feel -those phenomena to be beautiful, the sense-perception of which -is accompanied by a feeling of pleasure—<i>e.g.</i>, a particular colour, -perhaps a pure red, or a harmony; nay, even a single note with -its severally indistinguishable but synchronous overtones. The -researches of Helmholtz<a name="FNanchor_309_309" id="FNanchor_309_309"></a><a href="#Footnote_309_309" class="fnanchor">[309]</a> and Blaserna<a name="FNanchor_310_310" id="FNanchor_310_310"></a><a href="#Footnote_310_310" class="fnanchor">[310]</a> have thrown light on -the cause of the feeling of pleasure connected with certain -acoustic perceptions, while those of Brücke<a name="FNanchor_311_311" id="FNanchor_311_311"></a><a href="#Footnote_311_311" class="fnanchor">[311]</a> have led to similar -results with regard to the mechanism of the feelings of pleasure -following optical impressions. It is a question of discernment by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -the sensory nerves of definite simple numerical relations in the -vibrations of matter or of ether. We know less concerning the -causes of the pleasures connected with smell and touch; yet -here also it seems to be a question of more or less strong impressions, -hence equally of quantities—<i>i.e.</i>, of numbers. The -ultimate cause of all these feelings is that certain modes of -vibrations are in accord with the structure of the nerves, are easy -for them and leave them in order, while other modes disturb the -arrangement of the nerve particles, often costing the nerves an -effort, often dangerous to their existence or at least their -functioning, to restore them to their natural order. The former -will be felt as pleasure, the latter as discomfort, and even as -pain. With the sensuously-beautiful there can be no question -of morality, for it exists as perception only, and does not rise -to the rank of representation.</p> - -<p>Above the sensuously-beautiful stands the intellectually-beautiful, -no longer consisting of mere perceptions, but of representations, -of concepts and judgments, with their accompanying -emotions elaborated in the unconscious. The intellectually-beautiful -must also awaken feelings of pleasure, to be perceived -as beautiful; and, as above explained, with feelings of pleasure -are united, in healthy, fully-developed human beings equipped -with the social instinct (altruism), only those ideas the content -whereof is conducive to the existence and prosperity of the -individual being, society, or species. Now, that which is favourable -to the life and prosperity of the individual and of the -species is precisely that which we call moral.</p> - -<p>From this it results by an iron necessity that a work which -awakens no feelings of pleasure cannot be beautiful, and that it -can awaken no feelings of pleasure if it is not moral, and we -arrive at the final conclusion, that morality and beauty are in -their innermost essence identical. It were not false to assert that -beauty is statical repose, and morality beauty in action.</p> - -<p>This is only apparently contradicted by the fact that what is -incontestably ugly and bad may also be agreeable, and hence -awaken feelings of pleasure. The mental process set up by -percepts and ideas is not, in this case, so simple and direct as -with respect to the beautiful and the good. Associations sometimes -of a highly complex nature must first be put into activity, -finally, however, to lead to the single great result, viz., the -awakening of feelings of pleasure. The well-known Aristotelian -catharsis, purging or purification, explains how tragedy, though -it offers the spectacle of pain and ruin, finally produces an -agreeable effect. The representation of deserved misfortune -awakens ideas of justice, a moral, agreeable idea; and even that -of unmerited misfortune gives rise to pity, in itself a feeling of -pain, though, in its quality of a racial instinct, beneficial and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span> -therefore not only moral, but, in its final essence, agreeable. -When Valdez, in his famous picture of the <i>Caridad de Sevilla</i>, -shows us an open coffin in which lies the corpse of an arch-bishop -in full vestments, swarming with worms, this spectacle -is in itself undeniably repulsive. Nevertheless it permits us -at once to recognise the emotion which the painter wished to -express, viz., his feeling of the nothingness of all earthly possessions -and honours, the frailty of man in the face of the primeval -power of Nature. It is the same emotion embodied by Holbein -in his ‘Dance of Death,’ not so profoundly and passionately as by -the Spaniard with his stronger feelings, but with self-mockery and -bitterness. The same emotion is heard, somewhat less gloomily -and with more of a melancholy resignation, in Mozart’s <i>Requiem</i>. -In the idea of the contrast between the insignificance of individual -life and the vastness and eternity of Nature, there mingles -itself an element of the sublime, of which the idea, as the -choicest form of activity in the highest brain-centres, is united -with feelings of pleasure.</p> - -<p>Another circumstance in the plastic arts has to be considered. -In works of sculpture and painting a broad separation is possible -between the form and the content, between the sensuous and the -moral. A painting, a group, may represent the most immoral -and most criminal incident; nevertheless, the individual constituent -parts—the atmosphere, the harmonies of colour, the -human figures—may be beautiful in themselves, and the connoisseur -may derive enjoyment from them without dwelling on -the subject of the work. The engravings in the <i>Editions des -fermiers généraux</i> of the last century, the works in marble and -bronze of the pornographic museum at Naples, are, in a measure, -repulsively immoral, because they represent unnatural vice. -In themselves, however, they are excellently executed, and are -accessible to a mode of contemplation which disregards their -idea and keeps in view only the perfection of their form. Here, -therefore, the impression of the work of art is a mixture of disgust -for the subject treated, and enjoyment of the beauty of the several -figures and their attitudes—painted, drawn, or modelled. The -feeling of pleasure may preponderate, and the work, in spite of -its depravity, produce, not a repellent, but an attractive effect. -It is the same in nature. If that which is pernicious and -frightful is sometimes felt to be beautiful, it is because it contains -certain features and elements which have no cogent -reference to the frightful or pernicious character of the whole, -and can hence in themselves operate æsthetically. The hammer-headed -viper is beautiful on account of its metallic lustre; the -tiger for its strength and suppleness; the foxglove (<i>Digitalis</i>) for -its graceful form and rich rosy hue. The noxiousness of the -snake does not lie in its copper-red dorsal bands, nor the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -terribleness of the beast of prey in its graceful appearance, nor -the danger of the poisonous plant in the form and colour of its -blossoms. In these cases the sensuously-beautiful outweighs the -morally-repulsive, because it is more immediately present, and, -in the collective impression, allows the feelings of pleasure to -predominate. The spectacle of the display of strength and -resolution is equally a beautiful one, on account of the ideas of -organic efficiency awakened by it. Would this, however, be -thought beautiful if one could see how an assassin overpowers -a victim who is resisting violently, hurls him to the ground -and butchers him? Certainly not; for before such a picture it -is no longer possible to separate the display of strength, beautiful -in itself, from its aim, and to enjoy the former regardless of -the latter.</p> - -<p>In poetry this separation of the form from the content is far -less possible than in the plastic arts. The word can hardly in -itself produce an effect of sensuous beauty by its auditory or -visual image, even if it presents itself rhythmically regulated -and strengthened by the more expressive double sound of a -rhyme. It operates almost solely by its content, by the representations -which it awakens. Hence it is hardly conceivable -that one can hear or read a poetical exposition of criminal or -vicious facts, without having present at each word a representation -of its content, and not of its form—<i>i.e.</i>, of its sound. In -this case, therefore, the impression can no longer be a composite -one, as at the sight of a finely-painted portrayal of a repulsive -incident, but must be purely disagreeable. The pictures of -Giulio Romano, to which Pietro Aretino dedicated his <i>Sonetti -lussuriosi</i>, may be found beautiful by the admirers of the -effeminate style of that pupil of Raphael; the sonnets are only -the more disgusting. Who would experience feelings of -pleasure from the perusal of the writings of the Marquis de -Sade, Andrea de Nercia or Liseux? Only one species of -human beings—that of the degenerate with perverted instincts. -Portrayals of crime and vice in art and literature have their -public; that we well know. It is the public of the gaols. -Besides dismally sentimental books, criminals read nothing so -willingly as stories of lust and violence;<a name="FNanchor_312_312" id="FNanchor_312_312"></a><a href="#Footnote_312_312" class="fnanchor">[312]</a> and the drawings and -inscriptions with which they cover the walls of their cells have, -for the most part, their crimes as subjects.<a name="FNanchor_313_313" id="FNanchor_313_313"></a><a href="#Footnote_313_313" class="fnanchor">[313]</a> But the healthy -man feels himself violently repelled by works of this kind, and -it is impossible for him to receive an æsthetic impression from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -them, be their form never so conformable to the most approved -rules of art.</p> - -<p>In yet another case it is possible for that which is most -ugly and vicious in artistic portrayal to operate in the direction -of the morally beautiful. This is when it allows us to recognise -the moral purpose of the author and betrays his sympathetic -emotion. For that which we, consciously or unconsciously, -perceive behind every artistic creation is the nature of its -creator and the emotion from which it sprang, and our sympathy -with, or antipathy for, the emotion of the author has the lion’s -share in our appreciation of the work. When Raffaelli paints -shockingly degraded absinthe-drinkers in the low drinking dens -of the purlieus of Paris, we clearly feel his profound pity at -the sight of these fallen human beings, and this emotion we experience -as a morally beautiful one. In like manner we have not -a momentary doubt of the morality of the artist’s emotions when -we behold Callot’s pictures of the horrors of war, or the bleeding, -purulent saints of Zurbaran, or the monsters of Breughel van -der Hölle, or when we read the murder scene in Dostojevsky’s -<i>Raskolnikow</i>.<a name="FNanchor_314_314" id="FNanchor_314_314"></a><a href="#Footnote_314_314" class="fnanchor">[314]</a> These emotions are beautiful. Sympathy with -them gives us a feeling of pleasure. Against this feeling the -displeasure caused by the repulsiveness of the work cannot -prevail. When, however, the work betrays the indifference -of the author to the evil or ugliness he depicts, nay, his predilection -for it, then the abhorrence provoked by the work is -intensified by all the disgust which the author’s aberration -of instinct inspires in us, and the aggregate impression is one -of keenest displeasure. Those who share the emotions of -the author, and hence are with him attracted and pleasurably -excited by what is repugnant, diseased and evil, are the -degenerate.</p> - -<p>The Æsthetes affirm that artistic activity is the highest of -which the human mind is capable, and must occupy the first -place in the estimation of men. How do they manage to -establish this assertion from their own standpoint? Why -should I place a high value on the activity of a fellow who with -rapture describes the colours and odours of putrid carrion; and -why should I bestow my especial esteem on a painter who -shows me the libidinousness of a harlot? Because the amount -of artistic technique involved is difficult? If that is to be the -decisive point, then, to be logical, the Æsthetes must place the -acrobat higher than the artist of their species, since it is much -more difficult to learn the art of the trapezist than the rhyming -and daubing which constitutes the ‘art’ of the Æsthetes. Is it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -to be on account of sensations of pleasure given by artists? -First of all, those artists over whom the Æsthetes grow so -enthusiastic create in the healthy man no pleasure, but loathing -or boredom. But granted that they do provide sensations, the -first inquiry must then be of what sort these sensations are. -Every sensation, even if we for the moment find it agreeable, does -not inspire us with esteem for the person to whom we are indebted -for it. At the card-table, in the public-house and the brothel, -a base nature may procure sensations the intensity of which -those offered by any work of the Æsthetes is far from being -able to rival. But even the most dissolute drunkard does not in -consequence hold the keepers of these places of his pleasures in -specially high esteem.</p> - -<p>The truth is that the claim of the highest rank for art advanced -by the Æsthetes involves the complete refutation of their other -dogmas. The race estimates individual activities according to -their utility for the whole. The higher this develops itself, the -more exact and profound is the understanding it acquires of -that which is really necessary and beneficial to it. The warrior, -who in a low grade of civilization rightly plays the most prominent -part, because society must live, and to this end must defend -itself against its enemies, recedes to a more humble position as -manners become more gentle, and the relations between peoples -cease to resemble those between beasts of prey, and assume a -human character. Once the race has attained in some degree -to a clear comprehension of its relation to nature, it knows that -knowledge is its most important task, and its profoundest -respect is for those who cultivate and enlarge knowledge—<i>i.e.</i>, -for thinkers and investigators. Even in the monarchical -state, which, conformably with its own atavistic nature, gauges -the importance of the warrior by the standard of primitive men -(and in the present condition of Europe, in the presence of the -scarcely restrained fury for war, among a whole series of nations, -the <i>raison d’être</i> for this atavism cannot, alas! be contested), the -scholar, as professor, academician, counsellor, is a constituent -part of the governmental machine, and honours and dignities -fall far more to his lot than to the poet and artist. The enthusiasts -of the latter are youths and women—<i>i.e.</i>, those components -of the race in whom the unconscious outweighs consciousness; -for artist and poet address themselves first of all to emotion, and -this is more easily excited in the woman and the adolescent -than in the mature man; their accomplishments are, moreover, -more accessible to the multitude than those of the scholar whom -almost the best alone of his time can follow, and whose importance -is in general fully appreciated only by a few specialists, -even in our days of the popularization of science by the press. -State and society, however, seek to compensate him for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span> -evasion of this reward, by surrounding him with official forms -of high esteem.</p> - -<p>It is true that very great artists and poets, admitted pioneers, -whose influence is recognised as lasting, likewise receive their -share of the official honours disposed of by the organized -commonwealth as such, and these exceptional men obtain a -more brilliant reward than any investigator or discoverer; for -together with the common distinctions shared by them with the -latter, they possess the wide popularity which the investigator -and discoverer must dispense withal. And why is the artist -sometimes placed, even by persons of good and serious minds, -on a level with, or even above, the man of science? Because -these persons value the beautiful more than the true, emotion more -than knowledge? No; but because they have the right feeling -that art is equally a source of knowledge.</p> - -<p>It is so in three ways. Firstly, the emotion evoked by the -work of art is itself a means of obtaining knowledge, as Edmund -R. Clay, James Sully, and other psychologists have seen, -without, however, dwelling on the important fact. It constrains -the higher centres to attend to the causes of their excitations, -and in this way necessarily induces a sharper observation and -comprehension of the whole series of phenomena related to the -emotion. Next, the work of art grants an insight into the laws -of which the phenomenon is the expression; for the artist, in his -creation, separates the essential from the accidental, neglects the -latter, which in nature is wont to divert and confuse the less -gifted observer, and involuntarily gives prominence to the -former as that which chiefly or solely occupies his attention, -and is therefore perceived and reproduced by him with especial -distinctness. The artist himself divines the idea behind the -structure, and its inner principle and connection, intelligible but -not perceivable, in the form, and discloses it in his work to the -spectator. That is what Hegel means when he calls the beautiful -‘the presence of the idea in limited phenomenon.’ By -means of his own deep comprehension of natural law, the artist -powerfully furthers the comprehension of it by other men.<a name="FNanchor_315_315" id="FNanchor_315_315"></a><a href="#Footnote_315_315" class="fnanchor">[315]</a> -Finally, art is the only glimmer of light, weak and dubious -though it be, which projects itself into the future, and gives us at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> -least a dream-like idea of the outlines and direction of our further -organic developments. This is not mysticism, but a very -clear and comprehensible fact. We have seen above<a name="FNanchor_316_316" id="FNanchor_316_316"></a><a href="#Footnote_316_316" class="fnanchor">[316]</a> that -every adaptation—<i>i.e.</i>, every change of form and function of the -organs—is preceded by a representation of this change. The -change must first be felt and desired as necessary; then a representation -of it becomes elaborated in the higher or highest -nerve-centres, and finally the organism endeavours to realize -this representation. This process repeats itself in the same -way in the race. Some state is disturbing to it. It experiences -feelings of discomfort from this state. It suffers from it. From -this results its desire to change the state. It elaborates for -itself an image of the nature, direction and extent of this change. -According to the older, mystic phrase, ‘it creates for itself -an ideal.’ The ideal is really the formative idea of future -organic development with a view to better adaptation. In the -most perfect individuals of the species it exists earlier and more -distinct than in the average multitude, and the artist ventures with -uncertain hand to make it accessible to sense through the medium -of his work of art long before it can be organically realized -by the race. Thus art vouchsafes the most refined and highest -knowledge, bordering on the marvellous, viz., the knowledge -of the future. Not so definitely, of course, nor so unequivocally, -does art express the secret natural law of being and becoming -as science. Science shows the present, the positive; Art prophesies -the future, the possible, though stammeringly and obscurely. -To the former Nature unveils her fixed forms; to the -latter she grants, amidst shudderings, a rapid, bewildered glimpse -of the depths where what is yet formless is struggling to appear. -The emotion from which the divining work of art springs is the -birth throe of the quick and vigorous organism pregnant with -the future.<a name="FNanchor_317_317" id="FNanchor_317_317"></a><a href="#Footnote_317_317" class="fnanchor">[317]</a></p> - -<p>This art of presentiment is certainly the highest mental -activity of the human being. But it is not the art of the -Æsthetes. It is the most moral art, for it is the most ideal, a -word only meaning that it is parallel with the paths along which -the race is perfecting itself—nay, coincides with these.</p> - -<p>By the most diverse methods we have always attained the -same result, viz., it is not true that art has nothing in common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -with morality. The work of art must be moral, for its aim is to -express and excite emotions. In virtue of this aim it falls within -the competence of criticism, which tests all emotions by their -utility or perniciousness to the individual or the race; and if it -is immoral, it must be condemned like every other organic -activity opposed to this aim. The work of art must be moral, -for it is intended to operate æsthetically. It can only do this if -it awakens feelings of pleasure, at least ultimately; it provides -such, only if it includes beauty in itself; but beauty is in its -essence synonymous with morality. Finally, the highest work -of art can, from its inmost nature, be none other than moral, -since it is a manifestation of vital force and health, a revelation -of the capacity for evolution of the race; and humanity values it -so highly because it divines this circumstance.</p> - -<p>Concerning the last doctrine of the Æsthetes, viz., that art -must shun the true and the natural, this is a commonplace -pushed to an absurdity, and converted into its contrary. Perfect, -actual truth and naturalness need not be denied to art; they are -impossible to it. For whereas the work of art makes the artist’s -idea tangible, an idea is never an exact copy of a phenomenon -of the external world. Before it can become an idea -in a human consciousness every phenomenon experiences two -very essential modifications—one in the afferent and receptive -organs of sense, the other in the centres elaborating sense-perceptions -into representations. These sensory nerves and -centres of perception change the modes of the external stimuli -conformably with their own nature; they give to these their -particular colouring, as different wind-instruments played by the -same person give forth different shades of sound with the same -force of breath. The centres forming representations modify in -their turn the actual relation of the phenomena to each other, -in that they bring some into stronger relief, and neglect others -of really equal value. Consciousness does not take cognizance -of all the countless perceptions uninterruptedly excited in the -brain, but of those only to which it is attentive. But by the -simple fact of attention, consciousness selects individual phenomena, -and gives them an importance they do not possess in the -unceasing uniformity of universal movement.</p> - -<p>But if the work of art never renders reality in its exact -relations, it can, on the other hand (and this is both a -psychological and æsthetical commonplace), never be constructed -from constituents other than those supplied by reality. -The mode in which these constituents are blended and united -by the artist’s imagination permits the recognition of another -fact, as true and natural as any that is habitually designated -by us as real, to wit, the character, mode of thought, -and emotion of the artist. For what is imagination? A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -special case of the general psychological law of association. In -scientific observation and judgment the play of association is -most rigorously supervised by attention; the will violently -inhibits the propagation of stimuli along the most convenient -paths, and prevents the penetration of mere similarities, contrasts, -and contiguities in space or time into consciousness, -which is reserved for the images of immediate reality transmitted -by the senses. In artistic creation imagination rules—that -is to say, the inhibition exercised by the will is relaxed; -in accordance with the laws of association a presentation is -allowed to summon into consciousness representations which -are similar, contrasted, or contiguous in space or time. But -inhibition is not wholly inactive, and the will does not permit -the union of reciprocally exclusive representations into a concept; -thus it prohibits the elaboration of an intellectual absurdity, -such as is yielded by purely automatic association or fugitive -ideation. The emotion of the artist reveals itself in accordance -with the way in which representations supplied by association -are grouped into concepts, for it causes representations agreeing -with it to be retained, and the indifferent or contradictory -to be suppressed. Even fantastic images, as extravagant as -a winged horse or a woman with lion’s paws, reveal a true -emotion: the former an aspiration proceeding from the spectacle -of the bird soaring light and free; the latter a horror of the -power of sexuality subjugating reason and conjuring up devouring -passion. It would be a grateful task for workers in the -histology of psychology to trace the emotions whence the best -known fantastic figures of art and the metaphors of poets have -proceeded. Hence it may be said that every work of art -always comprises in itself truth and reality in so far as, if it -does not reflect the external world, it surely reflects the mental -life of the artist.</p> - -<p>Hence, as we have seen, not one of the sophisms of the -Æsthetes withstands criticism. The work of art is not its own -aim, but it has a specially organic, and a social task. It is subject -to the moral law; it must obey this; it has claim to esteem -only if it is morally beautiful and ideal. And it cannot be other -than natural and true, in so far, at least, as it is the offprint of -a personality, which is also a part of nature and reality. The -entire system takes as its point of departure a few erroneous -or imprudent assertions of thinkers and poets commanding -respect, but developed by the Parnassians and Decadents in -a way of which Lessing, Kant and Schiller never allowed -themselves to dream. This is no other than the well-known -attempt to explain and justify impulsions by motives more or -less obvious and invented <i>post facto</i>. The degenerate who, in -consequence of their organic aberrations, make the repulsive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -and ugly, vice and crime, the subject-matter of plastic and -literary works of art, naturally have recourse to the theory that -art has nothing in common with morality, truth and beauty, since -this theory has for them the value of an excuse. And must -not the excessive value set upon artistic activity as such, without -regard to the worth of its results, be highly welcome to the -limitless crowd of imitators who practise art, not from an inner -prompting, but from a foolhardy craving for the respect surrounding -real artists—imitators who have nothing of their own -to say, no emotion, not an idea, but who, with a superficial -professional dexterity easily acquired, falsify the views and -feelings of masters in all branches of art? This rabble, -which claims for itself a top place in the scale of intellectual -rank, and freedom from the constraint of all moral -laws as its most noble privilege, is certainly baser than the -lowest scavenger. These creatures are of absolutely no use to -the commonwealth, and injure true art by their productions, -whose multitude and importunateness shut out from most men -the sight of the genuine works of art—never very numerous—of -the epoch. They are weaklings in will, unfitted for any -activity requiring regular uniform efforts, or else victims to vanity, -wishing to be more famous than is possible to a stone-breaker -or a tailor. The uncertainty of comprehension and taste among -the majority of mankind, and the incompetency of most professional -critics, allow these intruders to make their nest among -the arts, and to dwell there as parasites their life long. The -buyer soon distinguishes a good boot from a bad one, and the -journeyman cobbler who cannot properly sew on a sole finds no -employment. But that a book or painting void of all originality -is indifferent in quality, and for that reason superfluous, is by no -means so easily recognised by the Philistine, or even by the -man armed with the critical pen, and the producer of such chaff -can apply himself undisturbed to his assiduous waste of time. -These bunglers with pen, brush and modelling spattle, strutting -about in cap and doublet, naturally swear by the doctrine of -the Æsthetes, carry themselves as if they were the salt of -humanity, and make a parade of their contempt for the -Philistine. They belong, however, to the elements of the race -which are most inimical to society. Insensible to its tasks and -interests, without the capacity to comprehend a serious thought -or a fruitful deed, they dream only of the satisfaction of their -basest instincts, and are pernicious—through the example they -set as drones, as well as through the confusion they cause in minds -insufficiently forewarned, by their abuse of the word ‘art’ to -mean demoralization and childishness. Ego-maniacs, Decadents -and Æsthetes have completely gathered under their banner -this refuse of civilized peoples, and march at its head.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c338" id="c338">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">IBSENISM.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">In</span> the course of the last two centuries the whole civilized world -has, with greater or less unanimity, repeatedly recognised a sort -of intellectual royalty in some contemporary, to whom it has -rendered homage as the first and greatest among living authors. -For a great part of the eighteenth century Voltaire, ‘<i>le roi -Voltaire</i>,’ was the ‘poet laureate’ of all civilized nations. -During the first third of the present century this position was -held by Goethe. After his death the throne remained vacant -for a score of years, when Victor Hugo ascended it amidst the -enthusiastic acclamations of the Latin and Slavonic races, and -with a feeble opposition from those of Teutonic origin, to hold -it until the end of his life.</p> - -<p>At the present time voices have for some years been heard -in all countries claiming for Henrik Ibsen the highest intellectual -honours at the disposal of mankind. It is wished that -the Norwegian dramatist should, in his old age, be recognised -as the world-poet of the closing century. It is true that only a -part of the multitude and of the critical representatives of its -taste acclaims him; but the fact that it has entered anyone’s -mind at all to see in him a claimant for the throne of poetry -makes a minute examination of his titles to the position -necessary.</p> - -<p>That Henrik Ibsen is a poet of great verve and power is -not for a moment to be denied. He is extraordinarily emotive, -and has the gift of depicting in an exceptionally lifelike and -impressive manner that which has excited his feelings. (We -shall see that these are almost always feelings of hatred and -rage, <i>i.e.</i>, of displeasure.) A natural capacity drew him towards -the stage—a capacity for imagining situations in which the -characters are forced to turn inside out their inmost nature; -in which abstract ideas transform themselves into deeds, and -modes of opinion and of feeling, imperceptible to the senses, -but potent as causes, are made patent to sight and hearing in -attitudes and gestures, in the play of feature and in words. -Like Richard Wagner, he knows how to group events into -living frescoes possessing the charm of significant pictures; with -this difference, however, that Ibsen works, not like Wagner, -with strange costumes and properties, architectural splendour, -mechanical magic, gods and fabulous beasts, but with penetrating -vision into the backgrounds of souls and the conditions of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -humanity. Fairy-lore is not lacking in Ibsen either, but he -does not allow the imagination of the spectators to run riot in -mere spectacles; he forces them into moods, and binds them -by his spell in circles of ideas, through the pictures which -he unrolls before them.</p> - -<p>His strong desire to embody the thought occupying his mind -in a single picture, which can be surveyed at one view, also -dictated to him the set form of his drama—a form not invented, -but largely perfected, by him. His pieces are, as it were, final -words terminating long anterior developments. They are the -sudden breaking into flame of combustible materials accumulating -during years, it may be during whole human lives, or even -generations, and of which the sudden flare brilliantly illumines a -wide extent of time and space. The incidents of the Ibsen drama -more frequently take place in a day, or at most in twice twenty-four -hours, and in this short space of time there are concentred -all the effects of the course of the world and of social institutions -on certain characters, in such a conspectus that the -destinies of the dramatis personæ become clear to us from the -moment of their first appearance. <i>The Doll’s House</i>, <i>Ghosts</i>, -<i>Rosmersholm</i>, <i>The Pillars of Society</i>, and <i>Hedda Gabler</i> comprise -about twenty-four hours; <i>An Enemy of Society</i>, <i>The Wild Duck</i>, -<i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, about thirty-six hours. It is the return -to the Aristotelian doctrine of the unities of time and space -with an orthodoxy compared with which the French classicists -of the age of Louis XIV. are heretics. I might well term -the Ibsenite technique a technique of fireworks, for it consists -in preparing long in advance a staging on which the suns, -Roman candles, squibs, fireballs and concluding fire-sheaves -are carefully placed in proper position. When all is ready the -curtain rises, and the artistically-constructed work begins to -crackle, explosion following explosion uninterruptedly with -thunder and lightning. This technique is certainly very -effective, but hardly true. In reality events rarely lead up to -a catastrophe so brilliant and succinct. In Nature all is -slowly prepared, and unrolls itself gradually, and the results -of human deeds covering years of time do not compress themselves -into a few hours. Nature does not work epigrammatically. -She cannot trouble herself about Aristotelian unities, for she -has always an infinity of affairs of her own in progress at one -and the same time. As a matter of handicraft, one is certainly -often forced to admire the cleverness with which Ibsen guides -and knots the threads of his plot. Sometimes the labour is more -successful than at other times, but it always implies a great -expenditure of textile skill. Whoever sets most store on -truth in a poem—that is, on the natural action of the laws -of life—will often enough bring away from Ibsen’s dramas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span> -an impression of improbability, and of toilsome and subtle -lucubrations.</p> - -<p>The power with which Ibsen, in a few rapid strokes, sketches -a situation, an emotion, a dim-lit depth of the soul, is very much -higher than his skill, so much extolled, of foreshortening in time, -which may be said to be the poetic counterpart of the painter’s -artifice (difficult, but for the most part barren) of foreshortening -in space. Each of the terse words which suffice him has -something of the nature of a peep-hole, through which limitless -vistas are obtained. The plays of all peoples and all ages have -few situations at once so perfectly simple and so irresistibly -affecting as the scenes—to cite only a few—where Nora is -playing with her children,<a name="FNanchor_318_318" id="FNanchor_318_318"></a><a href="#Footnote_318_318" class="fnanchor">[318]</a> where Dr. Rank relates that he is -doomed to imminent death by his inexorable disease,<a name="FNanchor_319_319" id="FNanchor_319_319"></a><a href="#Footnote_319_319" class="fnanchor">[319]</a> where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span> -Frau Alving with horror discerns his dissolute father<a name="FNanchor_320_320" id="FNanchor_320_320"></a><a href="#Footnote_320_320" class="fnanchor">[320]</a> in her -only son, where the housekeeper, Frau Helseth, sees Rosmer -and Rebecca die in each other’s arms,<a name="FNanchor_321_321" id="FNanchor_321_321"></a><a href="#Footnote_321_321" class="fnanchor">[321]</a> etc.</p> - -<p>Similarly, it must be acknowledged that Ibsen has created -some characters possessing a truth to life and a completeness -such as are not to be met with in any poet since Shakespeare. -Gina (in <i>The Wild Duck</i>) is one of the most profound creations of -world-literature—almost as great as Sancho Panza, who inspired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span> -it. Ibsen has had the daring to create a female Sancho, and -in his temerity has come very near to Cervantes, whom no one -has equalled. If Gina is not quite so overpowering as Sancho, -it is because there is wanting in her his contrast to Don -Quixote. Her Don Quixote, Hjalmar, is no genuine, convinced -idealist, but merely a miserable self-deluding burlesquer of the -ideal. None the less, no poet since the illustrious Spanish -master has succeeded in creating such an embodiment of plain, -jolly, healthy common-sense, of practical tact without anxiety -as to things eternal, and of honest fulfilment of all proximate, -obvious duties, without a suspicion of higher moral obligations, -as this Gina, <i>e.g.</i>, in the scene where Hjalmar returns home after -having spent the night out.<a name="FNanchor_322_322" id="FNanchor_322_322"></a><a href="#Footnote_322_322" class="fnanchor">[322]</a> Hjalmar also is a perfect creation, -in which Ibsen has not once succumbed to the cogent -temptation to exaggerate, but has exercised most entrancingly -that ‘self-restraint’ in every word which, as Goethe said, -‘reveals the master.’ Little Hedwig (again in <i>The Wild Duck</i>), -the aunt Juliane Tesman (in <i>Hedda Gabler</i>), perhaps also the -childishly egoistical consumptive Lyngstrand (in <i>The Lady from -the Sea</i>), are not inferior to these characters. It should, however, -be noticed that, with the exception of Gina, Hjalmar and -Hedwig, the lifelike and artistically delightful persons in Ibsen’s -dramas never play the chief parts, but move in subordinate -tasks around the central figures. The latter are not human -beings of flesh and blood, but abstractions such as are evoked -by a morbidly-excited brain. They are attempts at the -embodiment of Ibsenite doctrines, <i>homunculi</i>, originating not -from natural procreation, but through the black art of the poet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span> -This is even admitted, although reluctantly and with reservation, -by one of his most raving panegyrists, the French professor, -Auguste Ehrhard.<a name="FNanchor_323_323" id="FNanchor_323_323"></a><a href="#Footnote_323_323" class="fnanchor">[323]</a> Doubtless Ibsen takes immense -pains to rouge and powder into a semblance of life the talking -puppets who are to represent his notions. He appends to them -all sorts of little peculiarities for the purpose of giving them an -individual physiognomy. But this perpetually recurring imbecile -‘Eh?’ of Tesman<a name="FNanchor_324_324" id="FNanchor_324_324"></a><a href="#Footnote_324_324" class="fnanchor">[324]</a> (in <i>Hedda Gabler</i>), this ‘dash it all!’ and -stealthy nibbling of sweetmeats by Nora<a name="FNanchor_325_325" id="FNanchor_325_325"></a><a href="#Footnote_325_325" class="fnanchor">[325]</a> (in <i>A Doll’s House</i>), -this ‘smoking a large meerschaum’ and champagne-drinking -of Oswald (in <i>Ghosts</i>), do not delude the attentive observer as -to their being anything but automata. In spite of the poet’s -artifices, one sees, behind the thin varnish of flesh-colour, the -hinges and joints of the mechanism, and hears, above the tones -of the phonographs concealed in them, the creaking and grating -of the machinery.</p> - -<p>I have endeavoured to do justice to the high poetical endowment -of Ibsen, and shall sometimes be able in the course of this -inquiry to recognise this gift again. Is it this, however, which -alone or chiefly has gained for him his admirers in all lands? -Do his retinue of fifers and bagpipers prize him for his homely -emotional scenes, and for his truly lifelike accessory figures? -No. They glorify something else in him. They discover in his -pieces world-pictures of the greatest truth, the happiest poetic -use of scientific methods, clearness and incisiveness of ideas, a -fiercely revolutionary desire for freedom, and a modernity pregnant -with the future. Now we will test and examine these -affirmations <i>seriatim</i>, and see if they can be supported by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span> -Ibsen’s works, or are merely the arbitrary and undemonstrable -expressions of æsthetic wind-bags.</p> - -<p>It is pretended that Ibsen is before all things exemplary in -truthfulness. He has even become the model of ‘realism.’ As -a matter of fact, since Alexandre Dumas père, author of <i>The -Three Musketeers</i> and <i>Monte Cristo</i>, no writer has heaped up in -his works so many startling improbabilities as Ibsen. (I say improbabilities, -because I dare not say impossibilities; for, after all, -everything is possible as the unheard-of exploit of some fool, -or as the extraordinary effect of a unique accident.) Is it -conceivable that (in <i>Ghosts</i>) the joiner Engstrand, wishing -to open a tavern for sailors, should call upon his own daughter -to be the odalisque of his ‘establishment’—this daughter -who reminds him that she has been ‘brought up in the house -of Madam Alving, widow of a lord-in-waiting,’ that she has -been treated ‘almost as a child of the house’? Not that I -imagine Engstrand to be possessed of any moral scruples. But -a man of this stamp knows that one woman does not suffice for -his house; and since he must engage others, he would certainly not -turn to his daughter, bred as she was in the midst of higher habits -of life, and knowing that, if she wishes to lead a life of pleasure, -it would not be necessary to become straightway a prostitute for -sailors. Is it conceivable that Pastor Manders (<i>Ghosts</i>), a -liberally educated clergyman in the Norway of to-day, a country -of flourishing insurance companies, banks, railways, prosperous -newspapers, etc., should dissuade Madam Alving from insuring -against fire the asylum she had just founded? ‘For my own -part,’ he says, ‘I should not see the smallest impropriety in -guarding against all contingencies.... I mean [by really -responsible people] men in such independent and influential -positions that one cannot help allowing some weight to their -opinions.... People would be only too ready to interpret our -action as a sign that neither you nor I had the right faith in a -Higher Providence.’ Does Ibsen really wish to make anyone -believe that in Norway there are persons who have religious -scruples concerning insurance against fire? Has not this -nonsensical idea come into his head simply because he wishes -to have the asylum burned down and finally destroyed? For -this purpose Madam Alving must have no money to rebuild the -asylum, it must not be insured, and hence Ibsen thought it -necessary to assign a motive for the omission of the insurance. -A poet who introduces a fire into his work, as a symbol and -also as an active agent—for it has the dramatic purpose of -destroying the lying reputation for charity of the defunct sinner -Alving—should also have the courage to leave unexplained the -omission of the insurance, strange as it may seem. Oswald -Alving relates to his mother (<i>Ghosts</i>) that a Paris doctor on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span> -examining him had told him he had a ‘kind of softening of the -brain.’ Now, I appeal to all the doctors of the world if they -have ever said plainly to a patient, ‘You have softening of the -brain.’ To the family it perhaps may be revealed, to the patient -never. Chiefly because, if the diagnosis be correct, the invalid -would not understand the remark, and would certainly no longer -be in a fit state to go alone to the doctor. But for yet another -reason these words are impossible. In any case, Oswald’s -disease could not have been a softening, but a hardening, a -callous, sclerotic condition of the brain.</p> - -<p>In <i>A Doll’s House</i> Helmer, who is depicted as somewhat -sensual, although prosaic, homely, practical, and commonplace, -says to his Nora: ‘Is that my lark who is twittering -outside there?... Is the little squirrel running about?... -Has my little spendthrift bird been wasting more money?... -Come, come; my lark must not let her wings droop immediately.... -What do people call the bird who always spends everything?... -My lark is the dearest little thing in the world; -but she needs a very great deal of money.... And I couldn’t -wish you to be anything but exactly what you are—my own true -little lark....’ And it is thus that a husband, a bank director -and barrister, after eight years of married life, speaks to his wife, -the mother of his three children; and not in a momentary outburst -of playful affection, but in the full light of an ordinary day, -and in an interminable scene of seven pages (pp. 2-8), with a -view to giving us an idea of the habitually prevalent tone in this -‘doll’s home!’ I should much like to know what my readers of -both sexes who have been married at least eight years think of -this specimen of Ibsen’s ‘realism.’</p> - -<p>In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> all the characters talk about -‘society.’ ‘You are to rise and support society, brother-in-law,’ -says Miss Hessel, ‘earnestly and with emphasis.’ ‘If you strike -this blow, you ruin me utterly, and not only me, but also a great -and blessed future for the community which was the home of -your childhood.’ And a little further on: ‘See, this I have -dared for the good of the community!... Don’t you see that -it is society itself that forces us into these subterfuges?’ The -persons thus holding forth are a wholesale merchant and consul, -and a school-mistress who has long resided in America, and has -broad views. Can the word ‘society’ in the mouth of cultivated -people, when so used, have any other meaning than ‘social -edifice?’ Well, but the characters in the piece, as it is again and -again repeated, employ the word ‘society’ in reference to the -well-to-do classes in a small seaside place in Norway—that is, -to a clique of six or eight families! Ibsen makes the readers of -his piece believe that it is a question of upholding the social -edifice, and they learn with astonishment that this only concerns<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span> -the protection of a diminutive coterie of Philistines in a -northern Gotham.</p> - -<p>The American ship <i>Indian Girl</i> is undergoing repairs in -Consul Bernick’s dock. Her hull is quite rotten. If she -is sent to sea she will assuredly founder. Bernick, however, -insists that she shall sail in two days. His foreman Aune -pronounces this impossible. Then Bernick threatens Aune -with dismissal, at which the latter yields, and promises that -‘in two days the <i>Indian Girl</i> will be ready to sail.’ Bernick -knows that he is sending the <i>Indian Girl’s</i> crew of eighteen men -to certain death. And why does he commit this wholesale -murder? He gives the following explanation: ‘I have my -reasons for hurrying on the affair. Have you read this morning’s -paper? Ah! then you know that the Americans have -been making disturbances again. The shameless pack put the -whole town topsy-turvy. Not a night passes without fights in -the taverns or on the street, not to speak of other abominations.... -And who gets the blame for all this disturbance? It is -I—yes, I—that suffer for it. These newspaper scribblers are -always covertly carping at us for giving our whole attention to -the <i>Palm Tree</i>. And I, whose mission it is to be an example to -my fellow-citizens, must have such things thrown in my teeth! -I cannot bear it. It won’t do for me to have my name bespattered -in this way.... Not just now; precisely at this -moment I need all the respect and good-will of my fellow-citizens. -I have a great undertaking on hand, as you have -probably heard; but if evil-disposed persons succeed in shaking -people’s unqualified confidence in me, it may involve me in the -greatest difficulties. So I must silence these carping and spiteful -scribblers at any price, and that is why I give you till the -day after to-morrow.’ This paltry motive for the coldly-planned -murder of eighteen men is so ridiculous that even Ehrhard, who -admires everything in Ibsen, dares not defend it, and timidly -remarks that ‘the author does not very well explain why the -anxiety for his reputation should require the sending to sea of -a vessel which he has not had time thoroughly to repair.’<a name="FNanchor_326_326" id="FNanchor_326_326"></a><a href="#Footnote_326_326" class="fnanchor">[326]</a></p> - -<p>At the head of a delegation of his fellow-citizens, sent to -thank him for the establishment of a railway, Pastor Rörlund -delivers an address to Bernick in which the following passages -occur: ‘We have often expressed to you our gratitude for the -broad moral foundation upon which you have, so to speak, built -up our society. This time we chiefly hail in you the ... -citizen, who has taken the initiative in an undertaking which, -we are credibly assured, will give a powerful impetus to the -temporal prosperity and well-being of the community.... You -are in an eminent sense the pillar and corner-stone of this community....<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> -And it is just this light of disinterestedness -shining over all your actions that is so unspeakably beneficent, -especially in these times. You are now on the point of procuring -for us—I do not hesitate to say the word plainly and prosaically—a -railway.... But you cannot reject a slight token of your -grateful fellow-citizens’ appreciation, least of all on this -momentous occasion, when, according to the assurances of -practical men, we are standing on the threshold of a new era.’ -I have not interrupted by a single remark or note of exclamation -this unheard-of balderdash. It shall produce its own -unaided effect upon the reader. If this nonsense appeared in -a burlesque farce, it would be hardly funny enough, but otherwise -acceptable. Now, this claims to be ‘realistic’! We are -to take Ibsen’s word for it that Pastor Rörlund was sober when -he made this speech! A more insulting demand has never -been made by an author on his readers.</p> - -<p>In <i>An Enemy of Society</i> the subject treats of a rather incomprehensible -bathing establishment, comprising at once -mineral waters, medicinal baths and sea-bathing. The doctor -of the establishment has discovered that the springs are contaminated -with typhoid bacilli, and insists that the water shall -be taken from a place higher up in the mountains, where it -would not be polluted by sewage. He is the more urgent in his -demands, as without this precaution a fatal epidemic will break -out among the visitors. And to this the burgomaster of the -town is supposed to reply: ‘The existing supply of water for -the baths is once for all a fact, and must naturally be treated -as such. But probably the directors, at some future time, will -not be indisposed to take into their consideration whether, by -making certain pecuniary sacrifices, it may not be possible to -introduce some improvements.’ This is a question of a place -which, as Ibsen insists, has staked its future on the development -of its youthful bathing establishment; the place is situated in -Norway, in a small district where all the inhabitants are -mutually acquainted, and where every case of illness and death -is noticed by all. And the burgomaster will run the risk of -having a number of the visitors at the establishment attacked -with typhoid, when he is forewarned that this will certainly -happen if the conduit pipes of the spring are not transferred. -Without having an exaggeratedly high opinion of the burgomaster -mind in general, I deny that any idiot such as Ibsen -depicts is at the head of the local administration of any town -whatsoever in Europe.</p> - -<p>Tesman, in <i>Hedda Gabler</i>, expects that his publication, <i>Domestic -Industries of Brabant during the Middle Ages</i>, will secure him a -professorship in a college. But he has a dangerous competitor -in Ejlert Lövborg, who has published a book on <i>The General<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span> -March of Civilization</i>. This work has already made a ‘great -sensation,’ but the sequel is far to surpass this, and ‘treats of -the future.’ ‘But, good gracious! we don’t know anything -about that!’ someone objects. ‘No; but there are several -things though can be said about it, all the same.... It is -divided into two sections. The first is about the civilizing -forces of the future, and the other is about the civilizing progress -of the future.’ Special stress is laid upon the fact that it lies -wholly outside the domain of science, and consists in mere -prophecy. ‘Do you believe it impossible to reproduce such a -work—that it cannot be written a second time? No.... For the -inspiration, you know....’ We are acquainted, were it only -through popular histories of morals such as the <i>Democritus</i> of -Karl Julius Weber, with the strange questions with which the -casuists of the Middle Ages used to occupy themselves. But -that, in our century, such works as those of Tesman and Lövborg -could gain for their authors a professorship of any kind in either -hemisphere, or even the position of <i>privat docent</i>, is an infantile -invention, fit to raise a laugh in all academical circles.</p> - -<p>In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i> the mysterious sailor returns to -find that his old sweetheart has been for some years the wife of -Dr. Wangel. He urges her to follow him, saying she really -belongs to him. The husband is present at the interview. He -shows the stranger that he is wrong in wishing to carry off Ellida. -He represents to the sailor that it would be preferable if he -addressed himself to him (the husband), and not to the wife. -He mildly remonstrates with the stranger for addressing Ellida -with the familiar ‘thou,’ and calling her by her Christian name. -‘Such a familiarity is not customary with us, sir.’ The scene is -unspeakably comic, and would be worthy of reproduction in its -entirety. We will limit ourselves to quoting the conclusion:—</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Stranger.</span> To-morrow night I will come again, and then I shall look -for you here. You must wait for me here in the garden, for I prefer settling -the matter with you alone. You understand?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida</span> (<i>in low, trembling tone</i>). Do you hear that, Wangel?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> Only keep calm. We shall know how to prevent this visit.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Stranger.</span> Good-bye for the present, Ellida. So to-morrow night——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida</span> (<i>imploringly</i>). Oh, no, no! Do not come to-morrow night! -Never come here again!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Stranger.</span> And should you, then, have a mind to follow me over seas?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> Oh, don’t look at me like that!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Stranger.</span> I only mean that you must then be ready to set out.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> Go up to the house, Ellida, etc.</p></div> - -<p class="pn1">And Ibsen depicts Wangel, not as a senile, debile old man, but -in the prime of life and in full possession of all his faculties!</p> - -<p>All these crack-brained episodes are, however, far surpassed by -the scene in <i>Rosmersholm</i>, where Rebecca confesses to the doughty -Rosmer that she is consumed by ardent passion for him:—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span></p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> What have you felt? Speak so that I can understand you.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> It came over me—this wild, uncontrollable desire—oh, Rosmer!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Desire? You! For what?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> For you.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>tries to spring up</i>). What is this? [Idiot!]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca</span> (<i>stops him</i>). Sit still, dear; there is more to tell.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> And you mean to say—that you love me—in that way?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> I thought that it should be called love. Yes, I thought it was -love; but it was not. It was what I said. It was a wild, uncontrollable -desire.... It came upon me like a storm on the sea. It was like one of -the storms we sometimes have in the North in the winter-time. It seizes -you—and sweeps you along with it—whither it will. Resistance is out of -the question.’</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Rosmer, the object of this burning passion, is forty-three years -old, and has been a clergyman. This makes it somewhat -droll, but not impossible, for erotomaniacs can love all sorts of -creatures, even boots.<a name="FNanchor_327_327" id="FNanchor_327_327"></a><a href="#Footnote_327_327" class="fnanchor">[327]</a> What, however, is inconceivable is the -way in which the nymphomaniac sets about satisfying her ‘wild, -uncontrollable desire,’ this ‘storm upon the sea’ which ‘seizes -you, and sweeps you along with it.’ She had become the friend -of Rosmer’s sickly wife, and had for eighteen months tormented -her by hinting that Rosmer is unhappy because she has no -children, that he loves her, the nymphomaniac, but has controlled -his passion as long as his wife is living. By means of this -poison, patiently and unceasingly dropped into her soul, she had -happily driven her to suicide. After a year and a half! To -appease her ‘wild, uncontrollable passion’! This is exactly as -if a man driven wild by hunger should, with a view to satisfying -his craving, devise a deep plan for obtaining a field by fraud, -so that he might grow wheat, have it ground, and afterwards bake -himself a splendid loaf, which would then be Oh, so delicious! -The reader may judge for himself if this is the usual way in -which famished persons, or nymphomaniacs over whom passion -‘sweeps like a storm upon the sea,’ satisfy their impulses.</p> - -<p>Such are the presentations of the world’s realities as figured -to himself by this ‘realist’! Many of his infantile or silly lucubrations -are petty, superficial details, and a benevolent friend, -with some experience of life and some common-sense, could easily -have preserved him in advance from making himself ridiculous. -Others of his inventions, however, touch the very essence of his -poems and convert these into out and out grotesque moonshine. -In <i>The Pillars of Society</i>, Bernick, the man who calmly plans the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span> -murder of eighteen men to maintain his reputation as a capable -dock-owner (we may remark, in passing, the absurdity of this -means for attaining such an end), all at once confesses to his -fellow-citizens, without any compulsion, and solely on the advice -of Miss Hessel, that he has been a villain and a criminal. In -<i>A Doll’s House</i>, the wife, who was only a moment before playing -so tenderly with her children, suddenly abandons these children -without a thought for them.<a name="FNanchor_328_328" id="FNanchor_328_328"></a><a href="#Footnote_328_328" class="fnanchor">[328]</a> In <i>Rosmersholm</i> we are to believe -that the nymphomaniac Rebecca, while in constant intercourse -with the object of her flame, has become chaste and virtuous, -etc. Many of Ibsen’s principal characters present this spectacle -of impossible and incomprehensible metamorphoses, so that -they look like figures composed of odd halves, which some -bungling artisan has stuck together.</p> - -<p>After the lifelike truthfulness of Ibsen, let us inquire into the -scientific character of his work. This reminds us of the civilization -of Liberian negroes. The constitution and laws of that West -African republic read very much like those of the United States -of North America, and on paper command our respect. But -anyone living in Liberia very soon recognises the fact that these -black republicans are savages, having no idea of the political -institutions nominally existing among them, of their code of -laws, etc. Ibsen likes to give himself the appearance of standing -in the domain of natural science and of profiting by its latest -results. In his plays Darwin is quoted. He has evidently -dipped, though with a careless hand, into books on heredity, -and has picked up something about medical science. But the -scanty, ludicrously misunderstood stock phrases which have remained -in his memory are made use of by him much as my -illustrative Liberian negro uses the respectable paper collars -and top-hats of Europe. The expert can never preserve his -gravity when Ibsen displays his scientific and medical knowledge.</p> - -<p>Heredity is his hobby-horse, which he mounts in every one of -his pieces. There is not a single trait in his personages, a single -peculiarity of character, a single disease, that he does not trace -to heredity. In <i>A Doll’s House</i>, Dr. Rank’s ‘poor innocent -spine must do penance for “his” father’s notions of amusement -when he was a lieutenant in the army.’ Helmer explains to -Nora that ‘a misty atmosphere of lying brings contagion into -the whole family. Every breath the children draw contains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span> -some germ of evil.... Nearly all men who go to ruin early -have had untruthful mothers.... In most cases it comes from -the mother; but the father naturally works in the same direction.’ -And again: ‘Your father’s low principles you have -inherited, every one of them. No religion, no morality, no -sense of duty.’ In <i>Ghosts</i> Oswald has learned from the extraordinary -doctor in Paris who told him he had softening of the -brain, that he had inherited his malady from his father.<a name="FNanchor_329_329" id="FNanchor_329_329"></a><a href="#Footnote_329_329" class="fnanchor">[329]</a> -Regina, the natural daughter of the late Alving, exactly resembles -her mother.</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Regina</span> (<i>to herself</i>). So mother was that kind of woman, after all.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> Your mother had many good qualities, Regina.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Regina.</span> Yes; but she was one of that sort, all the same. Oh! I’ve often -suspected it.... A poor girl must make the best of her young days.... -And I, too, want to enjoy my life, Mrs. Alving.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> Yes, I see you do. But don’t throw yourself away, Regina.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Regina.</span> Oh! what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his father, I -take after my mother, I dare say.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Rosmersholm</i> Rebecca’s nymphomania is explained by the -fact that she is the natural daughter of a Lapland woman of -doubtful morals. ‘I believe your whole conduct is determined -by your origin,’ Rector Kroll says to her (p. 82). Rosmer -never laughs, because ‘it is a trait of his family.’ He is ‘the -descendant of the men that look down on us from these walls’ -(p. 80). His ‘spirit is deeply rooted in his ancestry’ (p. 80). -Hilda, the stepdaughter of the ‘Lady from the Sea,’ says: ‘I -should not wonder if some fine day she went mad.... Her -mother went mad, too. She died mad. I know that.’ In <i>The -Wild Duck</i> nearly everyone has a hereditary mark. Gregers -Werle, the malignant imbecile, who holds and proclaims his -passion for gossip as an ardent desire for truth, inherits this -craze from his mother.<a name="FNanchor_330_330" id="FNanchor_330_330"></a><a href="#Footnote_330_330" class="fnanchor">[330]</a> Little Hedwig becomes blind, like her -father, old Werle.<a name="FNanchor_331_331" id="FNanchor_331_331"></a><a href="#Footnote_331_331" class="fnanchor">[331]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p> - -<p>In the earlier philosophical dramas the same idea is constantly -repeated. Brand gets his obstinacy, and Peer Gynt his lively, -extravagant imagination, from the mother. Ibsen has evidently -read Lucas’s book on the first principles of heredity, and has -borrowed from it uncritically. It is true that Lucas believes in -the inheritance even of notions and feelings as complex and as -nearly related to specific facts as, <i>e.g.</i>, the horror of doctors,<a name="FNanchor_332_332" id="FNanchor_332_332"></a><a href="#Footnote_332_332" class="fnanchor">[332]</a> and -that he does not doubt the transmission of diseased deviations -from the norm, <i>e.g.</i>, the appearance of blindness at a definite -age.<a name="FNanchor_333_333" id="FNanchor_333_333"></a><a href="#Footnote_333_333" class="fnanchor">[333]</a> Lucas, however, whose merits are not to be denied, did -not sufficiently distinguish between that which the individual -receives in its material genesis from its parents, and that which -is subsequently suggested by family life and example, by continuous -existence in the same conditions as its parents, etc. -Ibsen is the true ‘man of one book.’ He abides by his Lucas. -If he had read Weismann,<a name="FNanchor_334_334" id="FNanchor_334_334"></a><a href="#Footnote_334_334" class="fnanchor">[334]</a> and, above all, Galton,<a name="FNanchor_335_335" id="FNanchor_335_335"></a><a href="#Footnote_335_335" class="fnanchor">[335]</a> he would -have known that nothing is more obscure and apparently -more capricious, than the course of heredity. For the individual -is, says Galton, the result—the arithmetic mean—of three different -quantities: its father, its mother and the whole species, -represented by the double series, going back to the beginnings -of all terrestrial life, of its paternal and maternal progenitors. -This third datum is the unknown quantity—the <i>x</i>—in the problem. -Reversions to distant ancestors may make the individual -wholly unlike its parents, and the influence of the species so far -exceed, as a general rule, those of the immediate progenitors -that children who are the exact cast of their father or mother, -especially with respect to the most complex manifestations of -personality, of character, capacities and inclinations, are the -greatest rarities. But Ibsen is not at all concerned about -seriously justifying his ideas on heredity in a scientific manner. -As we shall see later on, these ideas have their root in his -mysticism; Lucas’s work was for him only a lucky treasure-trove,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span> -which he seized on with joy, because it offered him the possibility -of scientifically cloaking his mystic obsession.</p> - -<p>Ibsen’s excursions in the domain of medical science, which he -hardly ever denies himself, are most delightful. In <i>The Pillars -of Society</i> Rector Rörlund glorifies the women of his côterie as a -kind of ‘sisters of mercy who pick lint.’ Pick lint! In an age -of antiseptics and aseptics! Let Ibsen only take into his head -to enter any surgical ward with his ‘picked lint’! He would be -astonished at the reception given to him and his lint. In <i>An -Enemy of Society</i> Dr. Stockmann declares that the water of the -baths with its ‘millions of bacilli is absolutely injurious to health, -whether used internally or externally.’ The only bacilli which -can be referred to in this scene, as throughout the whole piece, -are the typhoid bacilli of Eberth. Now, it may be true that -bathing in contaminated water may produce Biskra boils, and -perhaps béri-béri; but it would be difficult for Dr. Stockmann -and Ibsen to instance a single case of typhoid fever contracted -through bathing in water containing bacilli. In <i>A Doll’s House</i> -Helmer’s life ‘depended on a journey abroad.’ That might be -true for a European in the tropics, or for anyone living in a -fever-district. But in Norway there is no such thing as an -acute illness in which the life of the invalid depends on ‘a -journey abroad.’ Further on Dr. Rank says (p. 60): ‘In the -last few days I have had a general stock-taking of my inner -man. Bankruptcy! Before a month is over I shall be food -for worms in the churchyard.... There is only one more investigation -to be made, and when I have made it I shall know -exactly at what time dissolution will take place.’ According -to his own declaration, Dr. Rank suffers from disease of the -dorsal marrow (it is true that he speaks of the dorsal column, but -the mistaken expression need not be taken too rigidly). Ibsen -is evidently thinking of consumption of the spinal marrow. -Now, there is in this disease absolutely no symptom which could -with certainty authorize the prediction of death three weeks -beforehand; there is no ‘general stock-taking of the inner -man’ which the invalid, if he were a doctor, could carry out on -himself to gain a clear knowledge of ‘when the dissolution’ was -to take place; and there is no form of consumption of the spinal -marrow which would allow the invalid four weeks before his -death (not an accidental death, but one necessitated by his -disease) to go to a ball, drink immoderately of champagne, and -afterwards to take an affecting leave of his friends. Oswald -Alving’s illness in <i>Ghosts</i> is, from a clinical standpoint, quite as -childishly depicted as that of Rank. From all that is said in the -piece the disease inherited by Oswald from his father can only -be diagnosed either as <i>syphilis hereditaria tarda</i>, or <i>dementia -paralytica</i>. The first of these diseases is out of the question,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span> -for Oswald is depicted as a model of manly strength and health.<a name="FNanchor_336_336" id="FNanchor_336_336"></a><a href="#Footnote_336_336" class="fnanchor">[336]</a> -And even if, in exceptional and extremely rare cases, the -malady does not show itself till after the victim is well on in -his twenties, it yet betrays itself from the earliest childhood by -certain phenomena of degeneracy which would prevent even a -mother, blinded by love and pride, from glorifying her son’s -‘outer self’ in the style of Mrs. Alving. Certain minor features -might perhaps indicate <i>dementia paralytica</i>, as, for example, -Oswald’s sensual excitability, the artless freedom with which -he speaks before his mother of the amours of his friends in -Paris, or gives expression to his pleasure at the sight of the -‘glorious’ Regina, the levity with which, at the first sight of -this girl, he makes plans for his marriage, etc.<a name="FNanchor_337_337" id="FNanchor_337_337"></a><a href="#Footnote_337_337" class="fnanchor">[337]</a> But together -with these exact, though subordinate, features there appear -others infinitely more important, which wholly preclude the -diagnosis of <i>dementia paralytica</i>. There is in Oswald no trace -of the megalomania which is never absent in the first stage of -this malady; he is anxious and depressed, while the sufferer -from general paralysis feels extremely happy, and sees life -through rose-coloured spectacles. Oswald forebodes and dreads -an outburst of madness—a fact which I, for my part, have never -observed in a paralytic, nor found indicated by any clinicist whatever. -Finally, Oswald’s dementia declares itself with a suddenness -and completeness found in acute mania only; but the description -given of Oswald in the last scene—his immobility, his -‘dull and toneless’ voice, and his idiotic murmuring of the -words ‘the sun, the sun,’ repeated half a dozen times—does not -in the remotest degree correspond with the picture of acute -mania.</p> - -<p>The poet has naturally no need to understand anything of -pathology. But when he pretends to describe real life, he -ought to be honest. He should not get out of his depth in -scientific observation and precision simply because these are -demanded or preferred by the age. The more ignorant the -poet is in pathology, the greater is the test of his veracity given -by his clinical pictures. As he cannot, in his lay capacity, draw -on his imagination for them by combining clinical experiences -and reminiscences of books, it is necessary that he shall have seen -with his own eyes each case represented to depict it accurately. -Shakespeare was likewise no physician; and, besides, what did -the physicians of his time know? Yet we can to this day still<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span> -diagnose without hesitation the <i>dementia senilis</i> of Lear, -Hamlet’s weakness of will through nervous exhaustion (<i>neurasthenic -‘aboalie’</i>), the melancholia, accompanied with optical -hallucination, of Lady Macbeth. Why? Because Shakespeare -introduced into his creations things really seen. Ibsen, on -the contrary, has freely invented his invalids, and that this -method could, in the hands of a layman, only lead to laughable -results, needs no proof. A moving or affecting situation offers -itself to his imagination—that of a man who clearly foresees -his near and inevitable death, and with violent self-conquest -lifts himself to the stoic philosophy of renunciation; or that of -a young man who adjures his mother to kill him when the -madness he awaits with horror shall break out. The situation -is very improbable. Perhaps it has never occurred. In any -event, Ibsen has never witnessed it. But if it occurred it -would possess great poetic beauty, and produce a great effect -on the stage. Consequently Ibsen calmly turns out the -novel and unknown maladies of a Dr. Rank or an Oswald -Alving, the progress of which might make these situations -possible. Such is the procedure of the poet whose realism -and accurate observation are so much vaunted by his admirers.</p> - -<p>His clearness of mind, his love of liberty, his modernity! -Careful readers of Ibsen’s works will not trust their eyes -when they see these words applied to him. We will at once -put immediate and exhaustive tests to the clearness of his -thought. His love of liberty will be revealed by analysis as -anarchism; and his modernity amounts essentially to this, -that in his pieces railways are constructed (<i>The Pillars of -Society</i>), that there is a cackle about bacilli (<i>An Enemy of -the People</i>), that the struggles of political parties play a -part in them (<i>The League of the Young</i>, <i>Rosmersholm</i>)—all put -on superficially with a brush, without inner dependence upon -the true active forces in the poem. This ‘modern,’ this ‘apostle -of liberty,’ has an idea of the press and its functions fit for a -clerk in a police-station, and he pursues journalists with the -hatred, droll in these days, of a tracker of demagogues in the -third decade of this century. All the journalists whom he sets -before us—and they are numerous in his pieces, Peter Mortensgaard -in <i>Rosmersholm</i>, Haustad and Billing in <i>An Enemy of -the People</i>, Bahlmann in <i>The League of the Young</i>—are either -drunken ragamuffins or poor knock-kneed starvelings, constantly -trembling at the prospect of being thrashed or kicked -out, or unprincipled rascals who write for anyone who pays. -He has so clear a grasp of the social question that he makes -a foreman mix with the workmen and threaten a strike because -machines are about to be used on the wharves (<i>The Pillars of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span> -Society</i>)! He looks upon the masses with the fine contempt of -the great feudal landlords. When he mentions them it is -either with biting derision or a most aristocratic and arrogant -disdain.<a name="FNanchor_338_338" id="FNanchor_338_338"></a><a href="#Footnote_338_338" class="fnanchor">[338]</a></p> - -<p>The greater part of his notions, moreover, belong to no time, -but are emanations from his personal perversity, and can, therefore, -be neither modern or not modern; the least uncouth of -them, however, having their root in a definite period, spring -from the circle of ideas of a Gothamist of the first third of the -present century. The label ‘modern’ was arbitrarily attached -to Ibsen by George Brandes (<i>Moderne Geister</i>, Frankfurt, 1886), -one of the most repulsive literary phenomena of the century. -George Brandes, a sponger on the fame or name of others, has -throughout his life followed the calling of a ‘human orchestra,’ -who with head, mouth, hands, elbows, knees, and feet, plays -ten noisy instruments at once, dancing before poets and authors, -and, after the hubbub, passes his hat round among the deafened -public. For a quarter of a century he has assiduously courted -the favour of all who for any reason had a following, and -written rhetorical and sophistical phrases about them, as long -as he could find a market. Adorned with a few feathers -plucked from the stately pinions of Taine’s genius, and prating -of John Stuart Mill, whose treatise <i>On Liberty</i> he has glanced -at, but hardly read, and certainly not understood, he introduced -himself among the youth of Scandinavia, and, abusing -their confidence, obtained by this means, has made their systematic -moral poisoning the task of his life. He preached -to them the gospel of passion, and, with truly diabolical zeal -and obstinacy, confused all their notions, giving to whatever -he extolled that was mean and reprehensible the most attractive -and honourable names. It has always been thought weak and -cowardly to yield to base impulses condemned by judgment, -instead of combating and stifling them. If Brandes had said -to the young, ‘Renounce your judgment! Sacrifice duty to -your passions! Be ruled by your senses! Let your will -and consciousness be as feathers before the storm of your -appetites!’—the better among his hearers would have spit at -him. But he said to them: ‘To obey one’s senses is to have -character. He who allows himself to be guided by his passions -has individuality. The man of strong will despises discipline -and duty, and follows every caprice, every temptation, every -movement of his stomach or his other organs’; and these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span> -vulgarities, thus presented, no longer had the repulsive character -which awakens distrust and serves as a warning. Proclaimed -under the names of ‘liberty’ and ‘moral autonomy,’ debauchery -and dissoluteness gain easy admission into the best circles, and -depravity, from which all would turn if it appeared as such, -seems to insufficiently informed minds attractive and desirable -when disguised as ‘modernity.’ It is comprehensible that an -educator who turns the schoolroom into a tavern and a brothel -should have success and a crowd of followers. He certainly -runs the risk of being slain by the parents, if they come to -know what he is teaching their children; but the pupils will -hardly complain, and will be eager to attend the lessons of so -agreeable a teacher. By a similar method Brandes acquitted -himself of his educational functions. This is the explanation of -the influence he gained over the youth of his country, such as his -writings, with their emptiness of thought and unending tattle, -would certainly never have procured for him.</p> - -<p>Brandes discovered in Ibsen a revolt against the prevailing -moral law, together with a glorification of bestial instincts, and -accordingly trumpeted his praises in spite of his astounding -reactionary views, as a ‘modern spirit,’ recommending Ibsen’s -works, with a wink of the eye, to the knowledge-craving -youth, whom he served as <i>maître de plaisir</i>. But this -‘modern,’ this ‘realist,’ with his exact ‘scientific’ observation, -is in reality a mystic and an ego-maniacal anarchist. An -analysis of his intellectual peculiarities will enable us to discern -a resemblance to those of Richard Wagner, which is not -surprising, since a similarity in features is precisely a stigma of -degeneracy, and for this reason is common to many, or to all, -higher degenerates.</p> - -<p>Ibsen is the child of a rigorously religious race, and grew up -in a family of believers. The impressions of childhood have determined -the course of his life. His mind has never been able -to iron out the theological crease it got through nurture. The -Bible and Catechism became for him the bounds beyond which -he has never passed. His free-thinking diatribes against established -Christianity (<i>Brand</i>, <i>Rosmersholm</i>, etc.), his derision of -the shackled pietism of divines (Manders in <i>Ghosts</i>, Rörlund in -<i>The Pillars of Society</i>, the dean in <i>Brand</i>), are an echo of his -teacher, the theosophist, Sœren Kierkegaard (1815-55), a zealot -certainly for quite another Christianity than that ordained by -the state, and provided with powers of nomination and fixed -salaries, but nevertheless an austere and exclusive Christianity, -demanding the whole being of man. Perhaps even Ibsen looks -upon himself as a free-thinker. Wagner did the same. But -what does that prove? He is not clear with regard to his own -thought.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘It is curious,’ writes Herbert Spencer,<a name="FNanchor_339_339" id="FNanchor_339_339"></a><a href="#Footnote_339_339" class="fnanchor">[339]</a> ‘how commonly men -continue to hold, in fact, doctrines which they have rejected in -name, retaining the substance after they have abandoned the -form. In theology an illustration is supplied by Carlyle, who, -in his student days, giving up, as he thought, the creed of his -fathers, rejected its shell only, keeping the contents, and was -proved by his conceptions of the world, and man and conduct, -to be still among the sternest of Scotch Calvinists.’ If Spencer, -when he wrote this, had known Ibsen, he would perhaps have cited -him as a second example. As Carlyle was always a Scotch -Calvinist, so Ibsen has always remained a Norwegian Protestant -of the school of Kierkegaard—that is to say, a Protestant -with the earnest mysticism of a Jacob Boehme, a Swedenborg, -or a Pusey, which easily passes over into the Catholicism of a -St. Theresa or a Ruysbroek.</p> - -<p>Three fundamental ideas of Christianity are ever present in -his mind, and about these as round so many axes revolves the -entire activity of his poetical imagination. These three unalterable -central ideas, constituting genuine obsessions, reaching -up from the unconscious into his intellectual life, are original -sin, confession and self-sacrifice or redemption.</p> - -<p>Æsthetic chatterers have spoken of the idea of heredity influencing -all Ibsen’s works, an idea which cannot escape even -the feeblest attention, as something appertaining to modern -science and Darwinism. As a matter of fact, it is the ever-recurring -original sin of St. Augustine, and it betrays its -theological nature, firstly by the circumstance that it makes its -appearance in conjunction with the two other theological ideas -of confession and redemption, and secondly, by the distinguishing -characteristic of hereditary transmission. As we have above -seen, Ibsen’s personages always inherit a disease (blindness, -consumption of the spinal marrow, madness), a vice (mendaciousness, -levity, lewdness, obduracy), or some defect (incapacity -for enjoyment), but never an agreeable or useful quality. Now -what is good and wholesome is just as frequently inherited as -what is evil and diseased—even more frequently, according to -many investigators. Hence if Ibsen had really wished to -exhibit the operation of the law of heredity as understood by -Darwin, he would have offered us at least one example, if only -one, of the inheritance of good qualities. But not a single -instance is to be met with in all his dramas. What his beings -possess of good, comes one knows not whence. They have -always inherited nothing but evil. The gentle Hedvig in <i>The -Wild Duck</i> becomes blind like her father, Werle. But from -whom does she get her dreamy wealth of imagination, her -devoted loving heart? Her father is a cold egoist, and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span> -mother a clever, practical, prosaic housewife. Thus she can -never have inherited her fine qualities from either of her parents. -From them she receives only her eye-disease. With Ibsen -heredity is only a visitation, a punishment for the sins of the -fathers; science knows of no such exclusive heredity; theology -alone knows it, and it is simply original sin.</p> - -<p>Ibsen’s second theological <i>motif</i> is confession; in nearly all -his pieces such is the goal to which all the action tends; not, -perchance, forced by circumstances upon a dissimulating -offender, not the inevitable revelation of a hidden misdeed, but -the voluntary outpouring of a pent-up soul, the voluptuous, self-tormenting -disclosure of an ugly inner wound, the remorseful -‘My guilt, my deepest guilt!’ of the sinner breaking down -under the weight of his burdened conscience, humbling himself -to an avowal that he may find inward peace; in short, genuine -confession as required by the Church. In <i>A Doll’s House</i>, -Helmer informs his wife (p. 44): ‘Many a man can lift himself -up again morally if he openly recognises his offence and undergoes -its punishment.... Only just think how a man so conscious -of guilt as that must go about everywhere lying, and a -hypocrite, and an actor; how he must wear a mask towards his -neighbour, and even his wife and children.’ For him not the -guilt, but the dissimulation, is the great evil, and its true -expiation consists in ‘public avowal’—<i>i.e.</i>, in confession. In -the same piece Mrs. Linden, without any external necessity, -and simply in obedience to an inner impulse, makes the following -confession (p. 87): ‘I, too, have suffered shipwreck.... I -had no choice at the time’; while later on she develops the -theory of confession once more (p. 90): ‘Helmer must know -everything; between those two there must be the completest -possible understanding, and that can never come to pass while -all these excuses and concealments are going on.’</p> - -<p>In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> Miss Hessel exacts a confession -in these terms (p. 70):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Here you are, the first man in the town, living in wealth and pride, in -power and honour—you who have set the brand of crime upon an innocent -man.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Do you think I do not feel deeply how I have wronged him? -Do you think I am not prepared to make atonement?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> How? By speaking out?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Can you ask such a thing?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> What else can atone for such a wrong?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And Johan also says (p. 75):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">In two months I shall be back again.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> And then you will tell all?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Then the guilty one must take the guilt upon himself.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Bernick actually makes the confession demanded of him -from pure contrition, for at the time he makes it all proofs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span> -of his crime are destroyed, and he has nothing more to fear -from other persons. His confession is couched in most edifying -terms (p. 108):</p> - -<p class="pbq p1">I must begin by rejecting the panegyric with which you ... have overwhelmed -me. I do not deserve it; for until to-day I have not been disinterested -in my dealings.... I have no right to this homage; for ... -my intention was to retain the whole myself.... My fellow-citizens must -know me to the core ... that from this evening we begin a new time. -The old, with its tinsel, its hypocrisy, its hollowness, its lying propriety, and -its pitiful cowardice, shall lie behind us like a museum open for instruction.... -My fellow-citizens, I will come out of the lie; it had almost poisoned -every fibre of my being. You shall know all. Fifteen years ago <i>I</i> was the -guilty one, etc.</p> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Rosmersholm</i> there is hardly any other subject treated of -than the confession of all before all. In the very first visit of -Kroll (p. 15) Rebecca urges Rosmer to confess:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rebecca</span> (<i>comes up close to Rosmer, and says rapidly and in a low voice, -so that the Rector does not hear her</i>). Do it now!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>also in a low voice</i>). Not this evening.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca</span> (<i>as before</i>). Yes, this very evening.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">As he does not at once obey she will speak for him (p. 19):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> You must let me tell you frankly.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>quickly</i>). No, no; be quiet. Not just now!</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Rosmer soon does it himself (p. 28):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Kroll.</span> We two are in practical agreement—at any rate, on the great -essential questions.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>in a low voice</i>). No; not now.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll</span> (<i>tries to jump up</i>). What is this?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>holding him</i>). No; you must sit still. I entreat you, Kroll.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll.</span> What can this mean? I don’t understand you. Speak plainly.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> A new summer has blossomed in my soul. I see with eyes -grown young again; and so now I stand——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll.</span> Where? where, Rosmer?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Where your children stand.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll.</span> You? you? Impossible! Where do you say you stand?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> On the same side as Laurits and Hilda.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll</span> (<i>bows his head</i>). An apostate! Johannes Rosmer an apostate!... -Is this becoming language for a priest?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> I am no longer a priest.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll.</span> Well, but—the faith of your childhood——?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Is mine no longer.... I have given it up. I <i>had</i> to give it up.... -Peace, and joy, and mutual forbearance must once more enter our -souls. That is why I am stepping forward and openly avowing myself for -what I am....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> There now; he’s on his way to his great sacrifice.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">(We may here note the purely theological designation given -to Rosmer’s act.)</p> - -<p class="pbq p1"><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> I feel so relieved now it is over. You see, I am quite calm -Rebecca....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">Like Rosmer, Rebecca also confesses to Rector Kroll -(p. 86):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> Yes, Herr Rector, Rosmer and I—we say <i>thou</i> to each other. -The relation between us has led to that.... Come, let us sit down, dear—all -three of us—and then I will tell the whole story.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>seats himself mechanically</i>). What has come over you, Rebecca? -This unnatural calmness—what is it?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> I have only to tell you something.... Now it must out. It -was not you, Rosmer. You are innocent; it was <i>I</i> who lured Beata out -into the paths of delusion ... that led to the mill-race. Now you know -it, both of you....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Have you confessed all now, Rebecca?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">No, not yet all. But she hastens to complete to Rosmer -the confession begun to Kroll (p. 98):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Have you more confessions to make?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> The greatest of all is to come.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> The greatest?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> What you have never suspected. What gives light and shade -to all the rest, etc.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, Ellida (p. 19) confesses to Arnholm -the story of her insensate betrothal with the foreign sailor. -Arnholm so little comprehends the need of this confession, -made without rhyme or reason, that he asks with astonishment: -‘What is your object, then, in telling me that you were bound?’ -‘Because I must have someone in whom to confide,’ is Ellida’s -sole—and, moreover, sufficient—answer.</p> - -<p>In <i>Hedda Gabler</i> the inevitable confessions take place before -the commencement of the piece. ‘Yes, Hedda,’ Lövborg says -(p. 123). ‘And when I used to confess to you! Told you -about myself—things that nobody else knew in those days. -Sat there and admitted that I had been out on the loose for -whole days and nights.... Ah, Hedda, what power was it -in you that forced me to acknowledge things like that?... -Had not you an idea that you could wash me clean if only -I came to you in confession?’ He confesses in order to receive -absolution.</p> - -<p>In <i>The Wild Duck</i> confession is equally prominent, but it -is deliciously ridiculed. The scene in which Gina confesses -to her husband her early liaison with Werle is one of the most -exquisite things in contemporary drama (Act IV.).</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Is it true—can it be true that—that there was an—an understanding -between you and Mr. Werle, while you were in service there?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> That’s not true. Not at that time. Mr. Werle did come after me, -I own it; and his wife thought there was something in it ... so that I left -her service.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> But afterwards, then!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> Well, then I went home. And mother—well, she wasn’t the woman -you took her for, Ekdal; she kept on worrying and worrying at me about -one thing and another. For Mr. Werle was a widower by that time.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Well, and then?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> I suppose you must know it. He didn’t give it up until he’d had -his way.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>striking his hands together</i>). And this is the mother of my -child! How could you hide this from me?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> It was wrong of me; I ought certainly to have told you long ago.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> You should have told me at the very first; then I should have -known what you were.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> But would you have married me all the same?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> How can you suppose so?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> That’s just why I didn’t dare to tell you anything then. I’d come -to care for you so much, you know; and I couldn’t go and make myself -utterly miserable....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Haven’t you every day, every hour, repented of the spider’s -web of deceit you had spun around me? Answer me that! How could -you help writhing with penitence and remorse?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> My dear Ekdal, I’ve plenty to do looking after the house, and all -the daily business——</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Further on the idea of self-deliverance and purification -through confession is pitilessly travestied.</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Haven’t you done it yet?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>aloud</i>). It <i>is</i> done.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> It <i>is</i>?... After so great a crisis—a crisis that’s to be the -starting-point of an entirely new life—of a communion founded on truth, -and free from falsehood of any kind.... Surely you feel a new consecration -after the great crisis.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Yes, of course I do—that is, in a sort of way.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> For I’m sure there’s nothing in the world to compare with the -joy of forgiving one who has erred, and raising her up to one’s self in love, -etc.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">On his way to the guillotine, Avinain, the French assassin, -condensed the experience of his life in the pithy saying, -‘Never confess.’ But this is advice which only those of strong -will and healthy minds can follow. A lively idea vehemently -demands to be transformed into movement. The movement -exacting the least effort is that of the small muscles of the -larynx, tongue, and lips, <i>i.e.</i>, the organs of speech. Anyone, -therefore, having a specially lively idea experiences a strong -desire to relax those cell-groups of his brain in which this idea -is elaborated by allowing the transmission of their stimulus to -the organs of speech. In a word, he desires to speak out. -And if he is weak, if the inhibitive power of the will is not -greater than the motor impulse proceeding from the ideational -centre, he will burst out into speech, be the consequences what -they may. That this psychological law has always been known -is proved by all literature, from the fable of King Midas to -Dostojewski’s <i>Raskolnikow</i>; and the Catholic Church furnished -one more proof of her profound knowledge of human nature -which she transformed the primitive Christian custom of confession -before the assembled congregation, which was to be a -self-humiliation and expiation, into auricular confession, which -serves the purpose of a safe and blissful alleviation and relaxation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span> -and constitutes for ordinary men a primary psychic need -of the first order. It was this sort of confession which Ibsen, -probably unconsciously, had in view. (‘Because I must have -someone in whom I can confide,’ as Ellida says.) Himself a -degenerate, Ibsen can picture to himself only the intellectual -life of degenerates, in whom the mechanism of inhibition is -always disordered, and who, therefore, cannot escape from the -impulse to confess, when anything of an absorbing or exciting -character exists in their consciousness.</p> - -<p>The third and most important theological obsession of Ibsen -is the saving act of Christ, the redemption of the guilty by a -voluntary acceptance of their guilt. This devolution of sin -upon a lamb of sacrifice occupies the same position in Ibsen’s -drama as in Richard Wagner’s. The <i>motif</i> of the sacrificial -lamb and of redemption is constantly present in his mind, -certainly not always clear and comprehensible, but, conformably -with the confusion of his thought, diversely distorted, -obscured, and, so to speak, in <i>contrapuntal</i> inversion. Now -Ibsen’s personages voluntarily and joyfully bear the cross, in -keeping with the Christ-idea; now it is put upon their shoulders -by force or artifice, which is, as theologians would say, a diabolical -mockery of this idea; now the sacrifice for another is -sincere, now mere hypocrisy; the effects Ibsen draws from the -incessantly recurring <i>motif</i> are, agreeably with its form, now -moral and affecting, now comically base and repulsive.</p> - -<p>In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> there is a talk of some ‘scandal’ -which occurred years before the commencement of the piece. -The husband of the actress Dorf, on returning home one -evening, found her with a stranger, who, on his entrance, sprang -out of the window. The affair caused great excitement and -indignation in the Norwegian Gotham. Immediately afterwards -Johan Tönnesen fled to America. Everyone looked -upon him as the ‘culprit.’ In reality, however, it was his -brother-in-law, Bernick. Johan had voluntarily incurred the -blame of Bernick’s fault. On his return from America the -sinner and the sacrificial lamb discuss the circumstance (p. 45):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Johan, now we are alone, you must give me leave to thank -you.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Oh, nonsense!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> My house and home, my domestic happiness, my whole position -as a citizen in society—all these I owe to you.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Well, I am glad of it....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Thanks, thanks all the same. Not one in ten thousand would -have done what you then did for me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Oh, nonsense!... One of us had to take the blame upon him.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> But to whom did it lie nearer than to the guilty one?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Stop! <i>Then</i> it lay nearer to the innocent one. I was alone, free, -an orphan.... You, on the other hand, had your old mother in life; and, -besides, you had just become secretly engaged to Betty, and she was very -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>fond of you. What would have become of her if she had come to know——?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> True, true, true; but ... but yet, that you should turn appearances -against yourself, and go away——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Have no scruples, my dear Karsten ... you had to be saved, -and you were my friend.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Here the idea of the sacrificial lamb is normal and rational. -But it is soon afterwards introduced into the same piece in a -distorted shape. Bernick sends the rotten-keeled <i>Indian Girl</i> -to sea, to her certain destruction, in spite of his foreman Aune’s -opposition. While, however, planning this wholesale murder, -he also schemes for laying the burden of his crime on the -innocent Aune (p. 65):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Krap.</span> ... There is rascality at work, Consul.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> I cannot believe it, Krap. I cannot, and will not believe such -a thing of Aune.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krap.</span> I am sorry for it, but it is the plain truth.... All bogus! The -<i>Indian Girl</i> will never get to New York....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> But this is horrible! What do you think can be his motive?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krap.</span> He probably wants to bring the machines into discredit....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> And for that he would sacrifice all these lives?... But such -a piece of villainy as this! Listen, Krap; this affair must be examined into -again. Not a word of it to anyone.... During the dinner-hour you must -go down there again; I must have perfect certainty.... We cannot make -ourselves accomplices in a crime. I must keep my conscience unspotted, etc.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Ghosts</i> the idea of the lamb of sacrifice is equally travestied. -The asylum founded by Mrs. Alving has been burnt. -The joiner, Engstrand, that theatrical villain, succeeds in persuading -the idiotic pastor, Manders, that he—Manders—was -the cause of the fire. And as the pastor is made desperate by -the possible legal consequences, Engstrand goes to him and -says (p. 184):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Jacob Engstrand isn’t the man to desert a noble benefactor in the hour -of need, as the saying is [!].</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Manders.</span> Yes; but, my good fellow, how——?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Engstrand.</span> Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a guardian angel—he -may, your reverence.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Manders.</span> No, no; I can’t accept that.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Engstrand.</span> Oh, you will though, all the same. I know a man that’s -taken others’ sins upon himself before now, I do.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Manders.</span> Jacob (<i>wrings his hand</i>). You are a rare character.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>A Doll’s House</i> the idea develops itself with great beauty. -Nora confidently expects that her husband, on hearing of her -forgery, will assume the blame, and she is resolved not to accept -his sacrifice (p. 76):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I only wanted to tell you that, Christina; you shall be my witness.... -In case there were to be anybody who wanted to take the ... the -whole blame, I mean ... then you will be able to bear witness that it is -not true, Christina. I know very well what I am saying; I am in full possession -of my senses, and I say to you, Nobody else knew anything about -it; I alone have done everything.... But a miracle will come to pass -even yet ... but it is so terrible, Christina! It must not happen for anything -in the world!</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">In the deepest excitement she looks for the expected miracle, -the renewal of Christ’s act of salvation in the narrow circumstances -of a small village—‘I am the Lamb of God, who taketh -away the sins of the world.’ And, since the miracle does not -come to pass, there takes place the immense transformation in -her nature which forms the real subject of the piece. Nora -explains this to her husband with the greatest clearness -(p. 116):</p> - -<p class="pbq p1">...The thought never once occurred to me that you could allow yourself -to submit to the conditions of such a man. I was so firmly convinced -that you would say to him, ‘Pray make the affair known to all the world’; -and when that had been done ... then you would, as I firmly believed, -stand before the world, take everything upon yourself, and say, ‘I am the -guilty person.’ ... That was the miracle that I hoped and feared. And it -was to hinder that that I wanted to put an end to my life.</p> - -<p class="p1">In <i>The Wild Duck</i> the idea of the sacrificial lamb recurs -no less than three times, and is the moving force of the whole -piece. The infringement of the forest laws, of which the elder -Ekdal was convicted, was not committed by him, but by -Werle:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Werle.</span> ... I was quite in the dark as to what Lieutenant Ekdal was -doing.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Lieutenant Ekdal seems to have been in the dark as to what -he was doing.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Werle.</span> That may be. But the fact remains that he was found guilty, -and I acquitted.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Yes, of course I know that nothing was proved against you.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Werle.</span> Acquittal is acquittal. Why do you rake up old troubles?... -I’ve done all I could without positively exposing myself, and giving rise to -all sorts of suspicion and gossip.... I’ve given Ekdal copying to do from -the office, and I pay him far, far more for it than his work is worth.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Werle thus shuffles his fault on Ekdal, and the latter breaks -down under the weight of the cross. Afterwards, when Hjalmar -learns that little Hedwig is not his child, and disowns her, the -idiot Gregers Werle goes to the despairing maiden, and says:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">But suppose you were to sacrifice the wild duck, of your own free will, -for his sake?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig</span> (<i>rising</i>). The wild duck!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Suppose you were to sacrifice, for his sake, the dearest treasure -you have in the world?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> Do you think that would do any good?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Try it, Hedwig.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig</span> (<i>softly, with flashing eyes</i>). Yes, I will try it.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Here, then, Hedwig is not to offer herself in sacrifice, but a -pet animal, thus abasing the idea from Christianity to paganism. -Finally, it crops up a third time. At the last moment Hedwig -cannot make up her mind to kill the duck, and prefers turning -the pistol against her own breast, thus purchasing with her own -life that of the bird. This dismal dénouement is worrying and -foolish, because useless; the poetical effect would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span> -fully attained if Hedwig, instead of dying, had only slightly -wounded herself; for in this way she would have furnished -equally strong proof that she was seriously determined to bear -witness to her love for her father by the sacrifice of her young -life, and to restore peace between him and her mother. But -æsthetic criticism is not my function; I willingly yield that to -phrase-makers. All that I have to indicate is the triple recurrence -in <i>The Wild Duck</i> of the idea of the sacrificial lamb.</p> - -<p>At its third appearance this idea suffers a significant transformation. -Hedwig sacrifices herself, not in expiation of an -offence—for she is ignorant of her mother’s guilt—but to -accomplish a work of love. Here the mystico-theological -element of redemption recedes into the background so far as -to be almost imperceptible, and there remains hardly more -than the purely human element of the joy felt in self-sacrifice -for others—an impulse not rare among good women, and which -is a manifestation of the unsatisfied yearning for maternity -(often unknown to themselves), and at the same time one of -the noblest and holiest forms of altruism. Ibsen shows this -impulse in many of his female characters, the source of which -in the religious mysticism of the poet would not be at once -noticed, if from the numerous other conjugations of the root-idea -of the sacrificial lamb we had not already acquired the -sure habit of recognising it even in its obscurations. Hedwig -constitutes a transition from the theological to the purely -human form of voluntary self-sacrifice. The over-strung child -carries renunciation to the orthodox extreme of yielding up -her life; Ibsen’s other women, to whose character Hedwig -supplies the key, go only to the point of lovingly active self-denial. -They do not die for others, but they live for others. -In <i>A Doll’s House</i> Mrs. Linden has this hunger for self-sacrifice.</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">I must work in order to endure life [she says to Krogstad—p. 87]. I -have worked from my youth up, and work has been my one best friend. -But now I am quite alone in the world—so terribly empty and forsaken. -There is no happiness in working for one’s self. Nils, give me somebody -and something to work for....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krogstad.</span> What! you really could? Tell me, do you know my past?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Linden.</span> Yes.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krogstad.</span> And do you know my reputation?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Linden.</span> Did you not hint it just now, when you said that with me -you could have been another man?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krogstad.</span> I am perfectly certain of it.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Linden.</span> Could it not yet be so?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Krogstad.</span> Christina, do you say this after full deliberation?...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Linden.</span> I need somebody to mother, and your children need a -mother.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Here the idea is not so disguised as to be unrecognisable. -Krogstad is a culprit and an outlaw. If Mrs. Linden offers to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span> -live for him, it is certainly chiefly from the instinct of maternity. -But in this natural feeling there is also a tinge of the mystic -idea of the sinner’s redemption through disinterested love. -In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, Ellida wishes to return to her birthplace -on the sea, Skjoldvik, because she believes there is -nothing for her to do in Wangel’s house. At the announcement -of her resolution her stepdaughter, Hilda, evinces a profound -despair. Then for the first time Ellida learns that Hilda loves -her; there is then born in her the thought that she has someone -to live for, and she says dreamily: ‘Oh, if there should be -something for me to do here!’ In <i>Rosmersholm</i> Rebecca says -to Kroll (p. 8):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">So long as Mr. Rosmer thinks I am of any use or comfort to him, why, -so long, I suppose, I shall stay here.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Kroll</span> (<i>looks at her with emotion</i>). Do you know, it’s really fine for a -woman to sacrifice her whole youth to others, as you have done.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> Oh, what else should I have had to live for?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> there are two of these touching -self-sacrificing souls—Miss Martha Bernick and Miss Hessel. -Miss Bernick has reared the illegitimate child Dina, and has -consecrated her own life to her (p. 52):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> I have been a mother to that much-wronged child—have -brought her up as well as I could.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> And sacrificed your whole life in so doing.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> It has not been thrown away.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">She loves Johan, but as she sees that he is attracted by -Dina she unites the two. She explains herself in regard to -the incident in an exceedingly affecting scene with Johan’s -half-sister (p. 95):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Now we are alone, Martha. You have lost her, and I him.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> You him?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Oh, I had half lost him already over there. The boy longed to -stand on his own feet, so I made him think <i>I</i> was longing for home.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> That was it? Now I understand why you came. But he will -want you back again, Lona.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> An old stepsister—what can he want with her now? Men snap -many bonds to arrive at happiness.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> It is so, sometimes.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> But now we two must hold together, Martha.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> Can I be anything to you?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Who more? We two foster-mothers—have we not both lost our -children? Now we are alone.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> Yes, alone. And therefore I will tell you—I have loved him -more than all the world.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Martha! (<i>seizes her arm</i>). Is this the truth?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> My whole life lies in the words. I have loved him, and waited -for him. From summer to summer I have looked for his coming. And -then he came, but he did not see me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Loved him! and it was you that gave his happiness into his hands.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> Should I not have given him his happiness, since I loved him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span> -Yes, I have loved him. My whole life has been for him.... He did not -see me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> It was Dina that overshadowed you, Martha.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> It is well that she did! When he went away we were of the -same age. When I saw him again—oh, that horrible moment!—it seemed -to me that I was ten years older than he. He had lived in the bright, -quivering sunshine, and drunk in youth and health at every breath; and -here sat I, the while, spinning and spinning——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> The thread of his happiness, Martha.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> Yes, it was gold I spun. No bitterness! Is it not true, Lona, -we have been two good sisters to him?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Hedda Gabler</i> it is Miss Tesman, aunt of the imbecile -Tesman, who plays the pathetic part of the sacrificial mother. -She has brought him up, and when he marries gives him the -largest part of her modest income. ‘Oh, aunt,’ bleats the -poor idiot (p. 18), ‘you will never be tired of sacrificing yourself -for me!’ ‘Do you think,’ replies the good creature, ‘I have -any other joy in this world than to smooth the way for you, -my dear boy—you who have never had a father or a mother -to look after you?’ And when subsequently the paralytic sister -of Miss Tesman is dead, Hedda and she hold this conversation -(p. 196):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> It will be lonesome for you now, Miss Tesman.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Tesman.</span> The first few days, yes. But that won’t last very long. -Dear Rina’s little room will not always be empty, that I know.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> Indeed! Who is going to move into it, eh?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Tesman.</span> Oh, there is always some poor invalid or other who needs -to be looked after and tended, unfortunately.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> Will you really take such a burden upon you again?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Tesman.</span> Burden! God forgive you, child! that has never been a -burden to me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> But now, if a stranger should come, then surely——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Miss Tesman.</span> Oh, one soon becomes friends with sick people. And I -must positively have someone to live for, too.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">The three Christo-dogmatic obsessions of original sin, confession, -and self-sacrifice, filling Ibsen’s dramas, as we have -seen, from the first line to the last, are not the only tokens of -his mysticism. This betrays itself by a whole series of other -peculiarities, which shall be briefly indicated.</p> - -<p>At the head of these stands the astoundingly chaotic nature -of his thought. One cannot believe one’s eyes while reading -how his fulsome flatterers have had the audacity to extol him -for the ‘clearness’ and ‘precision’ of his thought. Do these -individuals, then, imagine that no one capable of forming a -judgment will ever read a line of Ibsen? A clearly-defined -thought is an extraordinary rarity in this Norwegian dramatist. -Everything floats and undulates, nebulous and amorphous, such -as we are accustomed to see in weak-brained degenerates. -And if he once succeeds, with toil and stress, in grasping -anything and expressing it in a moderately intelligible manner,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span> -he unfailingly hastens, a few pages later, or in a subsequent -piece, to say the exact opposite. A talk is made of Ibsen’s -‘ideas on morality’ and of his ‘philosophy.’ He has not -formulated a single proposition on morality, a single conception -of the world and life, that he has not himself either refuted or -fittingly ridiculed.</p> - -<p>He seems to preach free love, and his eulogy of a licentiousness -unchecked by any self-control, regardless of contracts, -laws, and morality, has made of him a ‘modern spirit’ in -the eyes of Georg Brandes and similar protectors of those -‘youths who wish to amuse themselves a little.’ Mrs. Alving -(<i>Ghosts</i>, p. 158), calls a ‘crime’ the act of Pastor Manders in -repulsing her, after she has quitted her husband and thrown -herself on the pastor’s neck. This highly-strung dame pushes -Regina into the arms of Oswald, her son, when in shameless -speech he informs her that it would give him pleasure to possess -the girl. And this very same Mrs. Alving speaks in terms -of the deepest indignation of her dead husband as ‘profligate’ -(p. 146), and again designates him in the presence of her son -as a ‘broken-down man’ (in the original it is ‘et forfaldent -Menneske,’ an epithet usually bestowed on fallen women), and -why? Because he had had wanton relations with women! -Well, but is it in Ibsen’s opinion permissible, or not permissible, -to gratify carnal lust as often as it is awakened? If it is -permissible, how does Mrs. Alving come to speak with scorn -of her husband? If it is not permissible, how dared she offer -herself to Pastor Manders, and be the procuress between Regina -and her own half-brother? Or does the moral law hold good -for man only, and not for woman? An English proverb says, -‘What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.’ Ibsen -evidently does not share the opinion of popular lore. A woman -who runs away from her legal husband and pursues a lover -(Mrs. Elvsted and Ejlert Lövborg, in <i>Hedda Gabler</i>), or who -offers to form an illicit connection with a man, although nothing -prevents their marrying without further ado like other rational -ratepayers (Mrs. Linden and Krogstad in <i>A Doll’s House</i>)—such -women have Ibsen’s entire approbation and sympathy. -But if a man seduces a maiden and liberally provides for her -subsequent maintenance (Werle and Gina in <i>The Wild Duck</i>), -or, again, if he has illicit relations with a married woman -(Consul Bernick and the actress Dorf in <i>The Pillars of Society</i>), -then it is so heinous a crime that the culprit remains branded -his whole life, and is nailed by the poet to the pillory with the -cruelty of a mediæval executioner.</p> - -<p>The same contradiction finds its expression in another and -more general form. At one time Ibsen contends with ferocious, -impetuosity that everyone is ‘a law unto himself’ alone, <i>i.e.</i>, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span> -he should obey every one of his caprices, nay, even of his diseased -impulsions; that, as his commentators idiotically put it, -he should (<i>sich auslebe</i>) ‘live out his life.’ In <i>The Pillars of -Society</i> Miss Bernick says to Dina (p. 94):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Promise me to make him [her betrothed] happy.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> I will not promise anything. I hate this promising; things must -come as they can [<i>i.e.</i>, as the circumstances of the moment may suggest to -the wayward brain].</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha.</span> Yes, yes; so they must. You need only remain as you are, -true and faithful to yourself.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> That I will, Aunt Martha.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Rosmersholm</i>, Rosmer says admiringly of the scoundrel -Brendel (p. 28): ‘At least he has had the courage to live his life -his own way. I don’t think that’s such a small matter after all.’ -In the same piece Rebecca complains (p. 97): ‘Rosmersholm -has broken me.... Broken me utterly and hopelessly. I had -a fresh, undaunted will when I came here. Now I have bent -my neck under a strange law.’ And further on (p. 102): ‘It -is the Rosmer view of life ... that has infected my will.... -and made it sick, enslaved it to laws that had no power over -me before.’ Ejlert Lövborg laments in like fashion in <i>Hedda -Gabler</i>. ‘But it is <i>this</i>—that I don’t want to live that kind of -life either. Not now, over again. It is the courage of life and -the defiance of life that she’ (Thea Elvested, with her sweet, -loving constraint) ‘has snapped in me.’ Quite in opposition to -these views, Ibsen, in his <i>Ghosts</i>, makes Regina proclaim her -‘right to live out her life’ in these words (p. 189): ‘Oh! I -really can’t stop out here in the country and wear myself out -nursing sick people ... a poor girl must make the best of her -young days.... I, too, want to enjoy my life, Mrs. Alving.’ -Mrs. Alving replies: ‘Alas! yes.’ This ‘alas’ is bewildering. -Alas? Why ‘alas’? Does she not obey her ‘law’ if she -satisfies her ‘joy in living,’ and, as she forthwith explains, enters -the house of ill-fame for sailors set up by the joiner Engstrand? -How can Mrs. Alving utter this ‘alas,’ when she also was ‘obeying -her law’ in offering herself as the mistress of Pastor -Manders, and since she wished to aid her son in ‘obeying his -law,’ when he had set his eyes on Regina? It is because Ibsen, -in his lucid moments, feels that there may be something of -danger in ‘obeying one’s law,’ and this ‘alas’ of Mrs. Alving -escapes him as a confession. In <i>The Wild Duck</i> he ridicules -his own dogma in the most liberal style. In that piece there -is one Molvig, a candidate for a University degree, who also -‘obeys his law.’ This law prescribes that he shall learn nothing, -evade his examinations, and pass his nights in taverns. The -scoffer, Relling, asserts (p. 317) that it ‘comes over him like a -sort of possession; and then I have to go out on the loose with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span> -him. Molvig is a demoniac, you see, ... and demoniac natures -are not made to walk straight through the world; they must -meander now and then. And in order that there shall be no -doubt as to what Relling means by this, he subsequently -explains (p. 361): ‘“What the devil do you mean by demoniac?” -“It’s only a piece of hocus-pocus I’ve invented to keep up a -spark of life in him. But for that the poor harmless creature -would have succumbed to self-contempt and despair many a -long year ago.”’</p> - -<p>That is true. Molvig is a pitiable weakling, unable to conquer -his indolence and passion for drink; abandoned to his -own devices, he would recognise himself for the miserable -creature he is, and despise himself as profoundly as he deserves; -but Relling arrives on the scene, and gives his lack of character -the title ‘demoniac,’ and now ‘the child has a fine name,’ which -Molvig can make a parade of to himself and others. Ibsen does -exactly the same thing as his Relling. The weakness of will, -incapable of resisting base and pitiable instincts, he praises as -the ‘will to live out one’s life,’ as the ‘freedom of a spirit who -obeys his own law only,’ and recommends it as the sole rule of -life. But, unlike Relling, he is for the most part ignorant of -the fact that he is practising a deception (which I by no means -regard in Relling’s light as pious and charitable), and believes -in his own humbug. That is, for the most part; not always. -Here and there, as in <i>The Wild Duck</i>, he recognises his error -and scourges it severely; and his inmost feeling is so little -influenced by his self-deceptive phrase, fit for a weak-willed -degenerate, that he involuntarily and unconsciously betrays, in -all his productions, his deep abhorrence of men who ‘obey their -own law in order to live out their life.’ He punishes Chamberlain -Alving in his son, and makes him cursed by his widow -because he has ‘lived out his life.’ He imputes it as a crime to -Consul Bernick and the merchant Werle that they have ‘lived -out their life,’ the former in sacrificing his brother-in-law -Johan to protect himself, and for his intrigue with Mrs. Dorf, -the actress; and the latter for allowing Ekdal to bear the blame -of his fault, and for seducing Gina. He surrounds with an -aureole the glorified heads of Rosmer and Rebecca, because -they did not ‘live out their life,’ but, on the contrary, ‘died -their death,’ if I may put it so; because they obeyed, not ‘their -own law,’ but that of others, the universal moral law that -annihilated them. Whenever one of his characters acts in -accordance with Ibsen’s doctrine, and does what is agreeable to -himself regardless of morals and law, he experiences such contrition -and self-torment that he is unable to find calm and -joy until he has disburdened his conscience by confession and -expiation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘This living out one’s life’ makes its appearance in Ibsen in -the form also of a rigid individualism. The ‘self’ is the only -real thing; the ‘I’ must be cherished and developed, as, indeed, -Barrès preaches independently of Ibsen. The first duty of -every human being is to be just to his ‘I,’ to satisfy its demands, -to sacrifice to it every consideration for others. When -Nora wishes to abandon her husband, he cries (p. 112):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Only think what people will say about it!</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I cannot take that into consideration. I only know that to go is -necessary for me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> Oh, it drives one wild! Is this the way you can evade your -holiest duties?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> What do you consider my holiest duties?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> ... Are they not your duties to your husband and your children?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I have other duties equally sacred.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> ... What duties do you mean?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Duties towards myself.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> Before all else you are a wife and a mother.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I no longer think so. I think that before all else I am a human -being just as you are, or, at least, I will try to become one.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Ghosts</i> Oswald says to his mother with triumphant brutality -(p. 192): ‘I can’t be much taken up with other people. I have -enough to do thinking about myself.’ How in the same piece -Regina emphasizes her ‘I’ and its rights, we have already seen. -In <i>An Enemy of the People</i>, Stockmann proclaims the right of -the ‘I’ in face of the majority, and even the race, in these words -(p. 283): ‘It is a hideous lie: the doctrine that the multitude, -the vulgar herd, the masses, are the pith of the people—that, -indeed, they are the people—that the common man, that this -ignorant, undeveloped member of society, has the same right to -condemn or to sanction, to govern and to rule, as the few people -of intellectual power.’ And (p. 312): ‘I only want to drive -into the heads of these curs that the Liberals are the worst -foes of free men ... that the considerations of expediency -turn morality and righteousness upside down until life is simply -hideous.... Now I am one of the strongest men upon earth.... -You see the fact is that the strongest man upon earth is -he who stands most alone.’ But this very Stockmann, who will -hear nothing of ‘the multitude, the vulgar herd, the masses,’ as -he reiterates with insufferable tautology, who feels, his ‘I’ -powerful only in a majestic solitude, calls his fellow-citizens -‘old women who think only of their families,<a name="FNanchor_340_340" id="FNanchor_340_340"></a><a href="#Footnote_340_340" class="fnanchor">[340]</a> and not of the -general good.’ And in the very same piece (<i>A Doll’s House</i>), -in which Ibsen evidently bestows loud applause on Nora for -declaring that ‘her only duties were to herself,’ and that she -‘could have no consideration for anyone else,’ he stigmatizes -her husband as a pitiable, low-spirited weakling, because on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span> -wife’s confession of forgery he first of all thinks of his own -reputation only, and hence of his ‘duty to himself,’ his only -consideration being for himself, and not for his wife. Here -there recurs the same phenomenon as in Ibsen’s notions concerning -sexual morality. Unchastity in a man is a crime, but -in a woman is permissible. In the same way the rude emphasizing -of the ‘I’ is a merit only in the woman. The man has -no right to be an egoist. How, for example, Ibsen rails at -egoism through Bernick (in <i>The Pillars of Society</i>), whom he -makes say naïvely, in reference to his sister Martha, that she ‘is -quite insignificant’ (p. 49), and that he does not wish to have -her otherwise!</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">You know, in a large house like ours, it is always well to have some -steady-going person like her, whom one can put to anything that may turn -up.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Yes, but she herself?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> She herself? Why, of course she has enough to interest herself -in—Betty and Olaf, and me, you know. People should not think of themselves -first, and women least of all.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And how severely Ibsen condemns the egoism of Mrs. -Elvsted’s husband (<i>Hedda Gabler</i>), when he puts these bitter -words into her mouth (p. 52): ‘He is not really fond of anybody -but himself. Perhaps of the children a little!’</p> - -<p>But the most remarkable thing about this philosopher of -individualism is that he not only expressly condemns egoism in -the man as a low vice, but unconsciously also admires disinterestedness -in the woman as an angelic perfection. In <i>A -Doll’s House</i> (p. 113) he brags that ‘my most sacred duties are -towards myself.’ And yet the only touching and charming -characters in his pieces with whom this inflexible individualist -is successful are the saintly women who live and die for others -only—these Hedwigs, Miss Bernicks, Miss Hessels, Aunt -Tesmans, etc., who never think of their ‘I,’ but make the -sacrifice of all their impulses and wishes to the welfare of others -their sole task on earth. This contradiction, violent to the -point of absurdity, is very well explained by the nature of -Ibsen’s mind. His mystico-religious obsession of voluntary -self-sacrifice for others is necessarily stronger than his pseudo-philosophic -lucubration on individualism.</p> - -<p>Among the ‘moral ideas’ of Ibsen are counted his professed -thirst for truth. At least enough has been said and written on -this subject. ‘Only just think,’ Helmer says to Nora (<i>A Doll’s -House</i>, pp. 44, 45), ‘how a man so conscious of guilt as that -must go about everywhere lying, and a hypocrite, and an -actor; how he must wear a mask towards his neighbour, and -even his wife and children, his own children. That’s the worst, -Nora.... Because such a misty atmosphere of lying brings -contagion into the whole family.’ ‘Is there no voice in your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span> -mother’s heart that forbids you to destroy your son’s ideals?’ -asks Pastor Manders in <i>Ghosts</i> (p. 155), when Mrs. Alving has -revealed to her son her defunct husband’s ‘immorality.’ To -which Mrs. Alving magniloquently replies, ‘But what about the -truth?’ In <i>The Pillars of Society</i>, Lona Hessel thus preaches -to Consul Bernick (p. 57):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Is it for the sake of the community, then, that for these fifteen years you -have stood upon a lie?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> A lie?... You call that——</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> I call it the lie—the threefold lie. First the lie towards me; then -the lie towards Betty; then the lie towards Johan.... Is there not something -within you that asks you to get clear of the lie?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> You would have me voluntarily sacrifice my domestic happiness, -and my position in society?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> What right have you to stand where you are standing?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And subsequently (p. 70):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> A lie, then, has made you the man you now are?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Whom did it hurt, then?...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> You ask whom it hurt? Look into yourself, and see if it has not -hurt you.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Bernick then examines himself, and shortly before his confession -there takes place a highly edifying dialogue between -him and the severe guardian of his conscience (p. 98):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> Yes, yes, yes; it all comes of the lie....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Then, why do you not break with all this lying?... What satisfaction -does this show and deception give you?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> ... It is my son I am working for.... There will come a -time when truth shall spread through the life of our society, and upon it he -shall found a happier life than his father’s.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> With a lie for its groundwork? Reflect what it is you are giving -your son for an inheritance.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>An Enemy of the People</i>, words of truth are ever coming -from the mouths of the Stockmann family: ‘There’s so much -falseness both at home and at school,’ declaims their daughter, -Petra. ‘At home you mustn’t speak, and at school you have to -stand there and lie to the children.... We have to teach -many and many a thing we don’t believe ourselves.... If -only I could afford it I’d start a school myself, and things should -be very different there.’ The courageous maiden quarrels with -an editor who wished to marry her about his want of veracity -(p. 255): ‘What I am angry with you for is that you have not -acted honestly towards my father. You told him it was only -the truth and the good of the community you cared about.... -You are not the man you pretend to be. And I shall never -forgive you—never!’ ‘The whole of our developing social life,’ -cries the father Stockmann in his turn (p. 242), ‘is rooted in a -lie.’ And later on (p. 287) ‘Yes, I love my native town so -well I would rather ruin it than see it flourishing upon a lie.... -All men who live upon lies must be exterminated like vermin. -You’ll poison the whole country in time; you’ll bring it to such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span> -a pass that the whole country will deserve to perish.’ Now, all -this would certainly be very fine, if we did not know that this -fervent worship of truth is only one of the forms under which -there appears in Ibsen’s consciousness the mystico-religious -obsession of the sacrament of confession, and also, if he were not -careful, conformably with his habit, to destroy any too hasty -belief in the sincerity of his phraseology by himself ridiculing it. -In Gregers Werle he has created the best caricature of his men -of truth. Gregers speaks in exactly the same terms as Lona -Hessel, Petra Stockmann, and her father, but in his mouth the -words are intended to excite laughter: ‘And look at this confiding -nature, this great child,’ he says of his friend Hjalmar -(p. 41). ‘See him enveloped in a net of perfidy, living under -the same roof as a woman of that kind, not suspecting that his -home, as he calls it, rests upon a lie.... At length I see an -object in life.’ This object consists in operating on Hjalmar’s -moral cataract. And he does it, too. ‘You are sunk in a -poisoned quagmire, Hjalmar,’ Gregers says to him (p. 101). -‘You have an insidious disease within you, and you’ve sunk down -to die in the dark.... Don’t be afraid; I will try to help you -up again. I, too, have a mission in life now.’ And shortly -afterwards he says to the father: ‘But Hjalmar I can rescue -from all the falsehood and deception that are bringing him to -ruin.’ The scoffer Relling treats no worse than he deserves the -idiot who, in fulfilling his ‘mission in life’ disturbs the peace -between Hjalmar and his wife, destroys their comfortable home, -and drives Hedwig to her death.</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Yours is a complicated case ... that troublesome integrity-fever [he says -to him—p. 360]....</p> - -<p>I’m fostering the life-illusion [literally ‘the life-lie’] in him.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Life-illusion? Is that what you said?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relling.</span> Yes, I said illusion. For illusion, you know, is the stimulating -principle.... Rob the average man of his life-illusion, and you rob him of -his happiness at the same time.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Now, what is Ibsen’s real opinion? Is a man to strive for -truth, or to swelter in deceit? Is Ibsen with Stockmann or -with Relling? Ibsen owes us an answer to these questions, or, -rather, he replies to them affirmatively and negatively with -equal ardour and equal poetic power.</p> - -<p>Another ‘moral idea’ of Ibsen, about which his choristers -chatter most loudly, is that of ‘true marriage.’ It is certainly -not easy to discover what his mystic brain conceives by these -mysterious words, but it is nevertheless possible to guess it -from the hundred obscure notions in his plays. He does not -seem to approve of the idea that the woman should regard -marriage as merely a means of maintenance. In nearly all his -pieces he comes to this conclusion with the monotony peculiar -to him. In <i>Ghosts</i>, Mrs. Alving ascribes her whole life’s unhappiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span> -to the fact that she married the chamberlain for his -money—that she sold herself. ‘The sums which I have spent -upon the orphanage year by year make up the amount—I -have reckoned it up precisely—the amount which made -Lieutenant Alving a good match in his day.... It was the -purchase-money. I do not choose that money should pass -into Oswald’s hands’ (p. 149). In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, -Ellida sings the same song (p. 139): ‘It could bring nothing -but unhappiness, after the way in which we came together.... -Yes, we are (doing so), or, at least, we suppress the truth. For -the truth ... is, that you came out there and bought me.... -I was not a bit better than you. I accepted the bargain—sold -myself to you. I was so helpless and bewildered, and so -absolutely alone. Oh, it was so natural I should accept the -bargain when you came and proposed to provide for me all -my life.’ In almost the same words Hedda says (<i>Hedda -Gabler</i>, p. 86): ‘And then he would go and make such a -tremendous fuss about being allowed to provide for me. I -did not know why I should not accept it.’ She did not know -why; but her inner feverishness and restlessness, her final -suicide, are the consequence of her having allowed herself to -be ‘provided for.’ The regard paid to the ‘being provided -for’ became also the lifelong misery of another woman in the -same piece—Mrs. Elvsted. She went originally as ‘governess -in the house of her future husband.’ She subsequently undertook -the management of the household. Then she allowed -herself to be married, although ‘everything around him is -distasteful to me,’ and ‘we do not possess a thought in common.’ -Ibsen condemns the man who marries for money not less than -the woman who allows herself to be ‘provided for.’ The cause -of Bernick’s moral downfall (<i>The Pillars of Society</i>, p. 56), is -chiefly that he did not marry Lona Hessel, whom he loved, -but another. ‘It was for no new fancy that I broke with you; -it was entirely for the sake of the money.’</p> - -<p>Hence one should not marry for gain. That is a principle -to which every rational and moral man will subscribe. But -why should one marry? The most reasonable answer can only -be, ‘From inclination.’ But Ibsen will have none of this either. -The marriage of Nora and Helmer is purely a love-match. It -leads to a sudden rupture. Wangel (<i>The Lady from the -Sea</i>) has married Ellida from inclination. She expressly -affirms it (p. 108): ‘You had only seen me and spoken to me -a few times. Then you wanted me, and so....’ And then -she feels herself a stranger to him, and wishes to leave him. -So Mrs. Alving, Ellida, Wangel, Hedda Gabler, Mrs. Elvsted, -marry from self-interest, and atone for it by the happiness -of their life. Nora marries for love, and becomes profoundly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span> -unhappy. Consul Bernick marries a girl because she is rich, -and pays for this fault with his moral downfall. Dr. Wangel -marries a girl because she pleases him, and as a reward she -wishes to quit him and her home. What conclusion is to be -drawn from all this? That marriage from prudence is bad, -and marriage from love no better? That marriage in general -is worth nothing, and should be abolished? That would be -at least an inference and a solution. It is not there that Ibsen -arrives. Inclination does not suffice, even if, as in the case -of Nora, it is reciprocal. Something else is still necessary—the -man must become the educator of his wife. He must help -her intellectually. He must let her participate in all his -concerns, make of her a companion possessing equal rights, -and have unlimited confidence in her. Otherwise she always -remains a stranger in her house. Otherwise the marriage is no -‘true marriage.’ ‘I have no right to claim my husband wholly -and solely for myself,’ Ellida confesses (<i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, -P. 57). ‘Why, I, too, live in something from which others are -shut out.’ In the same piece Wangel blames himself in this -way (p. 130): ‘I ought to have been at once a father to her -and a guide; I ought to have done my best to develop and -enlighten her mind. Unfortunately, nothing ever came of that.... -I preferred her just as she was.’ In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> -Mrs. Bernick bemoans (p. 141): ‘For many years I believed -that I had at one time possessed you and lost you again. Now -I know that I have never possessed you.’ And Lona Hessel -draws the moral from this story (p. 97):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">And do you never think what she might have been to you—she, whom -you chose in my stead?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Bernick.</span> I know, at any rate, that she has been to me nothing of what I -required.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lona.</span> Because you have never shared your life-work with her; because -you have never placed her in a free and true relation to you.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Rosmersholm</i> Rector Kroll has treated his wife in the -same way; he has intellectually suppressed her, and is painfully -surprised when she finally revolts against the domestic tyrant -who has extinguished her mental light (p. 14). ‘My wife, who -all her life long has shared my opinions and concurred in my -views both in great things and small, is actually inclined to -side with the children on many points. And she blames me -for what has happened. She says I tyrannize over the children. -As if it weren’t necessary to. Well, you see how my house is -divided against itself. But, of course, I say as little about it -as possible. It’s best to keep such things quiet.’</p> - -<p>Upon this point also there may be complete agreement. -Most assuredly should marriage be not merely a union of -bodies, but also a community of minds; most assuredly should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span> -the man help and educate the wife intellectually, although it -is to be remarked that this <i>rôle</i> of teacher and guardian assigned -with justice by Ibsen to the man, decisively excludes the full -intellectual equality of the two married parties equally claimed -by him. But how can one reconcile with these notions about -the true relation between the man and his wife Nora’s words to -her husband (<i>A Doll’s House</i>, p. 111): ‘I must first try to -educate myself. In that you are not the man to help me. I -must set to work alone. And that is why I am going away -from you now.... I must be thrown entirely upon myself’? -We rub our eyes and ask ourselves if we have read aright. -What, then, is the duty of the husband in ‘true marriage’? -Shall he help his wife intellectually? Wangel, Mrs. Bernick, -Lona, Mrs. Kroll, say so. But Nora furiously denies it, -and repels all assistance. <i>Farà da se!</i> She will educate and -form herself. As though this contradiction were not already sufficiently -bewildering, Ibsen still further mocks those pitiable souls, -who would fain obtain rules of morality from him, when, in <i>The -Wild Duck</i>, he derides, as he is wont, all that he has preached -on the subject of ‘true marriage’ in all the rest of his pieces. -In that production a delicious dialogue is brought about between -the malevolent idiot Gregers and the scoffer Relling -(p. 337):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> [I want] to lay the foundations of a true marriage.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relling.</span> So you don’t find Ekdal’s marriage good enough as it is?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> No doubt it’s as good a marriage as most others, worse luck. -But a <i>true</i> marriage it has never been.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> You have never had eyes for the claims of the ideal, Relling.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relling.</span> All rubbish, my boy! But, excuse me, Mr. Werle, how many -... true marriages have you seen in the course of your life?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Scarcely a single one.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Relling.</span> Nor I, either.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And still more incisive is the mockery contained in Hjalmar’s -words (p. 345): ‘Well, then, isn’t it exasperating to think that it’s -not I, but he (Werle, senior), who will realize the true marriage?... -Isn’t the marriage between your father and Mrs. Sœrby -founded upon complete confidence, upon entire and unreserved -candour on both sides? They hide nothing from each other. -Their relation is based, if I may put it so’ (!) ‘on mutual confession -and absolution.’ Hence no one has yet seen a ‘true -marriage’; and when by chance this miracle does happen it is -fulfilled in the case of Mr. Werle and Mrs. Sœrby—Mr. -Werle, who confesses to his wife that he has seduced young -girls and sent old friends to prison in his place—Mrs. Sœrby, -who confides to her husband that she has had illicit relations -with every imaginable sort of man. It is a tame imitation of -the scene in <i>Raskolnikow</i> by Dostojewski, where the assassin -and the prostitute, after a contrite confession, unite their soiled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span> -and broken lives; except that in Ibsen the scene is stripped of -its sombre grandeur and lowered to the ridiculous and vulgar.</p> - -<p>With Ibsen, when women discover that they are not living in -‘true marriage,’ their husband suddenly becomes ‘a strange -man,’ and, without further ceremony, they abandon their home -and their children, some, like Nora, ‘to return to their birthplace,’ -where ‘it will be easier for me to get something to -do of one sort or another’; others, like Ellida, without giving a -thought to what will become of them; others, again, like Mrs. -Alving and Hedda Gabler, to rush full speed to a lover and -throw themselves on his neck. Ibsen has even deliciously parodied -this last departure, and in a doubly grotesque fashion, for -he assigns the laughable <i>rôle</i> of the tragic runaway to a man. -‘I must out into the snow and tempest,’ declaims Hjalmar -(<i>The Wild Duck</i>, p. 166), ‘and seek from house to house a -shelter for my old father and myself.’ And he really goes, but -naturally only to return home the next day, crestfallen, but -stout-hearted, to breakfast. Truly nothing more need be said -against the idiocy of Nora’s high-flown leave-taking, which has -become the gospel for the hysterical of both sexes, since Ibsen -spared us this trouble in creating his Hjalmar.</p> - -<p>We have not yet done with Ibsen’s drivel on the subject of -marriage. He seems to exact that no girl should marry before -she is fully matured, and possesses an experience of life and a -knowledge of the world and of men (<i>A Dolls House</i>, p. 111):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> And I—how have I been prepared to educate the children?... -For that task I am not ready.... I must first try to educate myself.... I -cannot be satisfied any longer with what most people say, and with what is -in books.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> You don’t understand the society in which you live.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> No, no more I do. But now I will set to work and learn it.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">This necessary maturity the young girl best acquires by going -in quest of adventures, by becoming closely acquainted with the -largest possible number of persons, to make a trial, if possible, -of a few men before binding herself definitely. A young girl is -thoroughly prepared for marriage when she has attained to a -respectable age, managed a few households, perhaps also given -birth to sundry children, and in this way proved to herself and -others that she understands the duties of a housewife and a -mother. Ibsen does not expressly say this, but it is the only -reasonable conclusion which can be deduced from the whole -series of his plays. The great reformer has no suspicion that he -is here preaching something long ago tried by mankind and -rejected as unsuitable, or not more suitable. Experimental -marriage for a longer or shorter period, the preference for -brides endowed with a rich experience in love-affairs and -sundry children, all this has already existed. Ibsen may learn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span> -all that he needs on this subject from his half-compatriot, -Professor Westermarck.<a name="FNanchor_341_341" id="FNanchor_341_341"></a><a href="#Footnote_341_341" class="fnanchor">[341]</a> But he would be no degenerate if he -did not regard as progress the return to conditions of the most -primitive character long since gone by, and if he did not -mistake the far-away past for the future.</p> - -<p>Let us recapitulate his marriage-canon as gained from his -dramas. There should be no marriage from interest (Hedda, -Mrs. Alving, Bernick, etc.). There should be no marriage from -love (Nora, Wangel). A marriage of prudence is not a true -marriage. But to marry because each pleases the other is -equally good for nothing. To enter into matrimony with the -full approbation of reason, there should be first of all a thorough -knowledge of each other by the contracting parties (Ellida). -The man should be the woman’s instructor and educator -(Wangel, Bernick). The wife should not allow herself to be -instructed and educated by the husband, but acquire the necessary -knowledge quite alone (Nora). If the wife discovers that -her marriage is not a ‘true marriage,’ she leaves the husband, -for he is a stranger (Nora, Ellida). She also abandons her -children, for children which she has had by a stranger are -naturally strangers also. She must, however, at the same time -remain with the husband, and endeavour to transform him from -a stranger into her own husband (Mrs. Bernick). Marriage is -not intended permanently to unite two beings. When anything -in the one is not agreeable to the other, they return the ring -and go their respective ways (Nora, Mr. Alving, Ellida, Mrs. -Elvsted). If a man abandons his wife he commits a heinous -crime (Bernick, Werle). And, to sum up, there is no true -marriage (Relling). This is Ibsen’s doctrine concerning marriage. -It leaves nothing to be desired in the matter of clearness. It -amply suffices for the diagnosis of the state of the Norwegian -poet’s intellect.</p> - -<p>Independently of his religious obsessions and his bewildering -contradictions, Ibsen’s mysticism reveals itself, step by step, in -absurdities of which a healthy intellect would be incapable. -We have seen in <i>The Lady from the Sea</i> that Ellida wishes to -abandon her husband, because her marriage is not a true one, -and because her husband has become a stranger to her. Why -is he a stranger to her? Because he has married her without -mutual close acquaintance. ‘You had only seen me and spoken -a few words to me.’ She ought not to have let herself be provided -for. ‘Rather the meanest labour, rather the most wretched -surroundings, so long as they were the result of free will, of free -choice.’ From this one can only reasonably conclude that -Ellida is of the opinion no true marriage is possible, unless the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span> -woman possesses a thorough knowledge of her suitor and has -had full freedom in her choice. She is convinced that these -conditions existed in the case of the first claimant for her hand. -‘The first—that might have been a complete and real marriage.’ -Now, the same Ellida, a few pages before (78), says that she -knew absolutely nothing concerning her lover; she did not even -know his name, and, as a matter of fact, he is spoken of -throughout the piece only as ‘the stranger.’</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> What else do you know about him?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> Only that he went to sea very young; and that he had been on -long voyages.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> Is there nothing more?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> No; we never spoke of such things.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> Of what did you speak, then?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> About the sea!</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And she betrothed herself to him</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Because he said I must.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> You must? Had you no will of your own, then?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> Not when he was near.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">So, then, Ellida is forced to abandon Wangel for the reason -that, previously to her marriage with him, she did not thoroughly -know him, and she must go to ‘the stranger,’ of whom she -knows nothing. Her marriage with Wangel is no marriage, -because she did not enter into it with perfect freedom of will, -but the marriage with ‘the stranger’ will be ‘perfect and pure,’ -although when she betrothed herself to him she had ‘no will -of her own.’ After this example of his mental maze, it is truly -humiliating to be obliged to waste more words concerning the -intellectual state of such a man. But since this man is foisted -by fools and fanatics to the rank of a great moralist and poet -of the future, the psychiatrical observer must not spare himself -the labour of referring to his other absurdities.</p> - -<p>In this same <i>Lady from the Sea</i>, Ellida renounces her project -of leaving her husband Wangel, and going away with the -‘stranger,’ as soon as Wangel says ‘with aching heart’: ‘Now -you can choose your own path in perfect freedom.’ She remains -with Wangel. She chooses him. ‘Whence came the change?’ -asks Wangel and the reader with him. ‘Ah, don’t you understand,’ -Ellida gushingly replies, ‘that the change came—was -bound to come—when I could choose in freedom!’ (p. 141). -This second choice, then, is intended to form a complete contrast -to the first, in which Ellida plighted her troth to Wangel. -But all the conditions, without a single exception, have remained -the same. Ellida is now free because Wangel expressly gives -her her freedom; but she was still freer on the first occasion, -because Wangel had as yet no rights over her, and did not -need to begin by setting her free. As little was external -coercion exercised on her at the betrothal as subsequently after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span> -marriage. Her resolution depended then, as now, entirely on -herself. If at the betrothal she felt herself fettered, it was, as -she herself explains, because she was at that time poor, and -allowed herself to be enticed by the alluring prospect of being -provided for. But in this respect nothing has changed. She -has come into no property since her marriage, so far as we know -from Ibsen. She is just as poor as she ever was. If she quits -Wangel, she will sink once more into the penury she found -insupportable when a young girl. If she remains with him, -she is quite as much provided for as she hoped to be when she -betrothed herself to him. Wherein, then, lies the contrast -between her former want of liberty and her present freedom to -explain the change? There is none. It exists in the confused -thought of Ibsen alone. If the whole of this piratical story -about Ellida, Wangel, and the stranger is intended to mean, or -to prove, anything, it can only be that a woman must first live -a few years with her husband on trial before she can bind herself -definitively; and that her decision may be valid, she is to be -free at the end of the period of probation to go or to stay. -The only meaning of the piece is, therefore, pure idiocy—experimental -marriage.</p> - -<p>We find the same absurdity repeated, in the fundamental -idea, in the premises and deductions of nearly all his plays. -In <i>Ghosts</i> Oswald Alving’s disease is represented as a chastisement -for the sins of his father, and for the moral weakness of -his mother in marrying for self-interest a man she did not love. -Now, Oswald’s state is the consequence of a complaint which -may be contracted without any depravity whatsoever. It is a -silly antiquated idea of the bigoted members of societies for -the suppression of immorality that a contagious disease is the -consequence and punishment of licentiousness. Doctors know -better than that. They know hundreds—nay, thousands—of -cases where a young man is infected for his whole life, for no -other act than one which, with the views now prevailing, is -looked upon as venial. Even holy matrimony is no protection -against such a misfortune, to say nothing of the cases where -doctors, nurses, etc., have contracted the malady in the discharge -of their duties, and without carnal transgression. Ibsen’s -drivel proves nothing of that which, according to him, it -should prove. Chamberlain Alving might be a monster of -immorality without for that reason falling ill, or having an -insane son; and his son could be insane without more culpability -on the part of the father than is the case with all men who -have been unchaste before marriage. Ibsen, however, gives -obtrusive evidence of having had no wish to write a tract in -praise of continence, by making Mrs. Alving throw herself into -the arms of Pastor Manders, and by making the mother the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span> -intermediary of an illicit union out of wedlock between the -son and his own sister, putting, moreover, into the mouth of -Oswald a panegyric on concubinage—one of the most incredible -things met with in the incredible Ibsen. ‘What are they to -do?’ replies Oswald Alving to the horrified pastor. ‘A poor -young artist—a poor young girl. It costs a lot of money to -get married.’ I can only suppose that the innocent Norwegian -villager has never with his own bodily eyes seen a ‘free union,’ -and that he has drawn his idea of one from the depths of a -nature filled with anarchistic rage against the existing order -of things. An inhabitant of any large town, having daily -opportunities for getting insight into dozens and hundreds of -free unions, will burst into hearty laughter over Ibsen’s infantine -fantasies, worthy of a lascivious schoolboy. In no country in -the world does civil marriage cost more than a trifling sum, -very much less than the first repast offered by a young fellow -to the girl he has persuaded to live with him; and religious -marriage, far from costing anything, brings to the bridal couple -a donation in money, clothes, and household articles, if they -are indelicate enough to accept them. Pious societies, which -expend large sums of money in legalizing free unions, exist -everywhere. When persons form unions without the aid of -the civil law or of priests, it is probably never for the purpose -of saving the expense of marriage, but either from culpable -levity, or because either one or other of them makes a mental -reservation not to bind him or herself, but to enjoy something -agreeable without undertaking any serious duties; or, finally, -in the few cases which a moral man may approve, or, at least, -excuse, because on one side or the other there exists some -legal obstacle above which they raise themselves, strong in love, -and justified in their own eyes by the earnestness of their -intention to be faithful to each other unto death.</p> - -<p>But to return from this subordinate absurdity to the capital -absurdity of the piece. Chamberlain Alving is punished for -his illicit indulgence in carnal pleasure, in his own body, and -in his children Oswald and Regina. That is very edifying, -and would, doubtless, meet with approbation at a conference -of clergymen, although nonsensical and inaccurate to the highest -degree. We will only mention in passing that Ibsen constantly -recommends and glorifies unchastity, the ‘living out one’s life.’ -But what inference does Mrs. Alving draw from the case of -her husband? That all should remain chaste and pure, an -idea worked out by Bjornson in his <i>Glove</i>? No. She is led -by it to the conclusion that the existing order of morals and -the law are bad. ‘Oh, that perpetual law and order!’ she -exclaims (p. 154); ‘I often think it is that which does all the -mischief here in the world.... I can endure all this constraint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span> -and cowardice no longer. It is too much for me. I must work -my way out to freedom.’ What in the world has Alving’s -story to do with ‘law and order?’ and how does ‘freedom’ -enter into this <i>Credo</i>? What connection with the piece have -the silly speeches of this woman, unless it be that they are -lugged in to tickle the radical patrons of the gallery into -applause. In Tahiti neither ‘order’ nor ‘morals’ reign in the -sense given them by Mrs. Alving. There the brown beauties -have all the ‘freedom’ to which Mrs. Alving wishes to ‘work -her way out,’ and the men so ‘live out their lives’ that ships’ -officers, not otherwise modest, avert their eyes with shame. -And in that very region Chamberlain Alving’s disease is so -widespread that, according to Ibsen’s medical theory, all the -young Tahitians must be Oswalds.</p> - -<p>But this is a constant habit of Ibsen’s, evidenced in all his -pieces. He puts into the mouth of his characters phrases used -for effect by orators in popular meetings of the lowest class, -having nothing in the least to do with the piece. ‘I don’t know -what religion is,’ Nora says in the well-known scene where she -leaves her husband (p. 114). ‘... I know nothing but what -our clergyman told me when I was confirmed. He explained -that religion was this and that. When I have got quite away -from here and am all by myself, then I will examine that matter -too. I will see whether what our clergyman taught is true.... -I have now learnt, too, that the laws are different from what I -thought they were; but I can’t convince myself that they are -right.’ Now her case has no relation to the religious doctrine of -Pastor Hansen and the excellence or badness of the laws. No -law in the world concedes the right to a child to sign her -father’s name to a cheque without his knowledge, and all the -laws of the world not only permit but compel a judge to inquire -into the motives of every misdemeanour, although Ibsen makes -Krogstad the mouthpiece of this idiocy (p. 39): ‘The laws inquire -little into motives.’ The whole of this scene, in view of -which, however, the piece was written, is foreign to the play, -and does not originally spring from it. If Nora wishes to -abandon her husband, it can only be on the supposition that -she has discovered he does not love her so devotedly as she -had wished and hoped. The hysterical fool, however, utters an -inflammatory diatribe against religion, law, and society (which -are profoundly innocent of the weakness of character and -absence of love in her husband), and departs like a feminine -Coriolanus shaking her fist at her fatherland. In <i>The Pillars of -Society</i> Bernick, wishing to confess his own baseness, introduces -his avowal with the words (p. 110): ‘Let everyone examine -himself, and let us realize the prediction that from this evening -we begin a new time. The old, with its tinsel, its hypocrisy, its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span> -hollowness, its lying propriety, and its pitiful cowardice, shall -lie behind us like a museum,’ etc. ‘Speak for yourself, Bernick, -speak for yourself,’ one might well call out to the old wind-bag, -who in this sermonizing tone thus generalizes his own individual -case. ‘I wish to speak of the great discovery that I have made -within the last few days,’ exclaims Stockmann in <i>An Enemy of -the People</i>, ‘the discovery that all our spiritual sources of life are -poisoned, and that our whole bourgeois society rests upon a soil -teeming with the pestilence of lies.’ That may in itself be true; -but nothing in the piece gives Stockmann the right to arrive -reasonably at this conclusion. Even in Plato’s republic it might -happen that a ragamuffin, more foolish for that matter than wicked, -should refuse to cleanse an infected spring, and only a fool could -deduce from this single fact, and from the conduct of a clique of -Philistines in an impossible Norwegian village, the general proposition -that ‘our whole bourgeois society rests upon a soil teeming -with the pestilence of lies.’ In <i>Rosmersholm</i>, Brendel says in an -obscurely profound prophetic tone, which shudders with foreboding -(p. 23): ‘We live in a tempestuous, an equinoctial age.’ -This expression also, true enough in itself, strikes one like a blow -in the eye in the place where it occurs, for <i>Rosmersholm</i> has no connection -with any definite period of time; and it is not necessary -to change a single essential word in the piece, in order to -transport it at pleasure to the Middle Ages, or the age of the -Roman emperors, to China, or the land of the Incas—to any age -or any land where there are hysterical women and idiotic men.</p> - -<p>We are familiar with the method pursued by brawlers who -wish to pick a quarrel: ‘Sir, why did you look at me in that -way?’ ‘Pardon me, I did not look at you.’ ‘What! you say, -then, that I lie?’ ‘I said nothing of the sort.’ ‘You give me -the lie a second time. You must give me satisfaction.’ This is -Ibsen’s method. What he wishes is to denounce society, the -state, religion, law, and morals in anarchistic phrases. Instead, -however, of publishing them like Nietzsche, in brochures, he -sticks them into his pieces at haphazard, where they appear as -unexpectedly as the couplets sung in the naïve farces of our -fathers. Cleanse Ibsen’s dramas of these pasted-on phrases, -and even a Brandes will no longer be able to trumpet them as -‘modern’ productions; there will remain only a tissue of -absurdities, belonging to no time or place, in which here and -there emerge single poetically fine scenes and accessory figures, -not changing in the least the atrociousness of the whole. In -fact, Ibsen always begins by finding some thesis—<i>i.e.</i>, some -anarchist phrase. Then he tries to find out beings and events -which embody and prove his thesis, for which task, however, -his poetical power, and, above all, his knowledge of life and -men, are insufficient. For he goes through the world without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span> -seeing it, and his glance is always turned inward on himself. -In contradiction to the saying of the poet, ‘All that is human is -alien to him,’ and his own ‘I’ alone occupies him and absorbs -his attention. He himself proclaims this in a well-known poem -wherein he says, ‘Life is a battle with the ghost in the vaults of -the heart and brain. To be a poet is to hold judgment day -over one’s own self.’<a name="FNanchor_342_342" id="FNanchor_342_342"></a><a href="#Footnote_342_342" class="fnanchor">[342]</a></p> - -<p>The ‘ghost in the heart and brain’ is the obsessions and -impulses in conflict with which the life of the higher degenerate -is certainly spent. It is as clear as day that a poem, which is -nothing but a ‘judgment day’ of the poet over himself, cannot -be a mirror of universal human life, freely and broadly flowing, but -simply the intricate arabesques adorning the walls of a distorted, -isolated existence. He sees the image of the world with the -eye of an insect; a diminutive single feature which shows itself -to one of the polished facets of such a discoidal eye, and which -he perchance perceives, he firmly seizes, and renders with distinctness. -But he does not comprehend its connection with the -whole phenomenon, and his organ of vision is not able to span -a large comprehensive picture. This explains the fidelity to -nature in petty details and quite accessory figures, while the -chief events and central characters are always astonishingly -absurd and alien to all the realities of the world.</p> - -<p>It is in <i>Brand</i> that Ibsen’s absurdity apparently achieves its -greatest triumph. Northern critics have reiterated <i>ad nauseam</i> -that this silly piece is a dramatic translation of Kierkegaard’s -crazy ‘Either-Or.’ Ibsen shows a fool who wishes to be ‘all -or nothing,’ and who preaches the same to his fellow-citizens. -What he especially understands by these high-sounding words -the piece nowhere reveals by a single syllable. Brand, however, -succeeds in infecting his fellow-citizens with his madness, -and one fine day they sally forth from the village and are led -by him into impassable mountain solitudes. What his purpose -is no one knows or suspects. The sexton, who seems to be -somewhat less crazy than the others, finally becomes uneasy -concerning this wholly senseless mountain climbing, and asks -whither Brand is really leading them, and what may be the -object of this scramble. Whereupon Brand gives him the -following wonderful information (p. 151): ‘How long will the -struggle last?’ (viz., the climbing, for there is no other struggle -in this Act). ‘It lasts until life’s end. Until you have sacrificed -all; until you are freed from your compact; until that -which you may wish for you shall wish for unswervingly.’ (What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span> -this is which is to be wished for is not explained.) ‘Until -every doubt shall have vanished and nothing separates you from -the All or Nothing. And your sacrifices? All the gods which -with you take the place of the eternal God; the shining golden -chains of slavery, together with the beds of your languid slothfulness. -The reward of victory? Unity of will, activity of -faith, pureness of soul.’ Naturally on listening to this ranting -the good people ‘come to their senses and go home,’ but the -lunatic Brand is offended because his fellow-citizens do not want -to pant uphill in order to ‘wish for something unswervingly,’ to -attain to ‘all or nothing,’ and to arrive at ‘unity of will.’ For it -is ‘the all’ which seems to inhabit mountains; not merely -freedom, which an early poet sought for there. (‘Liberty dwells -in the mountains,’ Schiller has said.)</p> - -<p>And yet Brand is a remarkable figure. In him Ibsen has -unconsciously created a very instructive type of those deranged -beings who run, speak, and act at the bidding of a ruling -impulse,<a name="FNanchor_343_343" id="FNanchor_343_343"></a><a href="#Footnote_343_343" class="fnanchor">[343]</a> who with furious passion are continually and reiteratingly -talking of ‘the goal’ which they wish to attain, but who -neither themselves have a suspicion of what this goal really is, -nor are in a position to indicate it to others in an intelligible -way. Brand thinks the power which impels him is his inflexible -iron will. It is in reality his inflexible iron impulsion -which his consciousness in vain seeks to grasp and to interpret -by the aid of a flood of unintelligible words.</p> - -<p>Ibsen’s absurdity is not always so clearly apparent as in the -examples cited. It frequently manifests itself in a blurred and -indefinite phrase, plainly expressing the state of a mind which -endeavours to formulate in words a nebulous representation -springing up in it, but which lacks the necessary power and -loses itself in mechanical mutterings void of sense. There are -three sorts of phrases of this kind to be distinguished in Ibsen. -One kind say absolutely nothing, and contain no more of an -idea than the ‘tra-la-la’ sung to a song of which one has forgotten -the words. They are a symptom of a temporary arrest -of function<a name="FNanchor_344_344" id="FNanchor_344_344"></a><a href="#Footnote_344_344" class="fnanchor">[344]</a> in the cerebral centres of ideation, and appear in -healthy persons also in a state of extreme fatigue, under the -form of incidental embarrassment, causing hesitation in speech. -In persons suffering from hereditary exhaustion they are continuously -present. Another kind affect an appearance of profundity -and significant allusions, but exact observation recognises<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span> -them as an empty jingle of words devoid of all import. -Finally, the third kind are such evident and unequivocal idiocy -that even unprofessional listeners regard each other in consternation, -and would feel it to be their duty to give his family -a gentle hint if they heard anything of the kind from one of -their table companions at the habitual café. I will give some -illustrations of each of these three kinds of phraseology.</p> - -<p>Firstly, phrases saying absolutely nothing, interpolated between -intelligible words, and indicating a temporary paralysis -of the centres of ideation.</p> - -<p>In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i> (p. 25) Lyngstrand says: ‘I am -to a certain extent a little infirm.’<a name="FNanchor_345_345" id="FNanchor_345_345"></a><a href="#Footnote_345_345" class="fnanchor">[345]</a> This ‘to a certain extent’ -is admirable! Lyngstrand, a sculptor, is speaking of his artistic -projects (p. 51):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">As soon as I can set about it, I am going to try if I can produce a great -work—a group, <i>as they call it</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arnholm.</span> Is there anything else?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lyngstrand.</span> Yes, there is to be another figure—<i>a sort of apparition, as -they say</i>.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">As Ibsen makes Lyngstrand a fool, it might be believed that -he intentionally put these idiotic turns of expression into the -sculptor’s mouth. But in <i>Hedda Gabler</i>, Brack, a sharp and -clever <i>bon vivant</i>, says (p. 87): ‘But as far as regards myself, -you know very well that I have always entertained a—a certain -respect for the marriage tie, <i>generally speaking</i>, Mrs. Hedda.’ -In <i>Rosmersholm</i> Brendel says (p. 24): ‘So you see when golden -dreams descended and enwrapped me ... I fashioned them -into poems, into visions, into pictures—<i>in the rough</i>, as it were, -you understand. Oh, what pleasures, what intoxications I have -enjoyed in my time! The mysterious bliss of creation—<i>in the -rough</i>, as I said.’ Rector Kroll says (p. 18): ‘A family that -now soon for some centuries has held its place as the first in the -land.’<a name="FNanchor_346_346" id="FNanchor_346_346"></a><a href="#Footnote_346_346" class="fnanchor">[346]</a> ‘Now soon for some centuries’! That means that it -is not yet ‘some centuries,’ but ‘soon’ will be ‘some centuries.’ -Hence ‘soon’ must include in itself ‘some centuries.’ By what -miracle? In <i>The Wild Duck</i> we have the intentionally, but, in their -exaggeration impossibly, idiotic conversations of the ‘fat,’ ‘bald,’ -and ‘short-sighted’ gentlemen in the first act, but also this -remark by Gina, who is in no way depicted as an idiot (p. 270):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">Are you glad when you have some good news to tell father when he comes -home in the evening?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> Yes, for then we have a pleasanter time.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> Yes, <i>there is something [true]<a name="FNanchor_347_347" id="FNanchor_347_347"></a><a href="#Footnote_347_347" class="fnanchor">[347]</a> in that</i>!!</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">In the conversation about the wild duck between Ekdal, -Gregers and Hjalmar we read (p. 289):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Ekdal.</span> He was out in a boat, <i>you see</i>, and he shot her. But father’s -sight is pretty bad now. H’m; he only wounded her.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Ah! she got a couple of shot in her body, I suppose.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Yes, <i>two or three</i>....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> And she thrives all right in the garret there?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Yes, wonderfully well. She’s got fat. She’s been in there so -long now that she’s forgotten her natural wild life, and it all depends on -that.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> <i>You’re right there</i>, Hjalmar.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And in a dialogue between Hedwig and Gregers Werle -(p. 305):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> ... If I had learnt basket-making, I could have made the new -basket for the wild duck.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> So you could; and it was, strictly speaking, your business, -wasn’t it?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> Yes, for she’s <i>my</i> wild duck.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> <i>Of course she is!</i></p></div> - -<p class="p1">Now for some examples of phrases which sound excessively -profound, but in reality express nothing, or mere foolishness.</p> - -<p>In <i>A Doll’s House</i> (p. 25) Mrs. Linden expresses the opinion: -‘Well, after all, it is better to open the door to the sick, and -get them safe in;’ to which Rank significantly replies: ‘Yes, -so people say. And it is that very consideration which turns -society into a hospital.’ What does this meditative and -oracular speech mean? Is it Rank’s opinion that society is -a hospital because it cares for its sick, and that it would be -healthy if its sick were not cared for? Would the untended -sick be any less sick? If he believes that he believes an -idiocy. Or are the sick to be left to die uncared for, and in -this manner got rid of? If he preaches that, he preaches a -barbarism and a crime, and that is not in accordance with -Rank’s character as Ibsen depicts him. We may turn and -twist the vague, mysterious words as we will, we shall always -find either stupidity or want of meaning.</p> - -<p>In <i>Rosmersholm</i>, Rosmer (p. 30) wishes to ‘devote all his -life and all his energies to this one thing—the creation of a -true democracy in this country.’ And, wonderful to relate, the -persons to whom Rosmer says these words all seem to comprehend -what the ‘true democracy’ is. Without being asked, -Rosmer offers, besides, some explanation of his Pythian utterance: -‘I want to awaken the democracy to its true task—that -of making all the people of this country noblemen ... by -setting free their minds and purifying their wills.... I will only -try to arouse them to their task. They themselves must accomplish -it ... by their own strength. There is no other.... -Peace and joy and mutual forbearance must once more enter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span> -into their souls.’ Rebecca repeats to him his programme -(p. 62):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">You were to set resolutely to work in the world—the living world of to-day, -as you said. You were to go as a messenger of emancipation from home to -home; to win over minds and wills; to create noble men around you in -wider and wider circles. Noblemen.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Joyful noblemen.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> Yes, joyful.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> For it is joy that ennobles the mind.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">It is impossible to avoid calling up a comic picture of Rosmer -going ‘from home to home’ ‘in wider and wider circles,’ and -making the persons before whom he talks into ‘joyful noblemen,’ -while he ‘awakens’ them and ‘purifies their wills,’ and -thus ‘creates a true democracy.’ This rigmarole is, it is true, -incomprehensible; but, at all events, it must be something -agreeable, for Rosmer expressly says that he needs ‘joy’ to -create ‘noblemen.’ And in spite of this Rebecca suddenly -discovers (p. 102): ‘The Rosmer view of life ennobles, but it -kills happiness.’ What! Rosmer kill happiness when he ‘goes -from home to home,’ awakening, winning, making people free, -etc., and creating joyful noblemen? The word ‘joyful’ includes, -at least, something of happiness, and yet the education of men -to ‘joyful noblemen’ is to kill happiness? Rosmer finds (p. 97) -‘the work of ennobling men’s minds is not for him. And, -besides, it is so hopeless in itself.’ This is in a measure -intelligible, though it is not stated from what experience -Rosmer has been led to such a change in his views. But quite -beyond comprehension is Rebecca’s speech about the fatal -influence of ‘the Rosmer view of life.’ In <i>Ghosts</i>, Mrs. Alving -endeavours to explain her defunct husband’s vagaries in this -balderdash (p. 187): ‘When he was a young lieutenant, he -was brimming over with the joy of life. It was like a breezy -day only to look at him. And what exuberant strength and -vitality there was in him! And then, child of joy as he was—for -he <i>was</i> like a child at the time—he had to live here at -home in a half-grown town, which had no joys to offer him, -but only amusements. He had no object in life, but only an -office. He had no work into which he could throw himself -heart and soul; he had only business. He had not a single -comrade that knew what the joy of life meant, only loungers -and boon companions.’ These antitheses seem to have something -in them; but if we seriously set about hunting for a -definite idea in them, they vanish in smoke. ‘Object in life—office’—‘work—business’—‘comrades—boon -companions,’ are -not in themselves oppositions, but become such through the -individual. With a decent man they are perfectly coincident; -with a base man they fall into opposition. A large or a small<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span> -town has nothing to do with it. For Kant in the small town -of Kœnigsberg, in the last century, the ‘office’ was ‘the object -in life,’ ‘work’ was ‘business,’ and he so chose his ‘boon -companions’ that they were at the same time his ‘comrades,’ -as far, indeed, as he could have such. And, on the other hand, -there is, in the largest metropolis, no occupation and no circle of -men in which a degenerate, burdened with his disorder, could -feel at ease and in inward harmony.</p> - -<p>In <i>Hedda Gabler</i> we find quite a multitude of such words, -apparently saying much, but in reality saying nothing. ‘It -was the passion for life in you!’ exclaims Lövborg to Hedda -(p. 128), with the seeming conviction that he has, in this utterance, -explained something to her. And Hedda says (p. 142): -‘<i>I</i> see him before me. With vine-leaves in his hair. Hot and -bold’ (p. 151). ‘And Ejlert Lövborg, he is sitting with vine-leaves -in his hair, and reading aloud’ (p. 157). ‘Had he vine-leaves -in his hair?’ (p. 171). ‘So that is how it all happened. -Then he did not have vine-leaves in his hair’ (p. 188).</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> Could you not contrive that it should be done gracefully?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Lövborg.</span> Gracefully? With vine-leaves in my hair?</p></div> - -<p class="p1">‘With vine-leaves in his hair;’ ‘the passion for life’—these -are words meaning, in the connection assigned to them, -absolutely nothing, but giving scope for dreaming. In a few -instances Ibsen employs these dreamily-nebulous, shadowy -expressions with poetic licence, <i>e.g.</i>, when we read in <i>The Pillars -of Society</i> (p. 19):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Rörlund.</span> Tell me, Dina, why you do like so much to be with me?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> Because you teach me so much that is beautiful.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rörlund.</span> Beautiful? Do you call what I can teach you beautiful?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> Yes; or, rather, you teach me nothing; but when I hear you speak, -it makes me think of so much that is beautiful.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rörlund.</span> What do you understand, then, by a beautiful thing?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> I have never thought of that.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rörlund.</span> Then think of it now. What do you understand by a beautiful -thing?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> A beautiful thing is something great and far away.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Dina is a young girl living under sad and painful conditions. -It is psychologically accurate that she should condense all her -longing for a new and happy existence in a word of emotional -colouring, such as ‘beautiful.’ It is the same with the dialogue -between Gregers and Hedwig in <i>The Wild Duck</i> (p. 53):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> And she [the wild duck] has been down in the depths of the sea.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> Why do you say ‘in the depths of the sea’?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> What else could I say?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> You could say ‘the bottom of the sea’ [or ‘at the bottom of the -water’].<a name="FNanchor_348_348" id="FNanchor_348_348"></a><a href="#Footnote_348_348" class="fnanchor">[348]</a></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Oh, mayn’t I just as well say the depths of the sea?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> Yes; but it sounds so strange to me when other people speak -of the depths of the sea.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Why so?...</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedwig.</span> ... It always seems to me that the whole room and everything -in it should be called the depths of the sea. But that’s so stupid.... -Because it’s only a garret [the place where the wild duck lives, the old -Christmas-trees are put, where old Ekdal chases the rabbit, etc.].</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Hedwig is a highly excitable child at the age of puberty -(Ibsen thinks it necessary expressly to affirm that her voice is -changing, and that she willingly plays with fire); hence it is -natural that she should be thrilled with presentiments, dreams, -and obscure instincts, and invest poetical expressions denoting -something far away and wild, such as ‘in the depths of the sea,’ -with the secret significance of all the mysterious and marvellous -surging in her. But when expressions of this sort are used, not -by little growing girls, but by full-grown persons depicted as -rational beings, it is no longer a question of dreaming explicable -on pathological grounds, but of diseased cerebral centres.</p> - -<p>These words often assume the nature of an obsession. Ibsen -obstinately repeats them, at the same time imparting to them a -mysterious significance. It is thus, for example, that the words -‘joy of life’ appear in <i>Ghosts</i> (p. 176):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Oswald.</span> ... She was full of the joy of life (p. 177).</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> What were you saying about the joy of life?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Oswald.</span> Have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned -upon the joy of life?—always, always upon the joy of life? (p. 187).</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> You spoke of the joy of life; and at that word a new light -burst for me over my life and all it has contained.... You ought to have -known your father.... He was brimming over with the joy of life.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Hedda Gabler</i> the word ‘beauty’ plays a similar part -(p. 190):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Hedda</span> (<i>to</i> Lövborg). <i>You</i> use it [the pistol] now.... And do it beautifully -(p. 214).</p> - -<p><i>Hedda.</i> I say that there is something beautiful in this [Lövborg’s suicide] -(p. 219).</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Hedda.</span> A relief to know that it is still possible for an act of voluntary -courage to take place in the world. Something over which there falls a veil -of unintentional beauty.... And then now—the great act! That over -which the sense of beauty falls!</p></div> - -<p class="p1">The ‘vine-leaves in the hair,’ in the same piece, belongs with -equal exactness to this category of words, amounting to an -obsession. The use of expressions full of mystery, incomprehensible -to the hearer, and either freely coined by the speaker, -or endowed by him with a peculiar sense, deviating from that -usually assigned them in speech, is one of the most frequent -phenomena among the mentally deranged. Griesinger<a name="FNanchor_349_349" id="FNanchor_349_349"></a><a href="#Footnote_349_349" class="fnanchor">[349]</a> often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span> -lays stress on this, and A. Marie<a name="FNanchor_350_350" id="FNanchor_350_350"></a><a href="#Footnote_350_350" class="fnanchor">[350]</a> adduces some characteristic -examples of words and phrases, either newly invented or -employed in a sense differing from the customary one, which -have been repeated by the insane.</p> - -<p>Ibsen is certainly not wholly diseased in mind, but only a -dweller on the borderland—a ‘mattoid.’ His use of formalized -expressions does not therefore go so far as the invention of new -words, as cited by Dr. Marie. But that he ascribes a mysterious -meaning to the expressions ‘beauty,’ ‘joy of life,’ ‘courage of -life,’ etc., and one which they do not possess when rationally -used, follows clearly enough from the examples quoted.</p> - -<p>Finally let us adduce a few specimens of sheer nonsense, -corresponding to conversations held in dreams, and the silly -rambling speech of persons suffering from fever or acute mania. -In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, Ellida says (p. 39): ‘The water in -the fjord here is sick, ... yes, sick. And I believe it makes -one sick, too’ (p. 79). ‘We’ (Ellida and the ‘stranger’) ‘spoke -of the gulls and the eagles, and all the other sea-birds. I think—isn’t -it wonderful?—when we talked of such things it seemed -to me as if both the sea-beasts and sea-birds were one with -him.... I almost thought I belonged to them all, too’ (p. 100).</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">I don’t think the dry land is really our home.... I think that if only men -had from the beginning accustomed themselves to live on the sea, or <i>in</i> the -sea, perhaps, we should be more perfect than we are—with better and -happier....</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arnholm</span> (<i>jestingly</i>). Well, perhaps! But it can’t be helped. We’ve -once for all entered upon the wrong path, and have become land-beasts -instead of sea-beasts. Anyhow, I suppose it’s too late to make good the -mistake now.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> Yes, you’ve spoken a sad truth. And I think men instinctively -feel something of this themselves. And they bear it about with them as a -secret regret and sorrow. Believe me, herein lies the deepest cause for the -sadness of men.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">And Dr. Wangel, who is depicted as a rational man, says -(p. 129):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">And then she is so changeable, so capricious—she varies so suddenly.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Arnholm.</span> No doubt that is the result of her morbid state of mind.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Wangel.</span> Not altogether. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk. That is the -matter(!!).</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">We must insist that precisely the absurdities, the nugatory, -blurred, deep-sounding phrases, the formalized words, and -the dream-like drivel, have essentially conduced to obtain for -Ibsen his particular admirers. Over them hysterical mystics -can dream, like Dina and Hedwig, over the words ‘beautiful’ -and ‘in the depths of the sea.’ As they mean absolutely -nothing, an inattentive and vagrant mind can impart to them -whatever significance may be suggested by the play of association -under the influence of momentary emotion. They are, -moreover, exceedingly grateful material for the (so-called) -‘comprehensives,’ for whom nothing is ever obscure. ‘Comprehensives’ -always explain everything. The greater the idiocy, -the more involved, the richer in import, the more exhaustive is -its interpretation, and the greater the arrogance with which these -beings of ‘perfect comprehension’ look down upon the barbarian, -who stoutly refuses to see in fustian anything but fustian.</p> - -<p>In an exceedingly amusing French farce, <i>Le Homard</i>, a -husband suddenly returning home one evening surprises a -stranger with his wife. The latter does not lose her presence of -mind, and says to the husband that, having suddenly been seized -with illness, she had sent her maid for the first available doctor, -and that this gentleman was the doctor. The husband thanks -the gallant for his speedy appearance, and asks if he has already -prescribed anything. The gallant, who, of course, is not a doctor, -tries to make himself scarce; but the anxious husband insists -on having a prescription, so that the Galen, bathed in cold -perspiration, is compelled to give one. The husband casts a -glance at it; it consists of wholly illegible marks. ‘And will -the chemist be able to read that?’ asks the husband, shaking -his head. ‘As if it were print,’ asseverates the false physician, -again trying to make his escape. The husband, however, -adjures him to remain, and holds him fast until the maid -returns from the chemist. In a few minutes she makes her -appearance. The Galen prepares himself for a catastrophe. -No. The maid brings a phial of medicine, a box of pills, and -some powders. ‘Did the chemist give you those?’ demands -the Galen in bewilderment. ‘Certainly.’ ‘On my prescription?’ -‘Of course it was on your prescription,’ replies the -astonished maid. ‘Has the chemist made some mistake?’ -interposes the troubled husband. ‘No, no,’ our Galen hastens -to reply; but he contemplates the medicines for a long time, -and becomes lost in reverie.</p> - -<p>These ‘comprehensives’ are like the chemist in <i>Le Homard</i>. -They read with fluency all Ibsen’s prescriptions, and especially -those containing absolutely no written characters, but simply -crow’s feet devoid of all meaning. It is also their trade to -supply critical pills and electuaries when a piece of paper is -brought to them bearing the signature of a self-styled doctor,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span> -and they dispense them without wincing, be there anything of -any sort, or even nothing, on the slip of paper. Is it not -significant that the sole thing in Ibsen which the French mystic -De Vogué, one of these ‘comprehensives,’ finds to praise is one -of the meaningless phrases above cited?<a name="FNanchor_351_351" id="FNanchor_351_351"></a><a href="#Footnote_351_351" class="fnanchor">[351]</a></p> - -<p>A final stigma of Ibsen’s mysticism must be considered—his -symbolism. In <i>The Wild Duck</i>, this bird is the symbol of -Hjalmar’s destiny, and the garret next the photographic studio -a symbol of the ‘living lie,’ of which, according to Relling, -everyone stands in need. In <i>The Lady from the Sea</i>, Lyngstrand -wishes to make a group which shall be the symbol of -Ellida, as the ‘stranger’ with the changing eyes of a fish is of -the sea and the latter again of freedom, so that the ‘stranger’ -is really the symbol of a symbol. In <i>Ghosts</i>, the burning of -the asylum is the symbol of the annihilation of Alving’s ‘living -lie,’ and the rainy weather prevailing throughout the whole -piece the symbol of the depressed and sullen frame of mind of -the personages in action. Ibsen’s earlier pieces, <i>Emperor and -Galilean</i>, <i>Brand</i>, <i>Peer Gynt</i>, literally swarm with symbols. A -mysterious collateral significance is given to every figure and -every stage accessory, and every word includes a double -meaning. From the ‘Psychology of Mysticism’ we already -know this peculiarity of the mystic mind to divine obscure -relations between phenomena. It seeks so to explain the nexus -of the wholly unconnected representations springing up in -consciousness through the play of automatic association, that -it attributes hidden but essential reference to each other in -these representations. The ‘comprehensives’ believe they have -said all when, with an extremely consequential and self-satisfied -air, they demonstrate that the ‘stranger’ in <i>The Lady from the -Sea</i> signifies the sea, and the sea freedom. They quite overlook -the fact that the thing to be explained is not what the -poet intended by his symbol, but, firstly, and in particular, why -he hit upon the idea of making use of a symbol at all. In the -well-known words of the French satirist, a clear-headed poet -calls ‘a cat a cat.’ That to express so sober an idea as that -persons of fine feelings, living in narrow conditions, have a deep -longing for a free, expanded, unrestrained existence, one should -have the whim to invent a ‘stranger with fish-like eyes,’ presupposes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span> -a diseased mental activity. In imbeciles, the tendency -to allegory and symbolism is very common. ‘Intricate -arabesques, symbolical figures, cabalistic gestures and attitudes, -strange interpretations of natural events, punning, word-coining, -and peculiar modes of expression, frequently occurring in -paranoia, give the delirium a lively and grotesque colouring.’ -Thus writes Tanzi,<a name="FNanchor_352_352" id="FNanchor_352_352"></a><a href="#Footnote_352_352" class="fnanchor">[352]</a> and in the symbolism of the insane he -saw, as Meynert had previously seen, a form of atavism. -Among men low in the grade of civilization symbolism is, in -fact, the habitual form of thought. We know the reason—their -brain is not yet trained to attention; it is too weak to -suppress irrational associations, and refers all that shoots -through its consciousness to some chance phenomenon either -just perceived, or else remembered.</p> - -<p>After all the mental stigmata of Ibsen with which we have -become acquainted—his theological obsessions of original sin, -of confession and redemption, the absurdities of his invention, -the constant contradiction in his uncertain opinions, his vague -or senseless modes of expression, his onomatomania and his -symbolism—he might be numbered among the mystic degenerates -with which I have concerned myself in the previous -chapters. We are, however, justified in assigning him his place -among the ego-maniacs, because the diseased intensification of -his ego-consciousness is even more striking and characteristic -than his mysticism. His ego-mania assumes the form of -anarchism. He is in a state of constant revolt against all that -exists. He never exercises rational criticism with regard to this; -he never shows what is bad, why it is bad, and how it could be -made better. No; he only reproaches it with its existence, and -has only one longing—to destroy it. ‘The ruin of everything’ -was the programme of certain destructives in 1848, and has -remained that of Ibsen. He condenses it with a clearness which -leaves nothing to be desired in his well-known poem, <i>To my -Friend the Destructive Orator</i>. In this he glorifies the deluge -as the ‘sole revolution not made by a half-and-half dabbler’ -(<i>Halohedsfusker</i>); but even it was not radically ruinous enough. -‘We want to make it still more radical, but for that end we -need men and orators. You charge yourselves with flooding -the terrestrial garden. I place blissfully a torpedo under the -ark.’<a name="FNanchor_353_353" id="FNanchor_353_353"></a><a href="#Footnote_353_353" class="fnanchor">[353]</a> In a series of letters offered by elephant-driver Brandes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span> -for the edification of the adorers of Ibsen, the poet gives conspicuous -specimens of his theories.<a name="FNanchor_354_354" id="FNanchor_354_354"></a><a href="#Footnote_354_354" class="fnanchor">[354]</a> The state must be destroyed. -Unfortunately the Paris Communists bungled this -beautiful and fertile idea by clumsy execution. The fight for -freedom has not for its end the conquest of liberty, but is its -own end. As soon as we believe liberty to be attained, and -cease to fight for it, we prove it to be lost to us. The meritorious -thing in the fight for liberty is the state of permanent -revolt against all existing things which it presupposes. There -is nothing fixed and permanent. ‘Who warrants me that in the -planet Jupiter twice two are not five?’ (This remark is an -unmistakable manifestation of the insanity of doubt,<a name="FNanchor_355_355" id="FNanchor_355_355"></a><a href="#Footnote_355_355" class="fnanchor">[355]</a> which in -recent years has been deeply studied.) There is no true marriage. -Friends are a costly luxury. ‘They have long hindered -me from being myself.’ The care of the ‘I’ is the sole task -of man. He ought not to allow himself to be diverted from it -by any law or any consideration.</p> - -<p>These thoughts, expressed by himself in his letters, he also -puts into the mouth of his dramatic characters. I have already -cited some of Mrs. Alving’s and Nora’s ego-maniacal and -anarchical phrases. In <i>The Pillars of Society</i>, Dina says (p. 19): -‘If only the people I lived amongst weren’t so proper and moral. -Every day Hilda and Netta come here that I may take example -by them. I can never be as well behaved as they are, and I -<i>won’t be</i>’ (p. 44).</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">But I wanted to know, too, if people over there [in America] are very—very -moral ... if they are so—so proper and well-behaved as here.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johan.</span> Well, at any rate, they’re not so bad as people here think.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dina.</span> You don’t understand me. What I want is just that they should -not be so very proper and moral (p. 92). I am sick of all this goodness.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Martha Bernick.</span> Oh, how we writhe under this tyranny of custom and -convention! Rebel against it, Dina. Do something to defy all this use-and-wont!</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>An Enemy of the People</i> (p. 278) Stockmann declares: ‘I -detest leading men ... they stand in the path of a free man -wherever he turns—and I should be glad if we could exterminate -them like other noxious animals.’ (p. 280) ‘The most -dangerous enemies of truth and freedom in our midst are the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span> -compact majority. Yes, this execrable compact, Liberal -majority—they it is.... The majority is never right.... -The minority is always right.’ Where Ibsen does not seriously -attack the majority he derides it—<i>e.g.</i>, when he entrusts the -maintenance of society to grotesque Philistines, or makes self-styled -Radicals betray the hypocrisy of their Liberal views. -In <i>An Enemy of the People</i> (p. 238):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Burgomaster.</span> You want to fly in the face of your superiors; and that’s -an old habit of yours. You can’t endure any authority over you</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>Rosmersholm</i> (p. 53):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Mortensgaard</span> [the journalist who poses as a Freethinker]. We have -plenty of Freethinkers already, Pastor Rosmer—I almost might say too many. -What the party requires is a Christian element—something that everyone -must respect. That’s what we’re sadly in need of.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">With the same purpose of anarchistic ridicule he always -personifies the sense of duty in idiots or contemptible Pharisees -only. In <i>Ghosts</i> the blockhead, Pastor Manders, thus preaches -(p. 142): ‘What right have we human beings to happiness? -No, we have to do our duty! And your duty was to hold -firmly to the man you had once chosen, and to whom you are -bound by a holy tie.’ In <i>The Pillars of Society</i> it is the rogue -Bernick who is made to proclaim the necessity of the subordination -of the individual to the community (p. 58): ‘People -must learn to moderate their personal claims if they are to -fulfil their duties in the community in which they are placed.’ -In <i>An Enemy of the People</i> the not less pitiable burgomaster -sermonizes his brother Stockmann in this fashion (p. 209): -‘Anyhow, you’ve an ingrained propensity for going your own -way. And that in a well-ordered community is almost always -dangerous. The individual must submit himself to the whole -community.’</p> - -<p>The trick is evident: to make the conception of the necessary -subordination of the individual ridiculous and contemptible, -Ibsen appoints as its mouthpieces ridiculous and contemptible -beings. On the other hand, it is the characters on whom he -lavishes all the wealth of his affection to whom he entrusts the -duty of defending rebellion against duty, the aspersion or -derision of laws, morals, institutions, self-discipline, and the -proclaiming of unscrupulous ego-mania as the sole guide of life.</p> - -<p>The psychological roots of Ibsen’s anti-social impulses are -well known. They are the degenerate’s incapacity for self-adaptation, -and the resulting discomfort in the midst of circumstances -to which, in consequence of his organic deficiencies, -he cannot accommodate himself. ‘The criminal,’ Lombroso<a name="FNanchor_356_356" id="FNanchor_356_356"></a><a href="#Footnote_356_356" class="fnanchor">[356]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span> -says, ‘in consequence of his neurotic and impulsive nature, -and his hatred of the institutions which have punished or -imprisoned him, is a perpetual latent political rebel, who finds -in insurrection the means not only of satisfying his passions, -but of even having them countenanced for the first time by -a numerous public.’ This utterance is exactly applicable to -Ibsen, with the slight change, that he is merely a theoretic -criminal, his motor centres not being powerful enough to -transmute his anarchically criminal ideas into deeds, and that -he finds the satisfaction of his destructive impulses not in the -insurrection, but in the activity of dramatic composition.</p> - -<p>His incapacity for self-adaptation makes him not only an -anarchist, but also a misanthrope, and fills him with a profound -weariness of life. The doctrine of <i>An Enemy of the People</i> -is contained in Stockmann’s exclamation (p. 315): ‘The -strongest man on earth is he who stands most alone’; and in -<i>Rosmersholm</i> (p. 24), Brendel says: ‘I like to take my pleasures -in solitude, for then I enjoy them doubly.’ The same Brendel -subsequently laments (p. 105): ‘I am going homewards; I -am home-sick for the mighty Void.... Peter Mortensgaard -never wills more than he can do. Peter Mortensgaard is -capable of living his life without ideals. And that, do you see, -that is just the mighty secret of action and of victory. It is -the sum of the whole world’s wisdom.... The dark night is -best. Peace be with you!’ Brendel’s words have a peculiar -significance, for, on the evidence of Ehrhard,<a name="FNanchor_357_357" id="FNanchor_357_357"></a><a href="#Footnote_357_357" class="fnanchor">[357]</a> Ibsen wished -to portray himself in that personage. That which is expressed -in these passages is the <i>dégoût des gens</i> and the <i>tedium -vitæ</i> of alienists, phenomena never absent in depressed forms of -mental alienation.</p> - -<p>In addition to his mysticism and ego-mania, Ibsen’s extraordinary -poverty of ideas indicates another stigma of degeneracy. -Superficial or ignorant judges, who appraise an -artist’s intellectual wealth by the number of volumes he has -produced, believe that when they point at the high pile of a -degenerate’s works they have victoriously refuted the accusation -of his infecundity. The well-informed are of course -not entrapped by this paltry method of proof. The history -of insane literature knows of a large number of cases in which -fools have written and published dozens of thick volumes. -For tens of years and in feverish haste they must have driven -the pen, almost continuously, night and day; but since all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span> -these bulky tomes contain not a single idea of any utility, -this restless activity is not to be termed fruitful, in spite of the -abundant typographical results. We have seen that Richard -Wagner never invented a tale, a figure, a situation; but that -he sponged on ancient poems or the Bible. Ibsen has almost -as little genuine original creative power as his intellectual -relative, and as he, in his beggar’s pride, disdains for the most -part to borrow from other poets of procreative capacity, or -from popular traditions exuberant with life, his poems reveal, -when closely and keenly examined, an even greater poverty -than those of Wagner. If we do not allow ourselves to be -dazzled by the art of variation in a contrapuntist extraordinarily -clever in dramatic technique, and follow the themes -he so adroitly elaborates, we at once recognise their dreary -monotony.</p> - -<p>At the central point of all his pieces (with the exception of -those of a romantic character, written by him in his first period -of pure imitation) stand two figures, always the same and -fundamentally one, but having now a negative and now a -positive sign, a thesis and antithesis in the Hegelian sense. -They are, on the one hand, the human being who obeys his -inner law only (that is, his ego-mania), and dauntlessly and -defiantly makes a parade of it; and, on the other, the individual -who, it is true, really acts in obedience to his ego-mania -only, but has not the courage to display it, feigning -respect for the law of others and for the notions of the -majority—in other words, the avowed and violent anarchist, -and his opposite, the crafty and timorously deceitful anarchist.</p> - -<p>The avowed ego-maniac is, with one single exception, always -embodied in a woman. The exception is Brand. On the -contrary, the hypocrite is always a man—again with a single -exception, viz., that of Hedda Gabler, who does not personify -the idea in its purity, frank anarchism in her nature being -mingled with something of hypocrisy. Nora (<i>A Doll’s House</i>), -Mrs. Alving (<i>Ghosts</i>), Selma Malsberg (<i>The League of the Young</i>), -Dina, Martha Hessel, Mrs. Bernick (<i>The Pillars of Society</i>), -Hedda Gabler, Ellida Wangel (<i>The Lady from the Sea</i>), Rebecca -(<i>Rosmersholm</i>), are one and the same figure, but seen, as it were, -at different hours of the day, and consequently in different -lights. Some are in the major, others in the minor, key; -some are more, others less hysterically deranged; but essentially -they are not only similar, but identical. Selma Malsberg -(p. 60) cries: ‘Bear our unhappiness in common? Am I yet -good enough? No. I can no longer keep silent, be a hypocrite -and a liar. Now you shall know.... O, how you have -wronged me! Infamously, all of you!... How I have -thirsted for a drop of your care! But when I begged for it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span> -you repulsed me with a polite joke. You dressed me like a -doll. You played with me as with a child.... I want to go -away from you.... Let me, let me.’ And Nora (p. 110): -‘I lived by performing tricks for you, Torvald.... You and -your father have sinned greatly against me. It is the fault of -you two that nothing has been made of me. I was never -happy, only merry.... Our house has been nothing but a -nursery. Here I have been your doll-wife, just as at home I -used to be papa’s doll-child.... That is why I am going -away from you now.... I shall now leave your house at -once.’ Ellida (<i>The Lady from the Sea</i>): ‘What I want is that -we should, of our own free will, release each other.... I -am not what you took me for. Now you see it yourself. Now -we can separate as friends, and freely.... Here there is no -single thing that attracts me and binds me. I am so absolutely -rootless in your house, Wangel.’ Selma threatens to -leave, Ellida resolves to leave, Nora does leave, Mrs. Alving -did leave. (<i>Ghosts</i>, p. 144) Pastor Manders: ‘All your efforts -have been bent towards emancipation and lawlessness. You -have never been willing to endure any bond. Everything that -has weighed upon you in life you have cast away without care -or conscience, like a burden you could throw off at will. It -did not please you to be a wife any longer, and you left your -husband. You found it troublesome to be a mother, and you -sent your child forth among strangers.’ Mrs. Bernick was, -equally with her double, Mrs. Alving, a stranger in her own -house. She, however, does not wish to leave, but to remain and -endeavour to win over her husband (p. 112): ‘For many years -I believed that you had once been mine, and I had lost you -again. Now I know that you never were mine; but I shall -win you.’ Dina (<i>The Pillars of Society</i>) cannot leave because -she is not yet married, but as becomes her state of maidenhood, -she gives her rebellious thoughts this form (p. 93): ‘I -will be your wife; but first I will work, and become something -for myself, just as you are. I will give myself; I will not be -taken.’ Rebecca (<i>Rosmersholm</i>) is also unmarried, yet she runs -away (p. 96):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1">I am going.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> Where are you going, Rebecca?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> North, by the steamer. It was there I came from.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> But you have no ties there now.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> I have none here either.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rosmer.</span> What do you think of doing?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Rebecca.</span> I don’t know. I only want to have done with it all.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Now for the antithesis, the hypocritical egoist who satisfies -his ego-mania without giving offence to society. This personage -presents himself under the names successively of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span> -Torvald Helmer, Consul Bernick, Curate Rörlund, Rector -Kroll, Pastor Manders, Burgomaster Stockmann, Werle, -and once, to a certain extent, Hedda Gabler, always with -the same ideas and the same words. In <i>A Doll’s House</i> -(p. 104, <i>et seq.</i>), after his wife’s confession, Helmer cries: ‘Oh, -what an awful awakening!... No religion, no morality, no -sense of duty.... He can publish the whole story; and if -he does publish it, perhaps I should be suspected of having -been a party to your criminal transactions.... I must try -to pacify him in one way or the other. The story must be -kept secret, cost what it may.’ In <i>Ghosts</i> Pastor Manders on -different occasions expresses himself thus: ‘One is certainly -not bound to account to everybody for what one reads and -thinks within one’s own four walls.... We must not expose -ourselves to false interpretations, and we have no right whatever -to give offence to our neighbours.... You go and risk -your good name and reputation, and nearly succeed in ruining -other people’s reputation into the bargain. It was unspeakably -reckless of you to seek refuge with me.... Yes, that is the only -thing possible’ (to ‘hush the matter up’) ‘... yes, family life -is certainly not always so pure as it ought to be. But in such -a case as you point to’ (an incestuous union), ‘one can never -know.’ Rörlund (<i>The Pillars of Society</i>): ‘See how the family -is undermined over there! how a brazen spirit of destruction -is attacking the most vital truths!... Of course, a tare now -and then springs up among the wheat, alas! but we honestly -do our best to weed it out.... Oh, Dina, you can form no -conception of the thousand considerations! When a man is -placed as a moral pillar of the society he lives in, why—he cannot -be too careful.... Oh, Dina, you are so dear to me! -Hush! someone is coming. Dina, for my sake, go out to the -others.... A good book forms a refreshing contrast to what -we unhappily see every day in newspapers and magazines.’ -Consul Bernick, in the same piece: ‘Just at this time, when I -depend so much on unmixed good feeling, both in the press -and in the town. There will be paragraphs in the papers all -over the country-side.... These newspaper scribblers are -always covertly carping at us.... I whose mission it is to -be an example to my fellow-citizens, must have such things -thrown in my teeth! I cannot bear it. It won’t do for me to -have my name bespattered in this way.... I must keep my -conscience unspotted. Besides, it will make a good impression -on both the press and the public at large when they see that I -set aside all personal considerations, and let justice take its -course.’ Kroll, in <i>Rosmersholm</i>: ‘Do you ever see the Radical -papers?... But you’ve seen, then, I suppose, how these -gentlemen of “the people” have been pleased to treat me?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span> -what infamous abuse they’ve dared to heap upon me?’ -Werle, in <i>The Wild Duck</i>: ‘Even if, out of attachment to me, -she were to disregard gossip and scandal and all that——?’ -The Burgomaster, in <i>An Enemy of the People</i>: ‘If, perhaps, I do -watch over my reputation with some anxiety, I do it for the -good of the town.... Your statement ... must be kept -back for the good of all ... we will do the best we can -quietly; but nothing whatever, not a single word, of this unfortunate -business must be made public.... And then you -have an unhappy propensity for rushing into print upon every -possible and impossible matter. You no sooner hit upon an -idea than you must write at once some newspaper article or a -whole pamphlet about it.’ Finally, Hedda Gabler: ‘And so -you went off perfectly openly?... But what do you suppose -that people will say about you, then?... I so dread a -scandal! You should accept for your own sake, or, better -still, for the world’s sake.’</p> - -<p>If all the Nora-like and all the Helmer-like utterances are -read successively, an impression must be formed that they -are part of the same <i>rôle</i>; and this impression is correct, for -under all the different names there is only one <i>rôle</i>. The same -is true of the women who, in contrast to the ego-maniac Nora, -unselfishly sacrifice themselves. Martha Bernick, Miss Hessel, -Hedwig, Miss Tesman, etc., are always the same figure in -different guises. The monotony, moreover, extends to minutest -details. Rank’s inherited disease is in Oswald’s case only -carried further. Nora’s flight is repeated in almost every -piece, and in <i>The Wild Duck</i> is travestied in Hjalmar’s departure -from his house. One feature of this scene appears -word for word in all the <i>réchauffés</i> of it:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Here I lay the keys down. The maids know how to manage -everything in the house far better than I do.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Ellida.</span> If I do go ... I haven’t a key to give up, an order to give.... -I am absolutely rootless in your house, etc.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">In <i>A Doll’s House</i>, the heroine, who has settled her account -with life and is filled with dread of the impending catastrophe, -makes Rank play a wild tarantella on the piano, while she -dances to it. In <i>Hedda Gabler</i>, the heroine is heard ‘suddenly -playing a wild dance’ before she shoots herself. Rosmer says -to Rebecca, when the latter makes known her wish to die: -‘No; you recoil. You have not the heart to do what <i>she</i> dared.’ -The extortioner Krogstad says to Nora, who threatens to -commit suicide: ‘Oh, you don’t frighten me! An elegant -spoilt lady like you.... People don’t do things of that sort.’ -Brack says, in response to Hedda Gabler’s outburst: ‘Rather -die! That’s what people say, but nobody does it!’ In much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span> -the same words Helmer reproaches his wife Nora with having -sacrificed her honour by the forgery, and Pastor Manders -upbraids Mrs. Alving for wishing to sacrifice her honour to -him. Lona Hessel demands confession from Consul Bernick, -and Rebecca from Rosmer, in the same terms. Werle’s crime -was the seduction of the maidservant Gina. Alving’s crime -was the seduction of his own maidservant. This pitiable and -imbecile self-repetition in Ibsen, this impotence of his indolent -brain to wash out the imprint of an idea once painfully -elaborated, goes so far that, even in the invention of names -for his characters, he is, consciously or unconsciously, under -the influence of a reminiscence. In <i>A Doll’s House</i> we have -Helmer; in <i>The Wild Duck</i>, Hjalmar; in <i>The Pillars of Society</i>, -Hilmar, Mrs. Bernick’s brother.</p> - -<p>Thus Ibsen’s drama is like a kaleidoscope in a sixpenny -bazaar. When one looks through the peep-hole, one sees, -at each shaking of the cardboard tube, new and parti-coloured -combinations. Children are amused at this toy. But adults -know that it contains only splinters of coloured glass, always -the same, inserted haphazard, and united into symmetrical -figures by three bits of looking-glass, and they soon tire of -the expressionless arabesques. My simile applies not only -to Ibsen’s plays, but to the author himself. In reality, he is -the kaleidoscope. The few paltry bits of glass which for -thirty years he has rattled and thrown into cheap mosaic -patterns, these are his obsessions. These have existed in his -own diseased mind, and have not sprung from observation of -the world’s drama. The pretended ‘realist’ knows nothing of -real life. He does not comprehend it; he does not even see it, -and cannot, therefore, renew from it his store of impressions, -ideas, and judgments. The well-known method of manufacturing -cannon is to take a tube and pour molten metal -round it. Ibsen proceeds in a similar way with his poems. -He has a thesis—more accurately, some anarchistic folly; -this is the tube. It is now only a question of enveloping -this tube with the metal of life’s realities. But that lies -beyond Ibsen’s power. At best he occasionally finds some -bits of worn-down horseshoe-nails, or castaway sardine-box, -by rummaging among dust-heaps; but this small quantity of -metal does not suffice for a cannon. Where Ibsen makes -strenuous efforts to produce a picture of actual contemporaneous -events, he astounds us with the niggardliness in -incidents and human beings evinced by the range of his -experience.</p> - -<p>Philistine, ultra-provincial, these are no fit words for this. -It sinks below the level of the human. The naturalist Huber -and Sir John Lubbock have recorded incidents of this sort<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span> -in their observations of colonies of ants. The small features -pinned by Ibsen to his two-legged theses, to give them, at -least, as much resemblance to humanity as is possessed by a -scarecrow, are borrowed from the society of a hideous hole -on the Norwegian coast, composed of drunkards and silly -louts, of idiots and crazed hysterical geese, who in their whole -life have never formed a clearer thought than: ‘How can I -get hold of a bottle of brandy?’ or ‘How can I make myself -interesting to men?’ The sole characteristic distinguishing -these Lövborgs, Ekdals, Oswald Alvings, etc., from beasts is -that they are given to drink. The Noras, Heddas, Ellidas, -do not tipple, but make up for that by raving so wildly as to -require strait-jackets. The great events of their lives are the -obtaining of a position in a bank (<i>A Doll’s House</i>); their -catastrophes, that one no longer believes in the articles of -their creed (<i>Rosmersholm</i>); the loss of an appointment as -physician at a watering-place (<i>An Enemy of the People</i>); the -raked-up rumours of an amorous nocturnal <i>péché de jeunesse</i> -(<i>The Pillars of Society</i>); the frightful crimes darkening, like a -thunder-cloud, the lives of these beings and their social circle -are an intrigue with a maidservant (<i>Ghosts</i>, <i>The Wild Duck</i>); -a <i>liaison</i> with an itinerant music-hall singer (<i>An Enemy of the -People</i>); the felling, by mistake, of wood in a state-forest (<i>The -Wild Duck</i>); the visit to a house of ill-fame after a good -dinner (<i>Hedda Gabler</i>). It sometimes happens to me to pass -a half-hour in the nursery, amusing myself with the chatter -and play of the little ones. One day the children by accident -saw the arrest of someone in the street. Although their -attendant hurried them away from the unpleasant spectacle, -they had seen enough of the tumult to be violently excited -by it. Some days afterwards on entering the nursery I found -them full of the great event, and I became the auditor of the -following dialogue:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Matilda</span> (<i>aged three years</i>). Why did they put the gentleman in prison?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Richard</span> (<i>five years old, very dignified and sententious</i>). It wasn’t a -gentleman; it was a bad man. They put him in prison because he was -wicked.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Matilda.</span> What had he done then?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Richard</span> (<i>after reflecting a little</i>). His mamma had said he wasn’t to take -chocolate; but he did take chocolate. That’s why his mamma had him put -in prison.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">This childish conversation always came into my mind when -I lighted, in Ibsen’s plays, upon one of his crimes treated with -such overawing importance.</p> - -<p>We have now made the complete tour of Ibsen. At the -risk of being prolix and tedious, I have made copious quotations -from his writings, in order that the reader might himself -see the matter from which I have formed my judgments.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span> -Ibsen stands before us as a mystic and an ego-maniac, who -would willingly prove the world and mankind not worth -powder and shot, but who only proves that he has not the -faintest inkling of one or the other. Incapable of adapting -himself to any state of things whatsoever, he first abuses the -state of things in Norway, then that of Europe generally. -In no one of his productions is a single thought to be met -with belonging to, or having an active influence on, the -present age, unless we bestow this honour on his anarchism, -which is explained by the diseased constitution of his mind, -and his travesties of the least certain results of investigations -in hypnotism and telepathy. He is a skilful dramatic -technician, and knows how to represent with great poetic -power personages in the background, and situations out of -the chief current of the piece. This, however, is all that a -conscientious and lucid analysis can really find in him. He -has dared to speak of his ‘moral ideas,’ and his admirers -glibly repeat the expression. Ibsen’s moral ideas! Any -reader of the Ibsen drama, who finds in <i>them</i> no food for -laughter, has truly no sense of humour. He seems to preach -apostacy, yet cannot free himself from the religious ideas -of confession, original sin, and the Saviour’s act of redemption. -He sets up egoism and the freedom of the individual from all -scruples as an ideal, yet hardly has anyone acted somewhat -unscrupulously, but he begins to whimper contritely, and -continues until his heart, full to suffocation, has poured itself -out in confession; while the only persons with whom he -succeeds are women, who sacrifice their individuality to the -point of annihilation for the sake of others. He extols every -offence against morality as heroism, while he punishes, with -nothing less than death, the smallest and stupidest love affair. -He uses the words freedom, progress, etc., as a gargle, and -in his best works honours lying and stagnation. And all -these contradictions appear forsooth not successively as -stations on the road of his development, but at one and the -same time, and side by side. His French admirer, Ehrhard,<a name="FNanchor_358_358" id="FNanchor_358_358"></a><a href="#Footnote_358_358" class="fnanchor">[358]</a> -sees this disconcerting fact, and endeavours as best he can -to excuse it. His Norwegian interpreter, Henrik Jaeger, on -the contrary, asserts with the utmost placidity<a name="FNanchor_359_359" id="FNanchor_359_359"></a><a href="#Footnote_359_359" class="fnanchor">[359]</a> that the -most prominent characteristic of Ibsen’s works is their unity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span> -(<i>Enhed</i>). The Frenchman and the Norwegian were most -incautious in not preconcerting, prior to praising their great -man in manners so divergent. The single discoverable unity -in Ibsen is his faculty of distortion. The point in which he -always resembles himself is his entire incapacity to elaborate -a single clear thought, to comprehend a single one of the -watchwords daubed here and there on to his works, or to -deduce the true conclusions from a single one of his -premises.</p> - -<p>And this malignant, anti-social simpleton, highly gifted, it -must be admitted, in the technique of the stage, they have had -the audacity to try to raise upon the shield as the great world-poet -of the closing century. His partizans have continued to -shout, ‘Ibsen is a great poet!’ until all stronger judgments -have become at least hesitating, and feebler ones wholly subjugated. -In a recent book on Simon Magus,<a name="FNanchor_360_360" id="FNanchor_360_360"></a><a href="#Footnote_360_360" class="fnanchor">[360]</a> there occurs -this pretty story: ‘Apsethus, the Libyan, wished to become a -god. In spite, however, of his most strenuous efforts he could -not succeed in satisfying his longing. But, at any rate, he -would make the people believe that he had become a god. -He therefore collected a large number of parrots, in which -Libya abounds, and shut them all in a cage. He kept them -so for some time, and taught them to say, “Apsethus is a god.” -When the birds had learnt this, he opened the cage and set -them free. And the birds spread themselves throughout -Libya, so that the words penetrated to the Greek settlements. -And the Libyans, astonished at the voice of the birds, and not -suspecting the trick Apsethus had played, looked upon him as -a god.’ In imitation of the ingenious Apsethus, Ibsen has -taught a few ‘comprehensives’—the Brandes, Ehrhards, Jaegers, -etc.—the words: ‘Ibsen is a modern! Ibsen is a poet of the -future!’ and the parrots have spread over all the lands, and -are chattering with deafening din in books and papers, ‘Ibsen -is great! Ibsen is a modern spirit!’ and imbeciles among the -public murmur the cry after them, because they hear it frequently -repeated, and because, on such as they, every word -uttered with emphasis and assurance makes an impression.</p> - -<p>It would certainly be a proof of superficiality to believe that -the audacity of his Corybantes alone explains the high place -to which Ibsen has been fraudulently elevated. Without question -he possesses characteristics by which he could not but act -upon his contemporaries.</p> - -<p>Firstly, we have his vague phrases and indefinite incidental -hints concerning ‘the great epoch in which we live,’ ‘the new -era about to dawn,’ ‘freedom,’ ‘progress,’ etc. These phrases -were bound to please all dreamers and drivellers, for they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span> -give free scope to any interpretation, and, in particular, allow -the presumption that their author is possessed of modernity -and a bold spirit of progress. They are not discouraged by -the fact that Ibsen himself makes cruel sport of these ‘comprehensives,’ -when, in <i>The Wild Duck</i>, he makes Relling -(p. 361) use the word ‘demoniac,’ while admitting it to be -wholly meaningless, just as the poet himself employs his own -bunkum about progress and freedom. They are ‘comprehensives’ -precisely because they interpret every passage according -to their own sweet will.</p> - -<p>Then there is Ibsen’s doctrine of the right of the individual -to live in accordance with his own law. Is this really his -doctrine? This must be denied when, after struggling through -his countless contradictions and self-refutations, we see that -he treats with peculiar affection the sacrificial lambs, who are all -negation of their own ‘I,’ all suppression of their most natural -impulses, all neighbourly love and consideration for others. -In any case, his apostles have brought forward anarchistic -individualism as the central doctrine of his drama. Ehrhard<a name="FNanchor_361_361" id="FNanchor_361_361"></a><a href="#Footnote_361_361" class="fnanchor">[361]</a> -sums up this doctrine in these words: ‘The revolt of the -individual against society. In other words, Ibsen is the -apostle of moral autonomy (<i>autonomie morale</i>).’ Now such a -doctrine is surely well fitted to cause ravages among the intellectually -indolent or intellectually incapable.</p> - -<p>Ehrhard dares to use the expression ‘moral autonomy.’ In -the name of this fine principle Ibsen’s critical heralds persuade -the youth who gather round him that they have the right to -‘live out their lives,’ and they smile approvingly when their -auditors understand by this term the right to yield to their -basest instincts and to free themselves from all discipline. -As the scoundrels in Mediterranean ports do with well-dressed -travellers, they whisper in the ear of their public, -‘Amuse yourselves! Enjoy yourselves! Come with me; I -will show you the way!’ But to confound ‘moral autonomy’ -with absence of restraint is, on the part of their faith, a monstrous -error, and in the corrupters of youth, hoping for the pay -of procuration, an infamous deception.</p> - -<p>These two notions are not only not synonymous, they are -diametrically opposed and mutually exclusive. Liberty of the -individual! The right to autonomy! The Ego its own legislator! -Who is this ‘I’ that is to make laws for itself? Who -is this ‘Self’ for whom Ibsen demands the right of autonomy? -Who is this free individual? That the entire notion of a Self -opposed to the rest of the world as something alien and -exclusive is an illusion of consciousness, we have already seen -in the chapter on the ‘Psychology of Ego-mania,’ and I need<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span> -not, therefore, dwell again on the subject in this place. We -know that man, like every other complex and highly developed -living being, is a society or state, of simpler, and of simplest, -living beings, of cells and cell-systems, or organs, all having -their own functions and wants. In the course of the development -of life on earth they have become associated, and have -undergone changes, in order to be able to perform higher -functions than are possible to the simple cell and primitive -agglomeration of cells. The highest function of life yet known -to us is clear consciousness; the most elevated content of consciousness -is knowledge; and the most obvious and immediate -aim of knowledge is constantly to procure better conditions of -life for the organism, hence to preserve its existence as long as -possible, and to fill it with the greatest possible number of -pleasurable sensations. In order that the collective organism -may be able to perform its task, its constituent parts are bound -to submit to a severe hierarchical order. Anarchy in its interior -is disease, and leads rapidly to death. The single cell -executes its chemical work of decomposition and of integration -without troubling itself about aught else. It labours almost -for itself alone. Its consciousness is the most limited conceivable; -it has hardly any prevision; its own power of -adaptation is so minute that if a cell is in the smallest degree -less well nourished than its neighbour, it cannot hold its -ground against the latter, and is immediately devoured by it.<a name="FNanchor_362_362" id="FNanchor_362_362"></a><a href="#Footnote_362_362" class="fnanchor">[362]</a> -The differentiated cell-group, or organ, already possesses a -wider consciousness, whose seat is its own nerve-ganglia; its -function is more complex, and no longer operates wholly, or -even chiefly, for its own benefit, but for that of the collective -organism; it also has already, I might say, a constitutional -influence on the direction of the affairs of the whole organism, -asserting itself in the power of the organ to suggest to consciousness -presentations prompting the will to acts. The most -exalted organ, however, the condensation of all the other -organs, is the gray cerebral cortex. It is the seat of clear -consciousness. It works least of all for itself, most of all for -the commonwealth—<i>i.e.</i>, for the whole organism. It is the -government of the State. To it come all reports from the -interior as well as the exterior; it has to find its way in the -midst of all complications; it has to exercise foresight, and to -take into consideration not only the immediate effect of an act,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span> -but also the more remote consequences for the commonwealth. -When, therefore, it is a question of the ‘I,’ the ‘Self,’ the -‘Individual,’ it cannot be any subordinate part of the organism -which is meant, such as the little toe or the rectum, but only -the gray cerebral cortex. To it certainly belongs the right -and duty of directing the individual and of prescribing its law. -It is consciousness itself. But how does consciousness form -its judgments and its decisions? It forms them from representations -awakened in it by excitations proceeding from the -internal organs and from the senses. If consciousness allows -itself to be directed solely by the organic excitations, it seeks -to gratify its momentary appetites, on the spot, at the cost of -well-being, it injures an organ by favouring the need of -another, and it neglects to take into consideration circumstances -of the external world which must be dealt with in the -interest of the whole organism. Let me give some quite -simple illustrations. A man is swimming under water. His -cells know nothing of it, and do not trouble themselves about -it. They quietly absorb from the blood the oxygen which -they need at the moment, and set free, in exchange, carbonic -dioxide. The decomposed blood excites the medulla oblongata, -and the latter impetuously demands a movement of -inspiration. Were the gray cerebral cortex to yield to the -perfectly justifiable demand of one organ, and allow an impulse -to inspire to proceed to the muscles concerned, the consequence -would be the filling of the lungs with water, and death of the -entire organism in consequence. Hence consciousness does -not obey the demand of the medulla oblongata, and, instead of -sending motor impulses to the intercostal muscles and those -of the diaphragm, communicates them to the muscles of the -arms and legs; instead of breathing under water, the swimmer -emerges at the surface. Another instance. A typhoid convalescent -feels ragingly hungry. Were he to yield to this -desire, he might give himself a momentary satisfaction, but -twenty-four hours later he would probably die from perforation -of the intestines. Hence his consciousness resists the desire -of his organs for the benefit of the whole organism. The cases -are, of course, generally much more complex. But it is always -the task of consciousness to test the stimuli which it receives -from the depths of the organs, to comprise in the motor images -which they excite all its earlier experiences, its knowledge, the -directions given by the external world, and to disregard the -stimuli if the judgments opposed to them are more powerful -than they.</p> - -<p>Even a perfectly healthy organism quickly goes to rack and -ruin if the inhibitive activity of consciousness is not exercised, -and if, through this want of exercise, its inhibitive strength<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span> -becomes atrophied. Cæsarian madness<a name="FNanchor_363_363" id="FNanchor_363_363"></a><a href="#Footnote_363_363" class="fnanchor">[363]</a> is nothing but the -consequence of the systematic indulgence by consciousness -of every demand of the organs. If, however, the organism -is not perfectly healthy; if it is degenerate, its ruin is much -more speedy and certain when it obeys the urging of its -organs, for in such a case these organs are suffering from -perversions; they exact satisfactions, not only pernicious in -their remote consequences to the whole organism, but immediately -so to the organs themselves.</p> - -<p>When, therefore, the ‘I’ is spoken of, which is to have the -right to dispose of itself, only the conscious ‘Ego’ can be -meant, the pondering, remembering, observing, comparing -intellect, not, however, the sub-’Egos’—unconnected, and -for the most part at strife with each other—which are included -in subconsciousness.<a name="FNanchor_364_364" id="FNanchor_364_364"></a><a href="#Footnote_364_364" class="fnanchor">[364]</a> The individual is the judging, not the -instinctive, human being. Liberty is the capacity of consciousness -to derive excitations, not only from the stimuli of the -organs, but from those of the senses, and from original -memory-images. Ibsen’s liberty is the most abject, and always -suicidal,<a name="FNanchor_365_365" id="FNanchor_365_365"></a><a href="#Footnote_365_365" class="fnanchor">[365]</a> slavery. It is the subjugation of judgment to -instinct, and the revolt of some single organ against the -domination of that power, which has to watch over the well-being -of the whole organism. Even so individualistic a -philosopher as Herbert Spencer<a name="FNanchor_366_366" id="FNanchor_366_366"></a><a href="#Footnote_366_366" class="fnanchor">[366]</a> says: ‘To become fitted -for the social state, it is necessary that the man ... should -possess the energy capable of renouncing a small enjoyment -of the moment, in order to obtain a greater one in the future.’ -A healthy man in the full vigour of intellect cannot sacrifice -his judgment. The <i>sacrifizio dell’ intelletto</i> is the only one he -cannot afford. If law and custom impose upon him acts -which he recognises as absurd because they defeat their end, -not only will he have the right, but it will be his duty, to -defend reason against nonsense, and knowledge against error.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span> -But his revolt will always be in the name of judgment, not -in the name of instinct.</p> - -<p>All this philosophy of self-restraint can, it is true, be preached -to healthy human beings only. It has no application to -degenerates. Their defective brain and nervous system are -not in a state to respond to its demands. The processes -within their organs are morbidly intensified. Hence the latter -send particularly powerful stimuli to consciousness. The -sensory nerves conduct badly. The memory-images in the -brain are faint. Perceptions of the external world, representations -of anterior experiences, are, therefore, non-existent -or too feeble to subdue the stimulus originating in the organs. -Such persons can do nought else but follow their desires and -impulsions. They are the ‘instinctivists’ and ‘impulsivists’ -of mental therapeutics. To this species belong the Noras, -Ellidas, Rebeccas, Stockmanns, Brands, etc. This company, -being dangerous to themselves and to others, require to be -put under the guardianship of rational men, or, better still, -in lunatic asylums. Such must be the answer to those fools -or charlatans who vaunt Ibsen’s figures as ‘free men’ and -‘strong personalities,’ and with the sweet-sounding tones of -a Pied Piper’s air on ‘self-disposal,’ ‘moral independence,’ -and ‘living life out,’ attract children devoid of judgment -heaven knows whither, but in any case to their ruin.</p> - -<p>The third feature of Ibsen’s drama accounting for his success -is the light in which he shows woman. ‘Women are the -pillars of society,’ he makes Bernick say (in <i>The Pillars of -Society</i>, p. 114). With Ibsen woman has no duties and all -rights. The tie of marriage does not bind her. She runs -away when she longs for liberty, or when she believes she -has cause of complaint against her husband, or when he -pleases her a little less than another man. The man who -plays the Joseph, and does not comply with the will of -Madame Potiphar, does not draw on himself the customary -ridicule; he is roundly pronounced a criminal (<i>Ghosts</i>, p. 158):</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Pastor Manders.</span> It was my greatest victory, Helen—the victory over -myself.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> It was a crime against us both.</p></div> - -<p class="p1">Woman is always the clever, strong, courageous being; -man always the simpleton and coward. In every encounter -the wife is victorious, and the man flattened out like a pancake. -Woman need live for herself alone. With Ibsen she has even -overcome her most primitive instinct—that of motherhood—and -abandons her brood without twitching an eyelid when -the caprice seizes her to seek satisfactions elsewhere. Such -abject adoration of woman—a pendant to Wagner’s woman-idolatry—such -unqualified approval of all feminine depravities,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span> -was bound to secure the applause of those women who in -the viragoes of Ibsen’s drama—hysterical, nymphomaniacal, -perverted in maternal instinct<a name="FNanchor_367_367" id="FNanchor_367_367"></a><a href="#Footnote_367_367" class="fnanchor">[367]</a>—recognise either their own -portrait or the ideal of development of their degenerate -imagination. Women of this species find, as a matter of -fact, all discipline intolerable. They are by birth <i>les femmes -de ruisseau</i> of Dumas fils. They are not fit for marriage—for -European marriage with one man only. Promiscuous -sexual intercourse and prostitution are their most deeply-seated -instincts, according to Ferrero<a name="FNanchor_368_368" id="FNanchor_368_368"></a><a href="#Footnote_368_368" class="fnanchor">[368]</a> the atavistic form of -degeneration in women, and they are grateful to Ibsen for -having catalogued, under the fine designations of ‘The struggle -of woman for moral independence’ and ‘The right of woman -to assert her own personality,’ those propensities to which -opprobrious names are usually given.</p> - -<p>In his fiercely travestied exaggerations of Ibsen’s doctrines, -entitled <i>Der Vater</i>, <i>Gräfin Julie</i>, <i>Gläubiger</i>, etc., poor Grindberg, -whose brain is equally deranged, but who possesses great -creative power, goes to the greatest pains to show the absurdity -of Ibsen’s notions on the nature of woman, her rights, her -relations to man. His method, however, is a false one. He -will never convince Ibsen by rational arguments that his -doctrines are foolish, for they do not spring from his reason, -but from his unconscious instincts. His figures of women and -their destinies are the poetical expression of that sexual perversion -of degenerates called by Krafft-Ebing ‘masochism.’<a name="FNanchor_369_369" id="FNanchor_369_369"></a><a href="#Footnote_369_369" class="fnanchor">[369]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span> -Masochism is a sub-species of ‘contrary sexual sensation.’ -The man affected by this perversion feels himself, as regards -woman, to be the weaker party; as the one standing in need -of protection; as the slave who rolls on the ground, compelled -to obey the behests of his mistress, and finding his happiness -in obedience. It is the inversion of the healthy and natural -relation between the sexes. In Sacher-Masoch imperious -and triumphant woman wields the knout; in Ibsen she exacts -confessions, inflicts inflammatory reprimands, and leaves in a -flare of Bengal lights. In essence, Ibsen’s heroines are the -same as Sacher-Masoch’s, though the expression of feminine -superiority is a little less brutal. It is remarkable that the -women who exult over Ibsen’s Nora-types are not shocked -by the Hedwigs, Miss Tesmans, and other womanly embodiments -of sacrifice, in whom the highly contradictory thoughts -and feelings of the confused mystic come to light. But it has -been psychologically established that human beings overlook -what is in dissonance with their own propinquities, and dwell -on that only which is in harmony with them.</p> - -<p>Ibsen’s feminine clientèle is, moreover, not composed merely -of hysterical and degenerate characters, but includes also those -women who are leading an unhappy married life, or believe -themselves misunderstood, or suffer from the discontent and -inner void resulting from insufficient occupation. Clear thinking -is not the most prominent quality of this species of woman. -Otherwise they would not have found their advocate in Ibsen. -Ibsen is not their friend. No one is who, as long as the -present order of society exists, attacks the institution of -marriage.</p> - -<p>A serious and healthy reformer will contend for the principle -that marriage should acquire a moral and emotional import, -and not remain a lying form. He will condemn the marriage -for interest, a dowry or business marriage; he will brand as a -crime the action of married couples who feel for some other -human being a strong, true love, tested by time and struggle, and -yet remain together in a cowardly pseudo-union, deceiving and -contaminating each other, instead of honourably separating and -contracting genuine connections elsewhere; he will demand -that marriage be based on reciprocal inclination, maintained by -confidence, respect, and gratitude, consolidated by consideration -for the offspring; but he will guard himself from saying -anything against marriage itself, this bulwark of the relations -between the sexes afforded by definite, permanent duty. -Marriage is a high advance from the free copulation -of savages. To abandon it and return to primitive promiscuity -would be the most profound atavism of degeneracy. -Marriage, moreover, was not instituted for the man, but for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span> -the woman and the child. It is a protective social institution -for the benefit of the weaker part. Man has not yet conquered -and humanized his polygamous animal instincts to the -same extent as woman. It would for the most part be quite -agreeable to him to exchange the woman he possesses for a -new one. Departures à la Nora are as a rule not of a nature -to frighten him. He could open the door very wide for Nora, -and bestow on her his parting benediction with much pleasure. -Were it once the law and custom in a society where each -was forced to care for himself alone (and needed only to -trouble himself about the offspring of others, when it was a -question of orphan, abandoned, or begging children) that man -and wife should separate as soon as they ceased to be agreeable -to each other, it would be the men and not the women -who would first make use of the new liberty. Departures à la -Nora are perhaps without danger for rich wives, or those -eminently capable of acquiring means of support, and hence -pecuniarily independent. Such, however, in present society -constitute a minute minority. Under Ibsen’s code of morals -the vast majority of wives would have everything to lose. -The severe discipline of matrimony is their bulwark. It -obliges the man to take care of the children and of the wife -as she declines in years. Hence it should be the true duty -of rational wives to declare Ibsen infamous, and to revolt -against Ibsenism, which criminally threatens them and their -rights. Only through error can women of spirit and indisputable -morality join the ranks of Ibsen’s followers. It is -necessary to enlighten them concerning the range of his -doctrines, and in particular concerning their effect on the position -of woman, so that they may abandon a company which can -never be their own. May he remain surrounded by those only -who are spirit of his spirit, that is to say, by hysterical women -and masculine masochists, who, with Ehrhard,<a name="FNanchor_370_370" id="FNanchor_370_370"></a><a href="#Footnote_370_370" class="fnanchor">[370]</a> believe that -‘sound common-sense and optimism are the two destructive -principles of all poetry’!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2><a name="c415" id="c415">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">As</span> in Ibsen ego-mania has found its poet, so in Nietzsche it -has found its philosopher. The deification of filth by the Parnassians -with ink, paint, and clay; the censing among the -Diabolists and Decadents of licentiousness, disease, and -corruption; the glorification, by Ibsen, of the person who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span> -‘wills,’ is ‘free’ and ‘wholly himself’—of all this Nietzsche -supplies the theory, or something which proclaims itself as -such. We may remark, in passing, that this has ever been -the task of philosophy. It plays in the race the same <i>rôle</i> as -consciousness in the individual. Consciousness has the thankless -task of discovering rational and elucidatory grounds for the -explanation of the impulses and acts springing up in subconsciousness. -In the same way philosophy endeavours to -find formulæ of apparent profundity for the peculiarities of -feeling, thought and deed, having their roots in the history of -politics and civilization—in climatic and economic conditions—and -to fit them with a sort of uniform of logic. The race lives -on, conformably with the historical necessity of its evolution, -not troubling itself about a theory of its peculiarities; and -philosophy hobbles busily after it, gathers with more or less -regularity into its album the scattered features of racial -character, and the manifestations of its health and disease; -methodically provides this album with a title, paging, and full -stop, then places it with a contented air in the library, among -the systems of the same regulation size. Genuine truths, real, -apposite explanations—these are not contained in philosophical -systems. But they furnish instructive evidence of the efforts -of the racial consciousness to supply reason, skilfully or clumsily, -with the excuses it demands for the unconscious impulses of the -race during a given period of time.</p> - -<p>From the first to the last page of Nietzsche’s writings the -careful reader seems to hear a madman, with flashing eyes, -wild gestures, and foaming mouth, spouting forth deafening -bombast; and through it all, now breaking out into frenzied -laughter, now sputtering expressions of filthy abuse and invective, -now skipping about in a giddily agile dance, and now -bursting upon the auditors with threatening mien and clenched -fists. So far as any meaning at all can be extracted from -the endless stream of phrases, it shows, as its fundamental -elements, a series of constantly reiterated delirious ideas, -having their source in illusions of sense and diseased organic -processes, which will be pointed out in the course of this -chapter. Here and there emerges a distinct idea, which, as is -always the case with the insane, assumes the form of an -imperious assertion, a sort of despotic command. Nietzsche -never tries to argue. If the thought of the possibility of an -objection arises in his mind, he treats it lightly, or sneers at it, -or curtly and rudely decrees, ‘That is false!’ (‘How much -more rational is that ... theory, for example, represented by -Herbert Spencer!... According to this theory, good is that -which has hitherto always proved itself to be useful, so that it -may be estimated as valuable in the highest degree, as valuable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span> -in itself. Although this mode of explanation is also false, the -explanation itself is at least rational and psychologically -tenable.’—<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, 2 Aufl., p. 5. ‘This mode of -explanation is also false.’ Full-stop! Why is it false? Wherein -is it false? Because Nietzsche so orders it. The reader has -no right to inquire further.) For that matter, he himself contradicts -almost every one of his violently dictatorial dogmas. -He first asserts something and then its opposite, and both with -equal vehemence, most frequently in the same book, often on -the same page. Now and then he becomes conscious of the -self-contradiction, and then he pretends to have been amusing -himself and making sport of the reader. (‘It is difficult to be -understood, especially when one thinks and lives gangasrotogati, -among plain men who think and live otherwise—in other -words, kromagati, or under the most favourable circumstances, -among mandeigati, who “have the frog’s mode of progression”—I -just do all I can to make myself hard to understand.... -But with regard to the “good friends” ... it is well -to accord them in advance room for the play and exercise of -misconception; in this way one has still something to laugh -at—or wholly to abolish these good friends—and still laugh!’—<i>Jenseits -von Gut und Böse</i>, 2 Aufl., p. 38. Similarly on p. 51: -‘All that is profound loves the mask; the most profound -things even hate imagery and parable. Should not <i>contrast</i> -rather be the right disguise in which the shamefacedness of a -god might walk abroad?’)</p> - -<p>The nature of the individual dogmatic assertions is very -characteristic. First of all it is essential to become habituated -to Nietzsche’s style. This is, I admit, unnecessary for the -alienist. To him this sort of style is well known and familiar. -He frequently reads writings (it is true, as a rule, unprinted) -of a similar order of thought and diction, and he reads them, -not for his pleasure, but that he may prescribe the confinement -of the author in an asylum. The unprofessional reader, on the -contrary, is easily confused by the tumult of phrases. Once, -however, he has found his way, once he has acquired some -practice in discerning the actual theme among the drums-and-fifes -of this ear-splitting, merry-go-round music, and, in the -hailstorm of rattling words, that render clear vision almost -impossible, has learned to perceive the fundamental thought, -he at once observes that Nietzsche’s assertions are either -commonplaces, tricked out like Indian caciques with feather-crown, -nose-ring, and tattooing (and of so mean a kind that a -high-school girl would be ashamed to make use of them in -a composition-exercise); or bellowing insanity, rambling far -beyond the range of rational examination and refutation. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span> -will give only one or two examples of each kind among the -thousands that exist:</p> - -<p><i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i><a name="FNanchor_371_371" id="FNanchor_371_371"></a><a href="#Footnote_371_371" class="fnanchor">[371]</a> (‘Thus spake Zoroaster’), 3 Theil, p. 9: -‘We halted just by a gateway. “See this gateway, dwarf”—I -said again—“it has two faces. Two roads meet here; no -one has yet travelled to their end. This long road behind—it -lasts an eternity. And that long road in front—that is another -eternity. They contradict each other, these roads; they offend -each other; and it is here at this gateway that they meet. -The name of the gateway is inscribed above, “Now.” But if -one continues to follow one of them further, and ever further, -and ever further, believest thou, dwarf, that these roads -eternally contradict each other?”’</p> - -<p>Blow away the lather from these phrases. What do they -really say? The fleeting instant of the present is the point of -contact of the past and the future. Can one call this self-evident -fact a thought?</p> - -<p><i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, 4 Theil, p. 124 <i>ff.</i>: ‘The world is -deep, and deeper than the day thinks it. Forbear! forbear! -I am too pure for thee. Disturb me not! Has my world not -become exactly perfect? My flesh is too pure for thy hands. -Forbear, thou dull doltish and obtuse day! Is not the midnight -clearer? The purest are to be lords of earth, the most -unknown, the strongest, the souls of midnight, who are clearer -and deeper than each day.... My sorrow, my happiness, -are deep, thou strange day; but yet am I no God, no Hell of -God: deep is their woe. God’s woe is deeper, thou strange -World! Grasp at God’s woe, not at me! What am I! A -drunken sweet lyre—a lyre of midnight, a singing frog, understood -by none, but who <i>must</i> speak before the deaf, O higher -men! For ye understand me not! Hence! hence! O youth! -O mid-day! O midnight! Now came evening and night -and midnight.... Ah! ah! how it sighs! how it laughs, -how it rattles and gasps, the midnight! How soberly even -she speaks, this poetess! Without doubt she has overdrunk -her drunkenness! She became too wide awake! She chews -the cud! She chews the cud of her woe in dream, the old -deep midnight, and still more her joy. For joy, if woe be -already deep: joy is deeper still than heart-pain.... Woe -says, “Away! get thee gone, woe!... But joy wishes for a -second coming, wishes all to be eternally like itself. Woe -says, “Break, bleed, O heart! Wander, limb! Wing, fly! -Onward! Upward! Pain!” Well, then! Cheer up! Oh, -my old heart! Woe says, “Away!” Ye higher men ... should -ye ever wish for one time twice, should ye ever say, -“Thou pleasest me, happiness! Quick! instant! then would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span> -ye wish <i>all</i> back again! All anew, all eternally, all enchained, -bound, amorous. Oh! then <i>loved</i> ye the world; ye eternities -love it eternally and always; and to woe also speak ye: hence, -but return! For all pleasure wishes—eternity. All pleasure -wishes for the eternity of all things, wishes for honey, for the -lees, wishes for drunken midnight, tombs, the consolation of -the tears of tombs, gilded twilight—what does pleasure not -wish for! She is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more terrible, -more secret than all woe; she wishes for <i>herself</i>, she gnaws -into herself, the will of the ring struggles in her.... Pleasure -wishes for the eternity of all things, wishes for deep, deep -eternity!’</p> - -<p>And the sense of this crazy shower of whirling words? It -is that men wish pain to cease and joy to endure! This the -astounding discovery expounded by Nietzsche in this demented -raving.</p> - -<p>The following are obviously insane assertions or expressions:</p> - -<p><i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 59: ‘What is life? Life—it is -the ceaseless rejection from itself of something wishing to die. -Life—it is the being cruel and pitiless towards all in us that -is weak and old, and not in us alone.’</p> - -<p>Persons capable of thought have hitherto always believed -that life is the unceasing reception into itself of something -agreeable; the rejection of what is used up is only an accompanying -phenomenon of the reception of new material. -Nietzsche’s phrase expresses in a highly mysterious Pythian -form the idea of the matutinal visit to a certain place. Healthy -men connect with the conception of life the idea rather of the -dining-room than that of the privy.</p> - -<p><i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 92: ‘It is a delicacy that God -learned Greek when He wished to become an author—and -that He did not learn it better.’ P. 95: ‘Advice in the form -of an enigma. If the cord is not to snap ... thou must first -bite on it.’</p> - -<p>I have no explanation or interpretation of this profundity -to offer.</p> - -<p>The passages quoted will have given the reader an idea of -Nietzsche’s literary style. In the dozen volumes, thick or thin, -which he has published it is always the same. His books bear -various titles, for the most part characteristically crack-brained, -but they all amount to one single book. They can be changed -by mistake in reading, and the fact will not be noticed. They -are a succession of disconnected sallies, prose and doggerel -mixed, without beginning or ending. Rarely is a thought -developed to any extent; rarely are a few consecutive pages -connected by any unity of purpose or logical argument.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span> -Nietzsche evidently had the habit of throwing on paper with -feverish haste all that passed through his head, and when he -had collected a heap of snippings he sent them to the printer, -and there was a book. These sweepings of ideas he himself -proudly terms ‘aphorisms,’ and the very incoherence of his -language is regarded by his admirers as a special merit.<a name="FNanchor_372_372" id="FNanchor_372_372"></a><a href="#Footnote_372_372" class="fnanchor">[372]</a> -When Nietzsche’s moral system is spoken of, it must not be -imagined that he has anywhere developed one. Through all -his books, from the first to the last, there are scattered only -views on moral problems, and on the relation of man to the -species and to the universe, from which, taken together, there -may be discerned something like a fundamental conception. -This is what has been called Nietzsche’s philosophy. His -disciples, <i>e.g.</i>, Kaatz, already cited, and, in addition, Zerbst,<a name="FNanchor_373_373" id="FNanchor_373_373"></a><a href="#Footnote_373_373" class="fnanchor">[373]</a> -Schellwien,<a name="FNanchor_374_374" id="FNanchor_374_374"></a><a href="#Footnote_374_374" class="fnanchor">[374]</a> and others, have attempted to give this pretended -philosophy a certain form and unity by fishing out from -Nietzsche’s books a number of passages in some measure -agreeing with each other, and placing them in juxtaposition. -It is true that it would be possible in this way to set up a -philosophy of Nietzsche exactly opposed to the one accepted -by his disciples. For, as has been said, each one of Nietzsche’s -assertions is contradicted by himself in some place or other, -and if it be resolved, with barefaced dishonesty, to pay regard -to dicta of a definite kind only, and to pass over those in -opposition to them, it would be possible at pleasure to extract -from Nietzsche a philosophical view or its sheer opposite.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche’s doctrine, promulgated as orthodox by his disciples, -criticises the foundations of ethics, investigates the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span> -genesis of the concept of good and evil, examines the value of -that which is called virtue and vice, both for the individual -and for society, explains the origin of conscience, and seeks -to give an idea of the end of the evolution of the race, and, -consequently, of man’s ideal—the ‘over man’ (<i>Uebermensch</i>). I -desire to condense these doctrines as closely as possible, and, -for the most part, in Nietzsche’s own words, but without the -cackle of his mazy digressions or useless phrases.</p> - -<p>The morality now prevailing ‘gilds, deifies, transports -beyond the tomb, the non-egoistical instincts of compassion, -self-denial, and self-sacrifice.’ But this morality of compassion -‘is humanity’s great danger, the beginning of the end, the -halting, the backward-glancing fatigue of the will, turning -against life.’ ‘We need a criticism of moral values. The -value of these values is first of all itself to be put in question. -There has hitherto been no hesitation in setting up good as of -higher value than evil, of higher value in the sense of advancement, -utility, prosperity, as regards man in general, including -the future of man. What if truth lay in the contrary? What -if good were a symptom of retrogression, a danger, a seduction, -a poison, a narcotic, by means of which the present should -live at the cost of the future? Perhaps more comfortably, -less dangerously, but also on a smaller scale, more basely? So -that precisely morality would be to blame for the fact that the -highest might and splendour possible to the human type should -never be attained? So that morality should be precisely the -danger of dangers?’</p> - -<p>Nietzsche replies to these questions thrown out by him in -the preface to the book <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, in developing -his idea of the genesis of present morality.</p> - -<p>He sees at the beginnings of civilization ‘a beast of prey, -a magnificent blond brute, ranging about and lusting for booty -and victory.’ These ‘unchained beasts of prey were free from -every social restraint; in the innocence of their wild-beast -conscience they returned as exultant monsters from a horrible -train of murder, incendiarism, rapine, torture, with an arrogance -and composure as if nothing but a student’s freak had -been perpetrated.’ The blond beasts constituted the noble -races. They fell upon the less noble races, conquered them, -and made slaves of them. ‘A herd of blond beasts of prey, -a race of conquerors and masters, with military organization’ -(this word ‘organization’ should be noticed; we shall have to -revert to it), ‘with the power to organize, unscrupulously placing -their fearful paws upon a population perhaps vastly superior in -numbers, but still amorphous and wandering—this herd founded -the State. The dream is dispelled which made the State begin -with a contract. What has he to do with contracts, who can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span> -command, who is master by nature, who comes on the scene -with violence in deed and demeanour?’</p> - -<p>In the State, then, thus established there were a race of -masters and a race of slaves. The master-race first created -moral ideas. It distinguished between good and evil. -Good was with it synonymous with noble; evil with vulgar. -All their own qualities they felt as good; those of the subject -race as evil. Good meant severity, cruelty, pride, courage, -contempt of danger, joy in risk, extreme unscrupulousness. -Bad meant ‘the coward, the nervous, the mean, the narrow -utilitarian, and also the distrustful with his disingenuous -glance, the self-abasing, the human hound who allows himself -to be abused, the begging flatterer—above all, the liar.’ Such -is the morality of the masters. The radical meaning of the -words now expressing the concept ‘good’ reveals what men -represented to themselves as ‘good’ when the moral of the -masters still held sway. ‘The Latin <i>bonus</i> I believe I may -venture to interpret as “the warrior.” Provided I rightly trace -<i>bonus</i> to a more ancient <i>duonus</i> (compare <i>bellum</i>, <i>duellum</i>, <i>duen-lum</i>, -in which it seems to me that <i>duonus</i> is contained). -<i>Bonus</i>, then, as a man of discord, of disunion (<i>duo</i>), as warrior: -whereby it is seen what in ancient Rome constituted the -“goodness” of a man.’</p> - -<p>The subjugated race had naturally an opposing morality—the -morality of the slaves. ‘The slave looks with envy on -the virtues of the powerful; he is sceptical and distrustful; -he has the cunning of distrust towards everything honoured -by them as “good.” Conversely, those qualities were distinguished -and glorified which served to ameliorate the -existence of sufferers. Here the place of honour is given to -compassion, to the complaisant hand ready to help, to the -warm heart, to patience, diligence, humility, friendliness, for -those are here the most useful qualities, and almost the only -means by which the burden of existence can be borne. Slave-morality -is essentially utilitarian morality.’</p> - -<p>For a certain period the morality of masters and slaves -subsisted side by side, or, more accurately, the one above the -other. Then an extraordinary event occurred—slave-morality -rebelled against master-morality, conquered and dethroned -it, and set itself in the place thereof. Then ensued a new -valuation of all moral concepts. (In his insane gibberish -Nietzsche names this ‘transvaluation of values’—<i>Umwerthung -der Werthe</i>.) That which, under the master-morals, had -passed for good was now esteemed bad, and <i>vice versâ</i>. Weakness -was meritorious, cruelty a crime; self-sacrifice, pity for -the pain of others, unselfishness, were virtues. That is what -Nietzsche terms ‘the slave revolt in morality.’ ‘The Jews<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span> -have brought about that marvel of inversion in values. Their -prophets have melted into one substance “rich,” “godless,” -“wicked,” “violent,” “sensual,” and for the first time minted -the word “world” as one of opprobrium. In this inversion -of values (to which belongs the use of the word “poor” as a -synonym of “holy” and “friend”) lies the importance of the -Jewish race.’</p> - -<p>The Jewish ‘slave-revolt in morality’ was an act of vengeance -on the master-race which had long oppressed the Jews, and -the instrument of this vast vengeance was the Saviour. -‘Has not Israel, by the very subterfuge of this “Redeemer,” -this seeming adversary and destroyer of Israel, attained the -final goal of its sublime rage for vengeance? Does it not -belong to the secret black art of a truly <i>grand</i> policy of -vengeance, of a far-seeing, underground, slowly-gripping, foreplanning -vengeance, that Israel itself should deny the proper -instrument of its vengeance before the whole world, as something -deadly inimical, and nail him to the cross, in order that -the “entire universe,” viz., the enemies of Israel, might unhesitatingly -bite at this very bait? And on the other hand, -would it be possible, by all the refinement of intellect, to -imagine a more dangerous bait? Something that should -resemble in enticing, intoxicating, bewildering, corrupting -power that symbol of the “holy cross,” that awful paradox -of a “God on the cross,” that mystery of an ineffable final -and utmost cruelty, and self-crucifixion of God for the salvation -of man? It is at least certain that <i>sub hoc signo</i> Israel, with -its vengeance and transvaluation of all values, has hitherto -triumphed again and again over all other ideals, over all -nobler ideals.’</p> - -<p>To this passage I would most specially direct the reader’s -attention, and beg him to transform into mental images all -that jingle and clatter of words. Well, then, Israel wished to -revenge itself on all the world, and therefore decided to nail -the Saviour to the cross, and thereby create a new morality. -Who was this Israel which conceived and executed the plan? -Was it a parliament, a ministry, a ruler, a popular assembly? -Was the plan, before ‘Israel’ set about realizing it, submitted -for general deliberation and resolution? Before the total -insanity of this string of words can be distinctly seen, an -effort must be made to bring clearly to the mind, in all its -actual details, the event described by Nietzsche as premeditated, -intended, and of conscious purpose.</p> - -<p>Since the Jewish slave-revolt in morality, life, till then a -delight, at least for the powerful and bold, or the nobles and -masters, has become a torment. Since that revolt the unnatural -holds sway, under which man is becoming dwarfed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span> -enfeebled, vulgarized, and gradually degenerate. For the -fundamental instinct of the healthy man is not unselfishness -and pity, but selfishness and cruelty. ‘No injury, violence, -exploitation, annihilation, can in itself be a “wrong,” inasmuch -as life operates <i>essentially</i>—<i>i.e.</i>, in its fundamental functions—by -injuring, violating, exploiting, annihilating, and is absolutely -inconceivable without this character. A legal regulation ... -would be a principle hostile to existence, a destroyer and -dissolver of man, a mark of lassitude, a crime against the -future of man, a secret way to nothingness.’ ‘There is at -present universal enthusiasm, even in scientific disguises, concerning -coming conditions of society in which the exploiting -character is to disappear. That sounds in my ears as if someone -should promise to invent a life which should abstain from -all organic functions. Exploitation does not belong to a -decayed, imperfect, or primitive society: it belongs to the -<i>essence</i> of living things, as organic function.’<a name="FNanchor_375_375" id="FNanchor_375_375"></a><a href="#Footnote_375_375" class="fnanchor">[375]</a></p> - -<p>Thus the fundamental instinct of man is cruelty. For this, -in the new slave-morality, there is no place. A fundamental -instinct, however, is not to be uprooted. It still lives and -demands its rights. Hence a series of diversions have been -sought for it. ‘All instincts, not discharged outwardly, turn -inwards. Those terrible bulwarks with which political organization -protected itself against the ancient instincts of freedom—and -punishments belong to the front line of these bulwarks—had -for their result, that all those instincts of the savage -roaming at large were turned backwards and against man. -Animosity, cruelty, the joy of pursuit, of sudden assault, of -change, of destruction—all that turns itself against the possessors -of such instincts is the origin of a “bad conscience.” -The man who, from the absence of external foes and opposition, -forced into the oppressive constriction and regularity of custom,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span> -impatiently tore himself, persecuted, gnawed, hunted, maltreated -himself—this animal which it is sought to “tame,” -wounding himself against the bars of his cage; this destitute -creature, consumed with homesickness for the desert, who had -to create his adventures, his places of torture, his insecure and -dangerous wildernesses, out of his own self—this fool, this -yearning, despairing prisoner, became the inventor of the -evil conscience.’ ‘That inclination to self-torture, that retreating -cruelty, of the human brute, forced into inner life, -scared back into himself, he who had invented evil conscience -that he might torture himself, after the natural outlet of this -wish to inflict pain was stopped up,’ formed also the concept -of guilt and sin. ‘We are the inheritors of the vivisection -of conscience and of animal self-torture of thousands of years.’ -But all administration of justice, the punishment of ‘so-called’ -criminals, the greater part of art, especially tragedy, are also -disguises in which primitive cruelty can still manifest itself.</p> - -<p>Slave-morality, with its ‘ascetic ideal’ of self-suppression -and contempt of life, and its tormenting invention of conscience, -allowed the slaves, it is true, to take vengeance on -their masters; it also subjugated the mighty man-beasts of -prey and created better conditions of existence for the small -and weak, for the rabble, the gregarious animals; but it has -been pernicious to humanity as a whole, because it has prevented -the free evolution of precisely the highest human type. -‘The collective degeneration of man to that which, in the eyes -of socialistic ninnies and blockheads of the present day, seems -their “man of the future”—their ideal!—this degeneration and -dwarfing of man to the perfect herd animal (or, as they say, to -the man of “free society”), this brutalizing of man to the -animal pigmy of equal rights and pretensions,’ is the destructive -work of slave-morality. In order to discipline humanity -to supreme splendour we must revert to nature, to the morality -of the masters, to the unchaining of cruelty. ‘The well-being -of the most and the well-being of the fewest are contrary -standpoints of valuation; we will leave it to the simplicity of -English biologists to hold that the first as such is undoubtedly -of the higher value.’ ‘In opposition to the lying watchword -of the privilege of the majority, in opposition to the desire for -abasement, humiliation, levelling, for the downward and duskward -of man,’ we must sound forth ‘the watchword of the -privilege of the minority.’ ‘As a last indicator of the other -way appeared Napoleon, man most unique, and latest born of -all time, and in him the incarnate problem of the aristocratic -ideal as such,—Napoleon, that synthesis of the inhuman and -the superhuman (<i>Unmensch und Uebermensch</i>).’</p> - -<p>The intellectually free man must stand ‘beyond good and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span> -evil’; these concepts do not exist for him; he tests his impulses -and deeds by their value for himself, not by that which -they have for others, for the herd; he does that which causes -him pleasure, even when, and especially when, it torments and -injures—nay, annihilates others; for him holds good the secret -rule of life of the ancient Assassins of the Lebanon: ‘Nothing -is true, all is permissible.’ With this new morality, humanity -will finally be able to produce the ‘over-man.’ ‘Thus we find, -as the ripest fruit on its tree, the sovereign individual, resembling -himself alone, freed again from the morality of -custom, the autonomous super-moral individual (for “autonomous” -and “moral” are mutually exclusive)—in short, the -man of his own, independent, long will.’ In <i>Zarathustra</i> the -same thought is expressed dithyrambically: ‘“Man is wicked,” -so spake to me in consolation all the wisest. Ah, if only it is -yet true to-day! For wickedness is man’s best strength. -Man must become better and more wicked, so I teach. The -greatest wickedness is necessary to the best of the over-man. -It might be good for that preacher of little people that he -suffered and bore the sins of man. But I rejoice in great sins -as my great consolation.’</p> - -<p>This is Nietzsche’s moral philosophy which (disregarding -contradictions) is deduced from separate concordant passages -in his various books (in particular <i>Menschliches Allzumenschliches</i>, -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, and <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>). I -will take it for a moment and subject it to criticism, before -confronting it with Nietzsche’s own assertions diametrically -opposed to it.</p> - -<p>Firstly, the anthropological assertion. Man is supposed to -have been a freely roaming solitary beast of prey, whose -primordial instinct was egoism and the absence of any consideration -for his congeners. This assertion contradicts all -that we know concerning the beginnings of humanity. The -<i>Kjökkenmöddinge</i>, or kitchen-middens, of quaternary man, -discovered and investigated by Steenstrup, have in some -places a thickness of three metres, and must have been formed -by a very numerous horde. The piles of horses’ bones at -Solutré are so enormous as quite to preclude the idea that a -single hunter, or even any but a very large body of allied -hunters, could have collected and killed such a large number -of horses in one place. As far as our view penetrates into -prehistoric time, every discovery shows us primitive man as -a gregarious animal, who could not possibly have maintained -himself if he had not possessed the instincts which are presupposed -in life in a community, viz., sympathy, the feeling of -solidarity and a certain degree of unselfishness. We find -these instincts already existent in apes; and if, in those most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span> -like human beings, the ourang-outang and gibbon, these instincts -fail to appear, it is to many investigators a sufficient -proof that these animals are degenerating and dying out. -Hence it is not true that at any time man was a ‘solitary, -roving brute.’</p> - -<p>Now with regard to the historical assertion. At first the -morality of masters is supposed to have prevailed, in which -every selfish act of violence seemed good, every sort of unselfishness -bad. The inverted valuation of deeds and feelings -is said to have been the work of a slave-revolt. The Jews -are said to have discovered ‘ascetic morality,’ <i>i.e.</i>, the ideal of -combating all desires, contempt of all pleasures of the flesh, -pity, and brotherly love, in order to avenge themselves on -their oppressors, the masters—the ‘blond beasts of prey.’ I -have shown above, the insanity of this idea of a conscious and -purposed act of vengeance on the part of the Jewish people. -But is it, then, true that our present morality, with its conceptions -of good and evil, is an invention of the Jews, directed -against ‘blond beasts,’ an enterprise of slaves against a master-people? -The leading doctrines of the present morality, falsely -termed Christian, were expressed in Buddhism six hundred -years prior to the rise of Christianity. Buddha preached them, -himself no slave, but a king’s son, and they were the moral -doctrines, not of slaves, not of the oppressed, but of the very -masterfolk themselves, of the Brahmans, of the proper Aryans. -The following are some of the Buddhist moral doctrines, -extracted from the Hindu <i>Dhammapada</i><a name="FNanchor_376_376" id="FNanchor_376_376"></a><a href="#Footnote_376_376" class="fnanchor">[376]</a> and from the Chinese -<i>Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king</i>:<a name="FNanchor_377_377" id="FNanchor_377_377"></a><a href="#Footnote_377_377" class="fnanchor">[377]</a> ‘Do not speak harshly to anybody’ -(<i>Dhammapada</i>, verse 133). ‘Let us live happily then, not -hating those who hate us! Among men who hate us let us -dwell free from hatred’ (verse 197). ‘Because he has pity on -all living creatures, therefore is a man called Ariya’ (elect) -(verse 270). ‘Be not thoughtless, watch your thoughts!’ -(verse 327). ‘Good is restraint in all things’ (verse 361). -‘Him I call indeed a Brâhmana who, though he has committed -no offence, endures reproach, bonds, and stripes’ (verse 399). -‘Be kind to all that lives’ (<i>Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king</i>, verse 2,024). -‘Conquer your foe by force, you increase his enmity; conquer -by love, and you will reap no after-sorrow’ (verse 2,241). -Is that a morality of slaves or of masters? Is it a notion of -roving beasts of prey, or that of compassionate, unselfish,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span> -social human beings? And this notion did not spring up in -Palestine, but in India, among the very people of the conquering -Aryans, who were ruling a subordinate race; and in China, -where at that time no conquering race held another in subjection. -Self-sacrifice for others, pity and sympathy, are supposed -to be the morality of Jewish slaves. Was the heroic -baboon mentioned by Darwin,<a name="FNanchor_378_378" id="FNanchor_378_378"></a><a href="#Footnote_378_378" class="fnanchor">[378]</a> after Brehm, a Jewish slave -in revolt against the masterfolk of blond beasts?</p> - -<p>In the ‘blond beast’ Nietzsche evidently is thinking of the -ancient Germans of the migratory ages. They have inspired -in him the idea of the roving beast of prey, falling upon -weaker men for the voluptuous assuaging of their instincts of -bloodthirstiness and destruction. This beast of prey never -entered into contracts. ‘He who comes on the scene violent -in deed and demeanour ... what has he to do with contracts?’<a name="FNanchor_379_379" id="FNanchor_379_379"></a><a href="#Footnote_379_379" class="fnanchor">[379]</a> -Very well; history teaches that the ‘blond beast,’ -<i>i.e.</i>, the ancient German of the migratory ages, not yet affected -by the ‘slave-revolt in morals,’ was a vigorous but peace-loving -peasant, who made war not to riot in murder, but to -obtain arable land, and who always first sought to conclude -peaceful treaties before necessity forced him to have recourse -to the sword.<a name="FNanchor_380_380" id="FNanchor_380_380"></a><a href="#Footnote_380_380" class="fnanchor">[380]</a> And long before intelligence of the ‘ascetic -ideal’ of Jewish Christianity reached it, the same ‘blond -beast’ developed the conception of feudal fidelity, <i>i.e.</i>, the -notion that it is most glorious for a man to divest himself of -his own ‘I’; to know honour only as the resplendence of -another’s honour, of whom one has become the ‘man’; and to -sacrifice his life for the chief!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span></p> - -<p>Conscience is supposed to be ‘cruelty introverted.’ As the -man to whom it is an irrepressible want to inflict pain, to -torture, and to rend, cannot assuage this want on others, he -satisfies it on himself.<a name="FNanchor_381_381" id="FNanchor_381_381"></a><a href="#Footnote_381_381" class="fnanchor">[381]</a></p> - -<p>If this were true, then the respectable, the virtuous man, -who had never satisfied the pretended primeval instinct of -causing pain by means of a crime against others, would be -forced to rage the most violently against himself, and would -therefore of necessity have the worst conscience. Conversely, -the criminal directing his fundamental instinct outwardly, and -hence having no need to seek satisfaction in self-rending, -would necessarily live in the most delightful peace with his -conscience. Does this agree with observation? Has a -righteous man who has not given way to the instinct of cruelty -ever been seen to suffer from the stings of conscience? Are -these not, on the contrary, to be observed in the very persons -who have yielded to their instinct, who have been cruel to -others, and hence have attained to that satisfaction of their -craving, vouchsafed them, according to Nietzsche, by the -evil conscience? Nietzsche says,<a name="FNanchor_382_382" id="FNanchor_382_382"></a><a href="#Footnote_382_382" class="fnanchor">[382]</a> ‘It is precisely among -criminals and offenders that remorse is extremely rare; prisons -and reformatories are not the brooding places in which this -species of worm loves to thrive,’ and believes that in this -remark he has given a proof of his assertion. But by the -commission of crime prisoners have shown that in them the -instinct of evil is developed in special strength; in the prison -they are forcibly prevented from giving way to their instinct; -it is, therefore, precisely in them that self-rending through -remorse ought to be extraordinarily violent, and yet among -them ‘the prick of conscience is extremely rare.’ It is evident -that Nietzsche’s idea is nothing but a delirious sally, and not -worthy for a moment to be weighed seriously against the -explanation of conscience proposed by Darwin, and accepted -by all moral philosophers.<a name="FNanchor_383_383" id="FNanchor_383_383"></a><a href="#Footnote_383_383" class="fnanchor">[383]</a></p> - -<p>Now for the philological argument. Originally, <i>bonus</i> is -supposed to have read <i>duonus</i>, and hence signified ‘man of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span> -discord, disunion (<i>duo</i>), warrior.’<a name="FNanchor_384_384" id="FNanchor_384_384"></a><a href="#Footnote_384_384" class="fnanchor">[384]</a> The proof of the ancient -form <i>duonus</i> is offered by ‘<i>bellum</i> = <i>duellum</i> = <i>duen-lum</i>.’ Now -<i>duen-lum</i> is never met with, but is a free invention of Nietzsche, -as is equally <i>duonus</i>. How admirable is this method! He -invents a word <i>duonus</i> which does not exist, and bases it on -the word <i>duen-lum</i>, which is just as non-existent and equally -drawn from imagination. The philology here displayed by -Nietzsche is on a level with that which has created the -beautiful and convincing series of derivations <i>alopex</i> = <i>lopex</i> = -<i>pexpix</i> = <i>pux</i> = <i>fechs</i> = <i>fichs</i> = <i>Fuchs</i> (fox). Nietzsche is uncommonly -proud of his discovery, that the conception of <i>Schuld</i> -(guilt) is derived from the very narrow and material conception -of <i>Schulden</i> (debts).<a name="FNanchor_385_385" id="FNanchor_385_385"></a><a href="#Footnote_385_385" class="fnanchor">[385]</a> Even if we admit the accuracy of -this derivation, what has his theory gained by it? This -would only prove that, in the course of time, the crudely -material and limited conception had become enlarged, deepened, -and spiritualized. To whom has it ever occurred to contest -this fact? What dabbler in the history of civilization does -not know that conceptions develop themselves? Did love -and friendship, as primitively understood, ever convey the -idea of the delicate and manifold states of mind now expressed -by these words? It is possible that the first guilt of which -men were conscious was the duty of restoring a loan. But -neither can guilt, in the sense of a material obligation, arise -amongst ‘blond brutes,’ or ‘cruel beasts of prey.’ It already -presupposes a relation of contract, the recognition of a right -of possession, respect for other individuals. It is not possible -if there does not exist, on the part of the lender, the disposition -to be agreeable to a fellow-creature, and a trust in -the readiness of the latter to requite the benefit; and, on the -part of the borrower, a voluntary submission to the disagreeable -necessity of repayment. And all these feelings are -really already morality—a simple, but true, morality—the real -‘slave-morality’ of duty, consideration, sympathy, self-constraint; -not the ‘master-morality’ of selfishness, cruel -violence, unbounded desires! Even if single words like the -German <i>schlecht</i> (<i>schlicht</i>) (bad, plain, or straight) have to-day -a meaning the opposite of their original one, this is not -to be explained by a fabulous ‘transvaluation of values,’ but, -naturally and obviously, by Abel’s theory of the ‘contrary -double-meaning of primitive words.’ The same sound -originally served to designate the two opposites of the same -concept, appearing, in agreement with the law of association, -simultaneously in consciousness, and it was only in the later -life of language that the word became the exclusive vehicle -of one or other of the contrary concepts. This phenomenon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span> -has not the remotest connection with a change in the moral -valuation of feelings and acts.</p> - -<p>Now the biological argument. The prevailing morality is -supposed to be admittedly of a character tending to improve -the chances of life in gregarious animals, but to be an obstacle -to the cultivation of the highest human type, and hence -pernicious to humanity as a whole, as it prevents the race -from rising to the most perfect culture, and the attainment -of its possible ideal. Hence the most perfect human type -would, according to Nietzsche, be the ‘magnificent beast of -prey,’ the ‘laughing lion,’ able to satisfy all his desires without -consideration for good or evil. Observation teaches that this -doctrine is rank idiocy. All ‘over-men’ known to history, -who gave the reins to their instincts, were either diseased -from the outset, or became diseased. Famous criminals—and -Nietzsche expressly ranks these among the ‘over-men’<a name="FNanchor_386_386" id="FNanchor_386_386"></a><a href="#Footnote_386_386" class="fnanchor">[386]</a>—have -displayed, almost without exception, the bodily -and mental stigmata characterizing them as degenerates, and -hence as cripples or atavistic phenomena, not as specimens of -the highest evolution and florescence. The Cæsars, whose -monstrous selfishness could batten on all humanity, succumbed -to madness, which it will hardly be wished to designate as -an ideal condition. Nietzsche readily admits that the ‘splendid -beast of prey’ is pernicious to the species, that he destroys -and ravages; but of what consequence is the species? It -exists for the sole purpose of making possible the perfect -development of individual ‘over-men,’ and of satisfying their -most extravagant needs.<a name="FNanchor_387_387" id="FNanchor_387_387"></a><a href="#Footnote_387_387" class="fnanchor">[387]</a> But the ‘splendid beast of prey’ -is pernicious to itself; it rages against itself, it even annihilates -itself, and yet that cannot possibly be a useful result of highly-trained -qualities. The biological truth is, that constant self-restraint -is a necessity of existence as much for the strongest -as for the weakest. It is the activity of the highest human -cerebral centres. If these are not exercised they waste away, -<i>i.e.</i>, man ceases to be man, the pretended ‘over-man’ becomes -sub-human—in other words, a beast. By the relaxation or -breaking up of the mechanism of inhibition in the brain the -organism sinks into irrecoverable anarchy in its constituent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span> -parts, and this leads, with absolute certainty, to ruin, to -disease, madness and death, even if no resistance results from -the external world against the frenzied egoism of the unbridled -individual.</p> - -<p>What now remains standing of Nietzsche’s entire system? -We have recognised it as a collection of crazy and inflated -phrases, which it is really impossible seriously to seize, since -they possess hardly the solidity of the smoke-rings from a -cigar. Nietzsche’s disciples are for ever murmuring about -the ‘depth’ of his moral philosophy, and with himself the -words ‘deep’ and ‘depth’ are a mental trick repeated so -constantly as to be insufferable.<a name="FNanchor_388_388" id="FNanchor_388_388"></a><a href="#Footnote_388_388" class="fnanchor">[388]</a> If we draw near to this -‘depth’ for the purpose of fathoming it, we can hardly -trust our eyes. Nietzsche has not thought out one of his -so-called ideas. Not one of his wild assertions is carried -a finger’s-breadth beneath the uppermost surface, so that, -at least, it might withstand the faintest puff of breath. -It is probable that the entire history of philosophy does not -record a second instance of a man having the impudence to -give out as philosophy, and even as profound philosophy, such -railway-bookstall humour and such tea-table wit. Nietzsche -sees absolutely nothing of the moral problem, around which, -nevertheless, he has poured out ten volumes of talk. Rationally -treated, this problem can only run thus: Can human -actions be divided into good and evil? Why should some -be good, the others evil? What is to constrain men to -perform the good and refrain from the evil?</p> - -<p>Nietzsche would seem to deny the legitimacy of a classification -of actions from moral standpoints. ‘Nothing is true, all -is permissible.’<a name="FNanchor_389_389" id="FNanchor_389_389"></a><a href="#Footnote_389_389" class="fnanchor">[389]</a> There is no good and no evil. It is a superstition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span> -and hereditary prejudice to cling to these artificial -notions. He himself stands ‘beyond good and evil,’ and he -invites the ‘free spirits’ and ‘good Europeans’ to follow him -to this standpoint. And thereupon this ‘free spirit,’ standing -‘beyond good and evil,’ speaks with the greatest candour of -the ‘aristocratic virtues,’<a name="FNanchor_390_390" id="FNanchor_390_390"></a><a href="#Footnote_390_390" class="fnanchor">[390]</a> and of the ‘morality of the masters.’ -Are there, then, virtues? Is there, then, a morality, even if it -be opposed to the prevailing one? How is that compatible -with the negation of all morality? Are men’s actions, therefore, -not of equal value? Is it possible in these to distinguish -good and evil? Does Nietzsche, therefore, undertake to -classify them, designating some as virtues—‘aristocratic -virtues’—others as ‘slave actions,’ bad for the ‘masters, the -commanders,’ and hence wicked; how, then, can he still -affirm that he stands ‘beyond good and evil’? He stands, in -fact, mid-way between good and evil, only he indulges in the -foolish jest of calling that evil which we call good, and <i>vice-versâ</i>—an -intellectual performance of which every naughty and mischievous -child of four is certainly capable.</p> - -<p>This first and astounding non-comprehension of his own -standpoint is already a good example of his ‘depth.’ But -further. As the chief proof of the non-existence of morality, -he adduces what he calls the ‘transvaluation of values.’ At -one time good is said to have been that which is now esteemed -evil, and conversely. We have seen that this idea is delirious, -and expressed in a delirious way.<a name="FNanchor_391_391" id="FNanchor_391_391"></a><a href="#Footnote_391_391" class="fnanchor">[391]</a> But let it be granted that -Nietzsche is right; we will for once enter into the folly and -accept the ‘revolt of slaves in morality’ as a fact. What has -his fundamental idea gained by this? A ‘transvaluation of -values’ would prove nothing against the existence of a morality, -for it leaves the concept of value itself absolutely intact. -These, then, are values; but now this, now that, species of -action acquires the rank of value. No historian of civilization -denies the fact that the notions concerning what is moral or -immoral have changed in the course of history, that they continually<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span> -change, that they will change in the future. The -recognition of this has become a commonplace. If Nietzsche -assumes this to be a discovery of his own, he deserves to be -decked with a fool’s cap by the assistant teacher of a village -school. But how can the evolution, the transformation, of -moral concepts in any way contradict the fundamental fact of -the existence of moral concepts? Not only does this transformation -not contradict these, but it confirms them! They -are the necessary premise of this transformation! A modification -of moral concepts is evidently possible only if there -are moral concepts; but this is exactly the problem—‘are -there moral concepts?’ In spite of all his spouting about the -‘transvaluation of values’ and the ‘revolt of slaves in morality,’ -Nietzsche never approaches this primary and all-important -question.</p> - -<p>He contemptuously reproaches slave-morality as being a -utilitarian morality,<a name="FNanchor_392_392" id="FNanchor_392_392"></a><a href="#Footnote_392_392" class="fnanchor">[392]</a> and he ignores the fact that he extols his -‘noble virtues,’ constituting the ‘morality of masters,’ only -because they are advantageous for the individual, for the -‘over-man.’<a name="FNanchor_393_393" id="FNanchor_393_393"></a><a href="#Footnote_393_393" class="fnanchor">[393]</a> Are, then, ‘advantageous’ and ‘useful’ not -exactly synonymous? Is, therefore, master-morality not -every whit as utilitarian as slave-morality? And the ‘deep’ -Nietzsche does not see this! And he ridicules English -moralists because they have invented the ‘morality of utilitarianism.’<a name="FNanchor_394_394" id="FNanchor_394_394"></a><a href="#Footnote_394_394" class="fnanchor">[394]</a></p> - -<p>He believes he has unearthed something deeply hidden, -not yet descried by human eye, when he announces,<a name="FNanchor_395_395" id="FNanchor_395_395"></a><a href="#Footnote_395_395" class="fnanchor">[395]</a> ‘What -is there that is not called love? Covetousness and love—what -different feelings do we experience at each of these words! -And yet it might be the same instinct.... Our love for our -neighbours—is it not an ardent desire for a possession?... -When we see anyone suffering, we willingly utilize the opportunity -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span>‘ -proferred us to take possession of him; the pitying and -charitable man, for example, does this; he also calls by the -name “love” the desire for a new possession awakened in him, -and takes pleasure in it, as he would in a fresh conquest which -beckons him on.’ Is it any longer necessary to criticise these -silly superficialities? Every act, even seemingly the most disinterested, -is admittedly egoistic in a certain sense, viz., that -the doer promises himself a benefit from it, and experiences -a feeling of pleasure from the anticipation of the expected -benefit. Who has ever denied this? Is it not expressly -emphasized by all modern moralists?<a name="FNanchor_396_396" id="FNanchor_396_396"></a><a href="#Footnote_396_396" class="fnanchor">[396]</a> Is it not implied in -the accepted definition of morality, as a knowledge of what is -useful? But Nietzsche has not even an inkling of the essence -of the subject. To him egoism is a feeling having for its -content that which is useful to a being, whom he pictures to -himself as isolated in the world, separated from the species, -even hostile to it. To the moralist, the egoism which Nietzsche -believes himself to have discovered at the base of all unselfishness, -is the knowledge of what is useful not alone to the individual, -but to the species as well; to the moralist, the creator of the -knowledge of the useful is not the individual, but the whole -species; to the moralist also egoism is morality, but it is a -collective egoism of the species, an egoism of humanity in face -of the non-human co-habitants of the earth, and in the face of -Nature. The man whom the healthy-minded moralist has -before his eyes is one who has attained a sufficiently high -development to extricate himself from the illusion of his -individual isolation, and to participate in the existence of the -species, to feel himself one of its members, to picture to himself -the states of his fellow-creatures—<i>i.e.</i>, to be able to -sympathize with them. This man Nietzsche calls a herd animal—a -term which he has found used by all Darwinist writers, -but which he seems to regard as his own invention. He endows -the word with a meaning of contempt. The truth is that this -herding animal—<i>i.e.</i>, man, whose ‘I’ consciousness has expanded -itself to the capacity of receiving the consciousness -of the species—represents the higher development, to which -mental cripples and degenerates, for ever enclosed in their -diseased isolation, cannot ascend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span></p> - -<p>Quite as ‘deep’ as his discovery of the egoism of all unselfishness -is Nietzsche’s harangue ‘to the teachers of unselfishness.’<a name="FNanchor_397_397" id="FNanchor_397_397"></a><a href="#Footnote_397_397" class="fnanchor">[397]</a> -The virtues of a man are called good, not in -respect of their effects upon himself, but in respect of the -effects which we suppose them to have upon ourselves and -society. ‘The virtues (such as diligence, obedience, chastity, -piety, justice), are for the most part pernicious to their -possessors.’ ‘Praise of the virtues is praise of something -pernicious to the individual—the praise of instincts which -deprive a man of his noblest egoism, and of the power of -the highest self-protection.’ ‘Education ... seeks to determine -the individual to modes of thought and conduct which, -if they have become habit, instinct, and passion, rule in him -and over him, against his ultimate advantage, but “for the -general good.”’ This is the old silly objection against altruism -which we have seen floating in every gutter for the last sixty -years. ‘If everyone were to act unselfishly, to sacrifice -himself for his neighbour, the result would be that everyone -would injure himself, and hence humanity, as a whole, would -suffer great prejudice.’ Assuredly it would, if humanity were -composed of isolated individuals in no communication with -each other. Whereas it is an organism; each individual -always gives to the higher organism only the surplus of his -effective force, and in his personal share of the collective -wealth profits by the prosperity of the whole organism, which -he has increased through his altruistic sacrifice. What would -probably be said to the canny householder who should argue -in this way against fire insurance: ‘Most houses do not burn -down. The house-owner who insures himself against fire -pays premiums his life long, and as his house will probably -never burn down, he has thrown away his money -to no purpose. Fire insurance is consequently injurious.’ -The objection against altruism, that it injures each individual -by imposing on him sacrifices for others, is of exactly the -same force.</p> - -<p>We have had quite enough tests of the ‘depth’ of Nietzsche -and his system. I now wish to point out some of his -most diverting contradictions. His disciples do not deny -these, but seek to palliate them. Thus Kaatz says: ‘He -had experienced a change in his own views concerning so -many things, that he warned men against the rigid principle -which would pass off dishonesty to self as “character.” In -view of the shifting of opinions as evidenced in Nietzsche’s -works, it is, of course, only that theory of life to which -Nietzsche ultimately wrestled his way that can be taken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span> -into consideration for the purposes of this book.’<a name="FNanchor_398_398" id="FNanchor_398_398"></a><a href="#Footnote_398_398" class="fnanchor">[398]</a> This is, -however, a conscious and intended falsification of the facts, -and the hand of the falsifier ought, like that of the cheater -at cards, to be forthwith nailed to the table. The fact -is that the contradictions are to be found, not in works of -different periods, but in the same book, often on the same -page. They are not degrees of knowledge, of which the -higher naturally surpass the lower, but opposing, mutually -incompatible opinions co-existing in Nietzsche’s consciousness, -which his judgment is neither capable of reconciling, -nor among which it can suppress either term.</p> - -<p>In <i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. iii., p. 29, we read: ‘Always -love your neighbour as yourself, but first be of those who love -themselves.’ p. 56: ‘And at that time it happened also ... -that his word praised selfishness as blessed, hale, healthy -selfishness, which wells forth from the mighty soul.’ And -p. 60: ‘One must learn to love one’s self—thus I teach—with -a hale and healthy love, so that one bear with one’s self, and -not rove about.’ In opposition to this, in the same book, -pt. i., p. 108: ‘The degenerating sense which says, “All for -me,” is to us a horror.’ Is this contradiction explained by an -‘effort to wrestle his way to an ultimate theory of life’? The -contrary assertions are in the same book a few pages apart.</p> - -<p>Another example. <i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 264: ‘The -absence of personality avenges itself everywhere; an enfeebled, -thin, effaced personality, denying and calumniating -itself, is worthless for any further good thing, most of all for -philosophy.’ And only four pages further in the same book, -p. 268: ‘Have we not been seized with ... the suspicion -of a contrast—a contrast between the world—in which, -hitherto, we were at home with our venerations ... and of -another world, which is ourselves ... a suspicion which -might place us Europeans ... before the frightful alternative, -Either—Or: “either do away with your venerations -or yourselves.”’ Here, therefore, he denies, or, at least, -doubts, his personality, even if in an interrogative form; on -which the reader need not dwell, since Nietzsche ‘loves to -mask his thoughts, or to express them hypothetically; and -to conclude the problems he raises by an interrupted phrase -or a mark of interrogation.’<a name="FNanchor_399_399" id="FNanchor_399_399"></a><a href="#Footnote_399_399" class="fnanchor">[399]</a></p> - -<p>But he denies his personality, his ‘I,’ still more decidedly. -In the preface to <i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 6, he explains -that the foundation of all philosophies up to the present time -has been ‘some popular superstition,’ such as ‘the superstition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span> -of the soul, which, as a superstition of the subjective -and the ‘I,’ as not ceased, even in our days, to cause -mischief.’ And in the same book, p. 139, he exclaims: -‘Who has not already been sated to the point of death with -all subjectivity and his own accursed ipsissimosity!’ Hence -the ‘I’ is a superstition! Sated to the point of death with -‘subjectivity’! And yet the ‘I’ should be ‘proclaimed as -holy.’<a name="FNanchor_400_400" id="FNanchor_400_400"></a><a href="#Footnote_400_400" class="fnanchor">[400]</a> And yet the ‘ripest fruit of society and morality is -the sovereign individual, who resembles himself alone.’<a name="FNanchor_401_401" id="FNanchor_401_401"></a><a href="#Footnote_401_401" class="fnanchor">[401]</a> -And yet ‘a personality which denies itself is no longer good -for anything’!</p> - -<p>The negation of the ‘I,’ the designation of it as a superstition, -is the more extraordinary, as Nietzsche’s whole -philosophy—if one may call his effusions by that name—is -based only on the ‘Ego,’ recognising it as alone justifiable, -or even as alone existing.</p> - -<p>In all Nietzsche’s works we shall, it is true, find no more -subversive contradiction than this; but a few other examples -will show to what extent he holds mutually-destructive -opposites in his mind in uncompromising juxtaposition.</p> - -<p>We have seen that his last piece of wisdom is: ‘Nothing -is true; all is permissible.’ At bottom all those ethics are -repugnant to me which say: ‘Do not do this! Renounce! -Overcome self!’ ‘Self-command!’ Those ethical teachers -who ... enjoin man to place himself in his own power induce -thereby in him a peculiar disease.<a name="FNanchor_402_402" id="FNanchor_402_402"></a><a href="#Footnote_402_402" class="fnanchor">[402]</a> And now let the following -sentences be weighed: ‘Through auspicious marriage customs -there is a continual increase in the power and pleasure of -willing, in the will to command self.’ ‘Asceticism and -puritanism are almost indispensable means of education and -ennoblement, if a race desires to triumph over its plebeian -origin, and raise itself at some time to sovereignty.’ ‘The -essential and priceless feature of every morality is that it is -a long constraint.’<a name="FNanchor_403_403" id="FNanchor_403_403"></a><a href="#Footnote_403_403" class="fnanchor">[403]</a></p> - -<p>The characteristic of the over-human is his wish to stand -alone, to seek solitude, to flee from the society of the -gregarious. ‘He should be the greatest who can be the -most solitary.’ ‘The lofty independent spirituality—the will -to stand alone.... (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, pp. 154, 123.) -‘The strong are constrained by their nature to segregate, -as much as the feeble are by theirs to aggregate’ (<i>Zur -Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 149). In opposition to this he teaches<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span> -in other places: ‘During the longest interval in the life of -humanity there was nothing more terrible than to feel one’s -self alone’ (<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 147). Again: ‘We -at present sometimes undervalue the advantages of life in a -community’ (<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 59). We? That -is a calumny. We value these advantages at their full worth. -He alone does not value them who, in expressions of admiration, -vaunts ‘segregation,’ <i>i.e.</i>, hostility to the community and -contempt of its advantages, as characterizing the strong.</p> - -<p>At one time the primitive aristocratic man is the freely-roving, -splendid beast of prey, the blond beast; at another: -‘these men are rigorously kept within bounds by morality, -veneration, custom, gratitude, still more by reciprocal surveillance, -by jealousy <i>inter pares</i>; and, on the other hand, in their -attitude towards each other, inventive in consideration, self-command, -delicacy, fidelity, pride, and friendship.’ Ay, if -these be the attributes of ‘blond beasts,’ may someone speedily -give us a society of ‘blond beasts’! But how does ‘morality, -veneration, self-command,’ etc., accord with the ‘free-roving’ -of the splendid beast of prey? That remains an unsolved -enigma. It is true that Nietzsche, while making our mouths -water by his description, adds to it this limitation: ‘Towards -what lies beyond, where the stranger, and what is strange, -begins, they are not much better than beasts of prey set free’ -(<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 21). But this is in reality no -limitation. Every organized community regards itself, in -respect of the rest of the world, as a conjoint unity, and does -not accord to the foreigner, the man from without, the same -rights as to a member of its own body. Rights, custom, consideration, -are not extended to the stranger, unless he knows -how to inspire fear and to compel a recognition of his rights. -The progress in civilization, however, consists in the very fact -that the boundaries of the community are continually enlarged, -that which is strange and without rights or claim to consideration -being constantly made to recede further and ever further. -At first there existed in the horde reciprocal forbearance and -right alone; then the feeling of solidarity extended itself to -the tribe, the country, state, and race. At the present day -there is an international law even in war; the best among contemporaries -feel themselves one with all men, nay, no longer -hold even the animal to be without rights; and the time will -come when the forces of Nature will be the sole strange and -external things which may be treated according to man’s need -and pleasure, and in regard to which he may be the ‘freed -beast of prey.’ The ‘deep’ Nietzsche is not capable, it is -true, of comprehending a state of the case so simple and clear.</p> - -<p>At one moment he makes merry over the ‘naïveté’ of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span> -who believe in an original social contract (<i>Zur Genealogie der -Moral</i>, p. 80), and then says (in the same book, p. 149): ‘If -they’ (the strong, the born masters, the ‘species of solitary -beasts of prey’) ‘unite, it is only with a view to a collective -act of aggression, a collective satisfaction of their volition to -exert their power, with much resistance from the individual -conscience.’ With resistance or without, does not a ‘union -for the purpose of a collective satisfaction’ amount to a relation -of contract, the acceptation of which Nietzsche with -justice terms ‘a naïveté’?</p> - -<p>At one time ‘agony is something which inspires pity’ -(<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 136), and a ‘succession of crimes -is horrible’ (<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 21); and then, again, -the ‘beauty’ of crime is spoken of (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, -p. 91), and complaint is made that ‘crime is calumniated’ (the -same book, p. 123).</p> - -<p>Examples enough have been given. I do not wish to lose -myself in minutiæ and details, but I believe that I have demonstrated -Nietzsche’s own contradiction of every single one of his -fundamental assertions, most emphatically of the foremost and -most important, viz., that the ‘I’ is the one real thing, that -egoism alone is necessitated and justifiable.</p> - -<p>If the conceits which he wildly ejaculates—as it were, shrieks -forth—are examined somewhat more closely, we cannot but -marvel at the profusion of fabulous stupidity and abecedarian -ignorance they contain. It is thus he terms the system of -Copernicus (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>), ‘which has persuaded -us, against all the senses, that the earth is not immovable,’ -‘the greatest triumph over the senses hitherto achieved on -earth.’ Hence he does not suspect that the system of Copernicus -has for its basis exact observation of the starry heavens, -the movements of the moon and planets, and the position of -the sun in the zodiac; that this system was, therefore, the -triumph of exact sense-perceptions over sense-illusions—in -other words, of attentiveness over fugacity and distraction. He -believes that ‘consciousness developed itself under the pressure -of the need of communication,’ for ‘conscious thought eventuates -in words, <i>i.e.</i>, in signs of communication, by which fact -the origin of consciousness itself is revealed’ (<i>Die fröhliche -Wissenschaft</i>, p. 280). He does not know, then, that animals -without the power of speech also have a consciousness; that -it is possible also to think in images, in representations of -movement, without the help of a word, and that speech is not -added to consciousness until very late in the course of development. -The drollest thing is that Nietzsche very much fancies -himself as a psychologist, and wishes most particularly to be -esteemed as such! According to this profound man, socialism -has its roots in the fact that ‘hitherto manufacturers and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span> -entrepreneurs lack those forms and signs of distinction of the -higher races which alone make persons interesting; if they -had in look and gesture the distinction of those born noble, -there would, perhaps, be no socialism of the masses [!!]. For -the latter are at bottom ready for slavery of every kind, on -the condition that the higher class constantly legitimizes itself -as higher, as born to command, by outward distinction’ [!!] -(<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 68). The concept ‘thou oughtest,’ -the idea of duty, of the necessity of a definite measure of self-command, -is a consequence of the fact that ‘at all times since -men have existed, human herds have also existed, and always -a very large number of those who obey relatively to the small -number of those who command (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 118). -Anyone less incapable of thought than Nietzsche will understand -that, on the contrary, human herds, those obeying and -those commanding, were possible at all, only after and because -the brain had acquired the power and capacity to elaborate -the idea, ‘thou oughtest,’ <i>i.e.</i>, to inhibit an impulse by a -thought or a judgment. The descendant of mixed races ‘will -on the average be a weaker being’ (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, -p. 120); indeed, the ‘European <i>Weltschmerz</i>, the pessimism of -the nineteenth century, is essentially the consequence of a -sudden and irrational mixture of classes’; social classes, however, -always ‘express differences of origin and of race as well’ -(<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 142). The most competent -investigators are convinced, as we well know, that the crossing -of one race with another is conducive to the progress of both, -and is ‘the first cause of development.’<a name="FNanchor_404_404" id="FNanchor_404_404"></a><a href="#Footnote_404_404" class="fnanchor">[404]</a> ‘Darwinism, with -its incomprehensibly one-sided theory of the struggle for -existence,’ is explained by Darwin’s origin. His ancestors -were ‘poor and humble persons who were only too familiar -with the difficulty of making both ends meet. Around the -whole of English Darwinism there floats, as it were, the -mephitic vapour of English over-population, the odour of -humble life, of pinched and straitened circumstances’ (<i>Die -fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 273). It is presumably known to all -my readers that Darwin was a rich man, and was never compelled -to follow any profession, and that, for at least three or -four generations, his ancestors had lived in comfort.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche lays special claim to extraordinary originality. -He places this epigraph at the beginning of his <i>Fröhliche -Wissenschaft</i>:</p> - -<p class="pp6s p1">‘I live in a house that’s my own,<br /> -I’ve never in nought copied no one,<br /> -And at every Master I’ve had my laugh,<br /> -Who had not first laughed at himself.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span></p> - -<p class="p1">His disciples believe in this brag, and, with upturned eyes, -bleat it after him in sheep-like chorus. The profound ignorance -of this flock of ruminants permits them, forsooth, to believe in -Nietzsche’s originality. As they have never learnt, read, or -thought about, anything, all that they pick up in bars, or in -their loafings, is naturally new and hitherto non-existent. -Anyone, however, who regards Nietzsche relatively to analogous -phenomena of the age, will recognise that his pretended -originalities and temerities are the greasiest commonplaces, -such as a decent self-respecting thinker would not touch with -a pair of tongs.</p> - -<p>Whenever he rants, Nietzsche is no doubt really original. -On such occasions his expressions contain no sense at all, not -even nonsense; hence it is impossible to unite them with anything -previously thought or said. When, on the contrary, -there is a shimmer of reason in his words, we at once recognise -them as having their origin in the paradoxes or platitudes of -others. Nietzsche’s ‘individualism’ is an exact reproduction -of Max Stirner, a crazy Hegelian, who fifty years ago exaggerated -and involuntarily turned into ridicule the critical -idealism of his master to the extent of monstrously inflating -the importance—even the grossly empirical importance—of the -‘I’; whom, even in his own day, no one took seriously, and -who since then had fallen into well-merited profound oblivion, -from which at the present time a few anarchists and philosophical -‘fops’—for the hysteria of the time has created -such beings—seek to disinter him.<a name="FNanchor_405_405" id="FNanchor_405_405"></a><a href="#Footnote_405_405" class="fnanchor">[405]</a> Where Nietzsche extols -the ‘I,’ its rights, its claims, the necessity of cultivating and -developing it, the reader who has in mind the preceding -chapters of this book will recognise the phrases of Barrès, -Wilde, and Ibsen. His philosophy of will is appropriated from -Schopenhauer, who throughout has directed his thought and -given colour to his language. The complete similarity of his -phrases concerning will with Schopenhauer’s theory has evidently -penetrated to his own consciousness and made him -uncomfortable; for, in order to obliterate it, he has placed a -false nose of his own invention on the cast he has made, viz., -he contests the fact that the motive force in every being is the -desire for self-preservation; in his view it is rather the desire -for power. This addition is pure child’s play. In the lower -orders of living beings it is never a ‘desire for power,’ but always -only a desire for self-preservation, that is perceptible; and -among men this seeming ‘desire for power’ can, by anyone<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span> -but the ‘deep’ Nietzsche, be traced to two well-known roots—either -to the effort to make all organs act to the limit of their -functional capacity, which is connected with feelings of pleasure, -or to procure for themselves advantages ameliorative of -the conditions of existence. But the effort towards feelings -of pleasure and better conditions of existence is nothing but a -form of the phenomenon of the desire for existence, and he who -regards the ‘desire for power’ as anything different from, and -even opposed to, the desire for existence, simply gives evidence -of his incapacity to pursue this idea of the desire for existence -any distance beyond the length of his nose. Nietzsche’s chief -proof of the difference between the desire for power and the -desire for existence is that the former often drives the desirer to -the contemning and endangering, even to the destruction, of his -own life. But in that case the whole struggle for existence, in -which dangers are continually incurred, and for that matter -are often enough sought, would also be a proof that the -struggler did not desire his existence! Nietzsche would, -indeed, be quite capable of asserting this also.</p> - -<p>The degenerates with whom we have become acquainted -affirm that they do not trouble themselves concerning Nature -and its laws. Nietzsche is not so far advanced in self-sufficiency -as Rossetti, to whom it was a matter of indifference -whether the earth revolved around the sun or the sun around -the earth. He openly avows that this is not a matter of indifference -to him; he regrets it; it troubles him, that the -earth is no longer the central point of the universe, and be the -chief thing on the earth. ‘Since Copernicus, man seems to -have fallen upon an inclined plane; he is now rolling ever -faster away from the central point—whither?—into the -nothing? into the piercing feeling of his nothingness?’ He -is very angry with Copernicus concerning this. Not only -with Copernicus, but with science in general. ‘All science is -at present busied in talking man out of the self-respect he has -hitherto possessed, just as if this had been nothing but a -bizarre self-conceit’ (<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 173). Is -this not an echo of the words of Oscar Wilde, who complains -that Nature ‘is so indifferent’ to him, ‘so unappreciative,’ and -that he ‘is no more to Nature than the cattle that browse on -the slope’?</p> - -<p>In other places, again, we find the current of thought and -almost the very words of Oscar Wilde, Huysmans, and other -Diabolists and Decadents. The passage in <i>Zur Genealogie der -Moral</i> (p. 171) in which he glorifies art, because ‘in it the lie -sanctifies itself, and the will to deceive has a quiet conscience -on its side,’ might be in the chapter in Wilde’s <i>Intentions</i> on -‘The Decay of Lying,’ as, conversely, Wilde’s aphorisms:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span> -‘There is no sin except stupidity.’ ‘An idea that is not -dangerous is unworthy of being called an idea at all.’ And his -praises of Wainwright, the poisoner, are in exact agreement -with Nietzsche’s ‘morality of assassins,’ and the latter’s -remarks that crime is calumniated, and that the defender of -the criminal is ‘oftenest not artist enough to turn the beautiful -terribleness of the crime to the advantage of the doer.’ -Again, by way of joke, compare these passages: ‘It is necessary -to get rid of the bad taste of wishing to agree with many. -Good is no longer good when a neighbour says it’s good’ -(Nietzsche, <i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 54), and ‘Ah! don’t -say that you agree with me. When people agree with me, I -always feel that I must be wrong’ (Oscar Wilde, <i>Intentions</i>, -p. 202). This is more than a resemblance, is it not? To avoid -being too diffuse, I abstain from citing passages exactly resembling -these from Huysmans’ <i>A Rebours</i>, and from Ibsen. -At the same time it is unquestionable that Nietzsche could not -have known the French Decadents and English Æsthetes -whom he so frequently approaches, because his books are in -part antecedent to those of the latter; and neither could they -have drawn from him, because, perhaps with the exception -of Ibsen, it is only about two years since they could have -heard as much as Nietzsche’s name. The similarity, or rather -identity, is not explained by plagiarism; it is explained by the -identity of mental qualities in Nietzsche and the other ego-maniacal -degenerates.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche presents a specially droll aspect when he confronts -truth, in order to declare it unnecessary, or even to deny its -existence. ‘Why not rather untruth? And uncertainty? Or -even ignorance?’ (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 3). ‘What, -after all, are the truths of man? They are the irrefutable -errors of man’ (<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 193). ‘The will -for truth—that might be a hidden will for death’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 263). -The section of this book in which he deals with the question -of truth is entitled by him, ‘We the Fearless,’ and he prefixes -to it, as a motto, Turenne’s utterance: ‘Thou tremblest, carcass? -Thou wouldst tremble much more if thou knewest -whither I shall soon lead thee!’ And what is this terrible -danger into which the fearless one runs with such heroic -mien? The investigation of the essence and value of truth. -But this investigation is really the A B C of all serious philosophy! -The question as to whether objective truth exists at -all has been also drawn up by him,<a name="FNanchor_406_406" id="FNanchor_406_406"></a><a href="#Footnote_406_406" class="fnanchor">[406]</a> it is true with less blowing -of trumpets, beating of drums, and shaking of locks, as its -prologue, accompaniment, and conclusion. It is, moreover, -highly characteristic that the same dragon-slayer who, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span> -such swaggering and snorting takes up the challenge against -‘truth,’ finds submissive words of most humble apology when -he ventures very gently to doubt the perfection of Goethe in -all his pieces. Speaking of the ‘viscosity’ and ‘tediousness’ of -the German style, he says (<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 39): -‘I may be pardoned for affirming that even Goethe’s prose, -with its mixture of stiffness and grace, is no exception.’ When -he timidly criticises Goethe, he begs pardon; his heroic -attitude of contempt for death is assumed only when he challenges -morality and truth to combat. That is to say, this -‘fearless one’ possesses the cunning often observed among the -insane, and comprehends that there is absolutely no danger -in his babbling before the imbeciles composing his congregation, -that fabulous philosophical nonsense, at which, on the -contrary, they would be much enraged the instant it shocked -their æsthetic convictions or prejudices.</p> - -<p>Even in the minutest details it is surprising how Nietzsche -agrees, word for word, with the other ego-maniacs with whom -we have become acquainted. Compare, for example, the -phrase in <i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 168, where he vaunts, -‘What is really noble in works and in men, their moment -of smooth sea and halcyon self-sufficiency, the <i>golden</i> and -the <i>cool</i>,’ with Baudelaire’s praise of immobility and his -enraptured description of a metallic landscape; or the remarks -of Des Esseintes, and the side-thrusts at the press put by -Ibsen into the mouths of his characters, with the insults -continually heaped on newspapers by Nietzsche. ‘Great -ascetic spirits have an abhorrence of bustle, veneration, -newspaper’ (<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 113). The cause -of ‘the undeniably gradual and already tangible desolation of -the German mind’ lies in being ‘all too exclusively nourished -on newspapers, politics, beer, and Wagnerian music’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, -p. 177). ‘Behold these superfluities!... They vomit their bile, -and name it a newspaper’ (<i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. i., p. 67). -‘Dost thou not see the souls hanging like limp dirty rags? -And they make newspapers out of those rags! Hearest thou -not how the spirit has here become a play on words? He -vomits a loathsome swill of words. And of this swill of words -they make newspapers!’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, pt. iii., p. 37). It would be -possible to multiply these examples tenfold, for Nietzsche harks -back to every idea with an obstinacy enough to make the -most patient reader of sound taste go wild.</p> - -<p>Such is the appearance presented by Nietzsche’s originality. -This ‘original’ and ‘audacious’ thinker, imitating the familiar -practices of tradesmen at ‘sales,’ endeavours to palm off as -brand new goods the most shop-worn rubbish of great -philosophers. His most powerful assaults are directed against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span> -doors that stand open. This ‘solitary one,’ this ‘dweller on -the highest mountain peaks,’ exhibits by the dozen the -physiognomy of all decadents. He who is continually talking -with the utmost contempt of the ‘herd’ and the ‘herd-animal’ -is himself the most ordinary herd-animal of all. Only the -herd to which he belongs, body and soul, is a special one; -it is the flock of the mangy sheep.</p> - -<p>Upon one occasion the habitual cunning of the insane has -deserted him, and he has himself revealed to us the source -of his ‘original’ philosophy. The passage is so characteristic -that I must quote it at length:</p> - -<p>‘The first impetus, to make known something of my -hypotheses concerning the origin of morality, was given me -by a clear, tidy, and clever—ay, precocious [!]—little book, in -which there was for the first time presented to me an inverted -and perverted kind of genealogical hypotheses, the truly -<i>English</i> kind, and which attracted me with that attractive -force possessed by everything contrary, everything antipodal. -The title of this little book was <i>Der Ursprung der moralischen -Empfindunger</i> [“The Origin of Moral Sensations”]; its author, -Dr. Paul Rée; the year of its publication, 1877. I have, -perhaps, never read anything to which I have in the same -measure mentally said “No” as I did to every proposition -and every conclusion in this book, yet without anger or -impatience. In the previously-mentioned work on which I -was at that time engaged [<i>Menschliches Allzumenschliches</i>—“Things -Human, Things all too Human”], I referred, in season -and out of season, to the propositions of that book, not -refuting them—what have I to do with refutations?—but, as -befits a positive spirit, to substitute the more probable for -the improbable, and at times one error for another’ (<i>Zur -Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 7).</p> - -<p>This gives the reader the key to Nietzsche’s ‘originality.’ -It consists in simple infantile inversion of a rational train of -thought. If Nietzsche imagines that his insane negations and -contradictions grew spontaneously in his head, he is really -the victim of a self-delusion. His rant may have existed in -his mind before he had read Dr. Rée’s book. But in that -case it had sprung up as a contradiction to other books without -his having been so clearly conscious of its origin as after the -perusal of Dr. Rée’s work. But he pushes the self-delusion -to an incredible height, in terming himself a ‘positive spirit,’ -after he has just frankly confessed his method of procedure, -viz., that he does not ‘refute’—he would not have found that -so easy, either—but that ‘to every proposition, and every conclusion -he says ‘No!’</p> - -<p>This explanation of the source of his ‘original’ moral<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span> -philosophy comprehends in itself a diagnosis, which at once -obtrudes on the most short-sighted eye. Nietzsche’s system -is the product of the mania of contradiction, the delirious -form of that mental derangement, of which the melancholic -form is the mania of doubt and negation, treated of in the -earlier chapters of this work. His <i>folie des négations</i> betrays -itself also in his peculiarities of language. There is ever in -his consciousness a questioning impulse like a mark of interrogation. -Of no word is he so fond as of the interrogative -‘What?’ constantly used by him in the most marvellous -connection,<a name="FNanchor_407_407" id="FNanchor_407_407"></a><a href="#Footnote_407_407" class="fnanchor">[407]</a> and he makes use <i>ad nauseam</i> of the turn of -expression, that one should ‘say No’ to this and that, that -this one and that one is a ‘No-sayer’—an expression which -suggests to him by association the same immeasurably frequent -use of the contrary expression, ‘say Yes’ and ‘Yes-sayer.’ This -‘saying-No’ and ‘saying-Yes’ is in his case a veritable <i>Paraphasia -vesana</i>, or insane language opposed to usage, as the -reader is shown by the examples cited in foot-note.<a name="FNanchor_408_408" id="FNanchor_408_408"></a><a href="#Footnote_408_408" class="fnanchor">[408]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span></p> - -<p>Nietzsche’s assurance that ‘without anger or impatience’ he -‘said No’ to all Rée’s assertions may be believed. Persons -afflicted with the mania of doubt and of denial do not get -angry when they question or contradict; they do this under -the coercion of their mental derangement. But those among -them who are delirious have the conscious intention of making -others angry, even if they themselves are not so. On this -point Nietzsche allows an avowal to escape him: ‘My mode -of thought demands a warlike soul, a wish to give pain, a -pleasure in saying, No’ (<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 63). This -confession may be compared with the passages from Ibsen: -‘You were becoming reckless! In reality that you might anger -these affected beings of both sexes here in the town’; and, -‘Something shall happen which will be a slap in the face to -all this decorum’ (<i>The Pillars of Society</i>).</p> - -<p>The origin of one of the most ‘original’ of Nietzsche’s -doctrines, viz., the explanation of conscience as a satisfaction -of the instinct of cruelty through inner self-rending, has already -been gone into by Dr. Türck, in an excellent little work. He -very justly recognises the diseased state of moral aberration -at the base of this insane idea,<a name="FNanchor_409_409" id="FNanchor_409_409"></a><a href="#Footnote_409_409" class="fnanchor">[409]</a> and continues thus:</p> - -<p>‘Let us now picture to ourselves a man of this kind, with innate -instincts of murder, or in general with ‘Anomalies or perversion -of the moral feelings’ (Mendel); at the same time highly gifted, -with the best instruction and an excellent education, reared in -the midst of agreeable circumstances, and under the careful -... nurture of women ... and occupying at an early age a prominent -position in society. It is clear that the better moral -instincts must gain such strength as to be able to drive back -to the deepest inner depths the bestial instinct of destruction -and completely to curb it, yet without wholly annihilating it. It -may not, indeed, be able to manifest itself in deeds, but, because -it is inborn, the instinct remains in existence as an unfulfilled -wish, cherished in the inmost heart ... as an ardent desire -... to yield itself up to its cruel lust. But every non-satisfaction -of a ... deeply imprinted instinct has as its consequence -pain and inner torment. Now, we men are very much -inclined to regard as naturally good and justifiable that which -gives us decided pleasure, and conversely to reprobate, as bad -and contrary to nature, that which produces pain. Thus, it -may happen that an intellectual and highly gifted man, born -with perverted instincts, and feeling as torment ... the non-satisfaction -of the instinct, will hit upon the idea of justifying -the passion for murder, the extremest egoism ... as something -good, beautiful, and according to Nature, and to characterize<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span> -as morbid aberration the better opposing moral instincts, -manifesting themselves in us as that which we call conscience.</p> - -<p>Dr. Türck is right in admitting Nietzsche’s innate moral -aberration and the inversion in him of healthy instincts. -Nevertheless, in the interpretation of the particular phenomena -in which the aberration manifests itself, he commits an error, -which is explained by the fact that Dr. Türck is seemingly not -deeply conversant with mental therapeutics. He assumes that -in Nietzsche’s mind the evil instincts are in severe conflict -with those better notions instilled in him by education, and -that he experiences as pain the suppression of his instincts by -judgment. That is hardly the true state of the case. It is -not necessary that Nietzsche should have the wish to commit -murder and other crimes. Not every aberrant person (<i>pervers</i>) -is subject to impulsions. The perversion may be limited -exclusively to the sphere of ideation, and get its satisfaction -wholly in ideas. A subject thus affected never gets the notion -of transforming his ideas into deeds. His derangement does -not encroach upon the centres of will and movement, but -carries on its fell work within the centres of ideation. We -know forms of sexual perversion in which the sufferers -never experience the impulse to seek satisfaction in acts, and -who revel only in thought.<a name="FNanchor_410_410" id="FNanchor_410_410"></a><a href="#Footnote_410_410" class="fnanchor">[410]</a> This astonishing rupture of the -natural connection between idea and movement, between -thought and act, this detachment of the organs of will and -movement from the organs of conception and judgment which -they normally obey, is in itself a proof of deepest disorder -throughout the machinery of thought. Incompetent critics -eagerly point to the fact that many authors and artists live -unexceptionable lives in complete contrast to their works, -which may be immoral or contrary to nature, and deduce from -this fact that it is unjustifiable to draw from his works conclusions -as to the mental and moral Nature of their author. -Those who talk in this manner do not even suspect that there -are purely mental perversions which are quite as much a -mental disease as the impulsions of the ‘impulsivists.’</p> - -<p>This is obviously the case with Nietzsche. His perversion -is of a purely intellectual character, and has hardly ever impelled -him to acts. Hence, in his mind there has been no -conflict between instincts and the morality acquired by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span> -education. His explanation of conscience has quite another -source than that assumed by Dr. Türck. It is one of those -perverted interpretations of a sensation by the consciousness -perceiving it which are so frequently observed. Nietzsche -remarks that with him ideas of a cruel kind are accompanied -by feelings of pleasure—that they are, as mental therapeutics -expresses it, ‘voluptuously accentuated.’ In consequence of -this accompaniment of pleasure he has the inclination to -conjure up sensually sensuous representations of that kind, -and to dwell on them with enjoyment.<a name="FNanchor_411_411" id="FNanchor_411_411"></a><a href="#Footnote_411_411" class="fnanchor">[411]</a> Consciousness then -seeks to give some sort of rational explanation of these experiences -by assuming cruelty to be a powerful primordial -instinct of man, that, since he may not actually commit cruel -deeds, he may, at least, take pleasure in the representation -of them, and that the rapturous lingering over representations -of this kind, man calls his conscience. As I have shown above, -it is Nietzsche’s opinion that stings of conscience are not the -consequence of evil deeds, but appear in men who have never -committed any evil. Hence he obviously makes use of the -word in a sense quite different from that of current usage, a -sense peculiar to himself; he designates by it, simply his -revelling in voluptuously accentuated representations of -cruelty.</p> - -<p>The alienist, however, is familiar with the perversion in -which the invalid experiences voluptuous stimulation from acts -or representations of a cruel nature. Science has a name for -it. It is called Sadism. Sadism is the opposite form of -sexual perversion to masochism.<a name="FNanchor_412_412" id="FNanchor_412_412"></a><a href="#Footnote_412_412" class="fnanchor">[412]</a> Nietzsche is a sufferer from -Sadism in its most pronounced form, only with him it is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span> -confined to the intellectual sphere alone, and is satisfied by -ideal debauchery. I do not wish to dwell too long on -this repulsive subject, and will, therefore, quote only a few -passages, showing that, in Nietzsche’s thought, images of -cruelty are without exception accompanied by ideas of a -sensual character, and are italicized by him: ‘The splendid -beast ranging <i>in its lust</i> after prey and victory’ (<i>Zur Genealogie -der Moral</i>, p. 21). ‘The <i>feeling of content</i> at being able, without -scruple, to wreak his power on a powerless being, the <i>voluptuousness -de faire le mal pour le plaisir de le faire</i>, the <i>enjoyment</i> of -vanquishing’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 51). ‘Do your pleasure, ye wantons; -roar for very <i>lust</i> and wickedness’ (<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, -p. 226). ‘The path to one’s own heaven ever leads through -the <i>voluptuousness</i> of one’s own hell’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 249). ‘How -comes it that I have yet met no one ... who knew morality -as a problem, and this problem as his personal distress, -torment, <i>voluptuousness</i>, passion?’ (<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 264). ‘Hitherto -he has felt most at ease on earth at the sight of tragedies, -bull-fights, and crucifixions; and when he invented hell, behold, -that was his heaven on earth. When the great man cries -aloud, the little man runs swiftly thither, and his tongue hangs -out from his throat for very <i>lusting</i>’ (<i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, -pt. iii., p. 96), etc. I beg the unprofessional reader particularly -to observe the association of the words italicized -with those expressing something evil. This association is -neither accidental nor arbitrary. It is a psychical necessity, -for in Nietzsche’s consciousness no image of wickedness and -crime can arise without exciting him sexually, and he is unable -to experience any sexual stimulation without the immediate -appearance in his consciousness of an image of some deed of -violence and blood.</p> - -<p>Hence the real source of Nietzsche’s doctrine is his Sadism. -And I will here make a general remark on which I do not -desire to linger, but which I should like to recommend -to the particular attention of the reader. In the success of -unhealthy tendencies in art and literature, no quality of their -authors has so large and determining a share as their sexual -psychopathy. All persons of unbalanced minds—the neurasthenic, -the hysteric, the degenerate, the insane—have the -keenest scent for perversions of a sexual kind, and perceive -them under all disguises. As a rule, indeed, they are ignorant -of what it is in certain works and artists which pleases them, -but investigation always reveals in the object of their predilection -a veiled manifestation of some <i>Psychopathia sexualis</i>. -The masochism of Wagner and Ibsen, the Skoptzism of -Tolstoi, the erotomania (<i>folie amoureuse chaste</i>) of the Diabolists, -the Decadents, and of Nietzsche, unquestionably obtain for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span> -these authors and tendencies a large, and, at all events, the -most sincere and fanatical fraction of their partisans. Works -of a sexually psychopathic nature excite in abnormal subjects -the corresponding perversion (till then slumbering and unconscious, -perhaps also undeveloped, although present in the -germ), and give them lively feelings of pleasure, which they, -usually in good faith, regard as purely æsthetic or intellectual, -whereas they are actually sexual. Only in the light of this -explanation do the characteristic artistic tendencies of the -abnormals, of which we have proof,<a name="FNanchor_413_413" id="FNanchor_413_413"></a><a href="#Footnote_413_413" class="fnanchor">[413]</a> become wholly intelligible. -This confounding of æsthetic with sexual feelings is not surprising, -for the spheres of these two feelings are not only -contiguous, but, as has been proved elsewhere, are for the -most part even coincident.<a name="FNanchor_414_414" id="FNanchor_414_414"></a><a href="#Footnote_414_414" class="fnanchor">[414]</a> At the base of all oddities of -costume, especially that of women, there is hidden an unconscious -speculation in something of a sexual-psychopathy, which -finds incitation and attraction in the temporary fashion in -dress. No professional person has yet viewed fashions from -this standpoint. I may not here allow myself so broad a -departure from my principal theme. The subject may, however, -be most emphatically recommended to the consideration of -experts. In the domain of fashions they will make the most -remarkable psychiatrical discoveries.</p> - -<p>I have devoted very much more space to the demonstration -of the senselessness of Nietzsche’s so-called philosophical -system than the man and his system deserve. It would have -been enough simply to refer to the all-sufficient and expressive -fact that, after having been repeatedly confined in lunatic asylums, -he has for some years past been living as incurably mad in -the establishment of Professor Binswanger at Jena—‘the right -man in the right place.’ It is true that a critic is of the -opinion that ‘it is possible for mental darkness to extinguish -the clearest mental light; for this reason its appearance cannot -with certitude be urged against the value and accuracy of what -anyone has taught before the appearance of his affliction.’ -The answer to this is that Nietzsche wrote his most important<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span> -works between two detentions in a lunatic asylum, and hence -not ‘before,’ but ‘after, the appearance of his affliction,’ and -that the whole question hinges on the kind of mental disease -appealed to as proof of the senselessness of any doctrine. It -is clear that insanity caused by an accidental lesion of the -brain, by a fall, blow, etc., can prove nothing against the -accuracy of that which the patient may have taught previous -to his accident. But the case is different when the malady -is one which has undoubtedly existed in a latent condition -from birth, and can with certainty be proved from the works -themselves. Then it amply suffices to establish the fact that -the author is a Bedlamite, and his work the daubing of a -lunatic, and all further criticism, all efforts at rational refutation -of individual inanities, become superfluous, and even—at -least, in the eyes of those who are competent—a little -ridiculous. And this is the case with Nietzsche. He is -obviously insane from birth, and his books bear on every page -the imprint of insanity. It may be cruel to insist on this fact.<a name="FNanchor_415_415" id="FNanchor_415_415"></a><a href="#Footnote_415_415" class="fnanchor">[415]</a> -It is, however, a painful, yet unavoidable, duty to refer to it -anew, because Nietzsche has become the means of raising a -mental pestilence, and the only hope of checking its propagation -lies in placing Nietzsche’s insanity in the clearest light, and -in branding his disciples also with the marks most suited to -them, viz., as hysterical and imbecile.</p> - -<p>Kaatz<a name="FNanchor_416_416" id="FNanchor_416_416"></a><a href="#Footnote_416_416" class="fnanchor">[416]</a> affirms that Nietzsche’s ‘intellectual seed’ is everywhere -‘beginning to germinate. Now it is one of Nietzsche’s -most incisive points which is chosen as the epigraph of a -modern tragedy, now one of his pregnant turns of expression -incorporated in the established usage of language.... At -the present time one can ... read hardly any essay touching -even lightly on the province of philosophy, without meeting -with the name of Nietzsche.’ Now, that is certainly a calumnious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span> -exaggeration. Things are not quite so bad as that. The only -‘philosophers’ who have hitherto taken Nietzsche’s insane -drivel seriously are those whom I have above named the -‘fops’ of philosophy. But the number of these ‘fops’ is, as -a matter of fact, increasing in a disquieting way, and their -effrontery surpasses anything ever witnessed.</p> - -<p>It is, of course, unnecessary to say that Georges Brandès -has numbered himself among Nietzsche’s apostles. We know, -indeed, that this ingenious person winds himself around every -human phenomenon in whom he scents a possible primadonna, -in order to draw from her profit for himself as the impresario -of her fame. He gave lectures in Copenhagen on -Nietzsche, ‘and declaimed in words of enthusiasm about this -German prophet, for whom Mill’s morality is nothing but a -diseased symptom of a degenerate age; this radical “aristocrat,” -who degrades to the rank of slave-revolts all the great popular -movements in history for freedom—the Reformation, the -French Revolution, modern socialism—and dares to assert -that the millions on millions of individuals composing the -nations exist only for the purpose of producing, a few times in -each century, a great personality.’<a name="FNanchor_417_417" id="FNanchor_417_417"></a><a href="#Footnote_417_417" class="fnanchor">[417]</a></p> - -<p>A series of imitators are eagerly busying themselves to -make Nietzsche their model, whether in clearing the throat -or in expectorating. His treatise <i>Schopenhauer als Erzieher</i> -(<i>Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, 3 Stück</i>) has found a monstrous -travesty in <i>Rembrandt als Erzieher</i>. True, the imbecile author -of the latter parody could not imitate Nietzsche’s gushing -redundancy of verbiage and the mad leaps of the maniac’s -thought. This symptom of disease it were indeed hardly -possible to simulate; but he has appropriated as his own -the word-quibbling, the senseless echolalia of his model, -and endeavours also stammeringly to imitate, as well as his -small means allow, Nietzsche’s megalomaniacal and criminal -individualism. Albert Kniepf,<a name="FNanchor_418_418" id="FNanchor_418_418"></a><a href="#Footnote_418_418" class="fnanchor">[418]</a> another imbecile, has been -smitten chiefly by Nietzsche’s affected superiority, and with -princely mien and gestures struts about in the most diverting -manner. He calls himself ‘a man of superior taste and more -refined feeling’; he speaks contemptuously of the ‘profane -daily bustle of the masses’; sees ‘the world beneath him’ and -himself ‘exalted above the world of the multitude’; he does -not wish to ‘go into the streets, and squander his wisdom on -everyone,’ etc., quite in the style of Zarathustra, the dweller<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span> -on the highest peaks. The already mentioned Dr. Max Zerbst -affects, like Nietzsche, to regard himself as terrible, and to -believe that his opponents tremble before him. When he -makes them speak he puts whimpering tones into their -mouths,<a name="FNanchor_419_419" id="FNanchor_419_419"></a><a href="#Footnote_419_419" class="fnanchor">[419]</a> and he enjoys with cruelly superior scorn the mortal -fear with which he inspires them. In a maniac this attitude -is natural and excites pity. But when a fellow like this Dr. -Max Zerbst assumes it, it produces an irresistibly comic effect, -and calls to remembrance the young man with the weak legs -in <i>Pickwick</i>, who ‘believes in blood alone,’ ‘will have blood.’ -Zerbst dares to utter the words ‘natural science’ and ‘psycho-physiology.’ -That is an agreement among Nietzsche’s disciples: -they pass off the insane word-spouter whom they -worship for a psycho-physiologist and a physicist! Ola -Hansson speaks of Nietzsche’s ‘psycho-physiological intuition’! -and in another place says: ‘With Nietzsche, that -modern subtle psychologist, who possesses in the highest -degree psycho-physical intuition [again], that peculiar power -of the end of the nineteenth century, of listening to and -spying out all the secret processes and hidden corners in itself,’ -etc. ‘Psycho-physical intuition!’ ‘Listening to and spying out -itself!’ Our very eyes deceive us. These men, therefore, have -no suspicion of what constitutes ‘psychophysics,’ they do not -suspect that it is the exact contrary of ancient psychology, -which dealt with ‘intuition’ and introspection, <i>i.e.</i>, ‘listening -to one’s self’ and ‘spying out one’s self’; that it patiently -counts and mixes with the apparatus in laboratories, and ‘spies -and listens to,’ not itself, but its experimentists and instruments! -And such babble of brainless parrots, who chatter -in repetition the words they accidentally hear, without comprehending -them, is able to make its way in Germany, the creator -of the new science of psycho-physiology, the fatherland of -Fechner, Weber, Wundt! And no professional has rapped -with a ruler the knuckles of these youths, whose fabulous -ignorance is surpassed only by their impudence!</p> - -<p>But worse still has befallen—something at which all jesting -really ceases. Kurt Eisner, who it is true does not agree with -Nietzsche’s ‘philosophy,’ is, nevertheless, of the opinion that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span> -he has ‘bequeathed us some powerful poems,’<a name="FNanchor_420_420" id="FNanchor_420_420"></a><a href="#Footnote_420_420" class="fnanchor">[420]</a> and goes so -far as to make use of this unheard-of expression: ‘Nietzsche’s -<i>Zarathustra</i> is a work of art like <i>Faust</i>.’ The question first of -all obtruding itself is: Has Kurt Eisner at any time read a -line of <i>Faust</i>? This, I take it, must be answered in the affirmative, -for it is hardly conceivable that at this time of day there -is in Germany any adult, seemingly able to read and write, into -whose hands <i>Faust</i> has not fallen at some time or other. Then -there remains only one other question: What may Kurt Eisner -have understood of <i>Faust</i>? To name in the same breath the -senseless spirting jet of words of a <i>Zarathustra</i> with <i>Faust</i> is -such a defilement of our most precious poetical treasure that -verily if a man of any greater importance than Kurt Eisner -had perpetrated it there had been need of an expiatory festival -to atone for the insult to Goethe, even as the Church newly -consecrates a place of worship when it has been profaned by a -sacrilegious act.</p> - -<p>Not only in Germany is the Nietzsche gang working mischief; -it is also infesting other lands. Ola Hansson,<a name="FNanchor_421_421" id="FNanchor_421_421"></a><a href="#Footnote_421_421" class="fnanchor">[421]</a> already -mentioned, entertains his Swedish fellow-countrymen most -enthusiastically with ‘Nietzsche’s Poetry’ and ‘Nietzsche’s -Midnight Hymn’; T. de Wysewa<a name="FNanchor_422_422" id="FNanchor_422_422"></a><a href="#Footnote_422_422" class="fnanchor">[422]</a> assures the French, who -are not in the position to prove the accuracy of his assertions, -that ‘Nietzsche is the greatest thinker and most brilliant -author produced by Germany in the last generation,’ etc.</p> - -<p>It has, nevertheless, been reserved to a lady to beat the -male disciples of Nietzsche, in the audacious denial of the -most openly manifest truth. This feminine partisan of -Nietzsche, Lou Salomé, with a cool imperturbability fit to -take away the breath of the most callous spectator, turns her -back on the fact that Nietzsche has for years been confined -in a lunatic asylum, and proclaims with brazen brow that -Nietzsche, from the aristocratic contempt of the world belonging -to the ‘over-human,’ has voluntarily ceased to write, and -withdrawn himself into solitude. Nietzsche is a man of science -and a psycho-physiologist, and Nietzsche keeps silence, because -he no longer finds it worth the trouble to speak to the men of -the herd; these are the catch-words cried aloud throughout -the world by the Nietzsche band. In the face of such a conspiracy -against truth, honesty, sound reason, it is not enough -to have proved the senselessness of Nietzsche’s system, it must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span> -also be shown that Nietzsche has always been insane, and that -his writings are the abortions of frenzy (more exactly, of -‘maniacal exaltation’).</p> - -<p>A few followers of Nietzsche, undoubtedly not fit to hold a -candle to Lou Salomé, do not contest the fact of Nietzsche’s -insanity, but say that he became insane because he withdrew -himself too much from men, because he lived too long -in the deepest solitude, because his speed of thought was so -ruinously, unnaturally rapid. This unheard-of idiocy could -circulate throughout the entire German press, and yet not a -single newspaper had the gumption to remark that insanity -can never be the consequence of solitude and too speedy -thought, but that, on the contrary, a propensity for solitude -and vertiginously rapid thought are the primary and best -known signs of existing insanity, and that this prattle of -Nietzsche’s partisans is, perhaps, of equal force with the assertion -that someone had contracted lung disease through coughing -and hæmorrhage!</p> - -<p>For Nietzsche’s ‘anthropophobia’ we have the evidence of -his biographers, who cite curious examples of it.<a name="FNanchor_423_423" id="FNanchor_423_423"></a><a href="#Footnote_423_423" class="fnanchor">[423]</a> His rapid -thought, however, is a phenomenon never absent in frenzied -madness. That the unprofessional reader may know what he -is to understand by this, we will present him with the clinical -picture of this form of insanity traced by the hand of the most -authoritative masters.</p> - -<p>‘The acceleration of the course of thought in mania,’ says -Griesinger, ‘is a consequence of the facilitation of the connection -between representations, where the patient humbugs, -romances, declaims, sings, calls into service all the modes of -exteriorizing ideas, rambles incoherently from one topic to -another, the ideas hurtling against and overthrowing each -other. The same acceleration of ideation is found in certain -forms of dementia and in secondary psychical enfeeblement, -“with activity produced by hallucinations.” The logical -concatenations are not in this case intact, as in argumentation -and hypochondriacal dementia; or the precipitate sequence of -representations no longer follows any law; or, again, only -words and sounds devoid of meaning succeed each other with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span>impetuous haste.... Thus there arises ... a ceaseless chase -of ideas, in the torrent of which all is borne away in pell-mell -flight. The latter conditions appear chiefly in raving -madness; at its inception especially, a greater mental vivacity -often manifests itself, and cases have been observed where -the fact that the patient became witty was a sure sign of the -imminence of an attack of frenzy.’<a name="FNanchor_424_424" id="FNanchor_424_424"></a><a href="#Footnote_424_424" class="fnanchor">[424]</a></p> - -<p>Still more graphic is the description given by Krafft-Ebing.<a name="FNanchor_425_425" id="FNanchor_425_425"></a><a href="#Footnote_425_425" class="fnanchor">[425]</a> -‘The content of consciousness is here [in ‘maniacal exaltation’] -pleasure, psychical well-being. It is just as little induced -by events of the external world as the opposite state of psychical -pain in melancholia, and is, therefore, referable to an inner -organic cause only. The patient literally revels in feelings of -pleasure, and declares, after recovery, that never, when in -good health, has he felt so contented, so buoyant, so happy, -as during his illness. This spontaneous pleasure undergoes -powerful increments ... through the perception by the -patient of the facilitated processes of ideation ... through -the intensive accentuation of ideas by feelings of pleasure and -by agreeable cœnæstheses, especially in the domain of muscular -sensation.... In this way the cheerful mood temporarily -exalts itself to the height of pleasurable emotions (gay extravagance, -exuberance), which find their motor exteriorization in -songs, dances, leaps.... The patient becomes more plastic in -his diction ... his faculties of conception act more rapidly, -and, in accelerated association, he is at once more prompt in -repartee, witty and humorous to the point of irony. The -plethora of his consciousness supplies him with inexhaustible -material for talk, and the enormous acceleration of his ideation, -in which there spring up complete intermediate forms with -the rapidity of thought, without undergoing exteriorization -in speech, causes his current of ideas, in so far as they find -expression, to seem rambling.... He continually exercises -criticism in respect of his own condition, and proves that he -is himself aware of his abnormal state by ... claiming, among -other things, that he is only a fool, and that to such everything -is permissible.... The invalid cannot find words enough to -depict his maniacal well-being, his “primordial health.”’</p> - -<p>And now every individual feature of this picture of disease -shall be pointed out in Nietzsche’s writings. (I repeat my -previous remark, that I am compelled to limit myself in citing -examples, but that literally on every page of Nietzsche’s writing -examples of the same kind are to be found.)</p> - -<p>His cœnæstheses, or systemic sensations, continually inspire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span> -him with presentations of laughter, dancing, flying, buoyancy, -generally of movement of the gayest and easiest kind—of rolling, -flowing, plunging. ‘Let us guard ourselves from immediately -making gloomy faces at the word “torture” ... even there -something remains for laughter.’ ‘We are prepared for a -carnival in the grand style, for the most spiritual carnival-laughter -and exuberance, for the transcendental height of the -most exalted idiocy and Aristophanic derision of the universe.... -Perhaps if nothing else of to-day has a future, our very -laughter still has a future.’ ‘I would even permit myself to -classify philosophers according to the quality of their laughter—up -to those capable of golden laughter[!] ... The gods -are jocular. It seems as if, even in sacred deeds, they could -not forbear laughing.’ ‘Ah! what are ye then, ye written and -painted thoughts of mine? It is not long since ye were so -fantastic, so young and naughty ... that ye made me sneeze -and laugh.’ ‘Now the world laughs, the dismal veil is rent.’ -‘It is laughter that kills, not wrath. Come, let us kill the -spirit of heaviness!’ ‘Truly there are beings chaste by nature; -they are milder in heart; they laugh more agreeably and -copiously than ye. They laugh as well over chastity, and ask, -What is chastity?’ ‘Had He [Jesus Christ] remained in the -desert, perhaps He would have learned to live and to love the -earth—and to laugh besides.’ ‘The tension of my cloud was -too great; between the laughters of the lightnings I will cast -hail-showers into the deep.’ ‘To-day my shield quivered -gently and laughed at me; that is the holy laughter and tremor -of beauty.’</p> - -<p>It will be seen that in all these cases the idea of laughter -has no logical connection with the real thought; it is far rather -an accompaniment of his intellection as a basic state, as a -chronic obsession, having its explanation in the maniacal -excitation of the centres of ideation. It is the same with the -presentations of dancing, flying, etc. ‘I should only believe -in a god who knew how to dance.’ ‘Truly, Zarathustra is no -hurricane and whirlwind; and if he is a dancer, yet is he by -no means a dancer of the tarantella.’ ‘And once upon a time -I wished to dance, as I never yet have danced; away over the -whole heaven did I wish to dance.... Only in the dance do -I know of parables for the highest things.’ ‘I found this -blessed security in all things also: that on the feet of chance -they preferred—to dance. O thou heaven above me, O pure! -O sublime! thy purity is now for me ... that thou art a -dancing-floor for divine chances.’ ‘Ask of my foot ... truly -after such a rhythm, such a tick-tack, it likes neither to dance -nor rest.’ ‘And, above all, I learned to stand and walk and -run and leap and climb and dance.’ ‘It is a fine fool’s jest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span> -this, of speech; thanks to it, man dances over all things.’ -‘O my soul, I taught thee to say “to-day,” as well as “once” -and “formerly,” and to dance thy measure over all the “here” -and “there” and “yonder.” Thou castest thy glance at my -foot crazy for the dance.’ ‘If my virtue is a dancer’s virtue, -and I often bounded with both feet into a rapture of golden -emerald,’ etc.</p> - -<p>(‘A state of mind he experienced with horror:’) ‘A perpetual -movement between high and deep, and the feeling of high and -deep, a constant feeling as if mounting steps, and at the same -moment as if reposing on clouds.’ ‘Is there, indeed, one thing -alone that remains uncomprehended by it ... that only in -flight is it touched, beheld, lightened upon?’ ‘All my will -would fly alone, would fly into thee.’ ‘Ready and impatient to -fly, to fly away; that is now my nature.’ ‘My wise longing -cried out from me, and laughed also ... my great longing, -with rushing wings. And often it dragged me forth, and away -in the midst of my laughter; then, indeed, I flew shuddering -... thither, where gods dance, ashamed of all clothes.’ ‘If -I ever spread still heavens above me, and with my own wings -flew in my own heavens.... If my malice is a laughing -malice ... and if my Alpha and Omega is that all heaviness -may become light, all body a dancer, all spirit a bird; and -verily that is my Alpha and Omega,’ etc.</p> - -<p>In the examples hitherto cited the insane ideas are mainly in -the sphere of movement. In those that follow it is excitations -of the sensorial centres that find expression. Nietzsche has -all sorts of illusions of skin-sensibility (cold, warmth, being -breathed upon), of sight (lustre, lightning, brightness), of hearing -(rushing, roaring), and of smell, which he mixes up in his -fugitive ideation. ‘I am too hot and burnt with my own -thoughts.’ ‘Ah! ice surrounds me; my hand is burnt by -iciness.’ ‘The sun of my love lay brooding upon me; Zarasthustra -was stewing in his own juice.’ ‘Take care that there -be honey ready to my hand ... good, icy-fresh, golden honeycomb.’ -‘Into the coldest water I plunged with head and -heart.’ ‘There I am sitting ... lusting for a maiden’s round -mouth, but still more for maidenly, icy-cold, snow-white, -cutting, biting teeth.’ ‘For I deal with deep problems as with -a cold bath—soon into it, soon out of it.... Ho! the great -cold quickens.’ ‘Over thy surging sea I blew with the storm -that is called spirit; I blew from it all clouds.’ ‘To their -bodies and to their spirits our happiness would be as ice-caverns! -and, like strong winds, we will live above them ... -and like a wind will I once blow among them.’</p> - -<p>‘I am light ... but this is my loneliness, that I am engirdled -with light.... I live in my own light; I drink back -into myself the flames that break forth from me.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span></p> - -<p>‘Mute over the roaring sea art thou this day arisen for me.’ -‘They divine nothing from the roaring of my happiness.’ -‘Sing, and riot in roaring, O Zarathustra!’ ‘Almost too -fiercely for me thou dost gush forth, well-spring of joy ... -too violently doth my heart gush forth to meet thee.’ ‘My -desire now breaks forth from me like a fountain.’</p> - -<p>‘There is often an odour in her wisdom, as if it came forth -from a swamp.’ ‘Alas! that I should have so long lived in -the midst of their noise and foul breath. O blessed stillness -around me!’ ‘O pure odours around me!’ ‘That was the falsehood -in my pity, that in each I saw and smelt what was mind -enough for him.... With blissful nostrils again I breathed the -freedom of the mountain! My nose is at length redeemed from -the odour of all that is human!’ ‘Bad air! bad air!... -Why must I smell the entrails of a misguided soul?’ ‘This -workshop, where ideals are manufactured, meseems it stinks of -nothing but lies.’ ‘We avoided the rabble ... the stink of -shopkeepers ... the foul breath.’ ‘This rabble, that stinks -to heaven.’ ‘O odours pure around me!... These crowds -of superior men—perhaps they do not smell nice,’ etc.</p> - -<p>As these examples show, Nietzsche’s thought receives its -special colouring from his sense illusions, and from the excitation -of the centres forming motor presentations, which, in -consequence of a derangement of the mechanism of co-ordination, -are not transformed into motor impulses, but -remain as mere images, without influence on the muscles.</p> - -<p>In respect of form, Nietzsche’s thought makes the two -characteristic peculiarities of madness perceptible: the sole -domination of the association of ideas, watched over and restrained -by no attention, no logic, no judgment; and the -giddy rapidity of the course of ideation.</p> - -<p>As soon as any idea whatsoever springs up in Nietzsche’s -mind, it immediately draws with it into consciousness all -presentations related to it, and thus with flying hand he -throws five, six, often eight, synonyms on paper, without -noticing how overladen and turgid his literary style is thereby -rendered: ‘The force of a mind measures itself ... by the -degree to which it is obliged to attenuate, veil, sweeten, damp, -falsify the truth.’ ‘We are of the opinion that severity, -violence, slavery, danger in the street and in the heart, concealment, -stoicism, the tempter’s art and devilry of every kind; that -all things wicked, fearful, tyrannical, bestial, and serpent-like -in man, are of as much service in the elevation of the species -“man” as their opposites. He knows ... on what miserable -things the loftiest Becoming has hitherto been shattered, -snapped off, has fallen away, become miserable.’ ‘In man -there is material, fragment, surplus, clay, mud, nonsense, -chaos; but in man there is also creator, constructor, hammer-hardness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span> -divinity-of-the-beholder, and the seventh day.... -That which for this one must be formed, broken, forged, -torn, burnt, made red-hot, purified.’ ‘It would sound more -courteous if ... an unrestrained honesty were related, -whispered, and praised (<i>nachsagte</i>, <i>nachraunte</i>, <i>nachrühmte</i>) of -us.’ ‘Spit upon the town ... where swarms all that is -rotten, tainted, lustful, gloomy, worm-eaten, ulcerous, seditious.’ -‘We forebode that it is ever growing downwards into the -more attenuated, more debonnaire, more artful, more easy-going, -more mediocre, more indifferent, more Chinese, more -Christian.’ ‘All these pallid Atheists, Anti-Christians, Immoralists, -Nihilists, Sceptics, Ephectics, Hectics of the mind,’ -etc.</p> - -<p>From these examples, the attentive reader must have already -remarked that the tumultuous rush of words frequently results -from the merest resemblance in sound. Not seldom does the -riot of words degenerate into paltry quibbling, into the silliest -pun, into the automatic association of words according to their -sound, without regard to their meaning. ‘If this turn (<i>Wende</i>) -in all the need (<i>Noth</i>) is called necessity (<i>Nothwendigkeit</i>).’ -‘Thus ye boast (<i>brüstet</i>) of yourselves—alas! even without -breasts (<i>Brüste</i>).’ ‘There is much pious lick-spittle-work -(<i>Speichel-Leckerie</i>), baking-of-flattery (<i>Schmeichel-Bäckerei</i>) -before the Lord of Hosts.’ ‘Spit upon the great town, which -is the great slum (<i>Abraum</i>), where all the scum (<i>Abschaum</i>) -froths together (<i>zusammanschäumt</i>).’ ‘Here and there there is -nothing to better (<i>bessern</i>), nothing to worsen (<i>bösern</i>).’ ‘What -have they to do there, far-seeing (weitsichtige), far-seeking -(<i>weit-süchtige</i>) eyes?’ ‘In such processions (<i>Zügen</i>) goats -(<i>Ziegen</i>) and geese, and the strong-headed and the wrong-headed -(<i>Kreuz und Querköpfe</i>), were always running on before.... -O, Will, turn of all need (<i>Wende aller Noth</i>)! O thou my -necessity (<i>Nothwendigkeit</i>)!’ ‘Thus I look afar over the creeping -and swarming of little gray waves (<i>Wellen</i>) and wills -(<i>Willen</i>).’ ‘This seeking (<i>Suchen</i>) for my home was the visitation -(<i>Heimsuchung</i>) of me.’ ‘Did not the world become perfect, -round and ripe (<i>reif</i>)? O for the golden round ring (<i>Reif</i>)!’ -‘Yawns (<i>Klafft</i>) the abyss here too? Yelps (<i>Kläfft</i>) the dog of -hell here too?’ ‘It stultifies, brutalizes (<i>verthiert</i>), and transforms -into a bull (<i>verstiert</i>).’ ‘Life is at least (<i>mindestens</i>), at -the mildest (<i>mildestens</i>), an exploiting.’ ‘Whom I deemed -transformed akin to myself (<i>verwandt-verwandelt</i>),’ etc.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche, in the wild hurry of his thought, many a time -fails to comprehend the scintillating word-images elaborated in -his centres of speech; his consciousness, as it were, hears -wrongly, misses its aim in interpreting, and invents wondrous -neologisms, which sound like known expressions, but have no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span> -sort of fellowship in meaning with these. He speaks, for -example, of <i>Hinterweltlern</i> (inhabitants of remote worlds) from -<i>Hinterwäldlern</i> (backwoodsmen), of a <i>Kesselbauche</i> (kettle’s -belly) when he is thinking of <i>Kesselpauche</i> (kettledrum), etc.; -or he even repeats, as his centres of speech prompt, wholly -incomprehensible, meaningless sounds. ‘Then I went to the -door: Alpa! I cried, who is carrying his ashes to the mountain? -Alpa! Alpa! who is carrying his ashes to the mountain?’</p> - -<p>He frequently associates his ideas, not according to the -sound of the word, but according to the similarity or habitual -contiguity of the concepts; then there arise ‘analogous’ intellection -and the fugitive ideation, in which, to use Griesinger’s -expression, he ‘rambles incoherently from one topic to -another.’ Speaking of the ‘ascetic ideal,’ <i>e.g.</i>, he elaborates -the idea that strong and noble spirits take refuge in the desert, -and, without any connection, adds: ‘Of course, too, they -would not want for camels there.’ The representation of the -desert has irresistibly drawn after it the representation of -camels, habitually associated with it. At another time he -says: ‘Beasts of prey and men of prey, <i>e.g.</i>, Cæsar Borgia, -are radically misunderstood; Nature is misunderstood so long -as a fundamental diseased condition is sought for in these -healthiest of all tropical monsters and growths. It seems that -there is among moralists a hatred against the primeval forest -and against the tropics, and that the tropical man must, at any -price, be discredited. But why? For the benefit of the -temperate zone? For the benefit of the temperate (moderate) -men? Of the mediocre?’ In this case the contemplation of -Cæsar Borgia forces upon him the comparison with a beast of -prey; this makes him think of the tropics, the torrid zone; -from the torrid zone he comes to the temperate zone, from -this to the ‘temperate’ man, and, through the similarity of -sound, to the ‘mediocre’ man (in German, <i>gemässigt</i> and -<i>mittelmässig</i>).</p> - -<p>‘In truth nothing remains of the world but green twilight -and green lightnings. Do as it pleases ye, ye wantons ... -shake your emeralds down into the deepest depth.’ The -quite incomprehensible ‘emeralds’ are called up into consciousness -by the representation of the ‘green’ twilight and -lightnings.</p> - -<p>In this and hundreds of other cases the course of ideation -can, to a certain extent, be followed, because all the links in -the chain of association are preserved. It often happens, -however, that some of these links are suppressed, and then -there occur leaps of thought, incomprehensible, and, consequently, -bewildering to the reader: ‘It was the body who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_464" id="Page_464">[464]</a></span> -despaired of the earth, who heard the belly of being speaking -to itself.’ ‘More honestly and more purely speaks the healthy -body, the perfect and rectangular.’ ‘I am polite towards -them as towards all petty vexation; to be prickly against pettiness -seems to me wisdom for hedgehogs.’ ‘Deep yellow and -hot red; so would my taste have it. This one mixes blood in -all colours. He who whitewashes his house betrays to me -his whitewashed soul.’ ‘We placed our seat in the midst—so -their smirking tells me—and as far from dying gladiators as -from contented pigs. But this is mediocrity.’ ‘Our Europe -of to-day is ... sceptic ... at one time with that mobile -scepticism which leaps impatiently and wantonly from branch -to branch, at another gloomy as a cloud overladen with notes -of interrogation.’ ‘Let us grant that he [the ‘courageous -thinker’] has long enough hardened and pricked up his eye -for himself.’ (Here the representation of ‘ear’ and ‘pricked-up -ears’ has evidently crossed with confusing effect the associated -idea of ‘eye.’) ‘It is already too much for me to keep -my opinions to myself, and many a bird flies away. And sometimes -I find flown into my dovecot an animal that is strange -to me, and that trembles when I lay my hand on it.’ ‘What -matters my justice? I do not see that I should be fire and -coal.’ ‘They learned from the sea its vanity, too; is the sea -not the peacock of peacocks?’ ‘How many things now go by -the name of the greatest wickedness, which are only twelve -feet wide and three months long! But greater dragons will -one day come into the world.’ ‘And if all ladders now fail -thee, then must thou understand how to mount on thine own -head; how wouldst thou mount otherwise?’ ‘Here I sit, -sniffing the best air, the very air of Paradise, luminous, light -air, rayed with gold; as good an air as ever yet fell from the -moon.’ ‘Ha! up dignity! Virtue’s dignity! European -dignity! Blow, blow again, bellows of virtue! Ha! roar once -more, morally roar! As a moral lion roar before the daughters -of the desert! For virtue’s howl, ye dearest maidens, is more -than all European fervour, European voraciousness! And here -am I, already a European; I cannot otherwise, God help me! -Amen! The desert grows, woe to him who hides deserts!’</p> - -<p>The last passage is an example of complete fugitive ideation. -Nietzsche often loses the clue, no longer knows what he is -driving at, and finishes a sentence which began as if to -develop into an argument, with a sudden stray jest. ‘Why -should the world, which somewhat concerns us, not be a -fiction? And to him who objects: “But a fiction must have -an author,” could not the reply be roundly given: Why? -Does not this “must” perhaps belong also to the fiction? Is -it not permissible to be at last a little ironical towards the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_465" id="Page_465">[465]</a></span> -subject as well as towards the predicate and object? Ought -not the philosopher to rise above a belief in grammar? With -all respect for governesses [!], is it not time that philosophy -should renounce its faith in governesses?’ ‘“One is always too -many about me,” so thinks the hermit. One times one to -infinity at last makes two!’ ‘What, then, do they call that -which makes them proud? They name it culture; it distinguishes -them from the goat-herds.’</p> - -<p>Finally, the connection of the associated representations -suddenly snaps, and he breaks off in the midst of a sentence -to begin a new one: ‘For in religion the passions have once -more rights of citizenship, provided that.’ ‘The psychologists -of France ... have not yet enjoyed to the full their bitter -and manifold pleasure in <i>la bêtise bourgeoise</i>, in a manner as if—enough; -they betray something thereby.’ ‘There have been -philosophers who knew how to lend yet another seductive ... -expression to this admiration of the people ... instead of -adducing the naked and thoroughly obvious truth, that disinterested -conduct is very interesting and interested conduct, -provided that—— And love?’</p> - -<p>This is the form of Nietzsche’s intellection, sufficiently explaining -why he has never set down three coherent pages, but -only more or less short ‘aphorisms.’</p> - -<p>The content of this incoherent fugitive ideation is formed by -a small number of insane ideas, continually repeating themselves -with exasperating monotony. We have already become -acquainted with Nietzsche’s intellectual Sadism, and his mania -of contradiction and doubt, or mania for questioning. In -addition to these he evinces misanthropy, or anthropophobia, -megalomania, and mysticism.</p> - -<p>His anthropophobia expresses itself in numberless passages: -‘Knowledge is no longer sufficiently loved as soon as it is communicated.’ -‘Every community leads somehow, somewhen, -somewhere—to vulgarity.’ ‘There are still many void places -for the lonesome and twosome [!] around which wafts the -odour of tranquil seas.’ ‘Flee, my friend, into thy lonesomeness!’ -‘And many a one who turned away from life, only -turned away from the rabble ... and many a one who went -into the desert and suffered thirst with the beasts of prey, only -wished not to sit with filthy camel-drivers about the tank.’</p> - -<p>His megalomania appears only exceptionally as monstrous -self-conceit; but it is, nevertheless, clearly conceivable; as a -rule it displays a strong and even predominant union of -mysticism and supernaturalism. It is pure self-conceit when -he says: ‘In that which concerns my “Zarathustra,” I accept -no one as a connoisseur whom each of his words has not at -some time deeply wounded and deeply enraptured; only then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_466" id="Page_466">[466]</a></span> -can he enjoy the privilege of reverentially participating in the -halcyon element out of which every work is born, in its sunny -brightness, distance, breadth, and certainty.’ Or when, after -having criticised and belittled Bismarck, he cries, with transparent -allusion to himself: ‘But I, in my happiness and my -“beyond,” pondered how soon the stronger becomes master of -the strong.’ On the other hand, the hidden, mystic, primary -idea of his megalomania already distinctly comes out in this -passage: ‘But at some given time ... must he nevertheless -come, the redeeming man of great love and contempt, -the creative spirit who his impulsive strength is ever driving -away out of all that is apart and beyond, whose loneliness is -misunderstood by the people as if it were flight from reality. -It is only his immersion, interment, absorption [three synonyms -for one concept!] into reality, in order that at some time -if he again comes into the light, he may bring home the -redemption of this reality.’</p> - -<p>The nature of his megalomania is betrayed by the expressions -‘redeeming man’ and ‘redemption.’ He imagines himself a -new Saviour, and plagiarizes the Gospel in form and substance. -<i>Also Sprach Zarathustra</i> is a complete stereotype of the sacred -writings of Oriental nations. The book aims at an external -resemblance to the Bible and Koran. It is divided into chapters -and verses; the language is the archaic and prophetic -language of the books of Revelation (‘And Zarathustra looked -at the people, and was astonished. Then he spake and said -thus:’); there frequently appear long enumerations and sermons -like litanies (‘I love those who do not seek a reason only -behind the stars ...; I love him who lives to know ...; I -love him who labours and invents ...; I love him who loves -his virtue ...; I love him who withholds for himself not one -drop of mind,’ etc.), and individual paragraphs point <i>verbatim</i> -to analogous portions of the Gospel, <i>e.g.</i>: ‘When Zarathustra -had taken leave of the city ... there followed him many who -called themselves his disciples and bore him company. Thus -they came to a cross-road; then said Zarathustra unto -them, that thenceforth he would go alone.’ ‘And the -happiness of the spirit is this: to be anointed by tears and -consecrated as a beast of sacrifice.’ ‘Verily, said he to his -disciples, yet a little and there comes this long twilight. Ah! -how shall I save my light?’ ‘In this manner did Zarathustra -go about, sore at heart, and for three days took no food or -drink.... At length it came to pass that he fell into a deep -sleep. And his disciples sat around him in long night-watches,’ -etc. Many of the chapters have most expressive titles: ‘On -Self-Conquest;’ ‘On Immaculate Knowledge;’ ‘On Great -Events;’ ‘On the Redemption;’ ‘On the Mount of Olives;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_467" id="Page_467">[467]</a></span>’ -‘On Apostates;’ ‘The Cry of Sore Need;’ ‘The Last Supper;’ -‘The Awakening,’ etc. Sometimes, it is true, it befalls -him to say, atheistically: ‘If there were gods, how could I -endure to be no god? <i>Hence</i>’ (italics his) ‘there are no gods;’ -but such passages vanish among the countless ones in which -he refers to himself as a god. ‘Thou hast the power and thou -wilt not reign.’ ‘He who is of my nature escapes not such an -hour—the hour which says to him: Only now art thou going -the way of thy greatness.... Thou art entering on the way -of thy greatness; that which has hitherto been thy last danger -has now become thy last resource. Thou art entering on the -way of thy greatness; now must thy best courage be, that -there is no longer any way behind thee. Thou art going on -the way of thy greatness; here shall no one slink behind -thee,’ etc.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche’s mysticism and megalomania manifest themselves -not only in his somewhat more coherent thought, but -also in his general mode of expression. The mystic numbers, -three and seven, frequently appear. He sees the external -world, as he does himself—vast, distant, deep; and the -words expressing these concepts are repeated on every page, -almost in every line: ‘The discipline of suffering, of great -suffering....’ ‘The South is a great school of healing.’ -‘These last great searchers....’ ‘With the signs of great -destiny.’ ‘Where together with great compassion he has -learnt great contempt—to learn, at their side, great reverence.’ -‘Guilt is all great existence.’ ‘That I may celebrate the great -noon with you.’ ‘Thus speaks all great love.’ ‘Not from you -is great weariness to come to me.’ ‘Men who are nothing but -a great eye, or a great mouth, or a great belly, or something -great....’ ‘To love with great love, to love with great -contempt.’ ‘But thou, O depth, thou sufferest too deeply.’ -‘Immovable is my depth, but it gleams with floating enigmas -and laughters.’ (It is to be observed how, in this sentence, all -the obsessions of the maniac crowd together—depth, brilliancy, -mania of doubt, hilarious excitation.) ‘All depth shall ascend -to my height.’ ‘They do not think enough into the deep,’ etc. -With the idea of depth is connected that of abyss, which recurs -with equal constancy. The words ‘abyss’ and ‘abysmal’ are -among the most frequent in Nietzsche’s writings. His words -which have the prefix ‘over’ are associated with his motor -images, especially those of flying and hovering: ‘Over-moral -sense’; ‘over-European music’; ‘climbing monkeys and -over-heated’; ‘from the species to the over-species’; ‘the -over-hero’; ‘the over-human’; ‘the over-dragon’; ‘the -over-urgent’ and ‘over-compassionate,’ etc.</p> - -<p>As is general in frenzied madness, Nietzsche is conscious of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_468" id="Page_468">[468]</a></span> -his diseased interior processes, and in countless places alludes -to the furiously rapid outflow of his ideation and to his insanity: -‘That true philosophic reunion of a bold, unrestrained -mentality, running <i>presto</i>.... They regard thought as something -slow, hesitant, almost a toil; not at all as something -light, divine, and nearest of kin to the dance, to exuberance.’ -‘The bold, light, tender march and flight of his thought.’ -‘We think too rapidly.... It is as if we carried about in -our head an incessantly rolling machine.’ ‘It is in impatient -spirits that there breaks out a veritable pleasure in insanity, -because insanity has so joyous a <i>tempo</i>.’ ‘All talking runs too -slowly for me; I leap into thy chariot, Storm!... Like a -cry and a huzza would I glide away over vast seas.’ ‘Eruptive -insanity forever hovers above humanity as its greatest danger.’ -(He is, of course, thinking of himself when speaking of -‘humanity.’) ‘In these days it sometimes happens that a -gentle, temperate, self-contained man becomes suddenly -frenzied, breaks plates, upsets the table, shrieks, rages, offends -everyone, and finally retires in shame and anger against himself.’ -(Most decidedly ‘that sometimes happens,’ not only ‘in -these days,’ but in all times; but among maniacs only.) -‘Where is the insanity with which ye were forced to be -inoculated? Behold, I teach you the over-man, who is ... -this insanity.’ ‘All things are worth the same; each is alike. -He who feels otherwise goes voluntarily [?] into a madhouse.’ -‘I put this exuberance and this foolishness in the place of that -will, as I taught; in all one thing is impossible—reasonableness.’ -‘My hand is a fool’s hand; woe to all tables and walls, -and wherever there is yet room for the embellishments of fools—scribbling -of fools!’ (In the original there is here a play on -the words <i>Zierrath</i>, <i>Schmierrath</i>.)<a name="FNanchor_426_426" id="FNanchor_426_426"></a><a href="#Footnote_426_426" class="fnanchor">[426]</a> He also, in the manner of -maniacs, excuses his mental disease: ‘Finally, there would -remain open the great question whether we could dispense with -disease even for the development of our virtue, and especially -if our thirst for knowledge and self-knowledge needed the -sick soul as much as the healthy soul.’</p> - -<p>Finally, he is not even wanting in the maniacal idea of his -‘primæval health.’ His soul is ‘always clearer and always -healthier’; ‘we Argonauts of the ideal’ are ‘healthier than -one would fain allow us to be—dangerously healthy, more and -more healthy,’ etc.</p> - -<p>The foregoing is a necessarily condensed summary of the -special colour, form, and content of Nietzsche’s thought, -originating in illusions of sense; and this unhappy lunatic has -been earnestly treated as a ‘philosopher,’ and his drivel put -forward as a ‘system’—this man whose scribbling is one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_469" id="Page_469">[469]</a></span> -single long divagation, in whose writings madness shrieks out -from every line! Dr. Kirchner, a philosopher by profession, -and the author of numerous philosophical writings, in a newspaper -article on Nietzsche’s book, <i>Der Fall Wagner</i>, lays great -stress on the fact that ‘it superabounds, as it were, in intellectual -health.’ Ordinary university professors—such as -G. Adler, in Freiburg, and others—extol Nietzsche as a ‘bold -and original thinker,’ and with solemn seriousness take up a -position in respect of his ‘philosophy’—some with avowed -enthusiasm, and some with carefully considered reservations! -In the face of such incurably deep mental obtuseness, it cannot -excite wonder if the clear-thinking and healthy portion of the -young spirits of the present generation should, with hasty -generalization, extend to philosophy itself the contempt -deserved by its officially-appointed teachers. These teachers -undertake to introduce their students into mental philosophy, -and are yet without the capacity to distinguish from rational -thought the incoherent fugitive ideation of a maniac.</p> - -<p>Dr. Hermann Türck<a name="FNanchor_427_427" id="FNanchor_427_427"></a><a href="#Footnote_427_427" class="fnanchor">[427]</a> characterizes in excellent words the -disciples of Nietzsche: ‘This piece of wisdom [‘nothing is -true; all is permissible’] in the mouth of a morally insane -man of letters has ... found ready response among persons -who, in consequence of a moral defect, feel themselves to be -in contradiction to the demands of society. This aforesaid intellectual -proletariat of large towns is especially jubilant over the -new magnificent discovery that all morality and all truth are -completely superfluous and pernicious to the development of the -individual. It is true that these persons have always in secret -said to themselves, “Nothing is true—all is permissible,” and -have also, as far as possible, acted accordingly. But now they -can avow it openly, and with pride; for Friedrich Nietzsche, -the new prophet, has vaunted this maxim as the most exalted -truth of life.... It is not society which is right in its estimation -of morality, science, and true art. Oh dear no! The -individuals who follow their egoistical personal aims only—who -act only as if truth were of consequence to them—they, the -counterfeiters of truth, those unscrupulous penny-a-liners, -lying critics, literary thieves, and manufacturers of pseudo-realistic -brummagem—they are the true heroes, the masters of -the situation, the truly free spirits.’</p> - -<p>That is the truth, but not the whole truth. Without doubt, -the real Nietzsche gang consists of born imbecile criminals, -and of simpletons drunk with sonorous words. But besides -these gallows birds without the courage and strength for -criminal actions, and the imbeciles who allow themselves to be -stupefied and, as it were, hypnotized by the roar and rush of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_470" id="Page_470">[470]</a></span> -fustian, the banner of the insane babbler is followed by others, -who must be judged otherwise and in part more gently. In -fact, Nietzsche’s ranting includes some ideas which, in part, -respond to a widespread notion of the age, and in part are -capable of awakening the deception that, in spite of all the -exaggeration and insane distortion of exposition, they contain -a germ of truth and right; and these ideas explain why many -persons agree with them who can hardly be reproached with -lack of clearness and critical capacity.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche’s fundamental idea of utter disregard and brutal -contempt for all the rights of others standing in the way of -an egoistical desire, must please the generation reared under -the Bismarckian system. Prince Bismarck is a monstrous -personality, raging over a country like a tornado in the torrid -zone; it crushes all in its devastating course, and leaves behind -as traces, a widespread annihilation of character, destruction -of notions of right, and demolition of morality. In political -life the system of Bismarck is a sort of Jesuitism in cuirass. -‘The end sanctifies the means,’ and the means are not (as with -the supple sons of Loyola) cunning, obstinacy, secret trickery, -but open brutality, violence, the blow with the fist, and the -stroke with the sword. The end which sanctifies the means -of the Jesuit in cuirass may sometimes be of general utility; -but it will quite as often, and oftener, be an egoistical one. -In its author this system of the most primitive barbarism had -ever a certain grandeur, for it had its origin in a powerful will, -which with heroic boldness always placed itself at stake, and -entered into every fight with the savage determination to -‘conquer or die.’ In its imitators, on the contrary, it has got -stunted to ‘swaggering’ or ‘bullying,’ <i>i.e.</i>, to that most abject -and contemptible cowardice which crawls on its belly before -the strong, but maltreats with the most extreme insolence the -completely unarmed, the unconditionally harmless and weak, -from whom no resistance and no danger are in any way to be -apprehended. The ‘bullies’ gratefully recognise themselves -in Nietzsche’s ‘over-man,’ and Nietzsche’s so-called ‘philosophy’ -is in reality the philosophy of ‘bullying.’ His doctrine -shows how Bismarck’s system is mirrored in the brain of a -maniac. Nietzsche could not have come to the front and -succeeded in any but the Bismarckian and post-Bismarckian -era. He would, doubtless, have been delirious at whatever -period he might have lived; but his insanity would not have -assumed the special colour and tendency now perceptible in -it. It is true that sometimes Nietzsche vexes himself over -the fact that ‘the type of the new Germany most rich in -success in all that has depth ... fails in “swagger,”’ and he -then proclaims: ‘It were well for us not to exchange too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_471" id="Page_471">[471]</a></span> -cheaply our ancient renown as a people of depth for Prussian -“swagger,” and the wit and sand of Berlin.’<a name="FNanchor_428_428" id="FNanchor_428_428"></a><a href="#Footnote_428_428" class="fnanchor">[428]</a> But in other -places he betrays what really displeases him in the ‘swagger,’ -at which he directs his philosophical verse; it makes too -much ado about the officer. ‘The moment he [the ‘Prussian -officer’] speaks and moves, he is the most forward and tasteless -figure in old Europe—unknown to himself.... And -unknown also to the good Germans, who wonder at him as -a man of the highest and most distinguished society, and -willingly take their tone from him.’<a name="FNanchor_429_429" id="FNanchor_429_429"></a><a href="#Footnote_429_429" class="fnanchor">[429]</a> Nietzsche cannot consent -to that—Nietzsche, who apprehends that there can be -no God, as in that case he himself must be this God. He -cannot suffer the ‘good German’ to place the officer above -him. But apart from this inconvenience, which is involved in -the system of ‘swagger,’ he finds everything in it good and -beautiful, and lauds it as ‘intrepidity of glance, courage and -hardness of the cutting hand, an inflexible will for dangerous -voyages of discovery, for spiritualized North-Polar expeditions -under desolate and dangerous skies,’<a name="FNanchor_430_430" id="FNanchor_430_430"></a><a href="#Footnote_430_430" class="fnanchor">[430]</a> and prophesies exultingly -that for Europe there will soon begin an era of brass, an era -of war, soldiers, arms, violence. Hence it is natural that -‘swaggerers’ should hail him as their very own peculiar -philosopher.</p> - -<p>Besides anarchists, born with incapacity for adaptation, his -‘individualism,’ <i>i.e.</i>, his insane ego-mania, for which the external -world is non-existent, was bound to attract those who instinctively -feel that at the present day the State encroaches -too deeply and too violently on the rights of the individual, -and, in addition to the necessary sacrifices of strength and -time, exacts from him such as he cannot undergo without -destructive loss of self-esteem, viz., the sacrifice of judgment, -knowledge, conviction, and human dignity. These thirsters -for freedom believe that they have found in Nietzsche the -spokesman of their healthy revolt against the State, as the -oppressor of independent spirits, and as the crusher of strong -characters. They commit the same error which I have already -pointed out in the sincere adherents of the Decadents and of -Ibsen; they do not see that Nietzsche confounds the conscious -with the subconscious man; that the individual, for whom -he demands perfect freedom, is the man, not of knowledge and -judgment, but of blind craving, requiring the satisfaction of his -lascivious instincts at any price; that he is not the moral, but -the sensual, man.</p> - -<p>Finally, his consequential airs have also increased the number<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_472" id="Page_472">[472]</a></span> -of his followers. Many of those marching in his train reject -his moral doctrine, but wax enthusiastic over such expressions -as these: ‘It might some time happen that the masses should -become masters.... Therefore, O my brothers, there is need -of a new nobility, the adversary of all plebeians and all violent -domination, and who inscribes anew on a new tablet the word -“Nobility.”’<a name="FNanchor_431_431" id="FNanchor_431_431"></a><a href="#Footnote_431_431" class="fnanchor">[431]</a></p> - -<p>There is at the present time a widespread conviction that -the enthusiasm for equality was a grievous error of the great -Revolution. A doctrine opposed to all natural laws is justly -resisted. Humanity has need of a hierarchy. It must have -leaders and models. It cannot do without an aristocracy. -But the nobleman to whom the human herd may concede the -most elevated place will certainly not be Nietzsche’s ‘over-man,’ -the ego-maniac, the criminal, the robber, the slave of -his maddened instincts, but the man of richer knowledge, -higher intelligence, clearer judgment, and firmer self-discipline. -The existence of humanity is a combat, which it cannot carry -on without captains. As long as the combat is of men against -men, the herd requires a herdsman of strong muscles and ready -blow. In a more perfect state, in which all humanity fights -collectively against Nature only, it chooses as its chief the man -of richest brain, most disciplined will and concentrated attention. -This man is the best observer, but he is also one who -feels most acutely and rapidly, who can most vividly picture -to himself the condition of the external world, hence the man -of the liveliest sympathy and most comprehensive interest. -The ‘over-man’ of the healthy development of the species is -a Paraclete of knowledge and unselfish love, not a bloodthirsty -‘splendid beast of prey.’ This is not borne in mind by those -who believe that in Nietzsche’s aristocratism they have found -a clear expression of their own obscure views as to the need -of noble natures of light and leading.</p> - -<p>Nietzsche’s false individualism and aristocratism is capable -of misleading superficial readers. Their error may be accounted -a mitigating circumstance. But even taking this into consideration, -it still ever remains a disgrace to the German intellectual -life of the present age, that in Germany a pronounced -maniac should have been regarded as a philosopher, and have -founded a school.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_473" id="Page_473">[473]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc2 large"><a name="c473" id="c473">BOOK IV.</a></p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>REALISM.</i></p> - -<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="pch">ZOLA AND HIS SCHOOL.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">It</span> was necessary to treat in detail the two forms of degeneracy -in literature and art hitherto examined, <i>i.e.</i>, mysticism and ego-mania, -inasmuch as their career of development seems to be -still in the ascendant, and they are actively at work in making -themselves masters of the æsthetic conscience of our times. -Concerning the third form, realism or naturalism, I can afford -to be much briefer, for two reasons: one having to do with my -subject, the other with myself. The former reason is that, in -the land of its origin, naturalism is already wholly vanquished, -and we do not kill a corpse—we bury it. The personal reason -is that I have already devoted myself elsewhere to the thorough -examination of naturalism.<a name="FNanchor_432_432" id="FNanchor_432_432"></a><a href="#Footnote_432_432" class="fnanchor">[432]</a> The conclusions I there came to -I continue to maintain, as regards the appreciation of its -tendency, and I should only wish to limit them by a strong -reservation, in so far as they greatly over-estimate M. Zola’s -abilities.</p> - -<p>That naturalism in France is done with is admitted by all -the world, and is really only disputed by Zola himself. ‘There -is no doubt whatever as to the tendencies of the new generation -of literary men,’ says M. Rémy de Gourmont; ‘they are -rigorously anti-naturalist. There has been no question of -forming a party or issuing orders; no crusade was organized; -it is individually that we have separated ourselves, horror-stricken, -from a literature the baseness of which made us sick. -Perhaps there is even less disgust than indifference. I remember, -when M. Zola’s last novel but one came out, that, -among the eight or ten collaborators of the <i>Mercure de France</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_474" id="Page_474">[474]</a></span> -(a Symbolist journal), it was impossible for us to find anyone -who had read through <i>La Bête humaine</i>, or anyone who would -have consented to read it with sufficient care to review it. -This species of book, and the method which dictates it, -appears to us quite antiquated with the flavour of bygone years; -more remote and more superannuated than the most truculent -follies of romanticism.’<a name="FNanchor_433_433" id="FNanchor_433_433"></a><a href="#Footnote_433_433" class="fnanchor">[433]</a></p> - -<p>Among the disciples of Zola, among those who collaborated -in the <i>Soirées de Médan</i>, as among those who followed him -later, there is scarcely one who has remained faithful to his -tendency. Guy de Maupassant, before he was placed in the -lunatic asylum where he died, ended by turning more and -more towards the psychological novel. Joris Karl Huysmans, -whom we have studied above in his new skin as a -Diabolist and Decadent, cannot find words bitter enough for -naturalism. J. H. Rosny writes novels now in which the -scene is laid in the Stone Age, and the subject of which is the -abduction of a brawny brachycephalous pre-Aryan woman by a -tall, white-skinned, dolichocephalous Aryan man.<a name="FNanchor_434_434" id="FNanchor_434_434"></a><a href="#Footnote_434_434" class="fnanchor">[434]</a> When -Zola’s <i>La Terre</i> appeared, five of his disciples—Paul Bonnetain, -J. H. Rosny, just mentioned, Lucien Descaves, Paul Margueritte, -and Gustave Guiches—deemed it necessary to protest, -in a public manifesto, and with a solemnity somewhat -comical, against the obscenities of this novel, and to disavow -their master in proper and befitting form. If the novels of -M. Zola himself still continue to find a very good and steady -market, as he declares with pride, this in no way proves that -his tendency is still popular. The masses persist in habits, -once adopted, much longer than the leaders and creators -do. If the former continue to follow M. Zola as before, the -latter have already wholly left him. The success of his last -novels is explained, moreover, on quite other than artistic -grounds. His <i>flair</i> for what is occupying public opinion is, -perhaps, the most essential part of his talent. He chooses -from the outset subjects in favour of which he is assured of the -positive interest of a numerous public, no matter how they -may be treated. With books which relate, in the form of a -novel, the story of the financial crisis of 1882, or the war of -1870, as <i>L’Argent</i> and <i>La Débâcle</i>, every known French author is -sure to awaken in his own country a passionate interest even -to this day. And M. Zola could equally count on a numerous -connection of lovers of the obscene and nasty. This public -remains faithful to him, and finds in him all it seeks. But it is -a long time since he acquired any new adherents in his own -country, and abroad he only obtains them among people who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_475" id="Page_475">[475]</a></span> -anxiously follow every fashion, whether it be in neckties or -books, but who are too ignorant to know as yet that M. Zola, -in France itself, has long since ceased to be the last fashion.</p> - -<p>In the opinion of his disciples, M. Zola is the inventor of -realism in literature. This is a pretension which only young -fellows, who are ignorant beyond all conception, could raise, -and for whom the history of the world only begins at the -moment when they have deigned to recognise it.</p> - -<p>First of all, the word ‘realism’ itself has no æsthetic significance. -In philosophy it denotes an opinion for which the -general phenomenon of the world is the expression of a -material reality. Applied to art and literature, it possesses no -conception whatever. This I have explicitly demonstrated in -another place (<i>Paris unter der dritten Republik</i>), and will confine -myself here to going very briefly over the argument.</p> - -<p>Those ale-house æsthetics, who distinguish between realism -and idealism, explain the former as the effort of the artist to -observe things and to reproduce them with truth. But this -attempt is common to every author, whoever he may be. No -one of deliberate purpose wanders from the truth in his -creations; and even if he wished to do so, he could not, as this -would contradict all the laws of human thought. Every one -of our presentations, in fact, is based on an observation once -made by us, and even when we invent <i>ad libitum</i>, we only work -with the memory-images recollected from previous observations. -If, in spite of this, one work gives a greater impression -of truth than another, it is a question, not of this or that -æsthetic tendency, but exclusively of the degree of talent. A -true poet is always true; an incapable imitator can never be so. -The first is true even when he disdains always to adhere closely -to reality in details; the latter is not so even when he clings, -with punctilious attention, and with the method of a land-surveyor, -to little external details.</p> - -<p>If one bear in mind the psychological conditions in which -a work of art comes into existence, all the rhodomontade of -so-called ‘realism’ is immediately recognised. The origin of -every veritable work of art is an emotion. This is aroused -either by a vital process in the internal organs of the artist, or -by a sense-impression which he receives from the external -world. In both cases the artist feels the necessity of giving -expression to his emotion in a work of art. If this emotion is -of organic origin, he will choose from among his memory-images, -or his sense-impressions of the moment, those which -are in harmony with his emotion, and will compose with them. -If its origin is external, he will employ in his composition -mainly phenomena of the external world, sensuous experiences -which have evoked in him the emotion demanding objective<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_476" id="Page_476">[476]</a></span> -shape, and he will combine with this, similar memory-images -in accordance with the laws of association. As may be seen, -the process in the two cases is absolutely the same: the artist, -under the control of an emotion, welds direct sense-perceptions -and memory-images into a work of art which brings -him relief; only, sometimes the former, sometimes the latter, -are predominant, according to whether the emotion has its -origin in sense-perceptions or in organic processes. Speaking -roughly, the works which result from an emotion aroused by -the phenomena of the world may well be called realistic, and -those expressing an organic emotion idealistic. These denominations, -however, have not any really distinctive value. -Among thoroughly sane individuals the emotions originate -almost solely from impressions of the external world; among -those whose nervous life is more or less diseased, namely, -among hysterical, neurasthenic, and degenerate subjects, and -every kind of lunatic, they originate much more frequently in -internal organic processes. Sane artists will produce works, -as a rule, in which perception will predominate; artists unhealthily -emotional will produce works in which the play of -association of ideas predominates—in other words, imagination -working principally on memory-images. And if a false designation -is absolutely adhered to, it might be said that the first, as a -general rule, will produce works which are so-called realistic, and -the second, works so-called idealistic. In no case is the work -of art a faithful image of material reality; its genesis excludes -this possibility. It is always the incarnation of a subjective -emotion only. To desire to know the world by means of a -work of art is a false proceeding; but the whole essence of a -personality reveals itself in it to him who knows how to read. -The work of art is never a document in the sense attached by -naturalistic cant to this word, <i>i.e.</i>, a reliable objective presentation -of external facts; but it is always a confession of the -author; it betrays, consciously or unconsciously, his way of -feeling and thinking; it lays bare his emotions, and shows -what ideas fill his consciousness, and are at the disposal of the -emotion which strives for expression. It is not a mirror of the -world, but a reflection of the soul of the artist.</p> - -<p>It might be thought, perhaps, that at least the mainly -imitative arts, painting and sculpture, are capable of a faithful -reproduction of reality, and thus are realisms properly so -called. Even this is an error. It would never occur to a -painter or a sculptor to place himself before a phenomenon, -and reproduce it without selection, without accentuations and -suppressions. And why does he do this? If he imitates an -aspect, it is evidently because something in that aspect captivates -or pleases him—a harmony of colours, an effect of light,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_477" id="Page_477">[477]</a></span> -a line of motion. Involuntarily he will accentuate and throw -into relief the feature which has inspired him with the desire -to imitate the aspect in question, and his work, consequently, -will no more represent the phenomenon such as it really was, -but as he saw it; it will only be a fresh proof, therefore, of his -emotion, not the cast of a phenomenon. To work absolutely -in the method of a camera obscura and a sensitive plate would -be only possible to a very obtuse handicraftsman, who, in the -presence of the visible world, had no feeling for anything, no -pleasure, no disgust, no aspirations of any kind. However, it -is not at all probable that so atrophied a being will ever have -had the inclination to become an artist, and could acquire, -even in a moderate degree, the technical skill necessary for -such a profession.</p> - -<p>And if literal realism, the positive actual imitation of the -phenomenon, be interdicted even in the plastic arts by their -intrinsic nature, with how much greater reason is it forbidden to -imaginative writing! The painter can, after all, if he wishes to -debase himself and his art to the lowest degree, reduce the co-operation -of his personality in a work of art (or, to be more -exact, to the <i>work</i>, for then there can be no question of art) to an -extremely feeble, a scarcely perceptible point; he can reduce -himself to the condition of a mere camera obscura, transmit -his visual impressions in the most mechanical manner possible -to his motor organs, and compel himself to think and feel -nothing during the progress of the work. His picture is furnished -for him by Nature itself: it is his optical horizon. If, -then, he wishes to exercise no choice, to express nothing of his -own, not even to compose, still there remains the possibility of -copying the phenomena which are enclosed within the limits -of his field of vision. His so-called picture is then no more -than an expressionless fragment of the world, in which the -artist’s personality is only represented by the frame which -encloses it, not because the phenomena of Nature really terminates -at that point, but because the eye of the painter only -embraces that portion, and no more; nevertheless, it is a picture -in a technical sense, <i>i.e.</i>, a picture that can be hung upon the wall -and looked at. The imaginative writer (dichter), on the contrary, -does not find his work ready in this way. It is not provided -for him by Nature itself. His subjects are not developed in space, -but in time. They are not arranged by the side of one another in -such a way that the eye perceives them and can retain all it sees; -but they succeed each other, and the imaginative writer must by -his own intellect assign them their limits, he must himself decide -what he ought to seize upon and what he must let go; where -the phenomenon begins which he wishes to utilize in his work, -and where it ends. He cannot begin or end a conversation in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_478" id="Page_478">[478]</a></span> -the middle of a word, in imitation of M. Jean Béraud, for -example, who in a well-known picture has made the frame -cut off the wheels of a waggon in the middle. He may not produce -an inexpressive photograph of the uniform course of -events of life and the world. He must fence round and dam -up certain places in the course of events. In doing this he -clearly affirms himself and his personality. He betrays his -original stamp. He allows his intentions, views, and sentiments -to be recognised. If amongst a million of contemporary -human destinies he relates one only, it is that for some -reason or other this particular one has interested him more -than the rest of the million. If he transmits to us only some -few features, ideas, conversations, and actions of the person -he has selected (not even a millionth part of all that makes up -his actual life) it is because, for some reason or other, these -seemed to him more important and more characteristic than -all the rest; because in his opinion they prove something, they -express an idea not conceived by things as they are, but which -he believes he can deduce from reality, or which he desires to -read into it. Thus, his ‘realistic’ work always reproduces his -thoughts only, his interpretation of reality, his interest in it, -and not reality itself. If the imaginative writer wished to -transcribe the world phonographically or photographically, his -work would no longer be a poem, even in a purely technical -sense; it would not even be a book, to the extent that the work -of the painter who only photographs still continues, in a purely -technical sense, to be a picture; it would be something with -neither form, sense, nor name; for, in reproducing the existence -of a single human being during one day only, thousands -of pages could be filled if all his sensations, thoughts, words, -and actions were treated as of equal value. That selection -is therefore made among them which is the subjectivity of the -imaginative writer, <i>i.e.</i>, the reverse of ‘realism.’</p> - -<p>Besides, the work of the painter addresses itself to the same -senses as the phenomenon of Nature itself, and reproduces it -with the help of the same means by which the world itself is -revealed to the senses, viz., with light and colour. Of course -the lights, colours, and lines of the painter are not exactly -those of the real phenomenon, and it is only in consequence -of an illusion that, in his imitation, the phenomenon is recognised; -but this illusion is the work of such inferior cerebral -centres that even animals are capable of it, as is demonstrated -by the classical anecdote so well known of the birds wishing to -peck at the bunch of grapes painted by Zeuxis. The imaginative -writer, on the contrary, does not address himself to the senses; to -be more exact, he appeals by hearing or sight, to which he presents -spoken or written words, not to the centres of perception,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_479" id="Page_479">[479]</a></span> -as the plastic artist does in the first instance, but to the higher -centres of conception, judgment, and reasoning. Nor has he -the means for directly reproducing the sensible phenomenon -itself, but he must first translate the phenomenon into concepts -under a linguistic, <i>i.e.</i>, a conventional, form. This is, however, -an excessively complicated and highly differentiated activity, -which bears completely the impress of the personality exercising -it. If even two eyes do not see in the same manner, how -much less can two brains perceive and interpret in the same -way what the eye has seen, class it with pre-existing concepts, -associate it with feelings and representations, and clothe it in -traditional forms of language? The activity of the imaginative -writer, therefore, is incomparably more than that of the artist, -essentially personal; the elaboration of sense-impressions into -representations, and the translation of representations into -words, are so peculiarly individual, so exclusively subjective, -that for this cause also imaginative writing can never be reality -itself, <i>i.e.</i>, ‘realistic.’</p> - -<p>The notion of so-called ‘realism’ cannot withstand either -psychological or æsthetic criticism. We might, perhaps, attempt -an external, superficial, practical conception of it, and say, for -example, Realism is the method in the application of which the -imaginative writer starts from his perceptions and observations, -and seeks his subjects in the environment he knows personally; -idealism is the opposite method, which that writer employs -who, in creating, yields to the play of imagination, and who, in -order not to impede its free energy, borrows his materials from -remote times and countries, or from social strata of which he -has no direct knowledge, but which he conceives only in the -visions of aspiration, intuition, or surmise. Reasonable and -plausible as this explanation appears, it, too, nevertheless, -dissolves into blue mist when more closely examined. For, -in fact, the choice of subject-matter, the surroundings from -which it is borrowed, or in which it is placed, have no decisive -signification; no method is therein manifested, but merely -the author’s personality. One in whom observation predominates -will be ‘realistic,’ <i>i.e.</i>, will express experiences, -even if he pretends to speak of men and things placed wholly -beyond the reach of his observation; and the other in whom -the mechanical association of ideas prevails will be ‘idealistic,’ -<i>i.e.</i>, he will simply follow the wanderings of his imagination, -even when he desires to represent circumstances which may -be personally familiar to him.</p> - -<p>Let us give one example only of the two cases. What is -more ‘idealistic’ than fairy-stories? Very well, here are -some passages from the best-known fairy-tales of the brothers -Grimm: ‘There was once upon a time a king’s daughter who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_480" id="Page_480">[480]</a></span> -went into the forest and seated herself on the brink of a cool -fountain’ (<i>The Frog Prince; or, Iron Henry</i>). ‘But the little -sister at home [he is speaking of the daughter of a king who -had driven away his twelve sons] grew up, and remained the -only child. Once there was a great washing-day, and amongst -the washing were twelve men’s shirts. “For whom are these -shirts?” demanded the princess; “they are much too small -for my father.” Then the laundress told her that she had had -twelve brothers,’ etc.; ‘and as the little sister sat in the meadow -in the afternoon bleaching the linen, the words of the laundress -came into her mind,’ etc. (<i>The Twelve Brothers</i>). ‘The wood-cutter -obeyed; he fetched his child, and gave her to the Virgin -Mary, who carried her up into heaven. There the child lived -happily; she ate nothing but sweet cakes, and drank new milk,’ -etc. ‘So fourteen years went by in heaven. Then the Virgin -Mary had to take a long journey; but before she went away, -she called the girl to her, and said, “Dear child, I entrust you -with the keys of the thirteen doors of Paradise,”’ etc. (<i>Mary’s -Child</i>). The unknown writer of these fairy-tales transports his -stories into royal palaces, or even into heaven—<i>i.e.</i>, into surroundings -which he certainly does not know; but he endows -beings and things, and even the Virgin Mary, with such traits -as are known and familiar to him by observation. From the -royal palace one enters a wood or a meadow as one might on -leaving a farm; the princess runs to the fountain in the forest -quite alone, looks after the linen, and bleaches it on the grass, -just like a domestic servant. The Holy Virgin undertakes a -journey, and confides the keys of the household to her adopted -daughter, as a rich châtelaine might do. These fairy-tales are -composed from a peasant’s own experience, who describes his -own world with honest realism, and simply gives other names -to the figures and circumstances with which he is familiar. -M. Edmond de Goncourt, on the contrary, the great pioneer -‘realist,’ relates, in his novel <i>La Faustin</i>, the love-story of a -Lord Annandale and an actress of the Théâtre Français, which -elicits from M. F. Brunetière, the critic, these observations: -‘I should much like to hear M. Zola’s opinion on M. de Goncourt’s -novel. What can M. Zola, who has jested so eloquently -on the subject of novels of adventure—of those novels in which -princes walked about incognito with their pockets full of -diamonds—think in his inmost heart of this Lord Annandale -throwing handfuls of gold out of the windows, and ruling from -one day to another over fifty English servants in his mansion -in Paris, without counting the retainers of his lady? What -can M. Zola, who has made merry so comfortably over the -idealistic novel, as he calls it, think of this one in which love -triumphant carries off the lovers into the adorable world of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_481" id="Page_481">[481]</a></span> -dreams—what can he think to himself concerning this passionate -tenderness which M. de Goncourt’s Englishman has for -the tragedienne, this almost deified gallantry, this sensual -liaison <i>dans le bleu</i>, this physical love in ideality, and all the -rest of the jargon which I spare the reader?’<a name="FNanchor_435_435" id="FNanchor_435_435"></a><a href="#Footnote_435_435" class="fnanchor">[435]</a> M. Edmond -de Goncourt professes to depict a contemporary Englishman, -an actress also of our own times, events in Parisian life—<i>i.e.</i>, -all of them matters he might have observed, and with which -he ought to be familiar; but what he does relate is so -incredible, so impossible, unprecedented, that one can only -shrug one’s shoulders over the childish fable. Thus, the -German story-teller who conducts us into a society of angels, -saints, and kings, really shows us healthy, robust peasants and -lasses whose living reality is in no way diminished by the -carnival crowns and gilded-paper halos playfully placed on -their heads; while the French realist who would transport -us into Parisian life among Parisians, floats before our eyes -fleshless phantoms moving in clouds of cigar-smoke, marsh-mists, -and punch-flames, and who remain just as unreal, for all -the effort of the author to conjure into them a distant resemblance -to an Englishman in a frock-coat, and a hysterical -lady in a lace-trimmed négligée. The author of the fairy-tales -is a realist in the sense of the explanation given above; the -novelist of Parisian manners, Edmond de Goncourt, is an -idealist of the most aggravating type.</p> - -<p>From whatever side we approach this pretended realism, we -never succeed in seeing in it a concept, but only an empty -word. Every method of investigation leads us to the same -result—viz., that there is no realism in poetry, <i>i.e.</i>, no impersonal, -actual copy of reality; there are only the various -personalities of the poet. The only decisive thing is the individuality -of the poet. One of them draws from the phenomenon -of Nature, another from his internal organic processes, -those emotions which incite them to create. One is capable of -attention, and observes; another is the slave of an unbridled -association of ideas. In one the presentation of the ‘not-self’ -predominates in consciousness, in another the ‘self.’ I do -not hesitate to express the matter in a single word—one is -healthy and in an evolution of growth; the other is changed -more or less pathologically—has more or less fallen into -degeneracy. The healthy poet mingles knowledge with every -one of his works, whether it be Dante’s <i>Inferno</i> or Goethe’s -<i>Faust</i>; and if held desirable, this element of knowledge, which -it is not possible to acquire except by attention and observation, -may be called realism. The degenerate poet never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_482" id="Page_482">[482]</a></span> -fashions anything but empty soap-bubbles of knowledge, even -when he maintains, and is himself convinced, that he is -giving out what he has observed; and this confused ebullition -of ideas, shot in the best cases with changing hues, but -most frequently simply dirty froth, is very often called, by a -misnomer, idealism.</p> - -<p>Still another and the latest meaning has been applied to -realism; it stands for the systematic treatment of the lower -ranks of life, and commonplace men and things. According -to this definition, the works in which labourers, peasants, -petty bourgeois, etc., appear, would be realistic, and those in -which gods, heroes, kings, etc., take part, idealistic. Louis XIV., -according to the well-known anecdote when Teniers’ tavern-scenes -were exhibited before him, let fall the indignant and -disdainful comment, ‘Take away these grotesque things!’ -He would not have condemned an artistic method and manner -of representation, but the baseness of the subject only would -have offended his Olympian eye. This explanation of the -term ‘realism’ is a little more comprehensible than the others; -but I have no need to show how grossly external and how -philosophically and æsthetically worthless it is. We have -seen, in fact, above, how the simplest feelings and ideas of -peasants may be attributed to gods and to kings; and, conversely, -there is no lack of works in which a royal crown or a -saintly halo hovers invisibly over the heads of human beings in -the lowest social position. In Gregory Samarow’s novels, -emperors and kings disport themselves who feel, think, and -speak like the commercial travellers of a third-rate wine -business; in Berthold Auerbach’s village stories we see -peasants who in heart and head are of the highest nobility, -sometimes even semi-divine. The one kind is as unreal as the -other, only in the first we discern the craft of the sensation-monger, -in the second there speaks to us the refined and -tender-souled poet. In <i>The Mill on the Floss</i>, by George Eliot, -we find a farm-servant, Luke, and a miller’s daughter, Maggie, -who would do honour to any Pantheon in the grandeur of their -character and morals; in Thackeray’s <i>Vanity Fair</i> we are -shown a Marquis of Steyne, very magnificent and very proud, -and another such, Earl Bareacres, with neither of whom would -any decent man shake hands. Those are as true as these; -but whereas the former betray the heart of a poet full of love -and pity, the latter reveal the soul of an artist overflowing with -bitterness and wrath. Which, now, is noble—the emperors -and kings of Samarow or the Black Forest peasants of -Auerbach? Which is plebeian—the farming men of George -Eliot or the powerful English peers of Thackeray? And -which of these works must be qualified as realistic, which as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_483" id="Page_483">[483]</a></span> -idealistic, if realism signifies being occupied with inferior -persons and conditions, idealism with those that are superior?</p> - -<p>Hence to serious investigation, which does not stop at the -mere jingle of words, the expressions ‘realism’ and ‘idealism’ -convey no meaning. We will now see what the partisans of -M. Emile Zola give out as his originality, in what he himself -claims to be a model and a pioneer, and how he justifies his -pretension of impersonating a totally new epoch in the history -of literature.</p> - -<p>M. Zola’s disciples boast of his art of description and his -‘impressionism.’ I make a great difference between the two. -Description endeavours to seize upon the characteristic features -of the phenomenon by all the senses at once, and convey them -in words; impressionism shows the conscious state of a person -receiving impressions in the domain of one sense only, seeing -things only, hearing them only, feeling them only, etc. -Description is the work of a brain which comprehends the -things it perceives in their connection and their essence; -impressionism is the work of a brain which receives from the -phenomenon only the sensuous elements—and by a one-sided -aspect—of knowledge, but not knowledge itself. The describer -recognises in a tree, a tree, with all the ideas which this -concept includes. The impressionist sees before him merely -a mass of colour composed of spots of different greens, on -which the sun flashes here and there points and rays of light. -Description for its own sake, as well as impressionism, are, -in poetry, an æsthetic and psychological error, as will be -demonstrated as briefly as possible; but even this error was -not invented by M. Zola, for long before him the romanticists, -and Théophile Gautier particularly, cultivated the broad style -of description, inorganically interpolated into literary composition; -and, on the subject of impressionism, the brothers -De Goncourt showed M. Zola the way.</p> - -<p>The purely objective description of objects is science, when -it is worth anyone’s while to acquire of them as clear a representation -as may be communicated by words without the -assistance of image or number. Such description is simply -child’s play and waste of time, when no one is interested to -pause and look at the things described, either because they -are too well known or because they are without importance.<a name="FNanchor_436_436" id="FNanchor_436_436"></a><a href="#Footnote_436_436" class="fnanchor">[436]</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_484" id="Page_484">[484]</a></span> -Finally, it rises into art while remaining of an inferior species, -when it chooses words so well that it follows the most delicate -peculiarities of the objects, and at the same time calls out the -emotions that the observer experiences during his observations, -<i>i.e.</i>, when the words employed have not only the value of a -just portrayal of sensuously perceptible properties, but have -an emotional colouring, and appear accompanied by images -and metaphors. We may cite as examples of art of portrayal -all good descriptions of travel, from the <i>Voyage to the Equinoxial -Regions of the New Continent</i>, by Alexander Humboldt, to <i>Sahara -and Soudan</i>, by Nachtigal, <i>Im Herzen Afrikas</i>, by Schweinfurth, -or Edmond de Amicis’ books on <i>Constantinople</i>, <i>Morocco</i>, <i>Spain</i>, -<i>Holland</i>, etc. But these have nothing in common with imaginative -writing, which always has for its object man, with his ideas -and sentiments, not excepting fables of animals, parables, allegories, -fairy-tales, all the hybrid forms in which the human element -of all imagination appears disguised as an anthropomorphism -applied to animals, and even to inanimate objects. The material -frame, the scene and surrounding, have no importance in an -imaginative work, except in so far as they affect the person or persons -of whom it treats. The imaginative writer may be regarded -either as a spectator who narrates human events as they develop -before his eyes, or as an actor in these events, which he looks -upon and feels with the consciousness of one of the personages -concerned. In both cases he can naturally only perceive in -the material surroundings whatever plays a part in the events -themselves. If he is a spectator, he will certainly not let his -eyes wander over the field of vision indifferently, but will pause -before a scene which attracts his attention, and for which he -seeks to arouse our interest. If he has himself adopted the -disguise of one of the actors, he will be even more completely -absorbed by the human events in which he himself co-operates, -and will preserve still less any inclination to stroll indifferently -by the side of scenes which have nothing to do with his given -state of mind, and divert him from acts and feelings with which -he is preoccupied at the moment. Hence an imaginative work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_485" id="Page_485">[485]</a></span> -which is true to human nature will only contain descriptions -of such material surroundings as a spectator (absorbed in the -actual events which form the subject of the work, or as one -of its actors) is in a state to perceive, <i>i.e.</i>, only what is directly -connected with the events. If the description includes extraneous -matter, it is psychologically false; it disturbs moods, -interrupts events, diverts the attention from what ought to be -the essential point in the work of art, and transforms the -latter into a patchwork; showing signs that its author lacked -artistic earnestness, that the work is not born from the need -to give poetic expression to a genuine emotion.</p> - -<p>A very much worse error than desultory, cold-blooded description -in imaginative writing is impressionism. In painting it -has its authorization. The latter reproduces the impressions of -the visual senses, and the painter is within the limits of his -art when he presents his purely optical perceptions without -composing, or without relating a story, <i>i.e.</i>, without introducing -any idea into the scene he reproduces, without combining -any activity of his highest centres of ideation with the -activity of the centres of perception. The picture produced -according to this method will be very inferior from an æsthetic -point of view, but it will be a picture, and can be defended as -such. Poetical impressionism, on the other hand, is a complete -misconception of the essence of imaginative work; it is the negation -and suppression of it. The medium of poetry is language. -Now this is an activity, not of the centres of perception, but -of the centres of ideation and judgment. The immediate -phonetic reaction upon sensory excitations is merely an exclamation. -Without the co-operation of the highest centres -a perception cannot express itself phonetically except by an -‘Ah!’ or an ‘Oh!’ But in the same ratio that the purely -emotional cry of an animal rises to the height of intelligible -grammatically articulated human speech, the purely sensuous -perception rises also to the height of concept and judgment, -and it is psychologically quite false so to depict the language -of the external world as if it set free only a sensation of -colour or of sound, and provoked neither ideas, concepts, nor -judgments. Impressionism in literature is an example of that -atavism which we have noticed as the most distinctive feature -in the mental life of degenerates. It carries back the human -mind to its brute-beginnings, and the artistic activity of its -present high differentiation to an embryonic state; that state in -which all the arts (which were later to emerge and diverge) lay -side by side inchoate and inseparate. Consider, as an example, -these impressionist descriptions by the brothers De Goncourt: -‘Above it a great cloud lowered, a heavy mass of a sombre -purple, a scud from the north.... This cloud rose and ended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_486" id="Page_486">[486]</a></span> -in sharp rents against a brightness where pale green merged -into rose. Then the sky became dull, of the colour of tin, -swept by fragments of other gray clouds.... Beyond the -softly-swaying pinetops, under which the broad garden walk -could be seen bare, leafless, red, almost carmine, ... the eye -took in the whole space between the dome of the Salpétrière -and the mass of the Observatory; first, a great plane of shadow -resembling a wash of Indian ink on a red ground, a zone of -warm bituminous tones, burnt with those frost-touched reds -and those wintry glows that are found on an English artist’s -water-colour palette; then, in the infinite delicacy of a -degraded tint, a whitish streak arose, a milky nacreous vapour, -pierced by the bright tones of new buildings.’ ‘The delicate -tones of an old man’s complexion played on the yellowish and -bluish pink of his face. Through his tender, wrinkled ears—ears -of paper interwoven by filaments—the day in passing -became orange.’ ‘The air, streaked with water, had an over-wash -of that violet blue with which the painter imitates the -transparency of thick glass.... The first vivid smile of -green began on the black branches of the trees, where, like -strokes from a brush, touches of spring could be discerned -leaving behind it light coatings of green dust.’<a name="FNanchor_437_437" id="FNanchor_437_437"></a><a href="#Footnote_437_437" class="fnanchor">[437]</a></p> - -<p>Such is the procedure of impressionism. The writer gives -himself the air of a painter; he professes to seize the phenomenon, -not as a concept, but to feel it as simple sense-stimulation. -He writes down the names of colours as an -artist lays on his washes, and he imagines that he has herewith -given the reader a particularly strong impression of reality. -But it is a childish illusion, for the reader, nevertheless, comes -to see no colours, but merely words. He has to transform -these names of colours, like every other word, into images, -and with the same mental effort he would procure himself a -much livelier impression if, instead of heavily enumerating to -him one after another of the optical elements of the phenomenon, -the phenomenon were presented to him ready elaborated into -a concept. M. Zola has borrowed this absurdity from the -De Goncourt brothers with some exactitude, but it was not -he who invented it.</p> - -<p>Another of his originalities is said to be the observation -and reproduction of the <i>milieu</i>, the environment, human and -material, of the persons represented. Coming after the indulgence -in useless description, and after impressionism, the -theory of the ‘milieu’ produces a most comical effect, since -it is the exact contrary of the psychological theory which forms -the point of departure of impressionism and of the mania for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_487" id="Page_487">[487]</a></span> -description. The impressionist places himself over against -some phenomenon as a mere sense, as photographer or phonographist, -etc. He registers the nerve-vibrations. He denies -himself all higher comprehension, the elaboration of perceptions -into concepts, and the classification of the concepts in -the experiences which, as general knowledge, pre-exist in his -consciousness. The theorist of the ‘milieu,’ on the contrary, -systematically attributes the chief importance, not to the -phenomenon, but to its causal connection; he is not a sense -which perceives, but a philosopher who endeavours to interpret -and explain according to a system. What, in fact, does the -theory of the ‘milieu’ mean? It means that the imaginative -writer asserts that the individuality and mode of conduct of any -person are a consequence of the influences that his environment, -living or dead, exert upon him, and that he is trying to discover -these influences, and the nature of their action on that person. -The theory in itself is right, but, again, it is not M. Zola who -invented it, for it is as old as philosophic thought itself. In our -own times, Taine has distinctly conceived and established it, and, -long before M. Zola, Balzac and Flaubert sought to introduce -its operation into their novels. And yet this theory, extremely -fertile as it is in anthropology and sociology, and giving, as it -does, an impulse to meritorious research, is in imaginative -writing but another error, and constitutes a confusion of kinds -engendered by vague thought. The task of the man of science -is to investigate the causes of phenomena. Sometimes he finds -them, frequently he does not; often he believes he has discovered -them, till more exact observation subsequently tells -him he has deceived himself and must rectify his hypotheses. -The investigation of the conditions under which man acquires -his various physical and mental qualities is in full progress, but -is only at its commencement, and has as yet furnished extremely -few positive facts. We do not even know why one human -race is tall or another short in stature; why this one has blue -eyes and fair hair, that one dark eyes and hair; and yet these -are incomparably simpler, more external and more accessible -properties than the subtle peculiarities of mind and character. -On the causes of these peculiarities we know nothing definite. -We can make conjectures on this subject, but, meanwhile, even -the most plausible of these have still the character of hypotheses, -of probable, but not of verified, truth. And here the imaginative -writer would like to come upon the scene, carry off unfinished -scientific hypotheses, complete them by means of his own -fantastic conceits, and teach: ‘Do you see? this man whom -I show you has become what he is because his parents have -had such and such attributes, because he has lived here or -there, because when a child he received such and such impressions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_488" id="Page_488">[488]</a></span> -because he has been thus nurtured, thus educated, has -had such and such intercourse, etc.’ He is here doing what -is not his office. Instead of an artistic creation he attempts to -give us science, and he gives us false science, since he has no -suspicion of the influences which really form the man, and the -details of the ‘milieu’ which he throws into relief as being the -causes of individual peculiarities are probably the least essential, -and, in any case, only a minimum portion of what, in the formation -of the personality, has played a really determining part. -Think of it for a moment. The one question as to the origin of -the criminal has produced in these last twenty years thousands -of books and pamphlets; hundreds of medical men, jurists, -economists, and philosophers of the first rank, have devoted -to it the most profound and assiduous research, and we are -still far from being able to indicate with certainty what share -heredity, social influences (<i>i.e.</i>, the ‘milieu,’ properly so called) -and unknown biological peculiarities of the individual, have in -the formation of the criminal type. And then there comes a -wholly ignorant writer, who, quite by himself, with the sovereign -infallibility claimed for himself by the author in his own province, -decides a question which the combined ten years’ -labour of a whole generation of professional investigators -has brought but very little nearer to a solution! This is an -audacity only explicable by this fact, that the writer has not -the very smallest idea of the weight of the task which he undertakes -with so light a heart.</p> - -<p>If, in spite of this, Balzac and Flaubert seem to have produced -excellent works with this theory of the ‘milieu,’ it is -an optical illusion. They have devoted great attention and -detailed descriptions to the environment of their characters -(especially Flaubert in <i>Madame Bovary</i>), and the superficial -reader thereby receives the impression that there exists a connection -of causality between the environment and the being -and doing of the personages, it being one of the most elementary -and tenacious peculiarities of human thought to link causally -one with another all phenomena which present themselves -simultaneously or successively. This peculiarity is one of the -most fruitful sources of defective conclusions, and it cannot be -overcome except by the most attentive observation, often even -only with the help of experiment. In the novels of Balzac -and Flaubert, where the ‘milieu’ plays so great a part, the -‘milieu,’ in fact, explains nothing. For the personages who -move in the same ‘milieu’ are, notwithstanding, wholly different. -Everyone reacts on the influences of the ‘milieu’ in his own -particular way. This distinctive character must be the datum, -it cannot be the result, of the ‘milieu.’ The latter has, at -most, the significance of an immediate proximate cause, but the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_489" id="Page_489">[489]</a></span> -most remote causes of the effect in question are found in the -distinctive character of the personality, and on the latter, the -‘milieu’ that the poet depicts gives us no real enlightenment.</p> - -<p>On the pretension of M. Zola and his partisans, that his novels -are ‘slices from real life’ (<i>tranches de vie</i>), it is useless to linger. -We have seen above that M. Zola is far from being capable -of transcribing in his novels life as real and as a whole. Like -all the imaginative writers before him, he also makes a choice; -from a million thoughts of his personages, he reproduces one -only; from ten thousand functions and actions, one only; from -years of their life, some minutes, or merely seconds; his supposed -‘slice from life’ is a condensed and rearranged conspectus -of life, artificially ordered according to a definite design, -and full of gaps. Like all other imaginative writers, he also -makes his choice according to his particular personal inclinations, -and the only difference is that these inclinations, which -we shall at once recognise, are very dissimilar from those of -other writers.</p> - -<p>M. Zola calls his novels ‘human documents’ and ‘experimental -novels.’ I have already, thirteen years ago, expressed -myself so fully on this double pretension, that I have now -nothing more to add to what I said then. Does he think that -his novels are serious documents from which science can -borrow facts? What childish folly! Science can have nothing -to do with fiction. She has no need of invented persons and -actions, however <i>ben trovati</i> they may be; but she wants beings -who have lived, and actions which have taken place. The -novel treats of individual destinies, or at most those of families; -science has need of information on the destinies of millions. -Police reports, lists of imposts, tables of commerce, statistics -of crimes and suicides, information on the prices of provisions, -salaries, the mean duration of human life, the marriage rate, -the birth rate, legitimate and illegitimate—these are ‘human -documents.’ From them we learn how people live, whether -they progress, whether they are happy or unhappy, pure or -corrupt. The history of civilization, when it wants facts, puts -M. Zola’s entertaining novels aside as of no account, and has -recourse to tedious statistical tables. And a very much more -singular whim still is his ‘experimental novel.’ This term -would prove that M. Zola, if he employs it in good faith, does -not even suspect the nature of scientific experiment. He -thinks he has made an experiment when he invents neuropathic -personages, places them in imaginary conditions, and -makes them perform imaginary actions. A scientific experiment -is an intelligent question addressed to Nature, and to -which Nature must reply, and not the questioner himself. -M. Zola also puts questions. But to whom? To Nature?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_490" id="Page_490">[490]</a></span> -No; to his own imagination. And his answers are to have -the force of proof. The result of scientific experiment is -constraining. Every man in possession of his senses can -perceive it. The results at which M. Zola arrives in his -pretended ‘experiment’ do not exist objectively; they exist -only in his imagination; they are not facts, but assertions, -in which every man can believe, or not, at his pleasure. -The difference between experiments, and what M. Zola calls -such, is so great that it is difficult for me to impute the -abusive application of the term to ignorance only, or to incapacity -for thought. I believe rather in a conscious premeditated -snare. The appearance of M. Zola occurred at -a time when mysticism was not yet the fashion in France, -and when the favourite catch-words of the writing and gossiping -gang were positivism and natural science. In order to recommend -himself to the masses, a man had to represent himself -as a positivist and as scientific. Grocers, hotel-keepers, small -inventors, etc., have everywhere and always the habit of -decorating their sign-boards or their produce with a name -which is connected with an idea dominant with the public. -At the present day a hotel-keeper or a tradesman recommends -his house or his shop by such titles as ‘The Progress’ or -‘International Commerce;’ and a manufacturer extols his -goods as ‘Electric’ braces or ‘Magnetic’ ink. We have seen -that the Nietzscheans designate their tendency as ‘psycho-physiological.’ -In the same way Zola long before them hung -out the catch-word sign to his novels—‘Y<sup>e</sup> scientificke experimente.’ -But his novels had no more visible connection with -natural science and experiment than the ink above mentioned -with magnetism, and the braces with electricity.</p> - -<p>M. Zola boasts of his method of work; all his books -emanate from ‘observation.’ The truth is that he has never -‘observed;’ that he has never, following Goethe, ‘plunged into -the full tide of human life,’ but has always remained shut up -in a world of paper, and has drawn all his subjects out of his -own brain, all his ‘realistic’ details from newspapers and -books read uncritically. I need only recall a few cases in -which his sources have been placed within his reach. All the -information on the life, manners, habits, and language of the -Parisian workmen in <i>L’Assommoir</i> are borrowed from a study -by M. Denis Poulot, <i>Le Sublime</i>. The adventure of <i>Une Page -d’Amour</i> is taken from the <i>Mémoires de Casanova</i>. Certain -features in which the masochism or passivism of Count Muffat -is declared in <i>Nana</i>, M. Zola found in a quotation from Taine -relative to the <i>Venice Preserved</i> of Thomas Otway.<a name="FNanchor_438_438" id="FNanchor_438_438"></a><a href="#Footnote_438_438" class="fnanchor">[438]</a> The scene -of the confinement, in <i>La Joie de Vivre</i>, the description of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_491" id="Page_491">[491]</a></span> -Mass, in <i>La Faute de l’Abbé Mouret</i>, etc., are copied word for -word from an obstetric manual and a Mass-book. One reads -sometimes in the newspapers very pretentious statements of -the ‘studies’ to which M. Zola gives himself up when he undertakes -a new novel. These ‘studies’ consist, on his part, in -making a visit to the Bourse when he wishes to write on -speculation, in undertaking a trip on a locomotive when he -desires to describe the working of a railway, in once casting a -glance round some available bedroom when he means to depict -the mode of life of the Parisian <i>cocottes</i>. Such a manner -of ‘observation’ resembles that of a traveller who passes -through a country in an express train. He may perceive some -external details, he may notice some scenes and arrange them -later in descriptions rich in colour, if wholly inaccurate; but -he learns nothing of the real and essential peculiarities of the -country, and the life and ways of its inhabitants. Like all -degenerates, M. Zola, too, is a complete stranger to the world -in which he lives. His eyes are never directed towards -nature or humanity, but only to his own ‘Ego.’ He has no -first-hand knowledge of anything, but acquires, by second or -third hand, all that he knows of the world or life. Flaubert -has created, in <i>Bouvard et Pécuchet</i>, the characters of two -blockheads, who, with unsuspecting ingenuousness, attack -all the arts and sciences, and imagine they have acquired -them when they have dipped into, or, more correctly, have -skimmed through, the first book on the subject which falls -into their hands. Zola is an ‘observer’ of the Bouvard et -Pécuchet species, and on reading Flaubert’s posthumous novel -one is tempted to believe in places that when describing the -‘studies’ of his heroes he was thinking, at least amongst -others, of Zola.</p> - -<p>I think I have shown that M. Zola has not the priority in -any one of the peculiarities which constitute his method. For -all of them he has had models, and some few are as old as the -world. The supposed realism, mania for description, impressionism, -the emphasis on the ‘milieu,’ the human document, the -slices of life—all these are so many æsthetic and psychological -errors, but Zola has not even the doubtful merit of having -conceived them. The only thing he has invented is the word -‘naturalism,’ substituted by him for ‘realism’ (the sole term -in vogue till then), and the expression ‘experimental novel,’ -which means absolutely nothing, but possesses a piquant little -smattering of science which Zola’s public, at the period when -this novelist made his appearance, felt as an agreeable -seasoning.</p> - -<p>The only real and true things contained in M. Zola’s novels -are the little traits borrowed by him from the items of news in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_492" id="Page_492">[492]</a></span> -the daily papers and from technical works. But these also -become false from the lack of criticism and taste with which -he employs them. In fact, in order that the borrowed detail -should remain faithful to reality, it must preserve its right -relation to the whole phenomenon, and this is what never -happens with M. Zola. To quote only two examples. In -<i>Pot-Bouille</i>, among the inhabitants of a single house in the Rue -de Choiseul, he brings to pass in the space of a few months -all the infamous things he has learnt in the course of thirty -years, by reports from his acquaintances, by cases in courts -of law, and various facts from newspapers about apparently -honourable bourgeois families; in <i>La Terre</i>, all the vices imputed -to the French peasantry or rustic people in general, he -crams into the character and conduct of a few inhabitants of -a small village in Beauce; he may in these cases have supported -every detail by cuttings from newspapers or jottings, but the -whole is not the less monstrously and ridiculously untrue.</p> - -<p>The self-styled innovator who, it is asserted, has invented -hitherto unknown methods of construction and exposition in -the province of the novel, is in reality a pupil of the French -romanticists, from whom he has appropriated and employed -all the tricks of the trade, and whose tradition he carries on, -walking in the straight road of historical continuity, without -interruption and without deviation. This is what is most clearly -proved by the descriptions, which reflect not the world, but the -view that the poet is capable of taking of the world. I will quote, -for the sake of comparison, some characteristic passages from -<i>Notre Dame de Paris</i>, by Victor Hugo, and from different novels -by Zola, which will show the reader that both could be very -easily confounded, the self-styled inventor of ‘naturalism’ and the -extreme romanticist. ‘The broom ransacked the corners with -an irritated growling.’ ‘The Kyrie Eleison ran like a shiver -into this kind of stable.’ ‘The pulpit ... stood in front of -a clock with weights, enclosed in a walnut wood case, and the -hollow vibrations of which shook the whole church, like the -beatings of an enormous heart, hidden somewhere beneath -the flag-stones.’ ‘The rays [of the sun], more and more -horizontal, withdraw slowly from the pavement of the square, -and mount perpendicularly along the gabled front, making its -thousand bas-reliefs spring out from their shadow, while the -great central rose-window blazes like a Cyclop’s eye inflamed -by the glow of the forge.’ ‘When the priest ... quitted the -altar ... the sun remained sole master of the church. It -had rested in its turn on the altar cloth, illuminated the door -of the tabernacle with splendour, celebrating the fruitful -promise of May. A warmth arose from the flag-stones. The -whitewashed walls, the great Virgin, the great Christ himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_493" id="Page_493">[493]</a></span> -took on a shiver of vital sap [!], as if death had been vanquished -by the eternal youth of the earth.’ ‘In a crevice of -this spout two pretty gilliflowers in blossom, shaken and -animated by the breath of the air, made sportive salutations -to each other.’ ‘At one of the windows a great service-tree -reared itself, throwing its branches across the broken panes, -extending its shoots as if to look within.’ ‘Towards the east, -the morning breeze chased some white flocks of down across -the sky, torn from the foggy fleece of the hills.’ ‘The closed -windows slept. Some few, here and there, brightly lit, opened -their eyes, and seemed to make certain corners squint.’ -‘Already some whiffs of smoke were disgorged here and there -over all that surface of roofs, as by the fissures of an immense -sulphur-kiln.’ ‘A miserable guillotine, furtive, uneasy, ashamed, -which seems always afraid of being caught <i>in flagrante delicto</i>, -so quickly does it disappear after having given its blow.’ ‘The -alembic went on dully, without a flame, or any gaiety in the -extinct reflexions of its coppers, letting flow its alcoholic sweat, -like a slow and obstinate spring, which should end by invading -the rooms, spreading over the boulevards without inundating -the immense hollow of Paris.’ ‘At the barrier, the herd-like -trampling went on in the cold of the morning.... This crowd, -from a distance, was a chalky blur, a neutral tone, in which -a faded blue and dirty gray predominated. Occasionally, a -workman stopped short ... while around him the others -walked on, without a smile, without a word to a comrade, -with cadaverous cheeks, faces turned towards Paris, which, one -by one, devoured them by the gaping street of the Faubourg -Poissonnière.’ ‘And then, as he dived farther into the street, legless -cripples, blind and lame men multiplied around him; the -one-armed and the one-eyed, and the lepers with their wounds, -some coming from the houses, some from the adjacent small -streets, some from the air-holes of cellars, howling, bellowing, -screaming, all limpingly, lamely, rushing towards the light, and -wallowing in the mire like snails after rain.’ ‘The square ... -presented ... the appearance of a sea, in which five or six -streets, like so many mouths of rivers, discharged new waves -of heads at every instant.... The great stairs, ascended -and descended without intermission by a double stream ... -flowed incessantly into the square, like a cascade into a lake.’ -‘The flickering brightness of the flames made them appear to -move. There were serpents which had the appearance of -laughing, gargoyles that one seemed to hear yelping, salamanders -which breathed in the fire, dragons which sneezed in the -smoke.’ ‘And the steam-engine, ten paces off, went on steadily -breathing, steadily spitting from its scorched metal throat.’ -‘These were no longer the cold windows of the morning; now<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_494" id="Page_494">[494]</a></span> -they appeared as if warmed and vibrating with internal tremor. -There were people looking at them, women, standing still, -squeezing against the plate-glass, quite a crowd brutalized by -covetousness. And the stuffs seemed alive in this passion of -the pavement: the laces shivered, fell back and hid the depths -of the shop, with a disquieting air of mystery.’ It would be -easy to extend these comparisons to some hundreds of pages. -I have indulged in the little joke of not adding the author’s -name to the passages quoted. By the nature of the object -described the specially attentive reader will perhaps be able -to guess in one or another of these quotations, whether they -are from Victor Hugo or from Emile Zola; I have tried to -facilitate the matter by borrowing the passages by Victor Hugo -from the <i>Notre Dame de Paris</i> alone; but the greatest number -he will certainly not know to whom to attribute until I -tell him that examples three, five, seven, nine, ten, thirteen, -fourteen, and fifteen, are from Victor Hugo, and all the others -from Zola.</p> - -<p>This is because the latter is an out-and-out romanticist in -his way of envisaging the world and in his artistic method. -He constantly practises in the most extensive and intensive -fashion that atavistic anthropomorphism and symbolism, consequent -on undeveloped or mystically confused thought, which -is found among savages in a natural form, and among the -whole category of degenerates in an atavistic form of mental -activity. Like Victor Hugo, and like second-class romanticists, -M. Zola sees every phenomenon monstrously magnified and -weirdly distorted. It becomes for him, as for the savage, a -fetish to which he attributes evil and hostile designs. Machines -are horrible monsters dreaming of destruction; the streets of -Paris open the jaws of Moloch to devour the human masses; -a <i>magasin de modes</i> is an alarming, supernaturally powerful -being, panting, fascinating, stifling, etc. Criticism has long -since declared, though without comprehending the psychiatrical -significance of this trait, that in every one of M. Zola’s -novels some phenomenon dominates, like an obsession, forms -the main feature of the work, and penetrates, like an appalling -symbol, into the life and actions of all the characters. Thus, -in <i>L’Assommoir</i>, the still; in <i>Pot-Bouille</i>, the ‘solemn staircase’; -in <i>Au Bonheur des Dames</i>, the draper’s shop; in <i>Nana</i>, -the heroine herself, who is no ordinary harlot, but ‘<i>je ne sais -quel monstre géant à la croupe gonflée de vices, une enorme Vénus -populaire, aussi lourdement bête que grossièrement impudique, une -espèce d’idole hindoue qui n’a seulement qu’à laisser tomber ses voiles -pour faire tomber en arrêt les vieillards et les collégiens, et qui, par -instants, se sent elle-même planer sur Paris et sur le monde</i>.’<a name="FNanchor_439_439" id="FNanchor_439_439"></a><a href="#Footnote_439_439" class="fnanchor">[439]</a> This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_495" id="Page_495">[495]</a></span> -symbolism we have encountered among all degenerates, among -symbolists properly so called, and other mystics, as well as -among diabolists, and principally in Ibsen. It never fails -in the madness of doubt or negation.<a name="FNanchor_440_440" id="FNanchor_440_440"></a><a href="#Footnote_440_440" class="fnanchor">[440]</a> The would-be -‘realist’ sees the sober reality as little as a superstitiously -timid savage, or a lunatic afflicted by hallucinations. He puts -into it his own mental dispositions. He disposes of phenomena -arbitrarily, so that they appear to express an idea which -is dominating him. He gives to inanimate objects a fantastic -life, and metamorphoses them into so many goblins endowed -with feeling, will, cunning and ideas; but of human beings -he makes automata through whom a mysterious power declares -itself, a fatality in the ancient sense, a force of Nature, a principle -of destruction. His endless descriptions delineate nothing -but his own mental condition. No image of reality is ever -obtained by them, for the picture of the world is to him like a -freshly varnished oil-painting to which one stands too close in -a disadvantageous light, and in which the reflection of one’s -own face may be discerned.</p> - -<p>M. Zola calls his series of novels ‘The Natural and Social -History of a Family under the Second Empire,’ and he seeks -in this way to awaken the double idea that the Rougon-Macquarts -are a typical average family of the French middle -class, and that their history represents the general social -life of France in the time of Napoleon III. He expressly -asserts, as the fundamental principle of art, that the novelist -should only relate the everyday life observed by himself.<a name="FNanchor_441_441" id="FNanchor_441_441"></a><a href="#Footnote_441_441" class="fnanchor">[441]</a> -I allowed myself for thirteen years to be led astray by his -swagger, and credulously accepted his novels as sociological -contributions to the knowledge of French life. Now I know -better. The family whose history Zola presents to us in -twenty mighty volumes is entirely outside normal daily life, -and has no necessary connection whatever with France and the -Second Empire. It might just as well have lived in Patagonia, -and at the time of the Thirty Years’ War. He who ridicules -the ‘idealists’ as being narrators of ‘exceptional cases,’ of -that which ‘never happened,’ has chosen for the subject of his -<i>magnum opus</i> the most exceptional case he could possibly have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_496" id="Page_496">[496]</a></span> -found—a group of degenerates, lunatics, criminals, prostitutes, -and ‘mattoids,’ whose morbid nature places them apart from -the species; who do not belong to a regular society, but are -expelled from it, and at strife with it; who conduct themselves -as complete strangers to their epoch and country, and are, by -their manner of existence, not members of any modern civilized -people whatever, but belong to a horde of primitive wild men of -bygone ages. M. Zola affirms that he describes life as he has -observed it, and persons he has seen. He has in reality seen -nothing and observed nothing, but has drawn the idea of his -<i>magnum opus</i>, all the details of his plan, all the characters of his -twenty novels, solely from one printed source, remaining hitherto -unknown to all his critics, a characteristic circumstance due to -the fact that not one of them possesses the least knowledge of the -literature of mental therapeutics. There is in France a family -of the name of Kérangal, who came originally from Saint-Brieuc, -in Brittany, and whose history has for the last sixty -years filled the annals of criminal justice and mental therapeutics. -In two generations it has hitherto produced, to the -knowledge of the authorities, seven murderers and murderesses, -nine persons who have led an immoral life (one the keeper of -a disorderly house, one a prostitute who was at the same time -an incendiary, committed incest, and was condemned for a -public outrage on modesty, etc.), and besides all these, a -painter, a poet, an architect, an actress, several who were -blind, and one musician.<a name="FNanchor_442_442" id="FNanchor_442_442"></a><a href="#Footnote_442_442" class="fnanchor">[442]</a> The history of this Kérangal family -has supplied M. Zola with material for all his novels. What -would never have been afforded him in the life he really knows -he found ready to his hand in the police and medical reports -on the Kérangals, viz., an abundant assortment of the most -execrable crimes, the most unheard-of adventures, and the -maddest and most disordered careers, permeated by artistic inclinations -which make the whole particularly piquant. If any -common fabricator of newspaper novels had had the luck to -discover the treasure he would probably have made a hash of -the subject. M. Zola, with his great power and his sombre -emotionalism, has known how to profit very effectively by it. -Nevertheless, the subject he broaches is the <i>roman du colportage</i>, -<i>i.e.</i>, of a perishing romanticism which transports his dreams -into no palaces like the flourishing romanticism, but into dens, -prisons, and lunatic asylums, which are quite as far from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_497" id="Page_497">[497]</a></span> -middle stratum of sane life as the latter, only in an opposite -direction, tending not upwards, but downwards. But if -M. Zola has infinitely more talent than the German romanticists, -to whom we owe such works as <i>Rinaldo Rinaldini</i>, <i>Die -blutige Nonne um Mitternacht</i>, <i>Der Scharfrichter vom Schreckenstein</i>, -etc., he has, on the other hand, infinitely less honesty -than they. For they, at least, admit that they relate the -most marvellous and unique horrors of their kind, while Zola -issues his chronicles of criminals and madmen, the fruits of -his reading, as a normal account of French society, drawn -from the observation of daily life.</p> - -<p>By choosing his subject in the domain of the most extraordinary -and most exceptional, by the childish or crazy symbolism -and anthropomorphism displayed in his extremely unreal -survey of the world, the ‘realist’ Zola proves himself to be the -immediate descendant in a direct line of the romanticists. -His works are distinguished from those of his literary ancestors -by only two peculiarities, which M. Brunetière has well discerned, -viz., by ‘pessimism and premeditated coarseness.’<a name="FNanchor_443_443" id="FNanchor_443_443"></a><a href="#Footnote_443_443" class="fnanchor">[443]</a> -These peculiarities of M. Zola furnish us finally with a characteristic -sign also of so-called realism or naturalism, which we -should have in vain attempted to discover by psychological, -æsthetic, historical, and literary inquiries. Naturalism, which -has nothing to do with Nature or reality, is, taken all in all, -the premeditated worship of pessimism and obscenity.</p> - -<p>Pessimism, as a philosophy, is the last remains of the superstition -of primitive times, which looked upon man as the -centre and end of the universe. It is one of the philosophic -forms of ego-mania. All the objections of pessimist philosophers -to Nature and life have but one meaning, if their premise -be correct as to the sovereignty of man in the Cosmos. When -the philosopher says, Nature is irrational, Nature is immoral, -Nature is cruel, what is this, in other words, but: I do not -understand Nature, and yet she is only there that I may understand -her; Nature does not consider what is for my utility -alone, and yet she has no other task than to be useful to me; -Nature grants me but a short period of existence, often crossed -by troubles, and yet it is her duty to make provision for the -eternity of my life and my continual joys? When Oscar -Wilde is indignant that Nature makes no difference between -himself and the grazing ox, we smile at his childishness. But -have Schopenhauer, Hartmann, Mainländer, Bahnsen, done -anything more than inflate into thick books Oscar Wilde’s -ingenuous self-conceit? and that with terrible seriousness. -Philosophic pessimism has the geocentric conception of the -world as its postulate. It stands and falls with the Ptolemaic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_498" id="Page_498">[498]</a></span> -doctrine. As soon as we recognise the Copernican point of -view we lose the right, and also the desire to apply to Nature -the measure of our logic, our morals, and our own advantage, -and there ceases to be any meaning in calling it irrational, -immoral, or cruel.</p> - -<p>But what is also true is that pessimism is not a philosophy, -but a temperament. ‘The systemic or organic sensations -which arise from the simultaneous states of the several organs, -digestive, respiratory, etc.,’ says Professor James Sully, ‘appear, -as Professor Ferrier has lately pointed out, to be the basis of -our emotional life. When the condition of these organs is a -healthy one, and their functions vigorous, the psychical result -is an undiscriminated mass of agreeable feeling. When the -state of the organs is unhealthy, and their functions feeble or -impeded, the psychical result is a similar mass of disagreeable -feeling.’<a name="FNanchor_444_444" id="FNanchor_444_444"></a><a href="#Footnote_444_444" class="fnanchor">[444]</a> Pessimism is always the form under which the -patient becomes conscious of certain morbid conditions, and -first and foremost of his nervous exhaustion. <i>Tædium vitæ</i>, -or disgust of life, is an early premonition of insanity, and constantly -accompanies neurasthenia and hysteria. It is evident -that a period which suffers from general organic fatigue must -necessarily be a pessimistic period. We recognise also the -constant habit which consciousness has of inventing, <i>post facto</i>, -apparently plausible motives, borrowed from its store of representations, -and in conformity with the rules of its formal logic, -to justify the emotional states of which it has acquired the -knowledge. Thus, for the datum of the pessimistic disposition -of mind, which is the consequence of organic fatigue, there -arises the pessimist philosophy as an ulterior creation of -interpretative consciousness. In Germany, in conformity with -the speculative tendency and high intellectual culture of the -German people, this state of mind has sought expression in -philosophical systems. In France it has adopted an artistic -form in accordance with the predominating æsthetic character -of the national mind. M. Emile Zola and his naturalism are the -French equivalent of the German Schopenhauer and his philosophical -pessimism. That naturalism should see nothing in -the world but brutality, infamy, ugliness, and corruption, -corresponds with all that we know of the laws of thought. -We know that the association of ideas is strongly influenced -by emotion. A Zola, filled from the outset with organically -unpleasant sensations, perceives in the world those phenomena -alone which accord with his organically fundamental disposition, -and does not notice or take into consideration those -which differ from or contradict it. And from the associated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_499" id="Page_499">[499]</a></span> -ideas which every perception awakens in him, consciousness -likewise only retains the disagreeable, which are in sympathy -with the fundamentally sour disposition, and suppresses the -others. Zola’s novels do not prove that things are badly -managed in this world, but merely that Zola’s nervous system -is out of order.</p> - -<p>His predilection also for coarseness is a well-known morbid -phenomenon. ‘They’ (the imbeciles), says Sollier, ‘love to -talk of obscenities.... This is a peculiar tendency of mind -observable specially among degenerates; it is as natural to -them as a wholesome “tone” is to normal minds.’<a name="FNanchor_445_445" id="FNanchor_445_445"></a><a href="#Footnote_445_445" class="fnanchor">[445]</a> Gilles -de la Tourette has coined the word ‘coprolalia’ (mucktalk) -for obsessional explosions of blasphemies and obscenities -which characterize a malady described most exhaustively by -M. Catrou, and called by him ‘disease of convulsive tics.’<a name="FNanchor_446_446" id="FNanchor_446_446"></a><a href="#Footnote_446_446" class="fnanchor">[446]</a> -M. Zola is affected by coprolalia to a very high degree. It is -a necessity for him to employ foul expressions, and his consciousness -is continually pursued by representations referring -to ordure, abdominal functions, and everything connected with -them. Andreas Verga described some years ago a form of -onomatomania, or word-madness, which he called <i>mania -blasphematoria</i>, or oath-madness. It is manifested when the -patient experiences an irresistible desire to utter curses or -blasphemies. Verga’s diagnosis applies completely to Zola. It -can only be interpreted as <i>mania blasphematoria</i>, when in <i>La -Terre</i> he gives the nickname of Jesus Christ to a creature -afflicted with flatulency, and that without any artistic necessity -or any aiming thereby at æsthetic effect either of cheerfulness -or of local colour. Finally, he has a striking predilection for -slang, for the professional language of thieves and bullies, etc., -which he does not only employ when making personages of -this kind speak, but makes use of himself, as an author, in descriptions -or reflections. This inclination for slang is expressly -noticed by Lombroso as an indication of degeneration in the -born criminal.<a name="FNanchor_447_447" id="FNanchor_447_447"></a><a href="#Footnote_447_447" class="fnanchor">[447]</a></p> - -<p>The confusion of thought which is shown in his theoretic -writings, in his invention of the word ‘naturalism,’ in his -conception of the ‘experimental novel,’ his instinctive inclination -to depict demented persons, criminals, prostitutes, and -semi-maniacs,<a name="FNanchor_448_448" id="FNanchor_448_448"></a><a href="#Footnote_448_448" class="fnanchor">[448]</a> his anthropomorphism and his symbolism, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_500" id="Page_500">[500]</a></span> -pessimism, his coprolalia, and his predilection for slang, -sufficiently characterize M. Zola as a high-class degenerate. -But he shows in addition some peculiarly characteristic -stigmata, which completely establish the diagnosis.</p> - -<p>That he is a sexual psychopath is betrayed on every page -of his novels. He revels continually in representations from -the region of the basest sensuality, and interweaves them in -all the events of his novels without being able in any way to -assign an artistic reason for this forced introduction. His -consciousness is peopled with images of unnatural vice, -bestiality, passivism, and other aberrations, and he is not -satisfied with lingering libidinously over human acts of such -a nature, but he even produces pairing animals (see <i>La Terre</i>, -pp. 9, 10). The sight of a woman’s linen produces a peculiar -excitation in him, and he can never speak without betraying, -by the emotional colouring of his descriptions, that representations -of this kind are voluptuously accentuated in -him. This effect of female linen on degenerates affected by -sexual psychopathy is well known in mental therapeutics, and -has often been described by Krafft-Ebing, Lombroso, and -others.<a name="FNanchor_449_449" id="FNanchor_449_449"></a><a href="#Footnote_449_449" class="fnanchor">[449]</a></p> - -<p>Connected with the sexual psychopathy of M. Zola is the -part played in him by the olfactory sensations. The predominance -of the sense of smell and its connection with the -sexual life is very striking among many degenerates. Scents -acquire a high importance in their works. Tolstoi (in <i>War -and Peace</i>) represents to us Prince Pierre suddenly deciding -on marrying the Princess Hélène when he smells her fragrance -at a ball.<a name="FNanchor_450_450" id="FNanchor_450_450"></a><a href="#Footnote_450_450" class="fnanchor">[450]</a> In the narrative entitled <i>The Cossacks</i> he never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_501" id="Page_501">[501]</a></span> -mentions the uncle Ieroschka without speaking of the smell -he emitted.<a name="FNanchor_451_451" id="FNanchor_451_451"></a><a href="#Footnote_451_451" class="fnanchor">[451]</a> We have seen in the previous chapters with -what satisfaction the Diabolists and Decadents, Baudelaire, -Huysmans, etc., lingered on odours, and especially on bad -odours. M. Barrès makes his little princess say, in <i>L’Ennemi -des Lois</i>: ‘I go every morning to the stables. Oh, that -little stabley smell, so warm and pleasant! And she inhaled -with a pretty[!] sensual expression....’<a name="FNanchor_452_452" id="FNanchor_452_452"></a><a href="#Footnote_452_452" class="fnanchor">[452]</a> M. de Goncourt -describes, in <i>La Faustin</i>, how the actress lets her Lord -Annandale smell her bosom: ‘“Smell! What do you smell?” -she asked Lord Annandale. “Why, carnations!” he replied, -tasting it with his lips. “And what else?” “Your skin!”’<a name="FNanchor_453_453" id="FNanchor_453_453"></a><a href="#Footnote_453_453" class="fnanchor">[453]</a> -M. A. Binet declares that ‘it is the odours of the human body -which are the causes responsible for a certain number of -marriages contracted by clever men with female subordinates -belonging to their households. For certain men, the most -essential thing in a woman is not beauty, mind, or elevation -of character; it is her smell. The pursuit of the beloved odour -determines them to pursue some ugly, old, vicious, degraded -woman. Carried to this point, the pleasure in smell becomes -a malady of love’<a name="FNanchor_454_454" id="FNanchor_454_454"></a><a href="#Footnote_454_454" class="fnanchor">[454]</a>—a malady, I will add, from which only -the degenerate suffer. The examples that Binet quotes in -the course of his work, and which can be there referred to, -as I have no inclination to repeat them here, prove this -abundantly; and Krafft-Ebing, while insisting on the ‘close -connection between the sexual and the olfactory sense,’ nevertheless -expressly declares: ‘At all events, the perceptions of -smell play a very subordinate part within the physiological -limits (<i>i.e.</i>, within the limits of the healthy life).<a name="FNanchor_455_455" id="FNanchor_455_455"></a><a href="#Footnote_455_455" class="fnanchor">[455]</a> Even after -the abstraction of its sexual significance, the development of -the sense of smell among degenerates, not only of the higher, -but even of the lowest type, has struck many observers. -Séguin speaks of ‘idiots who discriminated species of woods -and stones merely by smell without having recourse to sight, -and who, nevertheless, were not disagreeably affected by the -smell and taste of human ordure, and whose sense of touch -was obtuse and unequal.’<a name="FNanchor_456_456" id="FNanchor_456_456"></a><a href="#Footnote_456_456" class="fnanchor">[456]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_502" id="Page_502">[502]</a></span></p> - -<p>M. Zola’s case belongs to this series. He shows at times an -unhealthy predominance of the sensations of smell in his consciousness, -and a perversion of the olfactory sense which make -the worst odours, especially those of all human excretions, -appear to him particularly agreeable and sensually stimulating. -The inspector of the Montpellier Academy, Leopold Bernard, -has taken the trouble, in an elaborate work—which, curiously, -has remained almost unknown<a name="FNanchor_457_457" id="FNanchor_457_457"></a><a href="#Footnote_457_457" class="fnanchor">[457]</a>—to bring together all the -passages in Zola’s novels which touch on the question of -odours, and to show that men and things do not present themselves -to him as to normal individuals, viz., in the first instance -as optical and acoustic phenomena, but as olfactory perceptions. -He characterizes all his personages by their smell. In -<i>La Faute de l’Abbé Mouret</i>, Albine appears ‘like a great nosegay -of strong scent.’ Serge, at the seminary, was ‘a lily whose -sweet scent charmed his masters’(!!) Désirée ‘smells of -health.’ Nana ‘<i>dégage une odeur de vie, une toute-puissance de -femme</i>.’ In <i>Pot-Bouille</i>, Bachelard exhales ‘une odeur de -débauche canaille’; Madame Campardon has ‘a good fresh -perfume of autumn fruit.’ In <i>Le Ventre de Paris</i>, Françoise -‘smells of earth, hay, the open air, the open sky.’ In the same -novel the ‘cheese-symphony’ occurs, as celebrated among -Zola’s enthusiasts as the minute description of the variety of -offensive smells of the dirty linen in <i>L’Assommoir</i>.</p> - -<p>To the ‘comprehensives’ whom we have learnt to know, -this insistence on the odours emitted by men and things is -naturally one more merit and perfection. A poet who scents -so well and receives through the nose such rich impressions of -the world, is ‘a more keenly vibrating instrument of observation,’ -and his art in representing things is more many-sided -than that of poets who reproduce their impressions from -fewer senses. Why should the sense of smell be neglected in -poetry? Has it not the same rights as all the other senses? -And thereupon they rapidly built an æsthetic theory which, as -we have seen, induces Huysmans’ Des Esseintes to compose -a symphony of perfumes, and prompts the Symbolists to -accompany the recital of their compositions on the stage with -odours, which they pretend are assorted to the contents of the -verses. The ‘comprehensive’ drivellers do not for a moment -suspect that they are simply fencing with the march of organic -evolution in the animal kingdom. It does not depend on the -good pleasure of a being to construct for himself his idea of -the external world with the help of a group of such or such sense-perceptions. -In this respect he is completely subservient to -the conformation of his nervous system. The senses which -predominate are those which his being utilizes in acquiring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_503" id="Page_503">[503]</a></span> -knowledge. The undeveloped or insufficiently developed senses -help the brain little or not at all, to know and understand -the world. To the vulture and condor the world is a picture; -to the bat and the mole it is a sound and a tactile sensation; to -the dog it is a collection of smells. Concerning the sense of -smell in particular, it has its central seat in the so-called -olfactory lobe of the brain, which diminishes in proportion as -the frontal lobe is developed. The more we descend in the -vertebrates the greater is the olfactory, the smaller the frontal, -lobe. In man the olfactory lobe is quite subordinated, and -the frontal lobe, the presumable seat of the highest mental -functions, including language, greatly predominates. The -consequence of these anatomical relations, which evade our -influence, is that the sense of smell has scarcely any further -share in man’s knowledge. He obtains his impressions of the -external world no longer by the nose, but principally by the -eye and ear. The olfactory perceptions only furnish a minimum -contribution to the concepts which are formed out of -ideational elements. It is only in the most limited degree -that smells can awaken abstract concepts, <i>i.e.</i>, a higher and -complex mental activity, and stimulate their accompanying -emotions; a ‘symphony of perfumes’ in the Des Esseintes -sense can, therefore, no longer give the impression of moral -beauty, this being an idea which is elaborated by the centres -of conception. In order to inspire a man with logical sequences -of ideas and judgments, with abstract concepts by scents -alone; to make him conceive the phenomenon of the world, -its changes and causes of motion, by a succession of perfumes, -his frontal lobe must be depressed and the olfactory lobe of a -dog substituted for it, and this, it must be admitted, is beyond -the capacity of ‘comprehensive’ imbeciles, however fanatically -they may preach their æsthetic folly. Smellers among -degenerates represent an atavism going back, not only to the -primeval period of man, but infinitely more remote still, to an -epoch anterior to man. Their atavism retrogrades to animals -amongst whom sexual activity was directly excited by odoriferous -substances, as it is still at the present day in the muskdeer, or -who, like the dog, obtained their knowledge of the world by the -action of their noses.</p> - -<p>The extraordinary success of Zola among his contemporaries -is not explained by his high qualifications as an author, that is, -by the extraordinary force and power of his romantic descriptions, -and by the intensity and truth of his pessimistic emotion, -which makes his representation of suffering and sorrow irresistibly -impressive; but by his worst faults, his triviality and -lasciviousness. This can be proved by the surest of methods, -that of figures. Let us consult as to the diffusion of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_504" id="Page_504">[504]</a></span> -different novels, the printed indications, for example, at the -beginning of the last edition of <i>L’Assommoir</i> (bearing the date -1893). They have been put down as follows: Of <i>Nana</i>, -160,000; <i>La Débâcle</i>, 143,000; <i>L’Assommoir</i>, 127,000; <i>La -Terre</i>, 100,000; <i>Germinal</i>, 88,000; <i>La Bête humaine</i> and <i>Le -Rêve</i>, each 83,000; <i>Pot-Bouille</i>, 82,000; as a contrast, <i>L’[Œuvre</i>, -55,000; <i>La Joie de Vivre</i>, 44,000; <i>La Curée</i>, 36,000; <i>La Conquête -de Plassans</i>, 25,000; of the <i>Contes à Ninon</i> not even 2,000 -copies, etc. Thus, the novels which have had the greatest -sale are those in which lust and bestial coarseness appear most -flagrantly, and the demand diminishes with mathematical -exactitude in proportion as the layer of obscenity, spread by -Zola over his work as with a mason’s trowel, becomes more -thin and less ill-smelling. Three novels appear as an exception -to this rule: <i>La Débâcle</i>, <i>Germinal</i>, and <i>Le Rêve</i>. Their high -position as regards the number of the editions is explained -by the fact that the first treats of the war of 1870, the second -of socialism, the third of mysticism. These three works appeal -to the frame of mind of the period. They swim with the -fashionable current. But all the rest have owed their success -to the lowest instincts of the masses, to its brutish passion -for the sight of crime and voluptuousness.</p> - -<p>M. Zola was bound to make a school—first, because of his -successes in the book trade, which drove into his wake the -whole riff-raff of literary intriguers and plagiarists, and then -because of the facility with which his most striking peculiarities -can be imitated. His art is accessible to every bungler of -the day who dishonours the literary vocation by his slovenly -hand. An empty and mechanical enumeration of completely -indifferent aspects under the pretext of description exacts no -effort. Every porter of a brothel is capable of relating a low -debauch with the coarsest expressions. The only thing which -might offer some difficulty would be the invention of a plot, -the construction of a frame of action. But M. Zola, whose -strength does not lie in the gift of story-telling, boasts of this -imperfection as a special merit, and proclaims as a rule of -art that the poet must have nothing to relate. This rule suits -excellently the noxious insects who crawl behind him. Their -impotence becomes their most brilliant qualification. They -know nothing, they can do nothing, and they are on that -account particularly adapted to ‘<i>die Moderne</i>,’ as they say in -Germany. Their so-called ‘novels’ depict neither human -beings, nor characters, nor destinies; but, thou poor Philistine -who canst not see it, it is precisely this which constitutes -their value!</p> - -<p>Moreover, justice exacts that among Zola’s imitators two -groups should be distinguished. The one cultivates chiefly his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_505" id="Page_505">[505]</a></span> -pessimism, and accepts his obscenities into the bargain, though -without enthusiasm, and often even with visible embarrassment -and secret repugnance. It consists of hysteric and -degenerate subjects who are <i>bonâ fide</i>, who, in consequence -of their organic constitution, actually feel pessimistic, and -have found in Zola the artistic formula which corresponds -most truly with their sentiments. I place in this group some -dramatic authors of the ‘Théâtre-Libre’ in Paris, directed -by M. Antoine; and the Italian ‘Verists.’ The naturalistic -theatre is the most untrue thing that has been seen hitherto, -even more untrue than the operetta and the fairy-play. It -cultivates the so-called ‘cruel terms,’ <i>i.e.</i>, phrases in which -the persons openly make a display of all the pitiable, infamous -and cowardly ideas and feelings which surge through their -consciousness, and systematically neglect this most primitive -and palpable fact, that by far the most widespread and -tenacious characteristic of man is hypocrisy and dissimulation. -The forms of customs survive incalculably longer -than morality, and man simulates the greater honesty, and -hides his baseness under appearances so much the more -seeming-pious, as his instincts are more crafty and mean. -The Verists, among whom are many powerful literary natures, -are one of the most surprising and distressing phenomena in -contemporary literature. One understands pessimism in sorely-tried -France; one comprehends it also in the insupportable -narrowness of social life in the crepuscular North, with its -cloudy gray skies and its scourge of alcoholism. Eroticism, -too, is comprehensible among the overexcited and exhausted -Parisian population, and in the Scandinavian North, as a kind -of revolt against the zealous discipline and morose constraint of -a bigotry without joy, and mortifying to the flesh. But how could -pessimism spring up under the radiant sunshine and eternally -blue sky of Italy, in the midst of a handsome and joyous people -who sing even in speaking (invalids like Leopardi might naturally -appear as exceptions everywhere)? and how did Italians arrive -at insane lubricity, when in their country there still exists, -living in the temples and in the fields, a souvenir of the -artlessly robust sensuality of the pagan world, with its symbols -of fecundity; where also natural and healthy sexuality has -always preserved through centuries the right to express itself -innocently in art and literature? If Verism is anything else -but an example of the propagation of intellectual epidemics -by imitation, the task devolves upon the scientific Italian -critic to explain this paradox in the history of manners.</p> - -<p>The other group of Zola’s imitators is not composed of -superior degenerates, unhealthy persons who sincerely give -themselves out for what they are, and express often with talent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_506" id="Page_506">[506]</a></span> -what they feel; but of people who morally and mentally stand -on a level with supporters of evil, who, instead of the trade of -night-birds, have chosen the less dangerous and hitherto more -esteemed vocation of authors of novels and dramas, when the -theory of naturalism had made it accessible to them. This -brood has only taken immodesty from M. Zola, and conformably -with the degree of culture has carried it into obscenity -without circumlocution. To this group belong the professional -Parisian pornographers, whose daily and weekly papers, stories, -pictures, and theatrical representations in M. de Chirac’s style, -continually give employment to the correctional tribunals; the -Norwegian authors of novels on street-walkers; and, unhappily, -also a portion of our ‘Young German’ realists. This group -stands outside of literature. It forms a portion of that riff-raff -of great towns who professionally cultivate immorality, -and have chosen this trade with full responsibility, solely from -horror of honest work and greed for lucre. It is not mental -therapeutics, but criminal justice, which is competent to judge -them.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c506" id="c506">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">THE ‘YOUNG-GERMAN’ PLAGIARISTS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">This</span> chapter is not, properly, within the scope of this book. -It must not be forgotten that I did not wish to write a history -of literature, nor to indulge in current æsthetic criticism, but -to demonstrate the unhealthy mental condition of the imitators -of fashionable literary tendencies. It does not enter into my -plan to deal with those degenerates or lunatics who evolve -their works from their own morbid consciousness, and themselves -discover the artistic formula for their own eccentricities—in -other words, with those leaders who go their own way -because they choose or because they must. Mere imitators I -have neglected on principle throughout the whole of my -inquiry, first because the genuine degenerates only form a -feeble minority among them, while the great majority is a perfectly -responsible rabble of swindlers and parasites, and next -because even the few diseased persons who are found in their -ranks do not belong to the class of ‘higher’ degenerates, but -are poor weak minds who, taken separately, possess no importance -whatever, and at most only deserve a fleeting mention in -so far as they testify to the influence of their masters on ill-balanced -minds.</p> - -<p>If, then, in spite of this, I devote a special chapter to the -so-called ‘Young-German’ ‘realists,’ while I have despatched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_507" id="Page_507">[507]</a></span> -in a few words the Italian and Scandinavian Zolaists, it is -verily and by no means because the former are any more -worthy than the latter. On the contrary, some of the Italian -‘Verists,’ the Dane, J. P. Jakobsen, the Norwegian, Arne -Garborg, the Swede, Auguste Strindberg, devoid as they are -of real originality, possess, nevertheless, more vigour and -talent in their little finger than all ‘Young-Germany’ put -together. I only dwell on the latter because the history of -the propagation of a mental contagion in his own country -is not without importance for the German reader, and also -because the way in which this group has appeared and permeated -shows up certain traits in which we can detect the -neurosis of the age, and, lastly, because some few of their -members are good examples of intensive hysteria, having, in -addition to complete incapacity and a general feebleness of -mind, that malicious and anti-social ego-mania, that moral -obtuseness, that irresistible need of attracting attention to themselves, -no matter by what means, that facetious vanity and -self-approbation, which characterizes the complaint.</p> - -<p>I will not deny that when I turn towards the ‘Young-German’ -movement I can scarcely maintain the cool equanimity -with which, according to scientific method, I have -hitherto observed any given phenomena. As a German writer -I feel deep shame and sorrow at the spectacle of the literature -which has been so long and so brutally proclaimed, with flourish -of trumpets, and with systematic disdain of all that did not bear -its seal, as the unique and exclusively German literature of the -present time, and even that of the future.<a name="FNanchor_458_458" id="FNanchor_458_458"></a><a href="#Footnote_458_458" class="fnanchor">[458]</a></p> - -<p>Since genius was congregated at Weimar, German literature -has ever taken the lead in civilized humanity. We -were the inventors, foreigners were the imitators. We provisioned -the world with poetic forms and ideas. Romanticism -originated among us, and only became a literary and artistic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_508" id="Page_508">[508]</a></span> -fashion in France a good many years later, whence it passed -on into England. Görres, Zacharias Werner, Novalis, and -Oscar Von Redwitz, created lyric mysticism and neo-Catholicism -among us, and these have only just reached -France. Our poet-precursors of the revolution of 1848, Karl -Beck, George Herwegh, Freiligrath, Ludwig Seeger, Friedrich -von Sallet, R. E. Prutz, etc., had even then sung of the -misery, the uprisings, and the hopes of the disinherited, before -the Walt Whitmans, the William Morrises, and the Jules Jouys, -were born, men whom to-day people in America, England, -and France, would like to consider as the discoverers of the -Fourth Estate for lyric poetry. Pessimism was embodied -almost at the same time in Italy (in Leopardi) and among us -in Nicholas Lenau, more than a generation before French -naturalism built its art upon it. Goethe created symbolic -poetry in the second part of <i>Faust</i> half a century before Ibsen -and the French Symbolists parodied this tendency. Every -healthy current and every pathological current in contemporary -poetry and art can be traced back to a German source, -every progress and every decadence in this sphere have their -point of departure in Germany. The philosophical theory -of every novel method of thought, as well as of every new -error, which, during a hundred years, have gained a hold over -civilized humanity, has been furnished by the Germans. -Fichte gave us the theory of romanticism; Feuerbach (almost -at the same time as Auguste Comte), that of the mechanical -conception of the world; Schopenhauer, that of pessimism; -the Hegelians, Max Stirner, and Karl Marx, that of the most -rigid ego-mania and the most rigid collectivism, etc. And -now we suffer the humiliation of seeing a heap of contemptible -plagiarists hawking about the dullest and coarsest counterfeit -of French imitations (which all the clever men in France -have already abandoned and repudiated) as ‘the most modern’ -production offered by Germany, as the flower of German -literature, present and future. We even permit foreign critics -to say: ‘Ancient fashions disdained in France even by village -beauties, are to be seen exhibited in German shop-windows -as the greatest novelties, and credulously accepted by the -public.’ The realists naturally deny that they are mere repeaters -and limping belated followers.<a name="FNanchor_459_459" id="FNanchor_459_459"></a><a href="#Footnote_459_459" class="fnanchor">[459]</a> But he who knows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_509" id="Page_509">[509]</a></span> -a little more of art and poetry than is learnt in a Berlin -tavern frequented by realists, or in a low newspaper informed -by this sort of company; he who contemplates in its entire -range the contemporary movement of thought without stopping -on the frontiers of his own country, can have no doubt -whatever that German realism, as a local phenomenon, may -have for Germany itself a melancholy importance, but does -not exist at all for universal literature, because all trace of -personal or national originality is lacking. To the chorus -in which the voices of humanity express its feelings and -thoughts, not the faintest new note has been added by it.</p> - -<p>Plagiarists so low down in the scale as the German realists -are not in the least entitled to a detailed individual examination. -To do this would be to make one’s self both ridiculous in the -eyes of competent judges and of a piece with strolling players, -to whom it is a matter of small importance whether they -are praised or blamed, provided they are mentioned. Other -motives also warn me to be prudent in the choice of examples -I propose to lay before the reader. I am firmly convinced that -in a few years all this movement will be forgotten even to the -name itself. The lads who now pretend to be the future of -German literature will discover little by little that the business -to which they have devoted themselves is less agreeable and -lucrative than they had imagined.<a name="FNanchor_460_460" id="FNanchor_460_460"></a><a href="#Footnote_460_460" class="fnanchor">[460]</a> Those among them who -yet possess a last remnant of health and strength will find the -way to their natural vocation, and become restaurant-waiters -or servants, night-watchmen or peddlers, and I should fear to -injure their advancement in these honest professions if I nailed -here the remembrance of their aberration of past days, which -would otherwise be forgotten by all. The feebler and weaker -among them, who could not manfully resolve to earn their -bread by a decent occupation, will disappear probably as -drunkards, vagabonds, beggars, perhaps even in a house of -correction, and if, after the lapse of years, a serious reader -happened to come across their names in this book, he would -be right in exclaiming, ‘What sort of bad joke is this? What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_510" id="Page_510">[510]</a></span> -does the author want to make me believe? There never -have been such men!’ Finally, an absolutely incapable -pseudo-writer is individually deprived of all importance, and -only acquires it as one of a number. He cannot therefore -be treated critically, but merely statistically. For all these -reasons I shall only draw from the whole number a few characters -and works, to show with their help what German -‘realism’ really is.</p> - -<p>The founder of the realist school is Karl Bleibtreu. He -accomplished this work of foundation by publishing a brochure -of which the principal feature was a cover of brilliant red -furrowed by black lightning in zigzags, and which bore this -title like the roll of a kettledrum, <i>Revolution in Literature</i>. In -this literary ‘tout’ Bleibtreu, without the slightest attempt at -substantiation, but with a brazen brow, depreciated a whole -series of esteemed and successful authors, swore with great -oaths that they were dead and buried, and announced the -dawn of a new literary epoch, which already counted a -certain number of geniuses, at the head of whom he himself -stood.</p> - -<p>As an author Bleibtreu, in spite of the many and various -works he has already published, does not yet count for much. -It would, however, be unjust to ignore his great ability as a -book-maker. In this respect <i>Revolution in der Literatur</i> is a -model production. With skilful address, he mingled authors -of repute whom he hacked into sausage-meat with a few -shallow scribblers in vogue, whom it was no doubt rather -foolish to fight, with the grand airs of a gladiator, but whom -no one would have defended against a smiling disdain. The -presence of these unwarranted intruders into the group whom -he undertook to extirpate from literature, may give to his -raising of the standard a semblance of reason in the eyes of -superficial readers. Not less cleverly chosen were the people -whom he presented to readers as the new geniuses. With the -exception of two or three decent mediocrities, for whom there -is always a little modest corner in the literature of a great -people, these were complete nullities from whom he himself -never had to fear a dangerous competition. The greatest of -his geniuses is, for example, Max Kretzer, a man who writes, -in the German of a Cameroon-Negro, some professedly -‘Berlin’ novels, of which the best known, <i>Die Verkommenen</i>, -is ‘Berlinish’ to such a degree that it simply dilutes the history -of the widow Gras and the workman Gaudry, which took place -in Paris in 1877. This event, celebrated as the first adventure -with cocottes in which vitriol played a part, could only happen -in Paris, and under the conditions of Parisian life. It is -specifically Parisian. But Kretzer calmly removed the Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_511" id="Page_511">[511]</a></span> -trade-mark, replacing it with that of Berlin, and he thus -created a ‘Berlin’ novel, vaunted by Bleibtreu as the ideal of -a ‘genuine’ and ‘true’ exposition. He reclothes his newly-discovered -‘geniuses,’ who recall Falstaff’s recruits, Mouldy, -Shadow, Wart, Feeble, and Bullcalf (<i>King Henry IV.</i>, Part II.), -in a uniform which he could not have chosen more effectively. -He dressed them out in the costume of Schiller’s brigands -in the Bohemian forests; he pronounced them to be a troop -of rebels, fighters at barricades, Lützow huntsmen in the -struggle for freedom against hypocrisy perukes, and pig-tails, -and all obstructionists; and he hoped that youth and the -friends of progress would take him for something serious, on -seeing him march at the head of his poor, infirm cripples and -knockknees, thus disguised.</p> - -<p>His plan, although excellently contrived and conducted, was -only partially successful. Scarcely had he in a certain measure -organized and drilled his little troop, when it mutinied and -drove him away. It did not choose another captain, for each -private soldier wished himself to be chief, and the feeblest and -most timid of the band alone recognised any other genius outside -his own. Bleibtreu has not to this day got over the ingratitude -of the people who had taken his mystification seriously, and -had really looked upon themselves as the geniuses he had proclaimed -them to be, without, as he thought, running any risks; -and in his last publication he still utters his sorrow in these -bitter verses (<i>Aus einem lyrischen Tagebuch</i>):</p> - -<p class="pbq p1">‘For what purpose this long struggle? ’Tis vain! And my hand is -paralyzed. Long live falsehood, stupidity, folly! Adieu, thou German -piggery! The earth of the tomb will extinguish the conflagration. I have -been, as long as I could think, a veritable booby. I was no honest German, -I was a wounded swan.’</p> - -<p class="p1">Bleibtreu could not give any talent to the realists invented -by him, but the latter borrowed from him a few of his turns of -expression. To make an impression on the ignorant, they -have associated with themselves as honorary members some respectable -authors whom one is surprised to meet with <i>dans ce -galère</i>. Thus the realists include among their numbers, for -example, Théodore Fontane, a true poet, whose novels honourably -hold their place among the best productions of the kind -in any literature of Europe; H. Heiberg, of vigorous although -unequal talent; unfortunately compelled, as it would seem, by -external circumstances to hasty and excessive work, against -which, perhaps, his artistic conscience vainly protests; and -Detlev von Liliencron, who is by no means a genius, but -a good lyric poet with a sense of style, and who may rank -by the side of <i>epigoni</i> such as a Hans Hopfen, a Hermann -Lingg, a Martin Greif. Considering the high level that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_512" id="Page_512">[512]</a></span> -German lyric poetry—the first in the world even in the -judgment of foreign nations—has occupied uninterruptedly -since Goethe, it is giving a German poet no small praise if -one can say he is not inferior to the average of the last seventy -years. Liliencron, however, does not surpass it, and I do -not see how he can be fairly placed above Rudolf Baumbach, -for example, whom the realists affect to despise, probably -because he has disdained to join their gang. It is not incomprehensible -that a Fontane or a Heiberg should consent -to suffer the importunate promiscuousness of the realists. The -Church, too, admits sometimes to serve in the Mass young -rogues from the street, who have only to swing the censer. -The sole thing that is demanded of them as realists <i>honoris -causâ</i>, is to bear silently and smilingly this compromise of an -honourable name. Liliencron alone thinks himself obliged -to make some concessions to his new companions, in using -here and there in his last poems, not his own language, but -theirs.</p> - -<p>Besides the smuggling in of some esteemed names among -theirs, the realists have carefully practised and cultivated -another business-trick of Bleibtreu’s—that of effective disguise. -They assumed (in the collection of lyric poetry entitled <i>Young -Germany</i>, Friedenau and Leipzig, 1886) the name of ‘Young -Germany,’ which calls up a faint remembrance of the great -and bold innovators of 1830, as well as ideas of blooming -youth and spring, with a false nose of modernism tied on. -But let us here at once remark that the realists, plagiarists -to the backbone, do not even possess sufficient independence -to find a name peculiarly their own, but have quietly plagiarized -the denomination under which the Heine-Boerne-Gutzkow -group has become renowned.</p> - -<p>As the first specimen of ‘realist’ literature of ‘Young -Germany,’ I will quote the novel by Heinz Tovote, <i>Im -Liebesrausch</i>.<a name="FNanchor_461_461" id="FNanchor_461_461"></a><a href="#Footnote_461_461" class="fnanchor">[461]</a> He relates the history of a landed proprietor -and former officer, Herbert von Düren, who makes the acquaintance -of a certain Lucy, formerly a waitress at an inn, -and the mistress of quite a number of young men in succession. -He makes her his mistress, and indulges in his passion until, -being unable to live without her, he induces her to marry -him. Herbert, who is only partially acquainted with Lucy’s -past, presents her to his mother. The latter, who very soon -perceives the relations existing between her son and this -person, nevertheless gives her consent, and the marriage -takes place. In the aristocratic and military society of Berlin, -in which the couple move for a time, Lucy’s antecedents soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_513" id="Page_513">[513]</a></span> -become known, and she is ‘cut’ by all the world. Herbert -himself remains faithfully attached to her, until he discovers one -day by accident, at the house of one of his friends—of course a -‘realist’ painter—a picture representing the nude figure of Lucy -bathing in the sea! He very logically concludes that his wife -had posed as a model to the painter, and he drives her away. As -a matter of fact, however, the ‘realist’ had painted the nude -figure from imagination, and involuntarily given it Lucy’s -features, because of the respectful admiration he secretly -cherishes for her. (Judge for a moment how that could be -if she had been disreputable!) Then Herbert, smitten with -remorse, seeks the vanished Lucy, whom he discovers, after -heart-breaking efforts, in his own house, where she has lived -for months unknown to him. The reconciliation of husband -and wife takes place amid general pathos, and the young wife -dies in giving birth to a child, and uttering affecting sentiments.</p> - -<p>I will not waste time by pointing out the silliness of this -story. The essential part in a novel, moreover, is not the -plot, but the form, in both the narrower and the broader sense—language, -style, composition—and these I will examine a -little later.</p> - -<p>The very first thing we have a right to expect of a man -who assumes to write for the public, <i>i.e.</i>, for the educated -people of his own nation, is evidently that he should be -master of his own language. Now, Heinz Tovote has no -idea whatever of German. He commits the grossest errors -every moment—solecisms, mistakes of syntax, ignorance of -the value of words—which make one’s hair stand on end. Some -few of these abominable faults of language are tolerably widespread, -others belong to the jargon of the roughest class of -the people; but there are some that Tovote could never have -heard. They are the result of his personal ignorance of German -grammar.</p> - -<p>Next as to his style. When Tovote writes a description, in -order to determine and strengthen the substantive, he chooses, -on principle, the adjective naturally contained in that substantive. -Here are some examples of this intolerable tautology: ‘An -icy January storm.’ ‘In the Friedrichstrasse light elegant -equipages were crowded.’ ‘Incarnation of the most lovable -grace.’ ‘A slowly creeping fever’ ‘A lazy somnolence.’ -‘They glowed fiery in the last light.’ ‘She suffered cruel -torments,’ etc. I doubt if any author, having but little respect -for himself, his vocation, his maternal tongue or his readers, -would put such words together. There is no necessity, in -hunting for the ‘rare and precious epithet,’ to go so far as -the French stylists, but such a sweeping together of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_514" id="Page_514">[514]</a></span> -stalest, most useless, and most inexpressive adjectives is not -literature; it is properly, to echo the French critic, the -work of scavengers. Another characteristic of this style is -its silliness. The author relates that Herbert von Düren was -‘keenly interested, from its first appearance,’ in Sullivan’s -operetta <i>The Mikado</i>. ‘Now that it had cast off its English -garb, it seemed to him still more indigenous.’ Thus he -seriously declares that an English operetta has seemed to a -German more indigenous in the German language than in -English. ‘Suddenly he was seized with a senseless fury -against this man who saluted him so politely, whereby he, -who was habitually politeness itself to everyone, did not return -the salute, and turned away.’ Not to respond to a salute by -way of expressing his ‘senseless fury’ is truly not very ferocious -on the part of an old officer. ‘The horses were hanging their -heads sadly, and sleeping.’ That it is possible to sleep sadly -or gaily is a discovery by Tovote. ‘Like walls, the colossi -of houses stood crowding against each other.’ Like walls? -One would think that houses really have walls. It is exactly -as if Tovote had said: ‘Like men, the people stood crowding -against each other.’</p> - -<p>When Tovote strives to write in a sublime and beautiful -style, the result we get is as follows: ‘Yet there lay in the -slender perfectly levelled lines a slumbering strength.’ (What -can the lines be which are ‘slender,’ <i>i.e.</i>, not thick and -‘perfectly levelled’?) ‘She was already smiling through her -tears, and her face resembled a summer landscape which, -while the rain still falls on the corn, is bathed again in the -bright rays of the sun emerging from clouds.’ Thus, what we -are first to think of when contemplating a face is a summer -landscape. ‘He felt how her lips clung [<i>sich klammerten!</i>] to -his.’ ‘It must be granted that, considering his youth, he has -the incontestable genius of a lively conception,’ etc.</p> - -<p>Tovote seeks to plagiarize the diffuse descriptions of the -French naturalists, and unfolds pictures the novelty, clearness, -and vigour of which the following quotations will enable us -to admire. (End of a theatrical representation:) ‘In the -stalls the seats clapped back with a muffled sound.... The -audience rose, doors were opened, curtains were drawn back, -and the theatre emptied slowly, while a few isolated spectators -alone remained in their places.’ ‘Unceasingly, the whole -night the snowflakes fell. In thick bales [!] it lay on the bare -branches of the trees, which threatened to break down in -winterly weakness. The pines and low bushes were enveloped -in a thick mantle of snow. To the straw, wound round the -standard roses, the snow clung, and formed strange figures; -it lay a foot high on the walls, and delicately veiled the points<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_515" id="Page_515">[515]</a></span> -of the iron railings. All tracks were effaced. The wind, -which drove the flakes before it, threw them into all the -hollows, so that all the corners and all the unevennesses disappeared.’ -‘They stood high above the sea, which spread -around them like an infinite plain.’ ‘The sun had set.... -The clouds, heavily encamped on the horizon, still glowed -with flaming crimson purple; then they passed into violet, -which changed into a colourless gray [so there is a coloured -gray also?] until night descended, and all colours gradually -died out.’ (Compare this pitiable attempt to counterfeit ‘impressionism’ -with the French models quoted in the preceding -chapter.) ‘The night had completely closed in—a dark, profoundly -black night.’ (Consider the juxtaposition of these -two adjectives.) ‘The moon alone hung mournfully above the -waters [the moon in a night both ‘dark’ and ‘profoundly -black!’], and the lighthouse threw its flood of light into the -distance. Deep at their feet the sea raved with muffled roar -in the spite of a thousand years[!], and licked the creviced -rocks.’ A ‘raving spite’ which ‘licks’ does not appear to be -a very dangerous spite. ‘She retained the deep wound over -her eye as a little scar all her life long.’ If she had a ‘little -scar,’ she did not therefore keep a deep wound ‘all her life -long.’ ‘Above them, in the blue sky, a vulture wheeled in -circles with outspread wings, lost like a black point in this -sea of light.’ In a vulture which is only seen as ‘a black -point,’ it is not possible to distinguish the ‘outspread wings.’ -Here is the description of a face: ‘Two full fresh lips, -chaste[!], bright red, a graceful little nose, imperceptibly -tilted, but parting in a narrow straight line from the forehead.’ -We will leave the reader the trouble of imagining for himself -this ‘little nose imperceptibly tilted’ in ‘the narrow straight -line.’ ‘The engine of the express train panted across the -level plain which stretched all round like a burning desert. -Right and left, field after field of corn, fruitful orchards and -verdant meadows.’ Fields, orchards, meadows, and yet a -‘burning[?] desert’? ‘The half-closed eyes, with their white -membranes, look at him so steadily.’ This does not mean, -as one might suppose, the eyes of a bird, but those of a human -being, in which our novelist professes to have discovered these -incomprehensible ‘white membranes.’</p> - -<p>We have seen what impressionism and the descriptive <i>tic</i> -of naturalism have become in the hands of Tovote. I will -now show how this ‘realist’ can observe and reproduce reality -in the smallest as in the greatest things. Herbert, the first -evening of his acquaintance with Lucy, takes her to a -restaurant and orders, among other things, a bottle of -burgundy. ‘The waiter placed the pot-bellied bottle on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_516" id="Page_516">[516]</a></span> -table, in a flourishing curve.’ Burgundy in ‘pot-bellied’ -bottles! They eat soup, served in ‘silver bowls’(!), green -peas and a capon, the excellence of which forms the subject -of their incredible conversation at table, and when this repast -is disposed of, and Lucy has lighted a cigarette, she asks for -oysters, which are brought and eaten by her ‘served according -to the rules of art.’ I should certainly not reproach anyone -for not knowing a bottle of burgundy by sight, nor at which -stage of a repast one eats oysters. I myself did not grow up -amongst oysters and burgundy, but it would be more honest -not to speak of these good things till one knows something of -them. Let us give a passing notice to the unconscious respect, -mingled with envy, for the difficult and distinguished occupation -of eating oysters, deliciously revealed in this admiring -declaration, that Lucy has oysters ‘served’(?) ‘according to -the rules of art,’ and the backwoodsman’s ignorance of the -most elementary good breeding which Tovote betrays in -making a man of the world talk incessantly at table about the -food. To continue. Lucy’s lover has travelled, viâ Brussels, -‘from Havre to Egypt.’ In that case he must have chartered -a steamer on his own account, as there is no regular line of -steamers between Havre and Egypt. For some months -Herbert has had on his writing-table some unfinished manuscripts. -‘He rummaged through this heap of yellow manuscripts.’ -Under shelter the worst ligneous fibre paper itself -would certainly not turn yellow in the space of a few months. -The bed-chamber, arranged with all possible care by Herbert -for his Lucy, has ‘blue silk curtains,’ and ‘pale pink satin’ -seats. Such a wild combination of colours would be avoided -by the better second-hand dealers even in their shop windows.</p> - -<p>I grant that all these blunders, although amusing, are insignificant. -They must not be passed over, however, when committed -by a ‘realist,’ who boasts of ‘observation’ and ‘truth.’ -Graver still are the impossible actions and characters of the -men. In a moment of grief Lucy lets ‘fall her arms on the -table-napkin in her lap, and looks vacantly before her, biting -her under lip.’ Has anyone ever seen or done such a thing -in this state of mind? Wild ecstasy of love Lucy expresses -thus: ‘“Kiss me,” she implored, and her whole being seemed -to wish to lose itself in him—“kiss me!”’ Herbert had -made her acquaintance in Heligoland, where she lived with -an Englishman named Ward, and had taken her to be Ward’s -betrothed. A German officer of good family, being considerably -over thirty, was actually able to look upon a woman -living with a rich young foreigner alone at a watering-place as -his betrothed! The latter, an absolutely neglected child of -the working class, learnt English with Ward in less than a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_517" id="Page_517">[517]</a></span> -year so perfectly that she was everywhere mistaken for an -Englishwoman, and played the piano so well that she could -execute pieces from operettas, etc.</p> - -<p>I do not consider it a crime when Tovote, in using French -words, confounds <i>tourniquet</i> with <i>moulinet</i>, and speaks of -<i>cabinets séparés</i> instead of <i>cabinets particuliers</i>. A German -does not require to know French. It would be a good thing -indeed if he knew German. Good taste, however, would prevent -his making a display of scraps of a language of which he -knows absolutely nothing.</p> - -<p>The obscenities with which the novel swarms are incomparably -weaker than in analogous passages by Zola, but they -are peculiarly repulsive because, in spite of the absolute incapacity -of Tovote to rise above the coarseness of commercial -travellers relating their love adventures in hotels, they, nevertheless, -betray his determination to be violently sensational -and subtly sensual.</p> - -<p>If I have lingered thus long over this bungling piece of work, -so far below the level of literature, it is because of its being -thoroughly typical of German realism. The language transgresses -the simplest rules of grammar. Not one expression is -accurately chosen, and really characterizes the object or the -concept that is brought before the reader. That an author -should speak not only accurately, but expressively, that he -should be able to reproduce impressions and ideas in an -original and powerful way, that he must have a feeling for the -value and delicate sense of words; of this Tovote has not -the slightest idea. His descriptions are shabby enough to -raise a blush on the cheek of the police reporter of a low class -paper. Nothing is seen, nothing is felt; the whole is but a -droning echo of reading of the worst sort. ‘Modernism’ -consists finally in this, that a pitiable commonplace is partly -located in Berlin, with here and there vague talk of socialism -and realism. German criticism in the seventies demanded, -very justly, that the German novel should rest on a solid basis, -that it should be worked out in some well-known period, amid -real surroundings, in the German capital of our day. This -demand has produced the ‘Berlinese’ novel of the plagiarists. -The especial and characteristic Berlinism of this novel consists -in this, that the author whenever he has to mention a street, -displays the boundless astonishment of a Hottentot at the -‘Panoptikum’ (the Grévin Museum in Berlin), because he -finds the street full of people, carriages, and shops, and seeks -opportunities to quote the names of the streets in this capital. -This method is within the reach of every hotel porter. -In order to introduce such Berlinism into a bad novel, the -author need only possess a plan of the town, and perhaps a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_518" id="Page_518">[518]</a></span> -guide-book. The peculiarities of life in the capital are represented -by passages such as this: ‘On both sides of the pavement -[he meant to say, on the pavement on both sides of the -street] a dense crowd of people surged, and in the middle of -the avenue, under the trees, just bursting into leaf, a scattered -multitude, resembling the irregular [?] waves of a flood, -pushed on to get out of the town.’ Or: ‘On all the pavements -people walking and pushing against each other in confusion -and haste, which increased to a run, in order to avoid -falling under the wheels, while escaping to a place of refuge -from the deafening clatter of cabs, tramways, and large heavy -omnibuses, with their roofs fully occupied,’ etc. Thus, the -only thing Tovote sees in Berlin is what a peasant from -Buxtehude would remark, who has left his village for the first -time, and cannot recover from his astonishment in finding -more people and carriages than in his own village street. This -is just the view which a resident in a town no longer notices, -and which need not be specially described, because it is implied -in the concept of a ‘town,’ and, above all, of a ‘large town,’ -and is, notably, in no way characteristic of Berlin, since -Breslau, Hamburg, Cologne, etc., present exactly the same -sight.</p> - -<p>Socialism enters into the ‘modern’ novel like Pilate into the -Creed. Tovote relates, <i>e.g.</i>, how Herbert seeks for Lucy, who -has disappeared; he arrives at last at the workman’s quarter -in Berlin, which supplies the author with this fine picture: -‘Everywhere the blue and gray-red blouse of the workman, -which is never seen <i>Unter den Linden</i>, who stands, day after -day, near the panting machine, at the work-table, where he -carries on, during long years, as if asleep, the same manual -labours, until the callosities on his hands become as hard as -iron.’ Either Herbert, despairingly seeking his mistress, or the -narrator, wishing to awaken our interest in these events, has -thought of the callosities of the workmen!</p> - -<p>The automata who in the ‘realist’ novel execute mock-movements, -and between whom the dullest and most miserable -back-stair sentimentality is played off, are always the same: a -gentleman, an ex-officer whenever possible, who, we are -assured, is engaged upon ‘works on socialism’ (of what kind -we never learn, it is simply asserted that they are ‘very important’); -a waitress at an inn, as the embodiment of the <i>ewig-Weibliche</i>; -and a realist painter who plans or executes pictures -destined to regenerate humanity, and to establish the millennium -on earth. Here is the recipe for the ‘modernism’ of -the ‘Young-German’ realism: quotation of the names of the -Berlin streets, rapture at the sight of some cabs and omnibuses, -a little Berlinese dialect in the mouth of the characters, coarse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_519" id="Page_519">[519]</a></span> -and stupid eroticism, unctuous allusions to socialism and -phrases on painting, such as a goose-fattener grown rich might -make if she wished to pass herself off as a lady. Of the -three persons who are always the supporters of this ‘modernity’ -the waitress is the only really original one. The merit of this -treasure belongs to Bleibtreu, who first presented her to the -admiration and imitation of his little band in his collection of -novels entitled <i>Schlechte Gesellschaft</i>. She is a conglomeration -of all the fabulous beings that have hitherto been imagined in -poetry: a winged chimæra, a sphinx with lion’s claws, and a -siren with a fish’s tail, all at one and the same time. She -contains in herself every charm and every gift, love and -wisdom, virtue and love-glowing paganism. It is by the -waitress at the inn that the talent for observation and creative -power of the German ‘realist’ can be most accurately gauged.</p> - -<p>If Tovote is a representative type—by no means diseased, -but merely incapable beyond conception—of intruders into -literature with which they will at most be connected as -peddling hawkers of trashy novels, we meet in Hermann Bahr -with a clearly pathological individuality. Bahr is an advanced -hysteric who wants at all hazards to get himself talked about, and -has had the unfortunate idea of achieving this result by books. -Devoid of talent to an almost impossible degree, he seeks to -captivate attention by the maddest eccentricities. Thus, he -calls the book most characteristic of his method among -those he has hitherto published, <i>Die gute Schule; Seelenstände</i>.<a name="FNanchor_462_462" id="FNanchor_462_462"></a><a href="#Footnote_462_462" class="fnanchor">[462]</a> -<i>Seelenstände</i> literally means ‘states of soul.’ He had read -and not understood the term <i>états d’âme</i> in the new French -authors, <i>état</i> having been used in the political sense which it -has in <i>tiers-états</i>.</p> - -<p>In the story related in the <i>Seelenstände</i>, a part at least of -the recipe previously mentioned is utilized. The hero is an -Austrian painter living in Paris. One day, weary of living -alone, he picks up a girl in the street, who, contrary to the -orthodox procedure, is not a waitress, but a dressmaker, -possessing, nevertheless, all the mythical excellence of the -‘Young German’ barmaid; he lives with her for a time, then -wearies of her, and torments her to such a degree that she -leaves him one fine day and goes off with a rich negro, whom -she induces to buy pictures at a high price from her abandoned -lover.</p> - -<p>This fine story is the frame in which Bahr reveals the ‘state’ -of his hero’s ‘soul.’ This author is a plagiarist of an inveterate -type, such as is only met with in serious cases of hysteria. -Not a single author of any individuality who has passed before -his eyes has been able to escape his rage for servile imitation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_520" id="Page_520">[520]</a></span> -The principle of the ‘Good School’—the misery of a painter -who struggles with the conception of a work of art intended to -express his whole soul, and who recognises with despair his -impotence to realize it—is subtilized from Zola’s <i>L’[Œuvre</i>, -All the details, as we shall see, he has taken from Nietzsche, -Stirner, Ibsen, the Diabolics, Decadents, and French Impressionists. -But all he plagiarizes becomes, under his pen, a -parody of inimitably exquisite absurdity.</p> - -<p>The painter’s distress of mind is ‘the lyrism of red. His -whole soul was steeped in red, all his feelings, all his aims, all -his desires, in sonnets of lament and hope; and in general a -complete biography of red, what took place in him and usually -whatever could happen to him.... But this lofty canticle -of the red fulfilled itself in the real, simple tones of daily -life.... It was a large well-boiled lobster, in which he embodied -the masterful spirit and the violence of the red, his -languor in a salmon on one side, and his mischievousness and -gaiety of disposition in many radishes in cheerful variations. -But the great and supreme confession of his whole soul hung -on a purple tablecloth with heavy folds, on which the sun -shone, a narrow shaft, but with all the more fiery glow.’ If -the struggle with the ‘biography of the red’ was a torture to -him, even worse things were about to happen. One day ‘the -curse struck him behind, coming from an excellent salmon, -juicy and sweet, which one would never have suspected of -perfidy as it lay cradling itself in a rosy shimmer in its rich -herb sauce.’ (A cooked salmon cradling itself! This must -have produced a ghostly effect. And this uncanny salmon -struck him ‘behind,’ although it was on the table before him!) -But it was precisely this sauce, this sauce of green herbs, the -pride of the cook—yes, it was this that did it. It was this that -conquered him. He had never seen anything like it—never -before, as far back as he could remember, a softer and sweeter -green, at once so languishing and so joyous that one could -have sung and shouted for joy. The whole rococo was in it, -only in a much more gracious, yearning note. It had to go -into his picture. But he could never hit off that green sauce, -and this was the tragedy of his life. He ‘kept the truth locked -up cowardly and idle, he who alone could grant it; he did not -give it to them to assuage thirst, this healing and redeeming -work of his breast,’ namely, the green sauce! ‘He would have -liked to make a gigantic gimlet revolve in his flesh with a -burning screw ... deep, very deep, till there was a great -hole ... an immense triumphal gate of his art, through which -the internals could spit it out.’</p> - -<p>What makes this struggle with the green sauce, for the -purpose of overcoming it in a ‘healing and redeeming’ work<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_521" id="Page_521">[521]</a></span> -of art, so irresistibly comic is that the whole passage is -written in an entirely serious view, and without the least idea -of joking!</p> - -<p>Bahr describes his own style in these words: ‘A wild, -feverish, tropical style, which calls nothing by its usual name -in the ordinary idiom, but which racks itself in the hope of -finding unheard-of, obscure, and strange neologisms, in a -forced and singular combination.’</p> - -<p>The painter’s mistress must have been a superb creature, to -judge by the description. When a stranger spoke to her in -the street ‘she slightly quickened her steps, and with eyelids -haughtily raised, and her little head thrown back sideways, -she began to hum softly, sharply snapping her fingers with -impatience, in such a way as to rouse his desire to persevere -in his useless suit.’ This behaviour induces Bahr to call her -a ‘majestically inaccessible young lady.’ But she is far more -remarkable at her morning toilet at home than she is in the -street. ‘Often, when under the greetings of the morning, -which enamelled with gold [!] her hyacinthine flesh, she -plaited her hair while standing before her mirror, surrounded -by his desires, and stretched, moistened, and slowly curved, -with twitching fingers which glittered like swift serpents, quite -gently and persistently, her tangled [!] eyelashes, her dishevelled -eyebrows, while her lips grew round with silent -whistling, between which the rapid, restless tongue hissed, -shot out, and clacked, and then, with closed eyelids, leant -forward as in submissive adoration, the powder-puff passed -slowly, cautiously, fervently, over the bent cheeks, while the -little nose, fearful of the dust, turned aside,’ the painter, as -may be imagined, became so amorous that ‘he licked the -soap from her fingers to refresh his fevered gums.’ ‘Suddenly -standing upright on one leg, with a swing of the other she -kicked her shoe into the air, to catch it again by a nimble, -firm movement. In this graceful attitude she remained.’ -‘Sometimes she bent down languorously towards herself, very -gently, very slowly, remaining voluptuously in the curve of her -breasts, deep into her knees, while her lips moved; sometimes, -while her hips turned in a circle, her neck glided lasciviously -into swan-like [!] curves towards her obsequious image.’ This -sight filled her lover with such enthusiasm that it seemed to -him ‘as if from a thousand springs blasted [!] torrents blazed -through his veins.’</p> - -<p>It is not necessary, I think, to multiply specimens of this -style, which simulates insanity, and which is not German, either -in formation, use of terms, or construction. I wish merely -to show to what degree Bahr is a plagiarist. Here we see a copy -of Nietzsche: ‘Always the same. He ought to do this, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_522" id="Page_522">[522]</a></span> -not to do that; the same litany from his first infancy—always -and only; he should and he shouldn’t. What he would was -the only thing never demanded of him; and thus, in this -frightful servitude, he felt himself possessed by an immense -desire to be for once himself at last, and an immense anguish -at being always someone else eternally.’ ‘To say that everyone -only came out of himself to penetrate into another ... to -dominate him! That a man could never, should never, he -himself, not have one hour of bliss, but everlastingly renounce, -transform, annihilate himself for another’s gratification.... -Alone—alone; why would they not leave one alone?’ ... -‘To make a desert for himself—a still silent desert.’ ‘Others -had not this sentiment of the “I” to such an exuberant and -immeasurable extent.’ ‘The joyous hatred of men and the -world.’ Here we have Ibsen: ‘He wished to go into the -country—he himself, precisely as proposed by the other, -certainly. But he wished to go into the country in virtue of -his free resolve, because it was his will, and not the proposal -of another.... And rather than bend to another’s will he -renounced his own. Moreover, since another wished it, the -pleasure of wishing it himself was lost to him.’ Here the -De Goncourts: ‘There was around her out of the sorrowful -violet and bright gold a misty shimmer.’ ‘His feeling was -always something inconceivable, and also on a yellow ground—dirty -yellow—gasping, ecstatic, faint, pining away with a -death-rattle, and with violet tones, but very soft.’ ‘It was -chaste voluptuousness. He had it there in his brain, pearly -gray, melting into faint violet.’ Villiers de l’Isle-Adam: ‘He -was bound to establish the new love.... The question was -of doing it in the style of electricity and steam. An Edison-love -... yes, a machine-like love.’ A mixture of Baudelaire -and Huysmans: ‘In the undulating silver dust of the light a -lovely quivering sheen, woven of blue-black and pale green -vapour, bathed her rosy flesh, exhaled by its soft down.... He -wished utterly to destroy and flay her. Nothing but blood—blood. -He only felt at ease when it streaked [!] down.... -He established a theory according to which this was the way -towards the new love, viz., by torture.’ ‘There lay the -meadows red as fire spread out in lovely slopes ... and -hopes, the blue vampires, grew listless. But upright in its -pride and with imperial mourning walked a huge gray sunflower, -silent and pale, on the arm of an awkward fat stinking -thistle, which trailed noisily afar with large rough gold.’ ‘This -now became for him true art, the art which alone could redeem -and make happy—the art of odours.... From pale and -moaning fumes of the white rose, in which the suicide triumphs, -he awakened the eternal doctrine of Buddha,’ etc. The rehardness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_523" id="Page_523">[523]</a></span> -ainder is better expressed in the original, in Huysmans’ -novel, <i>A Rebours</i>. As to the passages full of a heat which -clamours for a strait-jacket, and simulates satyriasis and -Sadism; as to the quaint confusions and orthographical errors -in French names which the author, who poses as a Parisian, -commits at every step; and as to his frequent manifestation -of megalomania, it is enough to refer to them. These things -are not essential, but they contribute to make Bahr’s book the -only product of hysterical mental derangement hitherto existing -in German literature.</p> - -<p>The greater number of Young-German plagiarists have not -yet risen to the monumental productions of a Tovote or a -Bahr, and have stopped at short pieces of lyric poetry.</p> - -<p>Special mention ought to be accorded to Gerhart Hauptmann, -who has, unfortunately, permitted himself to be enrolled -among the ‘Young Germans.’ It is difficult to confuse him -with them, for if he makes concessions to their æsthetics of -the commonplace with a carelessness which of itself betrays -a disquieting obtuseness of artistic taste and conscience, he -nevertheless may be distinguished from them by some great -qualities. He possesses a luscious, vivid vocabulary, full of expression -and feeling, even though it is a dialect. He knows -how to see reality, and he has the power to render it in -poetry.</p> - -<p>It will not occur to anyone to pronounce any final judgment -on this author of thirty years of age. As yet only his début -can be mentioned, and hopes be formed for his future development. -What he has hitherto produced has been surprisingly -unequal. Side by side with originality his works present a -barren imitation; with high artistic insight, a schoolboy’s -awkwardness and ingenuousness; with flights of genius, the -most afflicting commonplaces. One scarcely knows if he is a -novelist or a dramatic writer. In two of his pieces, in fact, -<i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i> and <i>College Crampton</i>, there is such a -complete absence of progressive action, a condition of things -so purely stationary and devoid of development, that even the -instinct of a natural talent for the stage could never have so -forgotten itself. Perhaps Hauptmann is only temporarily under -the spell of an æsthetic theory, from which he will free himself -later. He desires, indeed, to describe the ‘milieu’ faithfully -and closely, and loses sight in so doing of the principal thing -in poetry—of the characters and their fate. His dramas -frequently fall asunder for this reason into a series of episodes, -in themselves well observed and characteristic, but only -distantly, or it may be not at all, connected with the plot, as, -<i>e.g.</i>, in the play <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i>, the appearance of Hopslabär, -the servant Mary who is leaving, the coachman’s wife stealing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_524" id="Page_524">[524]</a></span> -the milk, etc. All are pictures of manners, but at the same -time cease to form united compositions.</p> - -<p>If Hauptmann has borrowed from the French realists the -excessive and useless accentuation of the ‘milieu,’ he has -taken from Ibsen the charlatanism of ‘modernity’ and the -affectation of the ‘thesis.’ On the model of the Norwegian -poet he suddenly inserts into some commonplace history -belonging exclusively to no particular period or locality, some -intrusive phrase containing an obscure allusion to ‘the great -times in which we live,’ or the ‘mighty events which are -coming to pass,’ etc. For example, <i>Einsame Menschen</i> -(Lonely Folk) is the needlessly pretentious title of a drama -in which we are shown a really Ibsenian idiot, who fancies -himself misunderstood by his excellent wife, and becomes -enamoured of a Russian girl-student, who is their visitor. As -is generally the case with such feeble wights, he desires to -possess the Russian, while not losing his wife; he has neither -the courage to wound his wife by openly separating from her, -nor the strength to conquer his guilty passion for the stranger. -In his torment he tries to deceive himself, to persuade himself -that his feelings towards the Russian are only those of friendship -and of gratitude, that she has understood him and intellectually -stimulated him. The Russian, however, is more -clear-sighted, and is about to leave the house. The end of -the story is that the idiot drowns himself. The conception of -a weak man vacillating between two women, of whom one is -the embodiment of duty, and the other of presumptive happiness, -is as old as the theatre itself. It has nothing to do with -the times. It can only be made to pass as ‘modernism’ by -prevarication. And in this feeble drama Hauptmann makes -his characters hold learned conversations full of allusions, such -as the following:</p> - -<div class="pbq"> - -<p class="p1"><span class="smcap">Fräulein Anna</span> (<i>the Russian</i>). These are, indeed, great times in which -we are living. I seem to feel as if something close and oppressive were -gradually lifting off from us. Do you not agree with me, Doctor?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Johannes</span> (<i>the idiot</i>). In what way?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Fräulein Anna.</span> On one side, a stifling dread was mastering us; on -the other, a gloomy fanaticism. The excessive strain seems now to be -straightened. Something like a breath of fresh air, let us say from the -twentieth century, has come in upon us.<a name="FNanchor_463_463" id="FNanchor_463_463"></a><a href="#Footnote_463_463" class="fnanchor">[463]</a></p></div> - -<p class="p1">The same swagger of modernity made the author decide -on this title, <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i> (Before Sunrise), for his first -work, and to qualify it as a ‘social drama.’ It is no more -‘social’ than any other drama, and has no connection whatever -with ‘sunrise’ in a metaphorical sense. It reveals the -state of affairs in a Silesian village, where the discovery of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_525" id="Page_525">[525]</a></span> -coal-mines on their land has made the peasants millionaires. -The contrast between the coarseness of the rustics and their -opulence furnishes good scenes for a farce; but what has it -to do with the age and its problems? A fragment of thesis -is dovetailed into the farce. The peasant millionaire is a -drunkard. The daughter may have inherited her father’s vice. -And so a man who has become attached and engaged to her -leaves her with sorrowful determination on learning that the -old man drinks. This thesis is an absurdity. A drunkard -can transmit his vice to his children, but is not bound to do -so, and, in the instance in point, the grown-up daughter does -not betray the slightest inclination to drink. His thesis is -worked out on the model of Ibsenian maunderings, and is as -little taken from life as the lover who subordinates his love to -a very uncertain theory. In this man we recognise our old -friend, the type of the recipe for realist novels, who makes -vague allusions to socialistic studies which he is reputed to -pursue,<a name="FNanchor_464_464" id="FNanchor_464_464"></a><a href="#Footnote_464_464" class="fnanchor">[464]</a> and proves himself, by these shadowy indications, -to be a ‘modern’ man.</p> - -<p>Hauptmann is true and strong only when he makes the -poor of the lowest class speak in their own dialect. The maidservants -in <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i> are excellent. The nurse, who -sings the baby to sleep; the laundress, Frau Lehmann, who -laments her domestic troubles, are by far the most successful -characters in <i>Einsame Menschen</i>. And if <i>Die Weber</i> is the best -work he has hitherto produced, it is because only the poorest -people, speaking only their own dialect, appear in it. But as -soon as he has to deal with more complex human beings of -the educated classes—beings who are not perishing with -hunger nor suffering from poverty, who speak high German, -and have a wider intellectual horizon—he becomes uncertain -and flat, and catches up the pattern-album of realism instead -of taking reality as his model.</p> - -<p><i>Die Weber</i> (The Weavers) is the only real drama among -the five which Hauptmann has hitherto written.<a name="FNanchor_465_465" id="FNanchor_465_465"></a><a href="#Footnote_465_465" class="fnanchor">[465]</a> There is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_526" id="Page_526">[526]</a></span> -not much action in this piece; but it is sufficient, and it -progresses. First, we see the profound misery in which the -weavers are perishing; then we behold the rousing of their -fury at their intolerable condition, and then their passion -gradually developed before our eyes in ever-deepening intensity, -rising into frenzy, destructive madness, tumults and riots, with -all their tragic consequences. The extraordinary part of this -drama is that the author has triumphed, with a genius which -entitles him to our respect, over the enormous difficulty of -captivating and stirring our human feelings, without making -any individual character the centre-point of his piece, and of -distributing the action between a great number of persons and -a multitude of individual traits, without its ever ceasing to be -a united and compact whole. These features, revealing a -painfully minute observation, necessarily belong to individuals; -nevertheless, they excite a very lively interest, sympathy and -pity, not for the person, but for a whole class of men. We -reach through emotion a generalization which usually is only -a work of the intellect, through a poetic composition to a -feeling which usually is excited only by history. In making -this possible, Hauptmann rises infinitely above the bog of -barren imitation, and creates a truly new form, viz., the drama -in which the hero is not an individual, but the crowd; he -succeeds, by artistic means, in presenting us with the hallucination -that we are constantly seeing before us the nameless -millions, while naturally there are never more than a few -persons in the scene who suffer, speak, and act. Besides this -great and radical innovation, other burning æsthetic questions -are solved in the piece with overpowering beauty and sobriety. -We have here a drama without love, and at the same time a -proof that other sentiments besides the one instinct of sex -can powerfully stir the soul of the reader. The piece is, moreover, -a curious contribution to the wholly new ‘psychology -of the masses,’ with which Sighele, Fournial, and others have -been occupied,<a name="FNanchor_466_466" id="FNanchor_466_466"></a><a href="#Footnote_466_466" class="fnanchor">[466]</a> and it gives an absolutely exact picture of the -delirium and hallucinations which take possession of the -individual in the midst of an excited crowd, and transforms -his character and all his instincts after the model of the usually -criminal leaders. It comprises, finally, this demonstration, -which I have nowhere found so fully in all the international -literature with which I am acquainted, viz., that beautiful -effects, when rightly employed, can be obtained even with repulsive -subjects. A poor weaver, who has not touched meat -for two years, asks a comrade—not having the heart to do it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_527" id="Page_527">[527]</a></span> -himself—to kill a pretty little dog which had run up to him, -and his wife roasts it for him. He cannot control his craving, -and begins dipping into the saucepan almost before the meat -is done. His stomach, however, cannot bear the dainty, and -to his great despair he is forced to reject it.<a name="FNanchor_467_467" id="FNanchor_467_467"></a><a href="#Footnote_467_467" class="fnanchor">[467]</a> The incident -in itself is not appetizing. But here it becomes beautiful and -deeply affecting, for it describes with incomparably tragic -power the misery of these woebegone starving people.</p> - -<p>This piece, apparently so realistic in the sense attached to -this word by superficial talkers, is, on the whole, the most -convincing refutation of the theory of realism. For it is -incredible that all the incidents which mark the dreadful -position of the weavers could have been condensed into -exactly one hour of the day, and into one single room of the -workman Dreissiger’s house; it is, if not wholly impossible, -at all events very improbable, that the soldier’s murderous -bullet should happen to kill the weaver Hilse, the only man -trusting in God and resigned to his fate, who remained quietly -at his work when all the others rushed out to pillage and riot -in the streets. The poet has not depicted ‘real’ life here, but -has freely utilized the materials which he has gained through -his observation of life in order to give artistic expression to -his personal ideas. His desire was to excite our pity as -vividly as that felt by himself for a definite form of human -misery. With this object he collected with the sure hand of -an artist, into a narrow compass, events which in life would -be distributed over months or years, and at long intervals, and -he has guided the flight of a blindly unconscious bullet in such -a way that it commits, like a villain endowed with reason, a -peculiarly dastardly crime, thus raising our compassion for -the poor weavers to the height of indignation. The piece, -then, shows us the ideas and designs of the poet, his manner -of viewing and interpreting reality; it enables us to discern -the sentiments aroused in him by the drama of life. It is, -then, in the highest degree a ‘subjective’ work, <i>i.e.</i>, the -opposite of a ‘realistic’ copy of fact, which would have to be -photographically objective.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_528" id="Page_528">[528]</a></span></p> - -<p>How does it happen that an artist, who applies his means -with so fine a taste and with so skilful a calculation of the -effect, can commit at the same time such naïvetés as, for -example, these stage-directions in <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i>: ‘Frau -Krause, at the moment of seating herself, remembers [!] that -grace has not yet been said, and mechanically folds her hands, -though without otherwise controlling her malice.’ ‘It is the -peasant Krause who, as always [!], is the last to leave the inn.’ -‘He embraces her with the awkwardness of a gorilla,’ etc. -How is an actor to set to work by his awkwardness to make -a spectator think precisely of a gorilla, or to show him that, -‘as always,’ he is the last to leave the inn? More especially, -how is it to be explained that this same Hauptmann, who -has created <i>Die Weber</i>, should after this lofty composition -have written the novels <i>Der Apostel</i> and <i>Bahnwärter Thiel</i>?<a name="FNanchor_468_468" id="FNanchor_468_468"></a><a href="#Footnote_468_468" class="fnanchor">[468]</a> -Here we fall back into the lowest depths of Young-German -incapacity. The idea is nonsensical and a plagiarism, the -story has not a ray of truth, and the language (so original and -lifelike, and so exactly rendering the lightest shades of thought -when the author has recourse to patois) is commonplace and -slipshod enough to make one weep. No words must be wasted -on <i>Der Apostel</i>. A dreamer, manifestly touched by insanity, -perambulates the streets of Zürich in the costume of an -Oriental prophet, and is taken to be Christ by the crowd who -worship him. This is the whole story. It is represented in -such a way that we never know whether the narrative is -telling what the Apostle dreamed or what really happened. -His ideas and sentiments are an echo of Nietzsche. <i>Zarathustra</i> -has incontestably got into Hauptmann’s head, and left him no -peace till he had himself produced a second infusion of this -idiocy. The railway signalman, Thiel, has lost his wife at -the birth of their first child. Constantly away from home on -duty, he is obliged to marry again that his child may be cared -for. The second wife, who soon gives her husband a child -of her own, ill-treats the motherless one. In spite of Thiel’s -warnings, she one day leaves her stepchild on the rails untended, -and it is crushed by a train. The signalman then -murders his wife and her child with a hatchet in the most -horrible manner at night, and is shut up in a lunatic asylum -as a furious madman. Let me quote just a few of his descriptions: -‘In the obscurity ... the signalman’s hut was transformed -into a chapel. A faded photograph of the dead woman -on the table before him, his Psalm-book and Bible open, he -read and sang alternately the whole night through, interrupted -only by the trains tearing past at intervals, and fell into an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_529" id="Page_529">[529]</a></span> -ecstasy so intense that he saw visions of the dead woman -standing before his eyes.’ ‘The [telegraphic] pole, at the -southern extremity of the section, had a particularly full and -beautiful chord.... The signalman experienced a solemn -feeling—as at church. And then in time he came to distinguish -a voice which recalled to him his dead wife. He -imagined that it was a chorus of blessed spirits in which her -voice was mingled, and this idea awakened in him a longing, -an emotion amounting to tears.’ The ‘Young German’ speaks -with contempt of Berthold Auerbach, because he depicts -sentimental peasants. Is there a single one of Auerbach’s -Black Forest folk impregnated with such a rose-watery sentimentality -as this signalman of the ‘realist’ Hauptmann, who -leans against a telegraph-pole, and is moved to tears at its -sound? Again, the passage (pp. 22, 23) which shows us Thiel -in amorous excitement at the sight of his wife (‘from the -woman an invincible, inevitable power seemed to emanate, -which Thiel felt himself impotent to resist’) Hauptmann has -drawn from Zola’s novels, and not from the observations of -German signalmen. Or has he rather desired to depict in a -general way a madman who has always been such long before -his furious insanity broke out? In this case he has drawn the -picture very falsely.</p> - -<p>And the style of this unhappy book! ‘The Scotch firs ... -rubbed their branches squeaking against each other,’ and ‘a -noisy squeaking, rattling, clattering, and clashing [of a train -with the brake on] broke upon the stillness of the evening.’ -One and the same word to describe the noise of branches -rubbing each other, and of a train with the brake on! ‘Two -red round lights [those of a locomotive] pierced the darkness -like the fixed and staring eyes of a gigantic monster.’ ‘The -sun ... sparkling at its rising like an enormous blood-red -jewel.’ ‘The sky which caught, like a gigantic and stainlessly -blue bowl of crystal, the golden light of the sun.’ And once -again: ‘The sky like an empty pale-blue bowl of crystal.’ -‘The moon hung, comparable to a lamp, above the forest.’ -How can an author who has any respect for himself employ -comparisons which would make a journeyman tailor who -dabbled in writing blush? Besides, what countless slovenlinesses! -‘Before his eyes floated pell-mell little yellow points -like glow-worms.’ Glow-worms do not give out a yellow, but -a bluish, light. ‘His glassy pupils moved incessantly.’ This -is a phenomenon which no one has yet seen. ‘The trunks of -the fir-trees stretched like pale decayed bones between the -summits.’ Bones are that part of the body which does not -decay. ‘The blood which flowed was the sign of combat.’ -Truly a reliable sign! Even great faults in grammar are not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_530" id="Page_530">[530]</a></span> -wanting, but I consent to take these as printer’s mistakes. If -Gerhart Hauptmann has true friends, their imperative duty is -to rouse his conscience. Having shown what excellent things -he is capable of producing, he has not the right to scribble -carelessly like the first paltry ‘Young-German’ writer. He -must be strict with himself, and endeavour always to remain -the artist he has shown himself in <i>Die Weber</i>.</p> - -<p>Hauptmann’s successes have not let Arno Holz and Johannes -Schlaf rest, and both have joined to imitate his <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i>. -Their united efforts produced the <i>Familie Selicke</i>, -a drama in which nothing happens, of which alcohol is likewise -the subject, and where the personages also speak in -dialect. For ‘modernity’s’ sake they have introduced a -theological candidate who has become a free-thinker, yet none -the less wishes to obtain an incumbency. I mention this insignificant -patchwork play only because the realists usually -quote it as one of their <i>magna opera</i>.</p> - -<p>Such are the Young-German realists, among whose number -I will not include, as I said before, a sterling author like -Gerhart Hauptmann. They do not know German, are incapable -of even observing life, still more of understanding it; -they know nothing, learn nothing, and experience nothing -whatsoever; have nothing to say, have neither a true sentiment -nor a personal thought to express, yet never cease -writing; and their scribbling, in the eyes of a great number, -passes as the sole German literature of the present and future. -They plagiarize the stalest of foreign fashions, and call themselves -innovators and original geniuses. They append on the -signboard before their shops, ‘At the Sign of Modernity,’ -and nothing is to be found in them but the discarded breeches -of bygone poetasters. If the few lines in which they mutter -about the obscure Socialistic ‘studies’ and ‘works’ of the -hero be excluded from all they have published up to the -present time, there will remain a miserable balderdash, without -colour, taste, or connection with time and space, and which a -tolerably conscientious editor of a newspaper even half a -century ago would have thrown into the waste-paper basket -as altogether too musty. They know that very well, and to be -beforehand with those who would reproach them with their -charlatanism, they audaciously attribute it to those respectable -authors whom they cover with their slaver. Thus, Hans -Merian dares to say: ‘Spielhagen makes it appear as though -he had drawn the fundamental ideas and conflicts in his -novels from the great questions which are stirring the present -time. But closely examined, all this magnificence evaporates -into a vain phantasmagoria.’ And: ‘To the fabricators of -novels <i>à la</i> Paul Lindau, recently dealing with realism, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_531" id="Page_531">[531]</a></span> -address the reproach of false realism.’<a name="FNanchor_469_469" id="FNanchor_469_469"></a><a href="#Footnote_469_469" class="fnanchor">[469]</a> And this same Hans -Merian finds that the realism of Max Kretzer and of Karl -Bleibtreu is genuine, and that their Parisian cocotte-stories, -transported contraband into Berlin, and their adventures of -mythical waitresses, are ‘drawn from the great questions of -the day’! Is not this the practice of thieves who scamper -away at full speed before a policeman, shouting as they run -louder than anyone else, ‘Stop thief!’ The movement of the -Young German is an incomparable example in literature of -that tendency to form cliques which I described in the first -volume of this work. It began by a foundation in due form. -A man arrogated to himself the rank of captain, and enrolled -armed companions in order to repair with them into the -Bohemian forests. The purpose was the same as that of -every other band of criminals—the ‘Maffia,’ the ‘Mala Vita,’ -the ‘Mano negra,’ etc., viz., that of living well without working, -by plundering the rich, by blackmailing the poor, by favouring -acts of vengeance by the members on persons whom they -envy, hate, or fear, by satisfying with impunity the leaning to -license and crime, kept down by custom and law. Like the -‘Mala Vita’ and analogous associations, this band palliates -its acts and deeds by stock phrases intended to secure the -favour, or at least the indulgence, of the crowd, incapable of -judgment and easy to move. Brigands always profess that -they are guided by the desire to repair, to the utmost of their -power, the injustice of fate, by relieving the rich of their -superfluities, and by then alleviating the misery of the poor. -Thus, this band asserts that it defends the cause of truth, -liberty, and progress, with the indecent love adventures of -tavern-maidservants and prostitutes! Membership is acquired -by formal admission after predetermined tests have been -undergone. He must first publicly bespatter a well-known -and meritorious author with mud. With the predominance -of low and bad emotions in members of the band, they experience -more gratification in maligning a man they envy -than in being praised themselves. Next, the candidate must -worship as geniuses one or more members of the band, and -finally give proof, in verse or prose, that he also is able to -express, in the language of a <i>souteneur</i>, the ideas of a convict, -and the sensations of a noisome beast. Having undergone -these three ordeals with success, he is received into the band -and declared a genius. Just as the bands of brigands have -their haunts, their receivers of stolen goods, and their secret -or affiliated allies among the tradespeople, so this band -possesses its own newspaper, its appointed editors (who, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_532" id="Page_532">[532]</a></span> -first at least, accepted everything from it), and secret understandings -with the critics of respectable papers. Its influence -extends even to foreign countries—a phenomenon frequently -observed in the formation of bands, and expressly confirmed -by Lombroso. ‘The Mattoids,’ he says, ‘as opposed to -geniuses and fools, are linked together by a sympathy of -interests and hatred; they form a kind of freemasonry so -much the more powerful that it is less regular. It is founded -on the need of resistance to ridicule which is common to all, -and inexorably pursues them everywhere on the necessity of -uprooting, or at least combating, the natural antithesis, which, -for them, is the man of genius; and, in spite of their hating -each other, they stand firmly by one another.’<a name="FNanchor_470_470" id="FNanchor_470_470"></a><a href="#Footnote_470_470" class="fnanchor">[470]</a></p> - -<p>He who from a height surveys a horizon of a certain extent -can easily observe the labour of the apostles of this international -freemasonry. M. Téodar de Wyzewa, already mentioned, -who introduced to the French the insane Nietzsche as -the most remarkable author that Germany has produced in -the second half of this century, speaks in <i>La Revue bleue</i> and -in <i>Le Figaro</i> of Conrad Alberti as the ‘poet’ who will dominate -German literature in the twentieth century. The ‘new -reviews’ of the Symbolists and Instrumentists, <i>La Revue blanche</i>, -<i>La Plume</i>, etc., translate the ‘Erlebte Gedichte’ of O. J. -Bierbaum. On the other hand, O. E. Hartleben offers the -German public the so-called ‘poetry’ of the Belgian Symbolist, -Albert Giraud, <i>Pierrot lunaire</i>, and H. Bahr mutters with -transport over the Parisian mystics. Ola Hansson is enthusiastic -before German readers over the realists of the North, -and carries into Sweden the good news of Young-German -realism, etc.</p> - -<p>The actions of the band have not done much good to itself, -but they have caused serious injuries to German literature. -It has necessarily exerted a baneful attraction over the young -who have come to the front in the last seven or eight years. -If we consider the enormous difficulties to which a beginner -is exposed, who without protection or influence, depending -wholly on himself, enters into the <i>Via Crucis</i> leading to -literary success, we shall find it quite comprehensible that the -tyros should be eager to join themselves to a society possessing -a powerful organization, its own periodicals and publishers, -as well as a definite public, and always ready to take the part -of its members with the unscrupulousness and pugnacity of -cut-throats. As members of the band, they are freed from all -the difficulties of beginners. The most vigorous talents alone—such, -for example, as Hermann Sudermann—disdained to -lighten their struggles with the help of such allies. The others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_533" id="Page_533">[533]</a></span> -willingly allowed themselves to be affiliated. The result was, -on the one hand, that wholly incompetent lads were drawn -into the profession of authors, who would never have come -before the public if they had not had special depôts to which -they could cart all their rubbish; and, on the other hand, that -of procuring for others, who were perhaps not wholly devoid of -talent, periodicals and publishers for their childish effusions, the -appearance of which in print would have been inconceivable -before the formation of the band. Some threw themselves -into the literary profession at an age when they should have -been studying for a long time to come, and thereby remained -ignorant, immature, and superficial; others acquired slipshod -and slovenly habits into which they would never have fallen if, -in the absence of the conveniences which the organization of -the band offered them, they had been obliged to submit to -some discipline, and develop their capacities with care. The -existence of this literary ‘Maffia’ assisted the plagiarists -against independent minds, the common herd against the -solitary, the scribbler against the artist, and the obscene -against the refined, so powerfully that competition was almost -out of the question. The luxuriant growth of silly, boyish, -and crude book-making is the result of this fostering of incapacity -and immaturity, and this premium granted to vulgarity. -I will demonstrate in one instance only the disastrous effect -of the band. The case of the Darmstadt Gymnasium (public -school) boy may be remembered, who wrote under the -pseudonym of Hans G. Ludwigs, and committed suicide in -1892 at the age of seventeen. For two years he had offered -incense to the realist ‘geniuses,’ and published idiotic novels -in the official periodicals of Young Germany, and he committed -suicide because, as he wrote, ‘this cursed boxed-in -life,’ <i>i.e.</i>, the obligation to learn and work regularly in class, -‘broke down his strength.’ A good many gymnasium boys -write trumpery things and send them to the papers; but as -these are not printed, they gradually recover their reason. -Their heads do not get turned, and they do not come to -imagine that they are much too good to do their lessons, and -diligently prepare for their examinations. Ludwigs would -perhaps have been cured of his folly; he might have lived till -the present day, and become a useful man, if the criminal realist -periodicals had not printed his twaddle, and thus diverted him -from his studies, and intensified his unwholesome boyish -vanity into megalomania.</p> - -<p>That this invasion by main force, this revolt of slaves into -literature, to use Nietzsche’s expression, was to a certain -extent successful, can be accounted for by the state of Germany. -Its literature after 1870 had, in fact, become stagnant. It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_534" id="Page_534">[534]</a></span> -could not be otherwise. The German people had been obliged -to exert their whole strength to conquer their unity in terrible -wars. Now, it is not possible simultaneously to make history -on a great scale and lead a nourishing artistic life; it must be -one or the other. In the France of Napoleon I. the most -celebrated authors were Delille, Esménard, Parseval de Grandmaison, -and Fontanes. The Germany of William I., of Moltke -and Bismarck, could not produce a Goethe or a Schiller. -This can be explained without any mysticism. From the -mighty events of which they are witnesses and collaborators -the nation obtains a standard of comparison, by the side of -which all works of art shrink together, and poets and artists, -especially those most gifted and conscientious, feel depressed -and discouraged, often even paralyzed, by the double perception -that their compatriots only peruse their works distractedly -and superficially, and that their creations absolutely cannot -attain to the grandeur of the historical events passing before -their eyes. In this critical period of transient mental collapse -the Young-German band made its appearance, and profited -greatly by what even honest and sensible people were obliged -to acknowledge as well-founded attacks—even while they -condemned the form of them—on many of the then reigning -literary senators.</p> - -<p>But another and weightier ground is the anarchy which -reigns at present in German literature. Our republic of letters -is neither governed nor defended. It has neither authorities -nor police, and that is the reason a small but determined band -of evildoers can make a great stir at their pleasure. Our -masters do not concern themselves about their posterity as -used to be the case. They have no sense of the duty which -success and glory impose upon them. Let me not be misunderstood. -Nothing is further from my thoughts than the -wish to transform literature into a closed corporation, and to -require the new arrivals to become apprentices and journeymen -(although, in fact, every new generation unconsciously -forms itself on the works of its intellectual ancestors). But -they have not the right to be indifferent to what will come -after them. They are the intellectual leaders of the people. -They have their ear. On them is the task incumbent of -facilitating the first steps of the beginner, and presenting them -to the public. By this much would be obtained—continuity -of development, formation of a literary tradition, respect and -gratitude for predecessors, severe and early suppression of -individuals of absolutely unjustifiable pretensions, economy of -power, which in these days a young author must fritter away -in order to come out of his shell. But our literary chiefs have -no understanding for all this. Each one thinks only of himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_535" id="Page_535">[535]</a></span> -and is furiously jealous of his colleagues and his followers. -Not one of them says that in the intellectual concert of a great -people there is room enough for dozens of different artists, -each one of whom plays his own instrument. Not one takes -into consideration that after him new talent will be born, that -this is a fact he cannot prevent, and that he is preparing for -himself a better old age by levelling the paths, instead of -viciously trying to close them to those who, whatever he may -do, will still be his successors in public favour. Who amongst -us has ever received a word of encouragement from one of our -literary grandees? To whom amongst us have they testified -their interest and benevolence? Not one of us owes them -anything whatsoever; not one feels obliged to be just towards -them, nor to make himself their champion; and when the -band fell upon them like a lot of brigands, to drive them off -with blows, and put themselves in their place, not a hand was -raised to defend them, and they were cruelly punished for -having lived and acted in isolation and secret mutual hostility, -sternly repulsing the young, and indifferent to the tastes of -the people whenever their own works were not in question.</p> - -<p>And as we have no Council of Ancients, so we lack also all -critical police. The reviewer may praise the most wretched -production, kill by silence or drag through the mire the highest -masterpiece, state as the contents of a book things of which -there is not the slightest mention, and no one calls him to -account, no one stigmatizes his ineptitude, his effrontery, or -his falsehood. Thus a public that is neither led nor counselled -by its ancients, nor protected by its critical police, becomes -the predestined prey of all charlatans and impostors.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_536" id="Page_536">[536]</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p class="pc2 large"><a name="c536" id="c536">BOOK V.</a></p> - -<p class="pc1 mid"><i>THE TWENTIETH CENTURY.</i></p> - -<h2 class="p2">CHAPTER I.</h2> - -<p class="pch">PROGNOSIS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Our</span> long and sorrowful wandering through the hospital—for -as such we have recognised, if not all civilized humanity, at -all events the upper stratum of the population of large towns -to be—is ended. We have observed the various embodiments -which degeneration and hysteria have assumed in the -art, poetry, and philosophy of our times. We have seen the -mental disorder affecting modern society manifesting itself -chiefly in the following forms: Mysticism, which is the expression -of the inaptitude for attention, for clear thought and -control of the emotions, and has for its cause the weakness -of the higher cerebral centres; Ego-mania, which is an effect of -faulty transmission by the sensory nerves, of obtuseness in the -centres of perception, of aberration of instincts from a craving -for sufficiently strong impressions, and of the great predominance -of organic sensations over representative consciousness; -and false Realism, which proceeds from confused æsthetic -theories, and characterizes itself by pessimism and the irresistible -tendency to licentious ideas, and the most vulgar and -unclean modes of expression. In all three tendencies we -detect the same ultimate elements, viz., a brain incapable of -normal working, thence feebleness of will, inattention, predominance -of emotion, lack of knowledge, absence of sympathy -or interest in the world and humanity, atrophy of the notion -of duty and morality. From a clinical point of view somewhat -unlike each other, these pathological pictures are nevertheless -only different manifestations of a single and unique -fundamental condition, to wit, exhaustion, and they must be -ranked by the alienist in the genus melancholia, which is the -psychiatrical symptom of an exhausted central nervous system.</p> - -<p>Superficial or unfair critics have foisted on me the assertion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_537" id="Page_537">[537]</a></span> -that degeneration and hysteria are the products of the present -age. The attentive and candid reader will bear witness that -I have never circulated such an absurdity. Hysteria and -degeneration have always existed; but they formerly showed -themselves sporadically, and had no importance in the life of -the whole community. It was only the vast fatigue which -was experienced by the generation on which the multitude of -discoveries and innovations burst abruptly, imposing upon it -organic exigencies greatly surpassing its strength, which -created favourable conditions under which these maladies -could gain ground enormously, and become a danger to -civilization. Certain micro-organisms engendering mortal -diseases have always been present also—for example, the -bacillus of cholera; but they only cause epidemics when circumstances -arise intensely favourable for their rapid increase. -In the same way the body constantly harbours parasites which -only injure it when another bacillus has invaded and devastated -it. For example, we are always inhabited by staphylococcus -and streptococcus, but the influenza bacillus must first -appear for them to swarm and produce mortal suppurations. -Thus, the vermin of plagiarists in art and literature becomes -dangerous only when the insane, who follow their own original -paths, have previously poisoned the <i>Zeitgeist</i>, weakened by -fatigue, and rendered it incapable of resistance.</p> - -<p>We stand now in the midst of a severe mental epidemic; of -a sort of black death of degeneration and hysteria, and it is -natural that we should ask anxiously on all sides: ‘What is -to come next?’</p> - -<p>This question of eventuality presents itself to the physician -in every serious case, and however delicate and rash, above -all, however little scientific any prediction may be, he cannot -evade the necessity of establishing a prognosis. For that -matter, this is not purely arbitrary, not a blind leap into the -dark; the most attentive observation of all the symptoms, -assisted by experience, permits a generally just conclusion on -the ulterior evolution of the evil.</p> - -<p>It is possible that the disease may not have yet attained its -culminating point. If it should become more violent, gain -yet more in breadth and depth, then certain phenomena which -are perceived as exceptions or in an embryo condition would -henceforth increase to a formidable extent and develop consistently; -others, which at present are only observed among -the inmates of lunatic asylums, would pass into the daily -habitual condition of whole classes of the population. Life -would then present somewhat the following picture:</p> - -<p>Every city possesses its club of suicides. By the side of -this exist clubs for mutual assassination by strangulation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_538" id="Page_538">[538]</a></span> -hanging, or stabbing. In the place of the present taverns -houses would be found devoted to the service of consumers -of ether, chloral, naphtha, and hashish. The number of -persons suffering from aberrations of taste and smell has -become so considerable that it is a lucrative trade to open -shops for them where they can swallow in rich vessels all -sorts of dirt, and breathe amidst surroundings which do not -offend their sense of beauty nor their habits of comfort the -odour of decay and filth. A number of new professions are -being formed—that of injectors of morphia and cocaine; of -commissioners who, posted at the corners of the streets, offer -their arms to persons attacked by agoraphobia, in order to -enable them to cross the roads and squares; of companies of -men who by vigorous affirmations are charged to tranquillize -persons afflicted with the mania of doubt when taken by a fit -of nervousness, etc.</p> - -<p>The increase of nervous irritability, far beyond the present -standard, has made it necessary to institute certain measures -of protection. After it has frequently come to pass that overexcited -persons, being unable to resist a sudden impulsion, have -killed from their windows with air-guns, or have even openly -attacked, the street boys who have uttered shrill whistles or -piercingly sharp screams without rhyme or reason; that they -have forced their way into strange houses where beginners are -practising the piano or singing, and there committed murder; -that they have made attempts with dynamite against tramways -where the conductor rings a bell (as in Berlin) or whistles—it -has been forbidden by law to whistle and bawl in the street; -special buildings, managed in such a way that no sound -penetrates to the outside, have been established for the -practice of the piano and singing exercises; public conveyances -have no right to make a noise, and the severest -penalty is at the same time attached to the possession of air-guns. -The barking of dogs having driven many people in the -neighbourhood to madness and suicide, these animals cannot -be kept in a town until after they have been made mute by -severing the ‘recurrent’ nerve. A new legislation on subjects -connected with the press forbids journalists, under severe -penalties, to give detailed accounts of violence, or suicides -under peculiar circumstances. Editors are responsible for -all punishable actions committed in imitation of their reports.</p> - -<p>Sexual psychopathy of every nature has become so general -and so imperious that manners and laws have adapted themselves -accordingly. They appear already in the fashions. -Masochists or passivists, who form the majority of men, clothe -themselves in a costume which recalls, by colour and cut,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_539" id="Page_539">[539]</a></span> -feminine apparel. Women who wish to please men of this -kind wear men’s dress, an eye-glass, boots with spurs and -riding-whip, and only show themselves in the street with a -large cigar in their mouths. The demand of persons with the -‘contrary’ sexual sentiment that persons of the same sex can -conclude a legal marriage has obtained satisfaction, seeing -they have been numerous enough to elect a majority of -deputies having the same tendency.<a name="FNanchor_471_471" id="FNanchor_471_471"></a><a href="#Footnote_471_471" class="fnanchor">[471]</a> Sadists, ‘bestials,’ -nosophiles, and necrophiles, etc., find legal opportunities to -gratify their inclinations. Modesty and restraint are dead -superstitions of the past, and appear only as atavism and -among the inhabitants of remote villages. The lust of murder -is confronted as a disease, and treated by surgical intervention, -etc.</p> - -<p>The capacity for attention and contemplation has diminished -so greatly that instruction at school is at most but two hours -a day, and no public amusements, such as theatres, concerts, -lectures, etc., last more than half an hour. For that matter, -in the curriculum of studies, mental education is almost wholly -suppressed, and by far the greater part of the time is reserved for -bodily exercises; on the stage only representations of unveiled -eroticism and bloody homicides, and to this, flock voluntary -victims from all the parts, who aspire to the voluptuousness -of dying amid the plaudits of delirious spectators.</p> - -<p>The old religions have not many adherents. On the other -hand, there are a great number of spiritualist communities -who, instead of priests, maintain soothsayers, evokers of the -dead, sorcerers, astrologers, and chiromancers, etc.</p> - -<p>Books such as those of the present day have not been in -fashion for a very long time. Printing is now only on black, -blue, or golden paper; on another colour are single incoherent -words, often nothing but syllables, nay, even letters or -numbers only, but which have a symbolical significance which -is meant to be guessed by the colour and print of the paper -and form of the book, the size and nature of the characters. -Authors soliciting popularity make comprehension easy by -adding to the text symbolical arabesques, and impregnating the -paper with a definite perfume. But this is considered vulgar -by the refined and connoisseurs, and is but little esteemed. -Some poets who publish no more than isolated letters of the -alphabet, or whose works are coloured pages on which is -absolutely nothing, elicit the greatest admiration. There are -societies whose object it is to interpret them, and their -enthusiasm is so fanatical that they frequently have fights -against each other ending in murder.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_540" id="Page_540">[540]</a></span></p> - -<p>It would be easy to augment this picture still further, no -feature of which is invented, every detail being borrowed from -special literature on criminal law and psychiatria, and observations -of the peculiarities of neurasthenics, hysterics, and -mattoids. This will be, in the near future, the condition of -civilized humanity, if fatigue, nervous exhaustion, and the -diseases and degeneration conditioned by them, make much -greater progress.</p> - -<p>Will it come to this? Well, no; I think not. And this, for -a reason which scarcely perhaps permits of an objection: -because humanity has not yet reached the term of its evolution; -because the over-exertion of two or three generations -cannot yet have exhausted all its vital powers. Humanity is -not senile. It is still young, and a moment of over-exertion is -not fatal for youth; it can recover itself. Humanity resembles -a vast torrent of lava, which rushes, broad and deep, from the -crater of a volcano in constant activity. The outer crust -cracks into cold, vitrified scoriæ, but under this dead shell the -mass flows, rapidly and evenly, in living incandescence.</p> - -<p>As long as the vital powers of an individual, as of a race, -are not wholly consumed, the organism makes efforts actively -or passively to adapt itself, by seeking to modify injurious -conditions, or by adjusting itself in some way so that conditions -impossible to modify should be as little noxious as -possible. Degenerates, hysterics, and neurasthenics are not -capable of adaptation. Therefore they are fated to disappear. -That which inexorably destroys them is that they do not know -how to come to terms with reality. They are lost, whether -they are alone in the world, or whether there are people with -them who are still sane, or more sane than they, or at least -curable.</p> - -<p>They are lost if they are alone: for anti-social, inattentive, -without judgment or prevision, they are capable of no useful -individual effort, and still less of a common labour which -demands obedience, discipline, and the regular performance -of duty. They fritter away their life in solitary, unprofitable, -æsthetic debauch, and all that their organs, which are in full regression, -are still good for is enervating enjoyment. Like bats in -old towers, they are niched in the proud monument of civilization, -which they have found ready-made, but they themselves -can construct nothing more, nor prevent any deterioration. -They live, like parasites, on labour which past generations -have accumulated for them; and when the heritage is once -consumed, they are condemned to die of hunger.</p> - -<p>But they are still more surely and rapidly lost if, instead of -being alone in the world, healthy beings yet live at their side. -For in that case they have to fight in the struggle for existence, -and there is no leisure for them to perish in a slow decay by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_541" id="Page_541">[541]</a></span> -their own incapacity for work. The normal man, with his -clear mind, logical thought, sound judgment, and strong will, -sees, where the degenerate only gropes; he plans and acts -where the latter dozes and dreams; he drives him without -effort from all the places where the life-springs of Nature -bubble up, and, in possession of all the good things of this -earth, he leaves to the impotent degenerate at most the shelter -of the hospital, lunatic asylum, and prison, in contemptuous -pity. Let us imagine the drivelling Zoroaster of Nietzsche, -with his cardboard lions, eagles, and serpents, from a toyshop, -or the noctambulist Des Esseintes of the Decadents, sniffing -and licking his lips, or Ibsen’s “solitary powerful” Stockmann, -and his Rosmer lusting for suicide—let us imagine these -beings in competition with men who rise early, and are not -weary before sunset, who have clear heads, solid stomachs and -hard muscles: the comparison will provoke our laughter.</p> - -<p>Degenerates must succumb, therefore. They can neither -adapt themselves to the conditions of Nature and civilization, -nor maintain themselves in the struggle for existence against -the healthy. But the latter—and the vast masses of the -people still include unnumbered millions of them—will rapidly -and easily adapt themselves to the conditions which new -inventions have created in humanity. Those who, by marked -deficiency of organization, are unable to do so, among the -generation taken unawares by these inventions, fall out of the -ranks; they become hysterical and neurasthenical, engender -degenerates, and in these end their race;<a name="FNanchor_472_472" id="FNanchor_472_472"></a><a href="#Footnote_472_472" class="fnanchor">[472]</a> but the more -vigorous, although they at first also have become bewildered -and fatigued, recover themselves little by little, their descendants -accustom themselves to the rapid progress which -humanity must make, and soon their slow respiration and -their quieter pulsations of the heart will prove that it no -longer costs them any effort to keep pace and keep up with -the others. The end of the twentieth century, therefore, will -probably see a generation to whom it will not be injurious to -read a dozen square yards of newspapers daily, to be constantly -called to the telephone, to be thinking simultaneously of the -five continents of the world, to live half their time in a railway -carriage or in a flying machine, and to satisfy the demands of -a circle of ten thousand acquaintances, associates, and friends. -It will know how to find its ease in the midst of a city inhabited -by millions, and will be able, with nerves of gigantic vigour, to -respond without haste or agitation to the almost innumerable -claims of existence.</p> - -<p>If, however, the new civilization should decidedly outstrip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_542" id="Page_542">[542]</a></span> -the powers of humanity, if even the most robust of the species -should not in the long-run grow up to it, then ulterior generations -will settle with it in another way. They will simply give -it up. For humanity has a sure means of defence against -innovations which impose a destructive effort on its nervous -system, namely, ‘misoneism,’ that instinctive, invincible -aversion to progress and its difficulties that Lombroso has -studied so much, and to which he has given this name.<a name="FNanchor_473_473" id="FNanchor_473_473"></a><a href="#Footnote_473_473" class="fnanchor">[473]</a> Misoneism -protects man from changes of which the suddenness -or the extent would be baneful to him. But it does not only -appear as resistance to the acceptation of the new; it has -another aspect, to wit, the abandonment and gradual elimination -of inventions imposing claims too hard on man. We -see savage races who die out when the power of the white man -makes it impossible for them to shut out civilization; but we -see also some who hasten with joy to tear off and throw away -the stiff collar imposed by civilization, as soon as constraint is -removed. I need only recall the anecdote, related in detail by -Darwin, of the Fuegian Jemmy Button, who, taken as a child -to England and brought up in that country, returned to his -own land in the patent-leather shoes and gloves and what not -of fashionable attire, but who, when scarcely landed, threw off -the spell of all this foreign lumber for which he was not ripe, -and became again a savage among savages.<a name="FNanchor_474_474" id="FNanchor_474_474"></a><a href="#Footnote_474_474" class="fnanchor">[474]</a> During the -period of the great migrations, the barbarians constructed -block-houses in the shadow of the marble palaces of the -Romans they had conquered, and preserved of Roman institutions, -inventions, arts and sciences, only those which -were easy and pleasant to bear. Humanity has, to-day as -much as ever, the tendency to reject all that it cannot digest. -If future generations come to find that the march of progress -is too rapid for them, they will after a time composedly give it -up. They will saunter along at their own pace or stop as they -choose. They will suppress the distribution of letters, allow -railways to disappear, banish telephones from dwelling-houses, -preserving them only, perhaps, for the service of the State, will -prefer weekly papers to daily journals, will quit cities to return -to the country, will slacken the changes of fashion, will simplify -the occupations of the day and year, and will grant the nerves -some rest again. Thus, adaptation will be effected in any case, -either by the increase of nervous power or by the renunciation -of acquisitions which exact too much from the nervous -system.</p> - -<p>As to the future of art and literature, with which these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_543" id="Page_543">[543]</a></span> -inquiries are chiefly concerned, that can be predicted with -tolerable clearness. I resist the temptation of looking into too -remote a future. Otherwise I should perhaps prove, or at -least show as very probable, that in the mental life of centuries -far ahead of us art and poetry will occupy but a very -insignificant place. Psychology teaches us that the course of -development is from instinct to knowledge, from emotion to -judgment, from rambling to regulated association of ideas. -Attention replaces fugitive ideation; will, guided by reason, replaces -caprice. Observation, then, triumphs ever more and -more over imagination and artistic symbolism—<i>i.e.</i>, the introduction -of erroneous personal interpretations of the universe -is more and more driven back by an understanding of the laws -of Nature. On the other hand, the march followed hitherto by -civilization gives us an idea of the fate which may be reserved -for art and poetry in a very distant future. That which -originally was the most important occupation of men of full -mental development, of the maturest, best, and wisest members -of society, becomes little by little a subordinate pastime, and -finally a child’s amusement. Dancing was formerly an extremely -important affair. It was performed on certain grand -occasions, as a State function of the first order, with solemn -ceremonies, after sacrifices and invocations to the gods, by the -leading warriors of the tribe. To-day it is no more than a -fleeting pastime for women and youths, and later on its last -atavistic survival will be the dancing of children. The fable -and the fairy-tale were once the highest productions of the -human mind. In them the most hidden wisdom of the tribe -and its most precious traditions were expressed. To-day they -represent a species of literature only cultivated for the nursery. -The verse which by rhythm, figurative expression, and rhyme -trebly betrays its origin in the stimulations of rhythmically -functioning subordinate organs, in association of ideas working -according to external similitudes, and in that working according -to consonance, was originally the only form of literature. -To-day it is only employed for purely emotional portrayal; for -all other purposes it has been conquered by prose, and, indeed, -has almost passed into the condition of an atavistic language. -Under our very eyes the novel is being increasingly degraded, -serious and highly cultivated men scarcely deeming it worthy -of attention, and it appeals more and more exclusively to the -young and to women. From all these examples, it is fair to -conclude that after some centuries art and poetry will have -become pure atavisms, and will no longer be cultivated except -by the most emotional portion of humanity—by women, by the -young, perhaps even by children.</p> - -<p>But, as I have said, I merely venture on these passing hints<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_544" id="Page_544">[544]</a></span> -as to their yet remote destinies, and will confine myself to the -immediate future, which is far more certain.</p> - -<p>In all countries æsthetic theorists and critics repeat the -phrase that the forms hitherto employed by art are henceforth -effete and useless, and that it is preparing something perfectly -new, absolutely different from all that is yet known. Richard -Wagner first spoke of ‘the art-work of the future,’ and hundreds -of incapable imitators lisp the term after him. Some among -them go so far as to try to impose upon themselves and the -world that some inexpressive banality, or some pretentious -inanity which they have patched up, is this art-work of the -future. But all these talks about sunrise, the dawn, new land, -etc., are only the twaddle of degenerates incapable of thought. -The idea that to-morrow morning at half-past seven o’clock a -monstrous, unsuspected event will suddenly take place; that on -Thursday next a complete revolution will be accomplished at -a single blow, that a revelation, a redemption, the advent of a -new age, is imminent—this is frequently observed among the -insane; it is a mystic delirium. Reality knows not these -sudden changes. Even the great revolution in France, -although it was directly the work of a few ill-regulated minds -like Marat and Robespierre, did not penetrate far into the -depths, as has been shown by H. Taine and proved by the -ulterior progress of history; it changed the outer more than -the inner relations of the French social organism. All development -is carried on slowly; the day after is the continuation -of the day before; every new phenomenon is the outcome -of a more ancient one, and preserves a family resemblance to -it. ‘One would say,’ observes Renan with quiet irony, ‘that -the young have neither read the history of philosophy nor -Ecclesiastes: “the thing that hath been, it is that which shall -be.”’<a name="FNanchor_475_475" id="FNanchor_475_475"></a><a href="#Footnote_475_475" class="fnanchor">[475]</a> The art and poetry of to-morrow, in all essential -points, will be the art and poetry of to-day and yesterday, and -the spasmodic seeking for new forms is nothing more than -hysterical vanity, the freaks of strolling players and charlatanism. -Its sole result has hitherto been childish declamation, -with coloured lights and changing perfumes as accompaniments, -and atavistic games of shadows and pantomimes, nor will it -produce anything more serious in the future.</p> - -<p>New forms! Are not the ancient forms flexible and ductile -enough to lend expression to every sentiment and every -thought? Has a true poet ever found any difficulty in pouring -into known and standard forms that which surged within him, -and demanded an issue? Has form, for that matter, the -dividing, predetermining, and delimitating importance which -dreamers and simpletons attribute to it? The forms of lyric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_545" id="Page_545">[545]</a></span> -poetry extend from the birthday-rhyming of the ‘popular poet -of the occasion,’ who works to order and publishes his address -in the paper, to Schiller’s <i>Lay of the Bell</i>; dramatic form includes -at the same time the <i>Geschundener Raub-ritter</i> (The -Highwayman Fleeced), acted some time ago at Berlin, and -Goethe’s <i>Faust</i>; the epic form embraces Kortum’s <i>Jobsiade</i> -and Dante’s <i>Divina Commedia</i>, Heinz Tovote’s <i>Im Liebesrauche</i> -and Thackeray’s <i>Vanity Fair</i>. And yet there are bleatings -for ‘new forms’? If such there be, they will give no talent to -the incapable, and those who have talent know how to create -something even within the limits of old forms. The most -important thing is the having something to say. Whether -it be said under a lyric, dramatic, or epic form is of no -essential consequence, and the author will not easily feel the -necessity of leaving these forms in order to invent some -dazzling novelty in which to clothe his ideas. The history -of art and poetry teaches us, moreover, that new forms have -not been found for three thousand years. The old ones have -been given by the nature of human thought itself. They would -only be able to change if the form of our thought itself became -changed. There is, of course, evolution, but it only affects -externals, not our inmost being. The painter, for example, -discovers the picture on the easel after the picture on the wall; -sculpture, after the free figure, discovers high relief, and still -later low relief, which already intrenches in a way not free -from objection on the domain of the painter; the drama -renounces its supernatural character, and learns to unfold -itself in a more compact and condensed exposition; the epos -abandons rhythmic language, and makes use of prose, etc. -In these questions of detail evolution will continue to operate, -but there will be no modification in the fundamental lines of -the different modes of expression for human emotion.</p> - -<p>All amplifications of given artistic frames have hitherto -consisted in the introduction of new subjects and figures, not -in the invention of new forms. It was an advance when, -instead of the gods and heroes which till that time alone had -peopled the epic poem, Petronius introduced into narrative -poetry (<i>The Banquet of Trimalchio</i>) the characters of contemporary -Roman life, or when the Netherlanders of the seventeenth -century discovered for painting—which knew of naught -save religious and mythological events, or great proceedings -of state—the world of fairs, popular festivals, and rustic -taverns. Quevedo and Mendoza, who represent the beggars -in the ‘Picaresque’ novel—the model of the German Grimmelshausen -writings—Richardson, Fielding, J. J. Rousseau, -who take as the subject of their novels, instead of extraordinary -adventures, the reflections and emotions of ordinary average<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_546" id="Page_546">[546]</a></span> -beings; Diderot, who in <i>Le Fils naturel</i> and <i>Le Père de Famille</i> -places his townspeople on the arrogant French stage, which till -then had only known insignificant people as figuring in comedies -and farces, but in serious drama, kings and great lords alone—all -these authors invented, it is true, no new forms, but gave -to old forms a different content from that of tradition. We -observe also an advance of this kind in the poetry and art of -our own day. They have given to the proletariat the rights -of citizenship in art and literature. They show the labourer, -not as a coarse or ridiculous figure, not with the object of -producing a comic or coarse effect, but as a serious, frequently -tragic being, worthy of our sympathy. Art is hereby enriched -in the same way as it once was by the introduction of rascals -and adventurers, of a Clarissa, a Tom Jones, a Julie (<i>Nouvelle -Héloïse</i>), a Werther, a Constance (<i>Le Fils naturel</i>), etc., into the -circle of its representations. Nevertheless, when many people -in bewilderment exclaim hereupon, ‘The art of to-morrow will -be socialistic!’ they utter unfathomable nonsense. Socialism -is a conception of the laws which ought to determine the -production and distribution of property. With this, art has -nothing to do. Art cannot take any side in politics, nor is it -its business to find and propose solutions to economic questions. -Its task is to represent the eternally human causes of the -socialist movement, the suffering of the poor, their yearning -after happiness, their struggle against hostile forces in Nature -and in the social mechanism, and their mighty elevation -from the abyss into a higher mental and moral atmosphere. -When art fulfils this task, when it shows the proletariat how -it lives and suffers, how it feels and aspires, it awakens in us -an emotion which becomes the mother of projects for alteration, -transformation, and reform. It is in exciting such -fruitful emotions, and by them the desire to heal the hurt, -that art co-operates with progress, and not by socialist declamations, -and perhaps still less by executing pictures of the -state and the society of the future. Bellamy’s patchwork, -<i>Looking Backward</i>, is outside art, and the twentieth century -will surely not favour books of this quality. The glorification -of the proletariat by a Karl Henckell, who practises with -regard to the fourth estate a more shocking Byzantinism than -was ever displayed by a tail-wagging courtier to a king, is -entirely incapable of awakening interest and sympathy for the -working man. Neither is true and useful emotion to be -expected either by such false nonsense as, for example, Ludwig -Fulda’s <i>Verlorene Paradies</i>,<a name="FNanchor_476_476" id="FNanchor_476_476"></a><a href="#Footnote_476_476" class="fnanchor">[476]</a> or Ernst von Wildenbruch’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_547" id="Page_547">[547]</a></span> -<i>Haubenlerche</i>.<a name="FNanchor_477_477" id="FNanchor_477_477"></a><a href="#Footnote_477_477" class="fnanchor">[477]</a> A brave woman like Minna Wettstein-Adelt,<a name="FNanchor_478_478" id="FNanchor_478_478"></a><a href="#Footnote_478_478" class="fnanchor">[478]</a> -who obtains employment as a daily workwoman in a factory, and -simply relates what she experienced there; a plucky man of -sound sense and a warm heart like Gœhre, who depicts the -life of a factory-hand according to his own experience;<a name="FNanchor_479_479" id="FNanchor_479_479"></a><a href="#Footnote_479_479" class="fnanchor">[479]</a> a -Gerhart Hauptmann, too, with his closely-observed details in -<i>Die Weber</i>, do more for the proletariat than all the Emile -Zolas, with their empty theorizing in <i>Germinal</i> and <i>L’Argent</i>, -than all the William Morrises, with their high-flown rhymings -on the noble workman, who becomes under their pen a -caricature of the ‘noble savage’ so much laughed at in the -old novel-writers on the primeval forests, and yet more still -than all the scribblers who strew their pottage with socialist -phrases by way of ‘modern’ seasoning. Mrs. Beecher-Stowe’s -<i>Uncle Tom’s Cabin</i> did not preach against slavery, nor risk -projects in favour of its suppression. But this book has -drawn tears from millions of readers, and caused negro slavery -to be felt as a disgrace to America, and thus contributed -essentially to its abolition. Art and poetry can do for the -proletariat what Mrs. Beecher-Stowe has done for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_548" id="Page_548">[548]</a></span> -negroes of the United States. They cannot and will not do -more.</p> - -<p>It is not unusual at present to meet this sentence: ‘The -art and poetry of the future will be scientific.’ Those who -say this assume extraordinarily conceited attitudes, and consider -themselves unmistakably as extremely progressive and -‘modern.’ I ask myself in vain what these words can -mean. Do the good people who mean so well by science -imagine that sculptors will in the future chisel microscopes in -marble, that painters will depict the circulation of the blood, -and that poets will display in rich rhymes the principles of -Euclid? Even this would not be science, but merely a -mechanical occupation with the external apparatus of science. -But this will surely not occur. In the past a confusion -between art and science was possible; in the future it is unimaginable. -The mental activity of man is too highly developed -for such an amalgamation. Art and poetry have -emotion for their object, science has knowledge. The former -are subjective, the latter objective. The former work with -the imagination, <i>i.e.</i>, with the association of ideas directed -by emotion; the latter works with observation, <i>i.e.</i>, with the -association of ideas determined by sense-impressions, of which -the acquisition and reinforcement are the work of attention. -Province, object, and method in art and science are so different, -and in part so opposed, that to confuse them would signify a -retrogression of thousands of years. One thing only is correct: -the images issuing from the old anthropomorphic conception, -the allusions to obsolete states of things and ideas which -Fritz Mauthner has called ‘dead symbols’—all this will disappear -from art. I think that in the twentieth century it will -no longer occur to any painter to compose pictures like Guido -Reni’s <i>Aurora</i> in the Rospigliosi Palace, and that a poet would -be laughed at who should represent the moon looking amorously -into a pretty girl’s room. The artist is the child of his times, -the conception dominant in the world is his also, and in spite -of all his tendency to atavism his method of expression is that -with which contemporary culture furnishes him. No doubt -the art of the future will avoid more than hitherto the great -errors in universally recognised doctrines of science, but it will -never become science.</p> - -<p>The feelings of pleasure which a man receives from art -result from the gratification of three different organic inclinations -or tendencies. He needs the incitement which the -variety offers him; he takes pleasure in recognising the -originals in the imitations; he represents to himself the -feelings of his fellow-creatures, and shares in them. He finds -variety in works transporting him into wholly different scenes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_549" id="Page_549">[549]</a></span> -from those he knows, and which are familiar to him. The -pleasurable feeling of recognition he obtains by the careful -imitations of familiar realities. His sympathy makes him -share with lively personal emotions every strongly and clearly -expressed emotion of the artist. There will always be in the -future, as heretofore, amateurs of works of imagination, which -transport the reader or spectator into remote times and -countries, or relate extraordinary adventures; others will -prefer works in which the faithful observation of the known -will prevail; the most refined and the most advanced will -find pleasure only in those in which a soul, with its most secret -feelings and thoughts, reveals itself. The art of the future will -not be wholly romantic, wholly realistic, or wholly individualistic, -but will appeal from first to last as much by its story -to curiosity, as by imitation to the pleasure of recognition, and -by the externalism of the artist’s personality to sympathy.</p> - -<p>Two tendencies which have long been rivals will presumably -contend still more violently in the future for supremacy, viz., -observation and the free flight of imagination, or, to speak -more briefly, though more inaccurately, realism and romanticism. -Good artists, doubtless, in consequence of their higher -mental development, will always be more prone and more apt -accurately to perceive and accurately to interpret the phenomena -of the world. But the crowd will no less certainly -demand of artists in the future something different from the -average reality of the world. Among creators, the desire for -realism will exist, as among recipients, the need of romanticism. -For—and this seems to be an important point—the task of art -in the coming century, will be to exert over men that charm -of variety which reality will no longer offer, and which the -brain cannot relinquish. All that is called ‘picturesque’ will -necessarily disappear more and more from the earth. Civilization -ever becomes more uniform. The distinctive is felt as -an inconvenience by those who are marked by it, and got rid -of. Ruins delight a foreigner’s eye, but they inconvenience the -native, and he sweeps them away. The traveller is disgusted -at seeing the beauty of Venice profaned by steamers, but for -the Venetian it is a benefit to cover long distances quickly for -ten centesimi. Soon the last Redskin will wear a frock-coat -and tall hat; the regulation railway buildings will display -their prosaic outlines and hues along the great wall of China -and under the palm-trees of Tuggurt in the Sahara; and -Macaulay’s celebrated Maori will no longer contemplate the -ruins of Westminster, but a trashy imitation of the palace -at Westminster will serve as a Maori House of Parliament. -The unique Yosemite Park, which the Americans in their -very wise foresight wish to preserve intact in its prehistoric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_550" id="Page_550">[550]</a></span> -wildness, will not satisfy the craving for something new, -different, picturesque, romantic, which humanity demands, -and the latter will claim from art what civilization—clean, -curled, and smart—will no longer offer.</p> - -<p>I can now sum up in a few words my prognosis. The -hysteria of the present day will not last. People will recover -from their present fatigue. The feeble, the degenerate, will -perish; the strong will adapt themselves to the acquisitions -of civilizations, or will subordinate them to their own organic -capacity. The aberrations of art have no future. They will -disappear when civilized humanity shall have triumphed over -its exhausted condition. The art of the twentieth century -will connect itself at every point with the past, but it will have -a new task to accomplish—that of introducing a stimulating -variety into the uniformity of civilized life, an influence which -probably science alone will be in a position to exert, many -centuries later, over the great majority of mankind.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4"><a name="c550" id="c550">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> - -<p class="pch">THERAPEUTICS.</p> - -<p class="pn"><span class="smcap">Is</span> it possible to accelerate the recovery of the cultivated -classes from the present derangement of their nervous -system?</p> - -<p>I seriously believe it to be so, and for that reason alone -I undertook this work.</p> - -<p>No one, I hope, will think me childish enough to imagine -that I can bring degenerates to reason by incontrovertibly and -convincingly demonstrating to them the derangement of their -minds. He whose profession brings him into frequent contact -with the insane knows the utter hopelessness of attempting -by persuasion or argument to bring them to a recognition of -the unreality and morbidness of their delusions. The only -result attained is that they regard the physician either as an -enemy and persecutor, and fiercely hate him, or as a blockhead -devoid of reason on whom they vent their derision.</p> - -<p>It is equally vain to preach to fanatics of the insane tendencies -of fashions in art and literature, on their enthusiasm for error -and foolishness. These fanatics, without being actually momentarily -diseased, are yet on the border-line of insanity. They do -not and cannot believe it. For the works, the madness of which -is at the first glance apparent to every rational being, actually -afford them feelings of pleasure. These works are an expression -of their own mental derangement, and of the perversion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_551" id="Page_551">[551]</a></span> -of their own instincts. In the perusal, or contemplation of -these productions, the half-witted fall into a state of excitation -which they hold to be æsthetic, but which is really sensual; -and this sensation is so genuine and immediate, they are so -sure of it, that they can feel only annoyance at or pity for him -who would make it plain to them that these works evoke no -pleasure, but only disgust and contempt. To an habitual -drinker it is possible to prove that absinthe is pernicious, but -it is absolutely impossible to convince him that it has a -disagreeable taste. To him, indeed, it tastes seductively -delicious. It is in vain that the psychiatrical critic assures -the patient that this book, that picture, are horrible deliriums; -the invalid will in good faith reply: ‘Deliriums? That may -be. But abhorrent? That I can never believe. I know -better. They move me deeply and delightfully, and nothing -you can say can prevent their doing so!’ Those whose minds -are more unhinged go still further, and say bluntly: ‘We feel -in all our nerves the beauty of these works. You do not; so -much the worse for you. Instead of perceiving that you are -a barbarian, devoid of intelligence, and an obtuse Philistine, -you wish to argue us out of our most positive sensations. The -only delirious person here is yourself.’</p> - -<p>The history of civilization teaches to satiety, that delusions -awaken ardent enthusiasm, and during hundreds or thousands -of years obtain an invincible mastery of the thought and -feeling of millions, because they vouchsafe a satisfaction, unhealthy -though it be, to an existing instinct. Against that -which procures feelings of pleasure for man, the objections of -reason are unavailing.</p> - -<p>Those degenerates, whose mental derangement is too deep-seated, -must be abandoned to their inexorable fate. They are -past cure or amelioration. They will rave for a season, and -then perish. This book is obviously not written for them. It -is, however, possible to reduce the disease of the age ‘to its -anatomical necessity’ (to use the excellent expression of -German medical science), and to this end every effort must be -directed. For in addition to those whose organic constitution -irrevocably condemns them to such a fate, the present degenerate -tendencies are pursued by many who are only victims -to fashion and certain cunning impostures, and these misguided -ones we may hope to lead back to right paths. If, on -the other hand, they were to be passively abandoned to the -influences of graphomaniacal fools and their imbecile or unscrupulous -bodyguard of critics, the inevitable result of such -a neglect of duty would be a much more rapid and violent -outspread of the mental contagion, and civilized humanity -would with much greater difficulty, and much more slowly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_552" id="Page_552">[552]</a></span> -recover from the disease of the age than it might under a -strong and resolute combat with the evil.</p> - -<p>Those persons, on whose minds it is above all necessary to -impress the fact that the current tendencies are a result of -mental degeneration and hysteria, are the slightly affected -and the healthy, who allow themselves to be deluded by -cunningly-devised catch-words, or who, through heedless -curiosity, flock where they see a crowd. Certain critics have -thought to intimidate me into speechlessness by saying: ‘If -the indications cited are a proof of degeneration and mental -disease, then is art and poetry in general the work of fools -and degenerates, even such as has, without reservation, been -hitherto admired, for in this likewise there are to be met -the marks of degeneration.’ To which I reply: If scientific -criticism, which tests works of art according to the principles -of psychiatry and psychology, should result in showing that -all artistic activity is diseased, that would still prove nothing -against the correctness of my critical method. It would only -be the acquisition of fresh knowledge. It would, doubtless, -destroy a charming delusion, and prove painful to many; but -science ought not to be checked by the consideration that -its results annihilate agreeable errors, and frighten the easy-going -out of comfortable habits of thought. Faith, again, is -another sovereign besides art; it has rendered quite other -services to humanity at a certain stage of evolution, has otherwise -consoled and raised it, given it other ideals, and advanced -it morally in a different way from even the greatest geniuses -of art. Science, nevertheless, has not hesitated to pronounce -faith a subjective error of man, and would, therefore, suffer -far fewer scruples in characterizing art as something morbid -if facts should convince it that such was the case. Moreover, -not all that is morbid is necessarily ugly and pernicious. The -expectoration of a sufferer from lung disease is quite as much a -diseased secretion as the pearl. Is the pearl made more ugly -or the expectoration more beautiful by the fact that they have -the same origin? The toxine of sausage-meat is the excretion -of a bacterium, that of ethyl-alcohol the secretion from a -fungus. Is the similarity of genesis the condition of equal -value for enjoyment in a poisoned sausage and a glass of old -Rhine wine? It would prove nothing in regard to Tolstoi’s -<i>Kreutzer Sonata</i> or Ibsen’s <i>Rosmersholm</i> if it were of necessity -admitted that Goethe’s <i>Werther</i> suffers from irrational eroticism, -and that the <i>Divina Commedia</i> and <i>Faust</i> are symbolic poems. -The whole objection, indeed, proceeds from a non-recognition -of the simplest biological facts. The difference between disease -and health is not one of kind, but of quantity. There is only -one kind of vital activity of the cells and of the cell-systems<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_553" id="Page_553">[553]</a></span> -or organs. It is the same in disease and in health. It is -sometimes accelerated, and sometimes retarded; and when -this deviation from the rule is detrimental to the ends of the -whole organism, we call it disease. As it is here a question -of more or less, it is impossible to define their limits sharply. -Extreme cases are naturally easily recognised. But who shall -determine with accuracy the exact point at which deviation -from the normal, <i>i.e.</i>, from health, begins? The insane brain -performs its functions according to precisely the same laws as -the rational brain, but it obeys these laws either imperfectly -or excessively. In every human being there exists the -tendency to interpret sense-impressions falsely. It is diseased -only when exhibited in extraordinary strength. The traveller -in a railway carriage has an illusory perception of the landscape -flying by him while he is sitting still. The sufferer from the -delusion of persecutions imagines that someone is wafting him -evil odours, or hurling currents of electricity at him. Both of -these ideas rest on sense-illusions. Are both for that reason -marks of insanity? The traveller and the paranoist commit -the same error of thought, and, nevertheless, the former is -perfectly sane, and the latter deranged in mind. It may -therefore with perfect security be affirmed that certain -peculiarities—such as intense emotionalism, the tendency to -symbolism, the predominance of imagination—are to be met -with in all true artists. That all should be degenerates is -very far from being a necessary consequence of this. It is -only the exaggeration of these peculiarities which constitutes -a disease. The sole conclusion justified by their regular appearance -in artists would be that art, without being properly -a disease of the human mind, is yet an incipient, slight -deviation from perfect health; and I should raise no objection -to this conclusion, the less so because it in no way helps the -case of real degenerates and their distinctly diseased works. -But it is not enough to prove that mysticism, ego-mania, and -the pessimism of realism are forms of mental derangement. -All the seductive masks must be torn from these tendencies, -and their real aspect be shown in its grinning nakedness.</p> - -<p>In opposition to healthy art, which they deride as musty -and antiquated, they pretend to represent youth. An ill-advised -criticism has actually been caught by their lime, and -emphasizes their youth with constant irony. What clumsiness! -As if any effort in the world could deprive of its charm the -word ‘young,’ this essential notion of all that is blooming and -fresh, this note of the dawn and the spring, and transform it -into a term of reproach and insult! The truth is, however, -that degenerates are not only not young, but that they are -weirdly senile. Senile is their splenetic calumniation of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_554" id="Page_554">[554]</a></span> -world and life; senile are their babblings, drivellings, ravings -and divagations; senile their impotent appetites, and their -cravings for all the stimulants of exhaustion. To be young is -to hope; to be young is to love simply and naturally; to be -young is to rejoice in one’s own health and strength, and in -that of all human beings, and of the birds of the air and the -beetles in the grass; and of these qualities there is not one -to be met with among the youth-simulating, decayed degenerates.</p> - -<p>They have the name of liberty on their lips when they proclaim -as their god their corrupt self, and call it progress when -they extol crime, deny morality, raise altars to instinct, scoff at -science, and hold up loafing æstheticism as the sole aim of life. -But their invocation of liberty is shameless blasphemy. How -can there be a question of liberty when instinct is to be -almighty? Let us remember Count Muffat in Zola’s <i>Nana</i> -(p. 491): ‘At other times he was a dog. She threw her -scented handkerchief to the end of the room for him, and he -had to run on all fours to pick it up with his teeth. “Fetch -it, Cæsar!... Look out; I’ll give it to you if you’re lazy!... -Very good, Cæsar! mind! nicely!... Sit up!” -And as for him, he loved his abasement, revelled in the joy -of being a brute. He wanted to sink still lower; he cried: -“Hit harder.... Bow wow! I am mad; hit me then!”’ -That is the liberty of one who is ‘emancipated’ in the sense -of the degenerates! He may be a dog, if his crazed instinct -commands him to be a dog! And if the ‘emancipated’ one -is named Ravachol, and his instinct commands him to perpetrate -the crime of blowing up a house with dynamite, the -peaceable citizen sleeping in this house is free to fly into the -air, and fall again to the ground in a bloody rain of shreds of -flesh and splinters of bone. Progress is possible only by the -growth of knowledge; but this is the task of consciousness and -judgment, not of instinct. The march of progress is characterized -by the expansion of consciousness and the contraction -of the unconscious; the strengthening of will and the -weakening of impulsions; the increase of self-responsibility -and the repression of reckless egoism. He who makes instinct -man’s master does not wish for liberty, but for the most -infamous and abject slavery, viz., enslavement of the judgment -of the individual by his most insensate and self-destructive -appetites; enslavement of the inflamed man by the craziest -whims of a prostitute; enslavement of the people by a few -stronger and more violent personalities. And he who places -pleasure above discipline, and impulse above self-restraint, -wishes not for progress, but for retrogression to the most -primitive animality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_555" id="Page_555">[555]</a></span></p> - -<p>Retrogression, relapse—this is in general the ideal of this -band who dare to speak of liberty and progress. They wish -to be the future. That is one of their chief pretensions. That -is one of the means by which they catch the largest number of -simpletons. We have, however, seen in all individual cases -that it is not the future but the most forgotten, far-away past. -Degenerates lisp and stammer, instead of speaking. They -utter monosyllabic cries, instead of constructing grammatically -and syntactically articulated sentences. They draw and paint -like children, who dirty tables and walls with mischievous -hands. They compose music like that of the yellow natives -of East Asia. They confound all the arts, and lead them back -to the primitive forms they had before evolution differentiated -them. Every one of their qualities is atavistic, and we know, -moreover, that atavism is one of the most constant marks of -degeneracy. Lombroso has convincingly demonstrated that -many peculiarities of the born criminals described by him are -also atavisms. Over-hasty critics believed that they had discovered -a very subtle objection when, with a smile of self-satisfaction, -they objected: ‘You assert that criminal instinct -is at once degeneracy and atavism. These two dicta are -mutually exclusive. Degeneracy is a pathological state; the -most convincing proof of this is, that the degenerate type does -not propagate itself, but becomes extinct. Atavism is a return -to an earlier state, which cannot have been diseased, because -the men who existed under those conditions have developed -themselves and progressed. Return to a healthy, albeit remote, -state cannot possibly be disease.’ All this verbiage has its -source in the stubborn superstition which sees in disease a -state differing essentially from that of health. This is a good -example of the confusion which a word is capable of producing -in muddled or ignorant brains. As a matter of fact there -exists no activity and no state of the living organism which -can in itself be designated as ‘health’ or ‘disease.’ But they -become these in respect of the circumstances and purposes of -the organism. According to the time of its appearance, one -and the same state may very well be at one time disease and -at another health. In the human fœtus, at the sixth week, -hare-lip is a regular and healthy phenomenon. In the newly-born -child it is a malformation. In the first year of its life -the child cannot walk. Why? Because its legs are too weak -to support it? Decidedly not. The well-known experiments -of Dr. L. Robinson on sixty new born infants have proved -that they are able to hang by their hands from a stick for -thirty seconds, a performance implying muscular strength -quite as considerable, relatively to their respective ages, as is -possessed by the adult. It is not from weakness that they are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_556" id="Page_556">[556]</a></span> -unable to walk, but because their nervous system has not yet -learned so to regulate and combine the activity of the different -groups of muscles, as to produce a purposive movement. -Infants cannot yet ‘co-ordinate.’ Incapacity of co-ordination -of muscular activity is called by medical science ataxy. Hence -in infants this is the natural and healthy condition. But ataxy -precisely is a serious disease when it appears in adults, as the -chief symptom of inflammation of the spinal cord. The -identity of the ataxy of spinal disease with healthy infantine -ataxy is so complete, that Dr. S. Frenkel<a name="FNanchor_480_480" id="FNanchor_480_480"></a><a href="#Footnote_480_480" class="fnanchor">[480]</a> was able to found -upon it a treatment of spinal ataxy, which consisted, essentially, -in teaching the patients anew, like children, to walk and -stand. It is seen, then, that a state may be at the same time -diseased and yet the mere return to what was primitively a -perfectly healthy state of things; and it was with culpable -frivolity that Lombroso was reproached with contradiction -because he saw in criminal instincts at once degeneracy and -atavism. The disease of degeneracy consists precisely in the -fact that the degenerate organism has not the power to mount -to the height of evolution already attained by the species, but -stops on the way at an earlier or later point. The relapse of -the degenerate may reach to the most stupendous depth. As, in -reverting to the cleavage of the superior maxillary peculiar to -insects with sextuple lips, he sinks somatically to the level of -fishes, nay to that of the arthropoda, or, even further, to that -of rhizopods not yet sexually differentiated; as by fistulæ of -the neck he reverts to the branchiæ of the lowest fishes, the -selacious; or by excess in the number of fingers (polydactylia) -to the multiple-rayed fins of fishes, perhaps even to the bristles -of worms; or, by hermaphrodism, to the asexuality of rhizopods—so -in the most favourable case, as a higher degenerate, he -renews intellectually the type of the primitive man of the most -remote Stone Age; or, in the worst case, as an idiot, that of -an animal far anterior to man.</p> - -<p>This is the subject in regard to which it is our duty untiringly -and by every means to enlighten the weak in judgment, and -the inexperienced. The fine names appropriated to themselves -by degenerates, their imitators, and their critical hirelings, are -lies and deceit. They are not the future, but an immeasurably -remote past. They are not progress, but the most appalling -reaction. They are not liberty, but the most disgraceful -slavery. They are not youth and the dawn, but the most -exhausted senility, the starless winter night, the grave and -corruption.</p> - -<p>It is the sacred duty of all healthy and moral men to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_557" id="Page_557">[557]</a></span> -part in the work of protecting and saving those who are not -already too deeply diseased. Only by each individual doing -his duty will it be possible to dam up the invading mental -malady. It is not seemly simply to shrug the shoulders and -smile contemptuously. While the easy-going console themselves -by saying, ‘No rational being takes this idiocy seriously,’ -madness and crime are doing their work and poisoning a whole -generation.</p> - -<p>Mystics, but especially ego-maniacs and filthy pseudo-realists, -are enemies to society of the direst kind. Society must unconditionally -defend itself against them. Whoever believes -with me that society is the natural organic form of humanity, -in which alone it can exist, prosper, and continue to develop -itself to higher destinies; whoever looks upon civilization as a -good, having value and deserving to be defended, must mercilessly -crush under his thumb the anti-social vermin. To him -who, with Nietzsche, is enthusiastic over the ‘freely-roving, -lusting beast of prey,’ we cry, ‘Get you gone from civilization! -Rove far from us! Be a lusting beast of prey in the desert! -Satisfy yourself! Level your roads, build your huts, clothe -and feed yourself as you can! Our streets and our houses are -not built for you; our looms have no stuffs for you; our fields -are not tilled for you. All our labour is performed by men -who esteem each other, have consideration for each other, -mutually aid each other, and know how to curb their selfishness -for the general good. There is no place among us for -the lusting beast of prey; and if you dare return to us, we -will pitilessly beat you to death with clubs.’</p> - -<p>And still more determined must the resistance be to the -filth-loving herd of swine, the professional pornographists. -These have no claim to the measure of pity which may still be -extended to degenerates properly so called, as invalids; for -they have freely chosen their vile trade, and prosecute it from -cupidity, vanity, and hatred of labour. The systematic incitation -to lasciviousness causes the gravest injury to the bodily -and mental health of individuals, and a society composed of -individuals sexually over-stimulated, knowing no longer any -self-control, any discipline, any shame, marches to its certain -ruin, because it is too worn out and flaccid to perform great -tasks. The pornographist poisons the springs whence flows -the life of future generations. No task of civilization has been -so painfully laborious as the subjugation of lasciviousness. -The pornographist would take from us the fruit of this, the -hardest struggle of humanity. To him we must show no -mercy.</p> - -<p>The police cannot aid us. The public prosecutor and -criminal judge are not the proper protectors of society against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_558" id="Page_558">[558]</a></span> -crime committed with pen and crayon. They infuse into their -mode of proceeding too much consideration for interests not -always, not necessarily, those of cultivated and moral men. -The policeman is so often compelled to intervene in the -service of a privileged class, of the insupportable arrogance of -administrations, of the assumption of infallibility of ministers -and other government officials of the most unworthy byzantism -and of the most stupid superstition, that he does not dishonour -the man on whose shoulder he lays his heavy hand. Hence it -comes to this, that the pornographist must be branded with -infamy. But the punitive sentence of a judge does not with -certainty have this effect.</p> - -<p>The condemnation of works trading on unchastity must -emanate from men of whose freedom from prejudice and freedom -of mind, intelligence and independence, no one entertains -a doubt. The word of such men would be of great weight -among the people. There already exists an ‘Association of -Men for the Suppression of Immorality.’ Unfortunately it -allows itself to be guided not only by solicitude for the moral -health and purity of the multitude, and especially of the young -but by considerations which to the majority of the people -seem to be prejudices. The association pursues disbelief -almost more than immorality. An outspoken word against -revelation or the Church inspires this association with as -much horror as an act of obscenity. To this narrow-minded -confessionalism is it due that its work is less rich in blessing -than it might be. But in spite of this, we can take this -‘Association of Men’ as a pattern. Let us do what it does, -but without mummeries. Here is a great and grateful task, -<i>e.g.</i>, for the new ‘Society for Ethical Culture’ of Berlin: -Let it constitute itself the voluntary guardian of the people’s -morality. Doubtless the pornographists will attempt to turn it -into ridicule. But the scorn will soon enough stick in their -own throats. An association composed of the people’s leaders -and instructors, professors, authors, members of Parliament, -judges, high functionaries, has the power to exercise an irresistible -boycott. Let the ‘Society for Ethical Culture’ undertake -to examine into the morality of artistic and literary -productions. Its composition would be a guarantee that the -examination would not be narrow-minded, not prudish, and -not canting. Its members have sufficient culture and taste to -distinguish the thoughtlessness of a morally healthy artist from -the vile speculation of a scribbling ruffian. When such a -society, which would be joined by those men from the people -who are the best fitted for this task, should, after serious investigation -and in the consciousness of a heavy responsibility, -say of a man, ‘He is a criminal!’ and of a work, ‘It is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_559" id="Page_559">[559]</a></span> -disgrace to our nation!’ work and man would be annihilated. -No respectable bookseller would keep the condemned book; -no respectable paper would mention it, or give the author -access to its columns; no respectable family would permit the -branded work to be in their house; and the wholesome dread -of this fate would very soon prevent the appearance of such -books as Bahr’s <i>Gute Schule</i>, and would dishabituate the -‘realists’ from parading a condemnation based on a crime -against morality as a mark of distinction.</p> - -<p>Medical specialists of insanity have likewise failed to understand -their duty. It is time for them to come to the front. -‘It is a prejudice,’ Bianchi most justly says,<a name="FNanchor_481_481" id="FNanchor_481_481"></a><a href="#Footnote_481_481" class="fnanchor">[481]</a> ‘to believe that -psychiatry must be enclosed within a sanctuary like that at -Mecca.’ It is no doubt meritorious to indurate sections of -the spinal cord in chromic acid, and tint them in a neutrophyllic -solution, but this should not exhaust the activity of a -professor of psychiatry. Neither is it sufficient that he should -in addition give a few lectures to jurists, and publish observations -in technical journals. Let him speak to the mass of -cultivated persons who are neither physicians nor learned in -law. Let him enlighten them in general publications and in -accessible conferences concerning the leading facts in mental -therapeutics. Let him show them the mental derangement of -degenerate artists and authors, and teach them that the works -in fashion are written and painted delirium. In all other -branches of medical science it is discerned that hygiene is of -more importance than therapeutics, and that the public health -has much more to expect from prophylactics than from treatment. -With us in Germany the psychiatrist alone fails as -yet to concern himself with the hygiene of the mind. It is -time that he should practise his profession in this direction -also. A Maudsley in England, a Charcot, a Magnan in -France, a Lombroso, a Tonnini in Italy, have brought to vast -circles of the people an understanding of the obscure phenomena -in the life of the mind, and disseminated knowledge -which would make it impossible in those countries for pronounced -lunatics with the mania for persecution to gain an -influence over hundreds of thousands of electoral citizens,<a name="FNanchor_482_482" id="FNanchor_482_482"></a><a href="#Footnote_482_482" class="fnanchor">[482]</a> -even if it could not prevent the coming into fashion of the -degenerate art. In Germany alone no psychiatrist has as yet -followed this example. It is time to atone for this negligence. -Popularized expositions from the pens of experts whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_560" id="Page_560">[560]</a></span> -prominent official status would recommend them to the reader -would restrain many healthy spirits from affiliating themselves -with degenerate tendencies.</p> - -<p>Such is the treatment of the disease of the age which I hold -to be efficacious: Characterization of the leading degenerates -as mentally diseased; unmasking and stigmatizing of their -imitators as enemies to society; cautioning the public against -the lies of these parasites.</p> - -<p>We in particular, who have made it our life’s task to -combat antiquated superstition, to spread enlightenment, to -demolish historical ruins and remove their rubbish, to defend -the freedom of the individual against State oppression and -the mechanical routine of the Philistine; we must resolutely -set ourselves in opposition to the miserable mongers who -seize upon our dearest watchwords, with which to entrap the -innocent. The ‘freedom’ and ‘modernity,’ the ‘progress’ -and ‘truth,’ of these fellows are not ours. We have nothing -in common with them. They wish for self-indulgence; we -wish for work. They wish to drown consciousness in the -unconscious; we wish to strengthen and enrich consciousness. -They wish for evasive ideation and babble; we wish for -attention, observation, and knowledge. The criterion by -which true moderns may be recognised and distinguished from -impostors calling themselves moderns may be this: Whoever -preaches absence of discipline is an enemy of progress; and -whoever worships his ‘I’ is an enemy to society. Society has -for its first premise, neighbourly love and capacity for self-sacrifice; -and progress is the effect of an ever more rigorous -subjugation of the beast in man, of an ever tenser self-restraint, -an ever keener sense of duty and responsibility. The emancipation -for which we are striving is of the judgment, not of the -appetites. In the profoundly penetrating words of Scripture -(Matt. v. 17), ‘Think not that I am come to destroy the law, -or the prophets; I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.’</p> - - -<p class="pc4 lmid">FINIS.</p> - - -<hr class="d1" /> - -<p class="pc reduct">BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="p4">FOOTNOTES:</h2> - -<div class="footnotes"> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a></span> -This passage has been misunderstood. It has been taken to mean that -all the French nation had degenerated, and their race was approaching its end. -However, from the concluding paragraph of this chapter, it may be clearly seen -that I had in my eye only the upper ten thousand. The peasant population, -and a part of the working classes and the <i>bourgeoisie</i>, are sound. I assert -only the decay of the rich inhabitants of great cities and the leading classes. -It is they who have discovered <i>fin-de-siècle</i>, and it is to them also that -<i>fin-de-race</i> applies.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a></span> -‘My thought I hasten to fulfil.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a></span> -A four-act comedy, by H. Micard and F. de Jouvenot, named <i>Fin-de-Siècle</i>, -which was played in Paris in 1890, hardly avails to determine the -sense of the word as the French use it. The authors were concerned, not -to depict a phase of the age or a psychological state, but only to give an -attractive title to their piece.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a></span> -<i>Traité des Dégénérescences physiques, intellectuelles et morales de l’Espèce -humaine et des Causes qui produisent ces Variétés maladives.</i> Par le Dr. -B. A. Morel. Paris, 1857, p. 5.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a></span> -At the instigation of his mistress Ebergenyi, Count Chorinsky had -poisoned his wife, previously an actress. The murderer was an epileptic, -and a ‘degenerate,’ in the Morelian sense. His family summoned Morel -from Normandy to Munich, for the purpose of proving to the jury, before -whom the case (1868) was tried, that the accused was irresponsible. The -latter was singularly indignant at this; and the Attorney-General also contradicted, -in the most emphatic manner, the evidence of the French alienist, -and supported himself by the approbation of the most prominent alienists -in Munich. Chorinsky was pronounced guilty. Nevertheless, only a short -time after his conviction, insanity developed itself in him, and a few months -later he died, in the deepest mental darkness, thus justifying all the previous -assertions of the French physician, who had, in the German tongue, demonstrated -to a German jury the incompetence of his professional confrères in -Munich.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a></span> -Morel, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 683.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a></span> -<i>L’Uomo delinquente in rapporto all’ Antropologia, Giurisprudenza e alle -Discipline carcerarie.</i> 3ª edizione. Torino, 1884, p. 147 <i>et seq.</i> See also -Dr. Ch. Féré, ‘La Famille nevropathique.’ Paris, 1894, pp. 176-212.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a></span> -‘La Famille nevropathique,’ <i>Archives de Nevrologie</i>, 1884, <i>Nos. 19 et 20</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a></span> -See, on this subject, in particular, Krafft Ebing, <i>Die Lehre vom -moralischen Wahnsinn</i>, 1871; H. Maudsley, <i>Responsibility in Mental -Disease</i>, International Scientific Series; and Ch. Féré, <i>Dégénérescence et -Criminalité</i>, Paris, 1888.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a></span> -J. Roubinovitch, <i>Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence</i>; Paris, 1890, p. 62: -‘The society which surrounds him (the degenerate) always remains strange -to him. He knows nothing, and takes interest in nothing but himself.’</p> -<p class="pfn4">Legrain, <i>Du Délire chez les Dégénérés</i>; Paris, 1886, p. 10: ‘The patient is -... the plaything of his passions; he is carried away by his impulses, and -has only one care—to satisfy his appetites.’ P. 27: ‘They are egoistical, -arrogant, conceited, self-infatuated,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a></span> -Henry Colin, <i>Essai sur l’État mental des Hystériques</i>; Paris, 1890, p. 59: -‘Two great facts control the being of the hereditary degenerate: obsession -[the tyrannical domination of one thought from which a man cannot free -himself; Westphal has created for this the good term ‘Zwangs-Vorstellung,’ -<i>i.e.</i>, coercive idea] and impulsion—both irresistible.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a></span> -Morel, ‘Du Délire émotif,’ <i>Archives générales</i>, 6 série, vol. vii., pp. 385 -and 530. See also Roubinovitch, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 53.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a></span> -Morel, ‘Du Délire panophobique des Aliénés gémisseurs,’ <i>Annales -médico-psychologiques</i>, 1871.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a></span> -Roubinovitch, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 28.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 37.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 66.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a></span> -Charcot, ‘Leçons du Mardi à la Salpétrière,’ <i>Policlinique</i>, Paris, 1890, -2<sup>e</sup> partie, p. 392: ‘This person [the invalid mentioned] is a performer -at fairs; he calls himself “artist.” The truth is that his art consists in -personating a “wild man” in fair-booths.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 73: ‘The patients are perpetually tormented by a -multitude of questions which invade their minds, and to which they can give -no answer; inexpressible moral sufferings result from this incapacity. Doubt -envelops every possible subject:—metaphysics, theology, etc.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a></span> -Magnan, ‘Considérations sur la Folie des Héréditaires ou Dégénerés,’ -<i>Progrès médical</i>, 1886, p. 1110 (in the report of a medical case): ‘He also -thought of seeking for the philosopher’s stone, and of making gold.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, ‘La Physionomie des Anarchistes,’ <i>Nouvelle Revue</i>, May 15, -1891, p. 227: ‘They [the anarchists] frequently have those characteristics -of degeneracy which are common to criminals and lunatics, for they are -anomalies, and bear hereditary taints.’ See also the same author’s <i>Pazzi ed -Anomali</i>. Turin, 1884.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a></span> -Colin, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 154.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 11.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a></span> -Roubinovitch, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 33.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>; German translation by A. Courth. -Reclam’s <i>Universal Bibliothek</i>, Bde. 2313-16. See also in particular, J. F. -Nisbet, <i>The Insanity of Genius</i>. London, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a></span> -Falret, <i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, 1867, p. 76: ‘From their childhood -they usually display a very unequal development of their mental -faculties, which, weak in their entirety, are remarkable for certain special -aptitudes; they have shown an extraordinary gift for drawing, arithmetic, -music, sculpture, or mechanics ... and, together with those specially -developed aptitudes, obtaining for them the fame of “infant phenomena,” -they for the most part give evidence of very great deficiencies in their -intelligence, and of a radical debility in the remaining faculties.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a></span> -<i>Nouvelle Revue</i>, July 15, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a></span> -Tarabaud, <i>Des Rapports de la Dégénérescence mentale et de l’Hystérie</i>. -Paris, 1888, p. 12.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 24 and 26.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Nouvelles recherches de Psychiatrie et d’Anthropologie -criminelle</i>. Paris, 1892, p. 74.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a></span> -Axenfeld, <i>Des Névroses</i>. 2 vols., 2<sup>e</sup> édition, revue et complétée par le -Dr. Huchard. Paris, 1879.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a></span> -Paul Richer, <i>Études cliniques sur l’Hystéro-épilepsie ou Grande Hystérie</i>. -Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a></span> -Gilles de la Tourette, <i>Traité clinique et thérapeutique de l’Hystérie</i>. -Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a></span> -Paul Michaut, <i>Contribution à l’Étude des Manifestations de l’Hystérie -chez l’Homme</i>. Paris, 1890.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a></span> -Colin, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 14.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a></span> -Gilles de la Tourette, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 548 <i>et passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a></span> -Colin, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 15 and 16.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a></span> -Gilles de la Tourette, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 493.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 303.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 39.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a></span> -Dr. Emile Berger, <i>Les Maladies des Yeux dans leurs rapports avec la -Pathologie général</i>. Paris, 1892, p. 129 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a></span> -<i>Traité clinique et thérapeutique de l’Hystérie</i>, p. 339. See also Drs. A. -Marie et J. Bonnet, <i>La Vision chez les Idiots et les Imbéciles</i>. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a></span> -Alfred Binet, ‘Recherches sur les Altérations de la Conscience chez les -Hystériques,’ <i>Revue philosophique</i>, 1889, vol. xxvii.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a></span> -<i>Op. cit.</i>, p. 150.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a></span> -Ch. Féré, ‘Sensation et Mouvement,’ <i>Revue philosophique</i>, 1886. See -also the same author’s <i>Sensation et Mouvement</i>, Paris, 1887; <i>Dégénérescence -et criminalité</i>, Paris, 1888; and ‘L’Énergie et la Vitesse des Mouvements -volontaires,’ <i>Revue philosophique</i>, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo délinquente</i>, p. 524.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a></span> -‘Les Nerveux se recherchent,’ Charcot, <i>Leçons du Mardi</i>, <i>passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 173: ‘The true explanation of the occurrence of -<i>folie à deux</i> must be sought for, on the one hand, in the predisposition to -insanity, and, on the other hand, in the accompanying weakness of mind.’ -See also Régis, <i>La Folie à Deux</i>. Paris, 1880.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a></span> -<i>Journal des Goncourt.</i> Dernière série, premier volume, 1870-71. Paris, -1890, p. 17.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a></span> -Viennese for ‘fop.’—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a></span> -<i>Traité des Dégénérescences</i>, <i>passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a></span> -Personally communicated by the distinguished statistician, Herr Josef -Körösi, Head of the Bureau of Statistics at Budapest.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a></span> -Speech of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Goschen, in the House -of Commons, April 11, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a></span> -J. Vavasseur in the <i>Economiste français</i> of 1890. See also <i>Bulletin de -Statistique</i> for 1891. The figures are uncertain, for they have been given -differently by every statistician whom I have consulted. The fact of the -increase in the consumption of alcohol alone stands out with certainty in all -the publications consulted. Besides spirits, fermented drinks are consumed -per head of the population, according to J. Körösi:</p> - -<table id="tf1" summary="cont"> - - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="tdc1"><span class="smcap">Great Britain.</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdw"> </td> - <td class="tdc">Wine<br />Gall.</td> - <td class="tdc">Beer and Cider<br />Gall.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1830-1850</td> - <td class="tdc">0.2</td> - <td class="tdc">26</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1880-1888</td> - <td class="tdc">0.4</td> - <td class="tdc">27</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="tdc1"><span class="smcap">France.</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1840-1842</td> - <td class="tdc">23</td> - <td class="tdc">3</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1870-1872</td> - <td class="tdc">25</td> - <td class="tdc">6</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="tdc1"><span class="smcap">Prussia.</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - <td class="tdc">Quarts.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1839</td> - <td rowspan="2"> </td> - <td class="tdc">13.48</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1871</td> - <td class="tdc">17.92</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="3" class="tdc1"><span class="smcap">German Empire.</span></td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td colspan="2"> </td> - <td class="tdc">Litres.</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1872</td> - <td rowspan="2"> </td> - <td class="tdc">81.7</td> - </tr> - - <tr> - <td class="tdl">1889-1890</td> - <td class="tdc">90.3</td> - </tr> - -</table> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a></span> -In France the general mortality was, from 1886 to 1890, 22.21 per 1,000. -But in Paris it rose to 23.4; in Marseilles to 34.8; in all towns with more -than 100,000 inhabitants to a mean of 28.31; in all places with less than -5,000 inhabitants to 21.74. (<i>La Médecine moderne</i>, year 1891.)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a></span> -<i>Traité des Dégénérescences</i>, pp. 614, 615.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a></span> -Brouardel, <i>La Semaine médicale</i>. Paris, 1887, p. 254. In this very -remarkable study by the Parisian Professor, the following passage appears: -‘What will these [those remaining stationary in their development] young -Parisians become by-and-by? Incapable of accomplishing a long and -conscientious work, they excel, as a rule, in artistic activities. If they are -painters they are stronger in colour than in drawing. If they are poets, the -flow of their verses assures their success rather than the vigour of the thought.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a></span> -The 26 German towns which to-day have more than 100,000 inhabitants, -numbered altogether, in 1891, 6,000,000, and in 1835, 1,400,000. The 31 -English towns of this category, in 1891, 10,870,000; in 1841, 4,590,000; the -11 French towns, in 1891, 4,180,000; in 1836, 1,710,000. It should be -remarked that about a third of these 68 towns had not in 1840 as many -generally as 100,000 inhabitants. To-day, in the large towns in Germany, -France, and England, there reside 21,050,000 individuals, while in 1840 only -4,800,000 were living under these conditions. (Communicated by Herr -Josef Körösi.)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a></span> -Féré, <i>La Semaine médicale</i>. Paris, 1890, p. 192.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a></span> -See, besides the lecture by Hofmann, the excellent book: <i>Eine deutsche -Stadt vor 60 Jahren, Kulturgeschichtliche Skizze</i>, von Dr. Otto Bähr, -2 Auflage. Leipzig, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a></span> -In order not to make the footnotes too unwieldy, I state here that the -following figures are borrowed in part from communications made by Herr -Josef Körösi, in part from a remarkable study by M. Charles Richet: -‘Dans Cent Ans,’ <i>Revue scientifique</i>, 1891-92; and in a small degree from -private publications (such as <i>Annuaire de la Presse</i>, <i>Press Directory</i>, etc.). -For some of the figures I have also used, with profit, Mulhall, and the speech -of Herr von Stephan to the Reichstag, February 4, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a></span> -See G. André, <i>Les nouvelles maladies nerveuses</i>. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 251: ‘Drinkers are “degenerates”;’ and p. 258 (after -four reports of invalids which serve as a basis to the following summary): -‘Hence, at the base of all forms of alcoholism we find mental degeneracy.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a></span> -<i>Revue scientifique</i>, year 1892; vol. xlix., p. 168 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 266.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a></span> -Quoted by J. Roubinovitch, <i>Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence</i>, p. 18.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 200.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a></span> -The scientific psychologist will perhaps read with impatience expositions -with which he is so familiar; but they are, unfortunately, not superfluous -for a very numerous class of even highly educated persons, who have never -had instruction in the laws of the operations of the brain.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a></span> -Mosso’s experiments on, and observations of, the exposed surface of the -brain during trepanning have quite established this fact.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a></span> -The experiments of Ferrier, it is true, have led him to deny that a -stimulus which touches the cortex of the frontal lobes can result in movement. -The case, nevertheless, is not so simple as Ferrier sees it to be. A -portion of the energy which is set free by the peripheral stimulus in the cells -of the cortex of the frontal lobes certainly transmutes itself into a motor -impulse, even if the immediate stimulation of the anterior brain releases no -muscular contractions. But this is not the place to defend this point against -Ferrier.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a></span> -A. Herzen is the author of the hypothesis that consciousness is connected -with the destruction of organic connections in the brain-cells, and the -restoration of this connection with rest, sleep, and unconsciousness. All we -know of the chemical composition of the secretions in sleeping and waking -points to the correctness of this hypothesis.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘One tread moves a thousand threads,<br /> -The shuttles dart to and fro,<br /> -The threads flow on invisible,<br /> -One stroke sets up a thousand ties.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a></span> -Karl Abel, <i>Ueber den Gegensinn der Urworte</i>. Leipzig, 1884.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a></span> -James Sully, <i>Illusions</i>. London, 1881.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a></span> -Th. Ribot, <i>Psychologie de l’Attention</i>. Paris, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a></span> -It is possible that an active expansion of the bloodvessels does not -take place, but only a contraction. It has been lately denied that there are any -nerves of vascular dilatation (<i>inter alia</i> by Dr. Morat, <i>La Semaine médicale</i>, -1892, p. 112). But the effect may be the same in both cases. For through -the contraction of the vessels in a single brain-circuit, the dislodged blood -would be driven to other portions of the brain, and these would experience a -greater access of blood, just as if their vessels were actively dilated.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a></span> -When I wrote these words I was under the impression that I was the -sole originator of the physiological theory of attention therein set forth. -Since the appearance of this book, however, I have read Alfred Lehmann’s -work, <i>Die Hypnose und die damit verwandten normalen Zustände</i>, Leipzig, -1890, and have there (pp. 27 <i>et seq.</i>) found my theory in almost identical words. -Lehmann, then, published it two years before I did, which fact I here duly -acknowledge. That we arrived at this conclusion independently of each -other would testify that the hypothesis of vaso-motor reflex action is really -explanatory. Wundt (<i>Hypnotismus und Suggestion</i>, Leipzig, 1892, pp. 27-30), -it is true, criticises Lehmann’s work, but he seems to agree with this hypothesis—which -is also mine—or, at least, raises no objection to it.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a></span> -<i>Brain</i>, January, 1886, quoted by Ribot, <i>Psychologie de l’Attention</i>, p. 68.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a></span> -Ribot, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 106 and 119.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 177.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 156.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a></span> -In the chapter which treats of French Neomystics, I shall give a cluster -of such disconnected and mutually exclusive expressions, which are quite -parallel with the instances cited by Legrain, of the manner of speech among -those acknowledged to be of weak mind. In this place only one passage -may be repeated from the V<sup>te</sup> E. M. de Vogué, <i>Le Roman Russe</i>, Paris, 1888, -in which this mystical author, unconsciously and involuntarily, characterizes -admirably the shadowiness and emptiness of mystic diction, while praising -it as something superior. ‘One trait,’ he says (p. 215), ‘they’ (certain -Russian authors) ‘have in common, viz., the art of awakening series of feelings -and thoughts by a line, a word, by endless re-echoings [<i>résonnances</i>].... -The words you read on this paper appear to be written, not in length, but in -depth. They leave behind them a train of faint reverberations, which are -gradually lost, no one knows where.’ And p. 227: ‘They see men and -things in the gray light of earliest dawn. The weakly indicated outlines end -in a confused and clouded “perhaps.” ...’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a></span> -‘It is certain that the Beautiful never has such charms for us as when -we read it attentively in a language which we only half understand. It is -the ambiguity, the uncertainty, <i>i.e.</i>. the pliability of words, which is one of -their greatest advantages, and renders it possible to make an exact [!] use -of them.’—Joubert, quoted by Charles Morice, <i>La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure</i>. -Paris, 1889, p. 171.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a></span> -Gérard de Nerval, <i>Le Rêve et la Vie</i>, Paris, 1868, p. 53: ‘Everything in -Nature assumed a different aspect. Mysterious voices issued from plants, -trees, animals, the smallest insects, to warn and to encourage me. I discerned -mysterious turns in the utterances of my companions, and understood -their purport. Even formless and inanimate things ministered to the -workings of my mind.’ Here is a perfect instance of that ‘comprehension of -the mysterious’ which is one of the most common fancies of the insane.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a></span> -An imbecile degenerate, the history of whose illness is related by Dr. G. -Ballet, said: ‘Il y a mille ans que le monde est monde. Milan, la cathédrale -de Milan’ (<i>La Semaine médicale</i>, 1892, p. 133). ‘Mille ans’ (a thousand -years) calls up in his consciousness the like-sounding word ‘Milan,’ although -there is absolutely no rational connection between the two ideas. A -graphomaniac named Jasno, whose case is cited by Lombroso, says ‘la main -se mène’ (the hand guides itself). He then begins to speak of ‘semaine’ -(week), and continues to play upon the like-sounding words ‘se mène,’ -‘semaine,’ and ‘main’ (<i>Genie und Irsinn</i>, p. 264). In the book of a -German graphomaniac entitled <i>Rembrandt als Erzieher</i>, Leipzig, 1890 (a -book which I shall have to refer to more than once, as an example of the -lucubrations of a weak mind), I find, on the very first pages, the following -juxtaposition of words according to their resemblance in sound: ‘Sie -verkünden eine Rückkehr ... zur Einheit und Feinheit’ (p. 3). ‘Je -ungeschliffener Jemand ist, desto mehr ist an ihm zu schleifen’ (p. 4). ‘Jede -rechte Bildung ist bildend, formend, schöpferisch, und also künstlerisch’ -(p. 8). ‘Rembrandt war nicht nur ein protestantischer Künstler, sondern -auch ein künstlerischer Protestant’ (p. 14). ‘Sein Hundert guldenblatt -allein könnte schon als ein Tausendgüldenkraut gegen so mancherlei -Schäden ... dienen’ (p. 23). ‘Christus und Rembrandt haben ... darin -etwas Gemeinsames, dass Jener die religiöse, dieser die künstlerische -Armseligkeit—die Seligkeit der Armen—zu ... Ehren bringt’ (p. 25.), etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a></span> -Dr. Paul Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>. Paris, 1891, -p. 153.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a></span> -<i>Poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.</i> With a memoir of the author by -Franz Hüffer. Leipzig, 1873, p. viii.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a></span> -Gustave Freytag, <i>Bilder aus der deutschen Vergangenheit</i>, Bd. I.: ‘Aus -dem Mittelalter.’ Leipzig, 1872, § 266. H. Taine, <i>Histoire de la Littérature -anglaise</i>. Paris, 1866, 2<sup>e</sup> édition, vol. i., p. 46.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a></span> -This is not an arbitrary assertion. One of D. G. Rossetti’s most famous -poems, of which further mention will be made, <i>Eden Bowers</i>, treats of the -pre-Adamite Lilith.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a></span> -J. Ruskin, <i>Modern Painters</i>, American edition, vol. i., pp. xxi. <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a></span> -Ruskin, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 24.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 26.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a></span> -‘<span class="smcap">Ballade que Villon feit à la requeste de sa mère pour -prier Nostre Dame.</span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘Femme je suis povrette et ancienne.<br /> -Que riens ne scay, oncques lettres ne leuz,<br /> -Au Monstier voy (dont suis parroissienne)<br /> -Paradis painct, ou sont harpes et luz,<br /> -Et ung enfer, où damnez sont boulluz,<br /> -L’ung me faict paour, l’autre joye et liesse,<br /> -La joye avoir faictz moy (haulte deesse)<br /> -A qui pecheurs doivent tous recourir<br /> -Combley de foy, sans faincte ne paresse,<br /> -En ceste foy je vueil vivre et mourir.’</p> - -<p class="pfc4">It is significant that the pre-Raphaelite Rossetti has translated this very -poem of Villon, <i>His Mother’s Service to Our Lady</i>. <i>Poems</i>, p. 180.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a></span> -Edward Rod, <i>Études sur le XIX. Siècle</i>. Paris et Lausanne, 1888, p. 89.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a></span> -Rossetti, <i>Poems</i>, p. 277.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘The springing green, the violet’s scent,<br /> -The trill of lark, the blackbird’s note,<br /> -Sunshowers soft, and balmy breeze:<br /> -If I sing such words as these,<br /> -Needs there any grander thing<br /> -To praise thee with, O day of spring?’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a></span> -Rod, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 67.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a></span> -<i>Poems</i>, p. 16.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a></span> -Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>, p. 184. See also Lombroso, -<i>The Man of Genius</i> (Contemporary Science Series), London, 1891, -p. 216. A special characteristic found in literary mattoids, and also, as we -have already seen, in the insane, is that of repeating some words or phrases -hundreds of times in the same page. Thus, in one of Passanante’s chapters -the word <i>riprovate</i> (blame) occurs about 143 times.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_99_99" id="Footnote_99_99"></a><a href="#FNanchor_99_99"><span class="label">[99]</span></a></span> -<i>Poems</i>, p. 31.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_100_100" id="Footnote_100_100"></a><a href="#FNanchor_100_100"><span class="label">[100]</span></a></span> -<i>Poems</i>, p. 247.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_101_101" id="Footnote_101_101"></a><a href="#FNanchor_101_101"><span class="label">[101]</span></a></span> -Algernon Charles Swinburne, <i>Poems and Ballads</i>. London: Chatto -and Windus, 1889, p. 247.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_102_102" id="Footnote_102_102"></a><a href="#FNanchor_102_102"><span class="label">[102]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘The Runic stone stands out in the sea,<br /> -There sit I with my dreams,<br /> -‘Mid whistling winds and wailing gulls,<br /> -And wandering, foaming waves.<br /> -I have loved many a lovely child,<br /> -And many a good comrade—<br /> -Where are they gone? The wind whistles,<br /> -The waves wander foaming on.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_103_103" id="Footnote_103_103"></a><a href="#FNanchor_103_103"><span class="label">[103]</span></a></span> -William Morris, <i>Poems</i> (Tauchnitz edition), p. 169:</p> - -<p class="pfp10s">‘And if it hap that ...</p> -<p class="pfp6">My master, Geoffrey Chaucer, thou do meet,<br /> -Then speak ... the words:<br /> -“O master! O thou great of heart and tongue!”’...</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_104_104" id="Footnote_104_104"></a><a href="#FNanchor_104_104"><span class="label">[104]</span></a></span> -A history of the commencement of this society has been written by one -of the members, Mathias Morhardt. See ‘Les Symboliques,’ <i>Nouvelle -Revue</i> du 15 Février, 1892, p. 765.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_105_105" id="Footnote_105_105"></a><a href="#FNanchor_105_105"><span class="label">[105]</span></a></span> -Charles Morice, <i>La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure</i>. Paris, 1889, p. 274.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_106_106" id="Footnote_106_106"></a><a href="#FNanchor_106_106"><span class="label">[106]</span></a></span> -Jules Huret, <i>Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 65.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_107_107" id="Footnote_107_107"></a><a href="#FNanchor_107_107"><span class="label">[107]</span></a></span> -Charles Morice, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 271.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_108_108" id="Footnote_108_108"></a><a href="#FNanchor_108_108"><span class="label">[108]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 14.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_109_109" id="Footnote_109_109"></a><a href="#FNanchor_109_109"><span class="label">[109]</span></a></span> -V<sup>te</sup> E. M. de Vogüé, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. xix <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_110_110" id="Footnote_110_110"></a><a href="#FNanchor_110_110"><span class="label">[110]</span></a></span> -Morice, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 5, 103, 177.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_111_111" id="Footnote_111_111"></a><a href="#FNanchor_111_111"><span class="label">[111]</span></a></span> -<i>Rembrandt als Erzieher.</i> Leipzig, 1890, p. 2.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_112_112" id="Footnote_112_112"></a><a href="#FNanchor_112_112"><span class="label">[112]</span></a></span> -Edouard Rod, <i>Les Idées morales du Temps présent</i>. Paris, 1892, p. 66.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_113_113" id="Footnote_113_113"></a><a href="#FNanchor_113_113"><span class="label">[113]</span></a></span> -Paul Desjardins, <i>Le Devoir présent</i>. Paris, 1892, pp. 5, 8, 39.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_114_114" id="Footnote_114_114"></a><a href="#FNanchor_114_114"><span class="label">[114]</span></a></span> -F. Paulhan, <i>Le nouveau Mysticisme</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 120.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_115_115" id="Footnote_115_115"></a><a href="#FNanchor_115_115"><span class="label">[115]</span></a></span> -Pierre Janet, ‘Les Actes inconscients et le Dédoublement de la Personalité,’ -Revue philosophique, December, 1886. Paul Janet, ‘L’Hystérie et -l’Hypnotisme d’après la Théorie de la double Personnalité,’ Revue scientifique, -1888, 1<sup>er</sup> vol., p. 616</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_116_116" id="Footnote_116_116"></a><a href="#FNanchor_116_116"><span class="label">[116]</span></a></span> -Morhardt, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 769.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_117_117" id="Footnote_117_117"></a><a href="#FNanchor_117_117"><span class="label">[117]</span></a></span> -See the Catalogue of Scientific Papers compiled and published by the -Royal Society. The first series of this catalogue, covering the time from 1800 -to 1863, comprises six volumes; the second, dealing with the decade from -1864 to 1873, comprises two volumes, equivalent to at least three of the first -series (1047 and 1310 pages); of the third series (1874 to 1883) only one -volume has been issued as yet, but it promises to outrun the second by at -least one half.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_118_118" id="Footnote_118_118"></a><a href="#FNanchor_118_118"><span class="label">[118]</span></a></span> -Jules Huret, <i>Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire</i>. Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_119_119" id="Footnote_119_119"></a><a href="#FNanchor_119_119"><span class="label">[119]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 65.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_120_120" id="Footnote_120_120"></a><a href="#FNanchor_120_120"><span class="label">[120]</span></a></span> -Paul Verlaine, <i>Choix de Poësies</i>. Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_121_121" id="Footnote_121_121"></a><a href="#FNanchor_121_121"><span class="label">[121]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>, p. 184.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_122_122" id="Footnote_122_122"></a><a href="#FNanchor_122_122"><span class="label">[122]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 276.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_123_123" id="Footnote_123_123"></a><a href="#FNanchor_123_123"><span class="label">[123]</span></a></span> -Verlaine, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 272.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_124_124" id="Footnote_124_124"></a><a href="#FNanchor_124_124"><span class="label">[124]</span></a></span> -Verlaine, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 72, 315, 317.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_125_125" id="Footnote_125_125"></a><a href="#FNanchor_125_125"><span class="label">[125]</span></a></span> -Shortly, but not immediately after, the immediate result being a sense of -great relief and satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_126_126" id="Footnote_126_126"></a><a href="#FNanchor_126_126"><span class="label">[126]</span></a></span> -Verlaine, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 175, 178.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_127_127" id="Footnote_127_127"></a><a href="#FNanchor_127_127"><span class="label">[127]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>Du délire chez les dégénéres</i>, pp. 135, 140, 164.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_128_128" id="Footnote_128_128"></a><a href="#FNanchor_128_128"><span class="label">[128]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 8.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_129_129" id="Footnote_129_129"></a><a href="#FNanchor_129_129"><span class="label">[129]</span></a></span> -E. Marandon de Montyel, ‘De la Criminalité et de la Dégénérescence,’ -<i>Archives de l’Anthropologie criminelle</i>, Mai, 1892, p. 287.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_130_130" id="Footnote_130_130"></a><a href="#FNanchor_130_130"><span class="label">[130]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6">Ah! if these are dream hands,<br /> -So much the better, or so much the worse, or so much the better.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_131_131" id="Footnote_131_131"></a><a href="#FNanchor_131_131"><span class="label">[131]</span></a></span> -Virgil’s ‘lentus,’ when applied to aspects of nature conveys a very -different meaning.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_132_132" id="Footnote_132_132"></a><a href="#FNanchor_132_132"><span class="label">[132]</span></a></span> -Charles Morice, <i>La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure</i>, p. 238.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_133_133" id="Footnote_133_133"></a><a href="#FNanchor_133_133"><span class="label">[133]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 33.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_134_134" id="Footnote_134_134"></a><a href="#FNanchor_134_134"><span class="label">[134]</span></a></span> -Since these words were written, M. Mallarmé has decided to publish -his poems in one volume. This, far from invalidating what has been said, -is its best justification.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_135_135" id="Footnote_135_135"></a><a href="#FNanchor_135_135"><span class="label">[135]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 55.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_136_136" id="Footnote_136_136"></a><a href="#FNanchor_136_136"><span class="label">[136]</span></a></span> -Hartmann, <i>Der Gorilla</i>. Leipzig, 1881, p. 34.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_137_137" id="Footnote_137_137"></a><a href="#FNanchor_137_137"><span class="label">[137]</span></a></span> -Dr. L. Frigerio, <i>L’Oreille externe: Étude d’Anthropologie criminelle</i>. -Lyon, 1889, pp. 32 and 40.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_138_138" id="Footnote_138_138"></a><a href="#FNanchor_138_138"><span class="label">[138]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>, p. 255.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_139_139" id="Footnote_139_139"></a><a href="#FNanchor_139_139"><span class="label">[139]</span></a></span> -Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 102.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_140_140" id="Footnote_140_140"></a><a href="#FNanchor_140_140"><span class="label">[140]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 106.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_141_141" id="Footnote_141_141"></a><a href="#FNanchor_141_141"><span class="label">[141]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 401.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_142_142" id="Footnote_142_142"></a><a href="#FNanchor_142_142"><span class="label">[142]</span></a></span> -Jean Moréas, <i>Le Pélerin passionné</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 3.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_143_143" id="Footnote_143_143"></a><a href="#FNanchor_143_143"><span class="label">[143]</span></a></span> -Moréas, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 21 and 2.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_144_144" id="Footnote_144_144"></a><a href="#FNanchor_144_144"><span class="label">[144]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 43.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_145_145" id="Footnote_145_145"></a><a href="#FNanchor_145_145"><span class="label">[145]</span></a></span> -Moréas, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 311.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_146_146" id="Footnote_146_146"></a><a href="#FNanchor_146_146"><span class="label">[146]</span></a></span></p> -<p class="pfn4">‘O Syrinx! do you see and understand the Earth, and the wonder of this morning, and the circulation of life!<br /> -O thou, there! and I, here! O thou! O me! All is in All!’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_147_147" id="Footnote_147_147"></a><a href="#FNanchor_147_147"><span class="label">[147]</span></a></span> -Morice, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 30.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_148_148" id="Footnote_148_148"></a><a href="#FNanchor_148_148"><span class="label">[148]</span></a></span> -Morice, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 321.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_149_149" id="Footnote_149_149"></a><a href="#FNanchor_149_149"><span class="label">[149]</span></a></span> -Dr. F. Suarez de Mendoza, <i>L’Audition colorée: Étude sur les fausses -Sensations secondaires physiologiques</i>. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_150_150" id="Footnote_150_150"></a><a href="#FNanchor_150_150"><span class="label">[150]</span></a></span> -Alfred Binet, ‘Recherche sur les altérations de la conscience chez les -hystériques,’ <i>Revue philosophique</i>, 1889, 27<sup>e</sup> vol., p. 165.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_151_151" id="Footnote_151_151"></a><a href="#FNanchor_151_151"><span class="label">[151]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 162.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_152_152" id="Footnote_152_152"></a><a href="#FNanchor_152_152"><span class="label">[152]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>. German edition, p. 233.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_153_153" id="Footnote_153_153"></a><a href="#FNanchor_153_153"><span class="label">[153]</span></a></span> -I may here be allowed to remind my readers that in the year 1885, and, -accordingly, before the promulgation of the professed symbolistic programme, -I laid down in my <i>Paradoxe</i> (popular edition, part ii., p. 253) the principle -that the poet must ‘to the majority of his readers utter the deep saying, -“<i>Tat twam asi!</i>”—“That art thou!” of the Indian sage,’ and ‘must -be able, with the ancient Romans, to repeat to the sound and normally -developed man, “<i>Of thee is the fable related</i>.” In other words, the poem -must be “symbolical” in the sense that it brings into view characters, -destinies, feelings and laws of life which are universal.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_154_154" id="Footnote_154_154"></a><a href="#FNanchor_154_154"><span class="label">[154]</span></a></span> -Hugues Le Roux, <i>Portraits de Cire</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 129.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_155_155" id="Footnote_155_155"></a><a href="#FNanchor_155_155"><span class="label">[155]</span></a></span> -V<sup>te</sup> E. M. de Vogüé, <i>Le Roman russe</i>. Paris, 1888, p. 293 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_156_156" id="Footnote_156_156"></a><a href="#FNanchor_156_156"><span class="label">[156]</span></a></span> -See, in <i>War and Peace</i> (Leo. N. Tolstoi’s collected works, published, -with the author’s sanction, by Raphael Löwenfeld, Berlin, 1892, vols. v.-viii.), -the soldiers’ talk, part i., p. 252; the scene at the outposts, p. 314 <i>et seq.</i>, -the description of the troops on the march, p. 332; the death of Count -Besuchoi, pp. 142-145; the coursing, part ii., pp. 383-407, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_157_157" id="Footnote_157_157"></a><a href="#FNanchor_157_157"><span class="label">[157]</span></a></span> -See, in <i>War and Peace</i>, the thoughts of the wounded Prince Andrej, -part i., p. 516; Count Peter’s conversation with the freemason and Martinief -Basdjejeff, part ii., pp. 106-114, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_158_158" id="Footnote_158_158"></a><a href="#FNanchor_158_158"><span class="label">[158]</span></a></span> -<i>War and Peace</i>, the episode of Princess Maria and her suitor, part i., -pp. 420-423; the confinement of the little Princess, part ii., pp. 58-65; and -all the passages where Count Rostoff sees the Emperor Alexander, or where -the author speaks of the Emperor Napoleon I., etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_159_159" id="Footnote_159_159"></a><a href="#FNanchor_159_159"><span class="label">[159]</span></a></span> -Vogüé, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 282.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_160_160" id="Footnote_160_160"></a><a href="#FNanchor_160_160"><span class="label">[160]</span></a></span> -Count Leo Tolstoi, <i>A Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>. From the -Russian, by Paul Lauterbach. Leipzig: Reclam’s Universal-Bibliothek, -p. 13.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_161_161" id="Footnote_161_161"></a><a href="#FNanchor_161_161"><span class="label">[161]</span></a></span> -L. Tolstoi, <i>Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>, p. 13.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_162_162" id="Footnote_162_162"></a><a href="#FNanchor_162_162"><span class="label">[162]</span></a></span> -Tolstoi, <i>Short Exposition</i>, etc., p. 172.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_163_163" id="Footnote_163_163"></a><a href="#FNanchor_163_163"><span class="label">[163]</span></a></span> -More accurately, in Vedântism.—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_164_164" id="Footnote_164_164"></a><a href="#FNanchor_164_164"><span class="label">[164]</span></a></span> -Tolstoi, <i>Short Exposition</i>, etc., p. 128.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_165_165" id="Footnote_165_165"></a><a href="#FNanchor_165_165"><span class="label">[165]</span></a></span> -<i>Short Exposition</i>, p. 60.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_166_166" id="Footnote_166_166"></a><a href="#FNanchor_166_166"><span class="label">[166]</span></a></span> -De Vogüé, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 333.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_167_167" id="Footnote_167_167"></a><a href="#FNanchor_167_167"><span class="label">[167]</span></a></span> -L. Tolstoi, <i>Gesammelte Werke</i>, Berlin, 1891, Band II.: <i>Novels and -Short Tales</i>, part i.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_168_168" id="Footnote_168_168"></a><a href="#FNanchor_168_168"><span class="label">[168]</span></a></span> -Léon Tolstoi, <i>La Sonate à Kreutzer</i>. Traduit du Russe par E. Halpérine-Kaminsky. -Paris: Collection des auteurs célèbres, p. 72.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_169_169" id="Footnote_169_169"></a><a href="#FNanchor_169_169"><span class="label">[169]</span></a></span> -P. 119.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_170_170" id="Footnote_170_170"></a><a href="#FNanchor_170_170"><span class="label">[170]</span></a></span> -<i>Short Exposition of the Gospel</i>, p. 140.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_171_171" id="Footnote_171_171"></a><a href="#FNanchor_171_171"><span class="label">[171]</span></a></span> -<i>Le Roman du Mariage.</i> Traduit du Russe par Michel Delines. Paris. -<i>Auteurs célèbres.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_172_172" id="Footnote_172_172"></a><a href="#FNanchor_172_172"><span class="label">[172]</span></a></span> -Ed. Rod, <i>Les Idées morales du Temps présent</i>. Paris, 1892, p. 241.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_173_173" id="Footnote_173_173"></a><a href="#FNanchor_173_173"><span class="label">[173]</span></a></span> -Raphael Löwenfeld, <i>Leo N. Tolstoi, sein Leben, seine Werke, seine -Weltanschauung</i>. Erster Theil. Berlin, 1892, Introd., p. 1.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_174_174" id="Footnote_174_174"></a><a href="#FNanchor_174_174"><span class="label">[174]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 256, foot-note.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_175_175" id="Footnote_175_175"></a><a href="#FNanchor_175_175"><span class="label">[175]</span></a></span> -Löwenfeld, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 39.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_176_176" id="Footnote_176_176"></a><a href="#FNanchor_176_176"><span class="label">[176]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 276.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_177_177" id="Footnote_177_177"></a><a href="#FNanchor_177_177"><span class="label">[177]</span></a></span> -Professor Kowalewski, in <i>The Journal of Mental Science</i>, January, 1888.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_178_178" id="Footnote_178_178"></a><a href="#FNanchor_178_178"><span class="label">[178]</span></a></span> -Griesinger, ‘Ueber einen wenig bekannten psychopathischen Zustand,’ -<i>Archiv für Psychiatrie</i>, Band I.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_179_179" id="Footnote_179_179"></a><a href="#FNanchor_179_179"><span class="label">[179]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 324.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_180_180" id="Footnote_180_180"></a><a href="#FNanchor_180_180"><span class="label">[180]</span></a></span> -Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_181_181" id="Footnote_181_181"></a><a href="#FNanchor_181_181"><span class="label">[181]</span></a></span> -Löwenfeld, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 100.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_182_182" id="Footnote_182_182"></a><a href="#FNanchor_182_182"><span class="label">[182]</span></a></span> -Löwenfeld, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 47.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_183_183" id="Footnote_183_183"></a><a href="#FNanchor_183_183"><span class="label">[183]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>Du Délire chez les Dégénérés</i>, pp. 28, 195.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_184_184" id="Footnote_184_184"></a><a href="#FNanchor_184_184"><span class="label">[184]</span></a></span> -It is not my object, in a book intended primarily for the general educated -reader, to dwell on this delicate subject. Anyone wishing to be instructed -more closely in the morbid eroticism of the degenerate may read the books -of Paul Moreau (of Tours) <i>Des Aberrations du Sens génésique</i>, 2<sup>e</sup> édition, -Paris, 1883; and Krafft-Ebing’s <i>Psychopathia sexualis</i>, Stuttgart, 1886. -Papers on this subject by Westphal (<i>Archiv für Psychiatrie</i>, 1870 and 1876), -by Charcot and Magnan (<i>Archives de Neurologie</i>, 1882), etc., are scarcely -accessible to the general public.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_185_185" id="Footnote_185_185"></a><a href="#FNanchor_185_185"><span class="label">[185]</span></a></span> -V. Magnan, <i>Leçons cliniques sur la Dipsomanie, faites à l’asile Sainte-Anne</i>. -Recueillies et publiées par M. le Dr. Marcel Briand. Paris, 1884.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_186_186" id="Footnote_186_186"></a><a href="#FNanchor_186_186"><span class="label">[186]</span></a></span> -Richard Wagner, <i>Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft</i>. Leipzig, 1850. The -numbering of the pages given in quotations from this work refers to the -edition here indicated.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_187_187" id="Footnote_187_187"></a><a href="#FNanchor_187_187"><span class="label">[187]</span></a></span> -Arthur Schopenhauer, <i>Parerga und Paralipomena, Kurze Phil. Schriften</i>. -Leipzig, 1888, Band II., p. 465.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_188_188" id="Footnote_188_188"></a><a href="#FNanchor_188_188"><span class="label">[188]</span></a></span> -Charles Féré, <i>Sensation et Mouvement</i>. Paris, 1887.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_189_189" id="Footnote_189_189"></a><a href="#FNanchor_189_189"><span class="label">[189]</span></a></span> -<i>Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft</i>, p. 169: ‘It is only when the desire of the -artistic sculptor has passed into the soul of the <i>dancer</i>, of the <i>mimic interpreter</i>, -of him who sings and speaks, that this desire can be conceived as -satisfied. It is only when the art of sculpture no longer exists, or has followed -another tendency than that of representing human bodies—when it -has passed, as sculpture, into <i>architecture</i>—when the rigid solitude of this -<i>one</i> man carved in stone will have been resolved into the infinitely flowing -plurality of veritable, living men ... it is only then, too, that <i>real plastic</i> -will exist.’ And on p. 182: ‘That which it [painting] <i>honestly</i> exerts itself -to attain, it attains in ... greatest perfection ... when it descends from -canvas and chalk to ascend to the <i>tragic stage</i>.... But landscape-painting -will become, as the last and most finished conclusion of all the fine arts, the -life-giving soul, properly speaking, of architecture; it will teach us thus to -organize the <i>stage</i> for works of the dramatic art of the future, in which, itself -living, it will represent the warm <i>background</i> of <i>nature</i> for the use of the -<i>living</i>, and not for the imitated <i>man</i>.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_190_190" id="Footnote_190_190"></a><a href="#FNanchor_190_190"><span class="label">[190]</span></a></span> -Richard Wagner, <i>Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen</i>. Leipzig, 1883, -Band X., p. 68.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_191_191" id="Footnote_191_191"></a><a href="#FNanchor_191_191"><span class="label">[191]</span></a></span> -Compare also, in <i>Das Bühnenweihfestspiel in Bayreuth</i>, 1882 (<i>Gesammelte -Schriften</i>, Band X., p. 384): ‘This [the ‘sure rendering of all events -on, above, under, behind, and before the stage’] anarchy accomplishes, -because each individual does what he <i>wishes</i> to do, namely (?), what is -right.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_192_192" id="Footnote_192_192"></a><a href="#FNanchor_192_192"><span class="label">[192]</span></a></span> -Edward Hanslick, <i>Musikalische Stationen</i>. Berlin, 1880, pp. 220, 243.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_193_193" id="Footnote_193_193"></a><a href="#FNanchor_193_193"><span class="label">[193]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen</i>, Band VI., p. 3 <i>ff.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_194_194" id="Footnote_194_194"></a><a href="#FNanchor_194_194"><span class="label">[194]</span></a></span> -In a book on degeneration it is not possible wholly to avoid the subject -of eroticism, which includes precisely the most characteristic and conspicuous -phenomena of degeneration. I dwell, however, on principle as little -as possible on this subject, and will, therefore, in reference to the characterization -of Wagner’s erotic madness, quote only one clinical work: Dr. -Paul Aubry, ‘Observation d’Uxoricide et de Libéricide suivis du Suicide du -Meurtrier,’ <i>Archives de l’Anthropologie criminelle</i>, vol. vii., p. 326: ‘This -derangement [erotic madness] is characterized by an inconceivable fury of -concupiscence at the moment of approach.’ And in a remark on the report -of a murder perpetrated on his wife and children by an erotic maniac—a -professor of mathematics in a public school—whom Aubrey had under his -observation, he says, ‘Sa femme qui parlait facilement et à tous des choses -que l’on tient ordinairement le plus secrètes, disait que son mari était comme -un furieux pendant l’acte sexuel.’ See also Ball, <i>La Folie érotique</i>. Paris, -1891, p. 127.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_195_195" id="Footnote_195_195"></a><a href="#FNanchor_195_195"><span class="label">[195]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 229: ‘When the expression of their -ideas eludes their grasp ... they resort ... to the continual italicizing of -words and sentences,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_196_196" id="Footnote_196_196"></a><a href="#FNanchor_196_196"><span class="label">[196]</span></a></span> -Friedrich Nietzsche, <i>Der Fall Wagner</i>. Leipzig, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_197_197" id="Footnote_197_197"></a><a href="#FNanchor_197_197"><span class="label">[197]</span></a></span> -<i>Der Fall Wagner.</i> <i>Ein Musikanten-Problem.</i> 2<sup>te</sup> Auflage. Leipzig, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_198_198" id="Footnote_198_198"></a><a href="#FNanchor_198_198"><span class="label">[198]</span></a></span> -Sollier, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 101.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_199_199" id="Footnote_199_199"></a><a href="#FNanchor_199_199"><span class="label">[199]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 214 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_200_200" id="Footnote_200_200"></a><a href="#FNanchor_200_200"><span class="label">[200]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Ges. Schriften</i>, Band X., p. 222.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_201_201" id="Footnote_201_201"></a><a href="#FNanchor_201_201"><span class="label">[201]</span></a></span> -Rubinstein, <i>Musiciens modernes</i>. Traduit du russe par M. Delines. -Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_202_202" id="Footnote_202_202"></a><a href="#FNanchor_202_202"><span class="label">[202]</span></a></span> -<i>The Origin and Function of Music: Essays, Scientific, Political and -Speculative.</i> London: Williams and Norgate, 1883; vol. i., p. 213 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_203_203" id="Footnote_203_203"></a><a href="#FNanchor_203_203"><span class="label">[203]</span></a></span> -E. Hanslick, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 233: ‘As the dramatis personæ in “music-drama” -are not distinguished by the character of the melodies they sing, as -in ancient opera (Don Juan and Leporello, Donna Anna and Zerlina, Max -and Caspar), but all resemble each other in the physiognomic pathos of the -tones of their speech, Wagner aims at replacing this characteristic by so-called -<i>leit-motifs</i> in the orchestra.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_204_204" id="Footnote_204_204"></a><a href="#FNanchor_204_204"><span class="label">[204]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Ueber die Anwendung der Musik auf das Drama</i>. <i>Ges. -Schriften</i>, Band X., p. 242.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_205_205" id="Footnote_205_205"></a><a href="#FNanchor_205_205"><span class="label">[205]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 225.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_206_206" id="Footnote_206_206"></a><a href="#FNanchor_206_206"><span class="label">[206]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 226.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_207_207" id="Footnote_207_207"></a><a href="#FNanchor_207_207"><span class="label">[207]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Religion und Kunst</i>. <i>Ges. Schr.</i>, Band X., p. 307, note: ‘The -author here expressly refers to A. Gleizès’ book, <i>Thalysia oder das Heil der -Menschheit</i>.... Without an exact knowledge of the results, recorded in -this book, of the most careful investigations, which seem to have absorbed -the entire life of one of the most amiable and profound of Frenchmen, it might -be difficult to gain attention for ... the regeneration of the human race.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_208_208" id="Footnote_208_208"></a><a href="#FNanchor_208_208"><span class="label">[208]</span></a></span> -‘Alberich’s seductive appeal to the water-sprites makes prominent the -hard, mordant sound of <i>N</i>, so well corresponding in its whole essence to the -negative power in the drama, inasmuch as it forms the sharpest contrast to -the soft <i>W</i> of the water-spirits. Then when he prepares to climb after the -maidens, the alliance of the <i>Gl</i> and <i>Schl</i> with the soft, gliding <i>F</i> marks -most forcibly the gliding off the slippery rock. In the appropriate <i>Pr</i> (<i>Fr</i>), -Woglinde as it were shouts “Good luck to you!” (<i>Prosit</i>) when Alberich -sneezes.’—Cited by Hanslick, <i>Musikalische Stationen</i>, p. 255.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_209_209" id="Footnote_209_209"></a><a href="#FNanchor_209_209"><span class="label">[209]</span></a></span> -Legrand du Saulle terms the persecutor who believes himself persecuted, -‘persécuté actif.’ See his fundamental work: <i>Le Délire des Persécutions</i>. -Paris, 1871, p. 194.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_210_210" id="Footnote_210_210"></a><a href="#FNanchor_210_210"><span class="label">[210]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Das Judenthum in der Musik</i>. <i>Ges. Schr.</i> Band V., p. 83. -<i>Aufklärungen über das Judenthum in der Musik.</i> Band VIII., p. 299.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_211_211" id="Footnote_211_211"></a><a href="#FNanchor_211_211"><span class="label">[211]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Deutsche Kunst und Deutsche Politik</i>. <i>Ges. Schr.</i> Band VIII., -p. 39. <i>Was ist Deutsche?</i> Band X., p. 51 <i>et passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_212_212" id="Footnote_212_212"></a><a href="#FNanchor_212_212"><span class="label">[212]</span></a></span> -Wagner, <i>Religion und Kunst</i>. <i>Ges. Schr.</i> Band X., p. 311.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_213_213" id="Footnote_213_213"></a><a href="#FNanchor_213_213"><span class="label">[213]</span></a></span> -<i>Offenes Schreiben an Herrn Ernst von Weber, Verfasser der Schrift. -Die Folterkammern der Wissenschaft.</i> <i>Ges. Schr.</i> Band X., p. 251.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_214_214" id="Footnote_214_214"></a><a href="#FNanchor_214_214"><span class="label">[214]</span></a></span> -A game of cards to which Teutomaniacs are much addicted.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_215_215" id="Footnote_215_215"></a><a href="#FNanchor_215_215"><span class="label">[215]</span></a></span> -F. Paulhan, <i>Le nouveau Mysticisme</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 104.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_216_216" id="Footnote_216_216"></a><a href="#FNanchor_216_216"><span class="label">[216]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 175: ‘The need for the marvellous is almost always -inevitable among the weak-minded.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_217_217" id="Footnote_217_217"></a><a href="#FNanchor_217_217"><span class="label">[217]</span></a></span> -Sar Mérodack J. Péladan, <i>Amphithéatre des Sciences mortes. Comment -on devient Mage</i>. Éthique. Avec un portrait pittoresque gravé par G. -Poirel. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_218_218" id="Footnote_218_218"></a><a href="#FNanchor_218_218"><span class="label">[218]</span></a></span> -Joséphin Péladan, <i>La Décadence latine</i>. Ethopée IX.: ‘La Gynandre.’ -Couverture de Séon, eau-forte de Desboutins. Paris, 1891, p. xvii.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_219_219" id="Footnote_219_219"></a><a href="#FNanchor_219_219"><span class="label">[219]</span></a></span> -Maurice Rollinat, <i>Les Névroses</i> (Les Ames—Les Suaires—Les Refuges—Les -Spectres—Les Ténèbres). Avec un portrait de l’auteur par F. Desmoulin. -Paris, 1883. Quite as striking is his later collection of poems, -<i>L’Abîme</i>. Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_220_220" id="Footnote_220_220"></a><a href="#FNanchor_220_220"><span class="label">[220]</span></a></span> -<i>Humiliés et Offensés</i>, p. 55; quoted by De Vogüé, <i>Le Roman russe</i>, p. 222, -foot-note.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_221_221" id="Footnote_221_221"></a><a href="#FNanchor_221_221"><span class="label">[221]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 246.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_222_222" id="Footnote_222_222"></a><a href="#FNanchor_222_222"><span class="label">[222]</span></a></span> -<i>Journal of Mental Science</i>, January, 1888.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_223_223" id="Footnote_223_223"></a><a href="#FNanchor_223_223"><span class="label">[223]</span></a></span> -<i>Le Délire des Persécutions.</i> Paris, 1871, p. 512.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_224_224" id="Footnote_224_224"></a><a href="#FNanchor_224_224"><span class="label">[224]</span></a></span> -Morel, ‘Du Délire panophobique des Aliénés gémisseurs.’ <i>Annales -médico-psychologiques</i>, 1871, 2<sup>e</sup> vol., p. 322.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_225_225" id="Footnote_225_225"></a><a href="#FNanchor_225_225"><span class="label">[225]</span></a></span> -Maurice Maeterlinck, <i>Serres chaudes</i>. Nouvelle édition. Bruxelles, 1890.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_226_226" id="Footnote_226_226"></a><a href="#FNanchor_226_226"><span class="label">[226]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i>, p. 322: ‘Walt Whitman, the poet of the -modern Anglo-Americans, and assuredly a mad genius, was a typographer, -teacher, soldier, joiner, and for some time also a bureaucrat, which, for a -poet, is the queerest of trades.’</p> -<p class="pfc4">This constant changing of his profession Lombroso rightly characterizes -as one of the signs of mental derangement. A French admirer of Whitman, -Gabriel Sarrazin (<i>La Renaissance de la Poésie anglaise</i>, 1798-1889; Paris, -1889, p. 270, foot-note), palliates this proof of organic instability and weakness -of will in the following manner: ‘This American facility of changing -from one calling to another goes against our old European prejudices, and -our unalterable veneration for thoroughly hierarchical, bureaucratic routine-careers. -We have remained in this, as in so many other respects, essentially -narrow-minded, and cannot understand that diversity of capacities gives a -man a very much greater social value.’ This is the true method of the -æsthetic wind-bag, who for every fact which he does not understand finds -roundly-turned phrases with which he explains and justifies everything to -his own satisfaction.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_227_227" id="Footnote_227_227"></a><a href="#FNanchor_227_227"><span class="label">[227]</span></a></span> -Walt Whitman, <i>Leaves of Grass</i>; a new edition. Glasgow, 1884.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_228_228" id="Footnote_228_228"></a><a href="#FNanchor_228_228"><span class="label">[228]</span></a></span> -Maurice Maeterlinck, <i>The Princess Maleine and the Intruder</i>. London: -W. Heinemann, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_229_229" id="Footnote_229_229"></a><a href="#FNanchor_229_229"><span class="label">[229]</span></a></span> -Omitted in the English translation.—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_230_230" id="Footnote_230_230"></a><a href="#FNanchor_230_230"><span class="label">[230]</span></a></span> -Lisandro Reyes has clearly seen this in his useful sketch entitled -<i>Contribution à l’Etude de l’État mental chez les Enfants dégénérés</i>; Paris, -1890, p. 8. He affirms expressly that among degenerate children there is -no really exclusive ‘monomania.’ ‘Among them an isolated delirious idea -may endure for some time, but it is most frequently replaced all at once by -a new conception.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_231_231" id="Footnote_231_231"></a><a href="#FNanchor_231_231"><span class="label">[231]</span></a></span> -Legrain (<i>Du Délire chez les Dégénérés</i>, Paris, 1886) merely expresses this -in somewhat different words, when he says (p. 68), ‘Obsession, impulsion, -these are to be found at the base of all monomania.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_232_232" id="Footnote_232_232"></a><a href="#FNanchor_232_232"><span class="label">[232]</span></a></span> -Analyzed in the <i>Journal of Mental Science</i>, January, 1888.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_233_233" id="Footnote_233_233"></a><a href="#FNanchor_233_233"><span class="label">[233]</span></a></span> -J. Roubinovitch, <i>Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence</i>. Paris, 1890, p. 62.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_234_234" id="Footnote_234_234"></a><a href="#FNanchor_234_234"><span class="label">[234]</span></a></span> -Legrain, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 10.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_235_235" id="Footnote_235_235"></a><a href="#FNanchor_235_235"><span class="label">[235]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Genie und Irrsinn</i> (German edition cited in vol. i.), p. 325.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_236_236" id="Footnote_236_236"></a><a href="#FNanchor_236_236"><span class="label">[236]</span></a></span> -Dr. Paul Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>. Paris, 1890, -p. 174.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_237_237" id="Footnote_237_237"></a><a href="#FNanchor_237_237"><span class="label">[237]</span></a></span> -See on this subject the remarkable treatise of Alfred Binet, ‘On the -Psychic Life of Micro-organisms,’ contained in the volume of extracts: ‘<i>Le -Fétichisme dans l’Amour (Etudes de Psychologie expérimentale). La Vie -psychique des Micro-organismes, l’Intensité des Images mentales, le Problème -hypnotique, Note sur l’Écriture hystérique.</i>’ Paris, 1890.—A short time before -Binet, this same subject was treated by Verworn in a very deserving manner, -at once original and suggestive, in his <i>Psycho-physiologische Protisten-Studien</i>. -Jena, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_238_238" id="Footnote_238_238"></a><a href="#FNanchor_238_238"><span class="label">[238]</span></a></span> -‘Certain [sick] persons enjoy keenly a sense of the lightness of their -body, feel themselves hovering in the air, believe they could fly; or else they -have a feeling of weight either in the whole body, in many limbs, or in one -single limb, which seems to them huge and heavy. A young epileptic -sometimes felt his body so extraordinarily heavy that he could scarcely raise -it. At other times he felt himself so light that he believed he did not touch -the ground. Sometimes it seemed to him that his body had assumed such -proportions that it was impossible for him to pass through a door. In this -last illusion ... the patient feels himself very much smaller or very -much larger than he really is.’—Th. Ribot, <i>Les Maladies de la Personnalité</i>, -3<sup>e</sup> édition. Paris, 1889, p. 35.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_239_239" id="Footnote_239_239"></a><a href="#FNanchor_239_239"><span class="label">[239]</span></a></span> -Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>, p. 52 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_240_240" id="Footnote_240_240"></a><a href="#FNanchor_240_240"><span class="label">[240]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>. 3<sup>a</sup> edizione. Torino, 1884, p. 329 -<i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_241_241" id="Footnote_241_241"></a><a href="#FNanchor_241_241"><span class="label">[241]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>Les Applications de l’Anthropologie criminelle</i>. Paris, 1892, -p. 179.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_242_242" id="Footnote_242_242"></a><a href="#FNanchor_242_242"><span class="label">[242]</span></a></span> -Th. Ribot, <i>Les Maladies de la Personnalité</i>, pp. 61, 78, 105.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_243_243" id="Footnote_243_243"></a><a href="#FNanchor_243_243"><span class="label">[243]</span></a></span> -Maudsley, <i>The Pathology of Mind</i>. London, 1879, p. 287.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_244_244" id="Footnote_244_244"></a><a href="#FNanchor_244_244"><span class="label">[244]</span></a></span> -See also Alfred Binet, <i>Les Altérations de la Personnalité</i>, Paris, 1892, -p. 39: ‘His senses close to outside stimulation; for him, the external world -ceases to exist; he lives no more than his exclusively personal life; he acts -only through his own stimuli, with the automatic movement of his brain. -Although he receives nothing more from outside, and his personality is -completely isolated from the surroundings in which he is placed, he may be -seen to go, come, do, act, as if he had his senses and intelligence in full -exercise.’ This, it is true, is the description of a patient, but what he says -of the latter applies equally, with a difference of degree only, to the -ego-maniac. Féré has communicated to the Biological Society of Paris, in -the séance of November 12, 1892, the results of a great number of experiments -made by him, whence it appears ‘that among the greater part of -epileptics, hysterical and degenerate subjects, cutaneous sensibility is -diminished.’ See <i>La Semaine médicale</i>, 1892, p. 456.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_245_245" id="Footnote_245_245"></a><a href="#FNanchor_245_245"><span class="label">[245]</span></a></span> -Alfred Binet, <i>Les Altérations de la Personnalité</i>. Paris, 1892, pp. 83, 85, -<i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_246_246" id="Footnote_246_246"></a><a href="#FNanchor_246_246"><span class="label">[246]</span></a></span> -‘The organic, cardiac, vaso-motor, secretory, etc., phenomena accompanying -almost all, if not all, affective states ... far from following the conscious -phenomenon, precede it; none the less they remain in many cases unconscious.’—Gley, -quoted by A. Binet, <i>Les Altérations de la Personnalité</i>, p. 208.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_247_247" id="Footnote_247_247"></a><a href="#FNanchor_247_247"><span class="label">[247]</span></a></span> -This is not merely a simple hypothesis, but a well-demonstrated fact. -Hundreds of experiments by Boeck, Weill, Moebius, Charrin, Mairet, Bosc, -Slosse, Laborde, Marie, etc., have established that among the deranged, -during periods of excitation and afterwards, the urine is more toxic, <i>i.e.</i>, more -full of waste and excreted organic matter, while after the periods of depression -it is less toxic, <i>i.e.</i>, poorer in disaggregated matter, than among sane -individuals, which proves that, among the former, the nutrition of the tissues -is morbidly increased or retarded.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_248_248" id="Footnote_248_248"></a><a href="#FNanchor_248_248"><span class="label">[248]</span></a></span> -Dr. Paul Moreau, of Tours, describes perversion (<i>l’aberration</i>) in these -somewhat obscure terms: ‘Perversion constitutes a deviation from the laws -which rule the proper sensibility of the organs and faculties. By this word -we mean to designate those cases in which observation testifies to an unnatural, -exceptional, and wholly pathological change, a change carrying -palpable disturbance into the regular working of a faculty.’—<i>Des Aberrations -du Sens génésique</i>. 4<sup>e</sup> édition. Paris, 1887, p. 1.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_249_249" id="Footnote_249_249"></a><a href="#FNanchor_249_249"><span class="label">[249]</span></a></span> -‘The vices of the psycho-physical organization manifesting themselves -by acts prohibited, not only by morality—that aggregate of necessary rules -elaborated by the secular experience of peoples—but also by their penal -codes, are in discord with life in society, in the midst of which humanity can -alone make progress.... A man, from his birth adapted to social life, can -only acquire such vices as a consequence of certain pernicious conditions, -through which his psycho-physical powers are set in opposition to the necessary -exigencies of social life.’—Drill, <i>Les Criminels mineurs</i>, quoted by -Lombroso in <i>Les Applications de l’Anthropologie criminelle</i>. Paris, 1892, -p. 94. See also G. Tarde, <i>La Philosophie pénale</i>, Lyon, 1890, <i>passim</i>; ‘The -morally deranged are not true lunatics. A Marquise de Brinvilliers, a -Troppmann, a being born without either compassion or sense of shame—can -it be said of such an one that he is not himself when he commits his -crime? No. He is only too much himself. But his existence, his person, -are hostile to society. He does not feel the same sentiments which we -civilized people regard as indispensable. It is useless to think of curing -him or of reforming him.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_250_250" id="Footnote_250_250"></a><a href="#FNanchor_250_250"><span class="label">[250]</span></a></span> -Darwinism explains adaptation only as the result of the struggle for -existence, and of selection which is a form of this struggle. In one individual -a quality appears accidentally, which makes it more capable of preserving -itself and of conquering its enemies than those individuals not born -with this quality. It finds more favourable conditions of existence, leaves -behind it more numerous descendants inheriting this advantageous quality, and -by the survival of the fittest and the disappearance of the less fit, the whole -species comes into the possession of this advantageous quality. I do not at -all deny that an accidental individual deviation from the type of the species, -which proves an advantage in the struggle for existence, can be a source of -transformations having as their result a better adaptation of the species to given -and unmodifiable circumstances. But I do not believe that such an accident -is the only source, or even the most frequent source, of such transformations. -The process of adaptation appears to me to be quite otherwise, viz., the living -being experiences in some situation feelings of discomfort from which he -wishes to escape, either by change of situation (movement, flight), or by -trying to act vigorously on the causes of these feelings of discomfort (attack, -modification of natural conditions). If the organs possessed by the living -being, and the aptitude these organs have acquired, are not sufficient to -furnish the counteractions felt and wished for as necessary to those feelings -of discomfort, the weaker creatures submit to their destiny, and suffer or -even perish. More vigorous individuals, on the contrary, make violent and -continuous efforts in order to attain their design, of flight, defence, attack, -suppression of natural obstacles; they give strong nervous impulses to their -organs to increase to the highest degree their functional capacity, and these -nervous impulses are the immediate cause of transformations, giving to the -organs new qualities, and rendering them more fit to make the living -creature thrive. That the nervous impulse produces, as a consequence, an -increase in the flow of blood, and a better nutrition for the organ in play, is -a positive biological fact. In my opinion, then, adaptation is most frequently -an act of the will, and not the result of qualities accidentally acquired. It -has as premise the clear perception and representation of the external -causes of the feelings of discomfort, and a keen desire to escape from them, -or, again, that of procuring feelings of pleasure, <i>i.e.</i>, an inorganic appetite. -Its mechanism consists in the elaboration of an intense representation of -serviceable acts of certain organs, and in the sending of adequate impulses -to these organs. That such impulses can modify the anatomical structure -of the organs, Kant already anticipated when he wrote his treatise, <i>Von der -Macht des Gemüthes</i>; and modern therapeutics has fully confirmed this, -by showing that the stigmata of a Louise Lateau, the healing of tumours -on the tomb of the Deacon Paris, the modifications induced by suggestion -on the skin of hysterical subjects, the formation of birth-marks by -eventualities and emotions, are the effect of presentations on the bodily -tissues. It was wrong to laugh at Lamarck for teaching that the giraffe has -a long neck because it has continually stretched it in order to be able to -feed off the topmost foliage of plants with tall stems. When the animal -elaborates the clear idea that he ought to elongate his neck as much as -possible in order to reach the elevated foliage, this presentation will -influence in the strongest manner the circulation of the blood in all the -tissues of the neck; these will be quite differently nourished from what they -would be without this presentation, and the changes desired by the animal -will certainly take place little by little, if his general organization makes -them possible. Knowledge and will are therefore causes of adaptation—not -the will in the mystical sense of Schopenhauer, but the will that is the dispenser -of nervous impulses. This summary must suffice for the reader; this -is not the place to develop it more, and to demonstrate in detail how fertile -these ideas are for the theory of evolution.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_251_251" id="Footnote_251_251"></a><a href="#FNanchor_251_251"><span class="label">[251]</span></a></span> -H. Taine, <i>Les Origines de la France contemporaine: La Révolution</i>, -vol. ii., ‘La Conquête jacobine,’ Paris, 1881, pp. 11-12: ‘Neither exaggerated -self-esteem nor dogmatic argument is rare in the human species. In every -country these two roots of the Jacobin spirit subsist indestructible beneath -the surface. Everywhere they are kept in check by established society, and -everywhere they try to upheave the old historical structure which presses on -them with all its weight.... At twenty years old, when a young man enters -the world, his reason is hurt at the same time as his pride. In the first -place, of whatever society he may be a member, it is a scandal to pure -reason, for it has not been constructed on a simple principle by a philosophical -legislator; it has been arranged by successive generations according -to their multiple and varying needs.... In the second place, however -perfect institutions, laws, and manners may be, since they have preceded -him he has not assented to them at all; others, his predecessors, have -chosen for him, and have enclosed him, in advance, in a moral, political, and -social mould which pleased them. It matters little if it displeases him; he -is forced to submit to it, and, like a harnessed horse, he must walk between -the shafts in the harness put on him.... It is not surprising, then, if he is -tempted to kick against the framework in which, <i>nolens volens</i>, he is enclosed, -and in which subordination will be his lot. Thence it comes that the -majority of young men—above all, those who have their careers to make—are -more or less Jacobins on leaving college; it is <i>an infirmity of growth</i>.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_252_252" id="Footnote_252_252"></a><a href="#FNanchor_252_252"><span class="label">[252]</span></a></span> -Dr. Paul Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>, p. 109 <i>et seq.</i>: -‘There exists among idiots another instinct which is met with, nevertheless, -to a certain degree among normal children. This is destructiveness, which -shows itself among all children as a first manifestation of their powers of -movement, under the form of a desire to strike, break, and destroy.... -This tendency is much more pronounced among idiots.... It is not the -same with imbeciles. Their malicious and mischievous spirit drives them -to destroy, not only for the purpose of expending their strength, but with the -object of injuring. It is an unwholesome gratification which they seek.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_253_253" id="Footnote_253_253"></a><a href="#FNanchor_253_253"><span class="label">[253]</span></a></span> -Jules Huret, <i>Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire</i>, p. 288.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_254_254" id="Footnote_254_254"></a><a href="#FNanchor_254_254"><span class="label">[254]</span></a></span> -Théophile Gautier, <i>Les Grotesques</i>. 3<sup>me</sup> édition. Paris, 1856.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_255_255" id="Footnote_255_255"></a><a href="#FNanchor_255_255"><span class="label">[255]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, par Charles Baudelaire, précédées d’une notice par -Théophile Gautier. 2<sup>e</sup> édition. Paris, 1869, p. 46.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_256_256" id="Footnote_256_256"></a><a href="#FNanchor_256_256"><span class="label">[256]</span></a></span> -M. Guyau, ‘L’Ésthétique du Vers moderne,’ <i>Revue philosophique</i>, vol. -xvii., p. 270.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_257_257" id="Footnote_257_257"></a><a href="#FNanchor_257_257"><span class="label">[257]</span></a></span> -Th. Gautier, quoted by M. Guyau, <i>loc. cit.</i>, p. 270.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_258_258" id="Footnote_258_258"></a><a href="#FNanchor_258_258"><span class="label">[258]</span></a></span> -Printed in <i>L’Écho de Paris</i>, No. 2,972, July 8, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_259_259" id="Footnote_259_259"></a><a href="#FNanchor_259_259"><span class="label">[259]</span></a></span> -Théodore de Banville, <i>Petit Traité de Poésie française</i>. 2<sup>e</sup> édition revue. -Paris, 1880, pp. 54, 64.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_260_260" id="Footnote_260_260"></a><a href="#FNanchor_260_260"><span class="label">[260]</span></a></span> -M. Guyau, <i>loc. cit.</i>, pp. 264, 265.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_261_261" id="Footnote_261_261"></a><a href="#FNanchor_261_261"><span class="label">[261]</span></a></span> -Compare with the above Tolstoi’s opinion on the same subject: ‘He is -violently hostile to all rhymed verse. Rhythm and rhyme chain down -thought, and all that is opposed to the most complete formation possible of -the idea is an evil.... Tolstoi ... regards the decline in our esteem for -poetry in verse as a progress.’—Raphael Löwenfeld, <i>Gespräche über und mit -Tolstoi</i>. Berlin, 1891, p. 77.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_262_262" id="Footnote_262_262"></a><a href="#FNanchor_262_262"><span class="label">[262]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘Prince, je mens. Sous les Gémeaux</p> -<p class="pfp7">Ou l’Amphore, faire en son livre</p> -<p class="pfp6">Rimer entre eux de noble mots,</p> -<p class="pfp7">C’est la seule douceur de vivre.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_263_263" id="Footnote_263_263"></a><a href="#FNanchor_263_263"><span class="label">[263]</span></a></span> -Eugène Crépet, <i>Les Poètes français</i>, vol. iv., p. 536: study by Charles -Baudelaire of Théodore de Banville.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_264_264" id="Footnote_264_264"></a><a href="#FNanchor_264_264"><span class="label">[264]</span></a></span> -‘No human sobs in the poets’ song!’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_265_265" id="Footnote_265_265"></a><a href="#FNanchor_265_265"><span class="label">[265]</span></a></span> -Jules Huret, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 283, 297.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_266_266" id="Footnote_266_266"></a><a href="#FNanchor_266_266"><span class="label">[266]</span></a></span> -F. Brunetière, ‘La Statue de Baudelaire,’ <i>Revue des deux Mondes</i>, -September 1, 1892, vol. cxiii., p. 221.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_267_267" id="Footnote_267_267"></a><a href="#FNanchor_267_267"><span class="label">[267]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, par Charles Baudelaire, précédées d’une notice par -Théophile Gautier. 2<sup>e</sup> édition. Paris, 1869, p. 22.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_268_268" id="Footnote_268_268"></a><a href="#FNanchor_268_268"><span class="label">[268]</span></a></span> -Baudelaire, in the work quoted by Eugène Crépet, <i>Les Poètes français</i>, -vol. iv., pp. 541, 542.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_269_269" id="Footnote_269_269"></a><a href="#FNanchor_269_269"><span class="label">[269]</span></a></span> -Franz Brentano, <i>Das Schlechte als Gegenstand dichterischer Darstellung</i>. -Vortrag gehalten in der Gesellschaft der Litteratur freunde zu Wien. Leipzig, -1892, p. 17.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_270_270" id="Footnote_270_270"></a><a href="#FNanchor_270_270"><span class="label">[270]</span></a></span> -Fr. Paulhan, <i>Le nouveau Mysticisme</i>. Paris, 1891, p 94. See, in addition, -all the chapter ‘L’amour du mal,’ pp. 57-99.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_271_271" id="Footnote_271_271"></a><a href="#FNanchor_271_271"><span class="label">[271]</span></a></span> -Oswald Zimmermann, <i>Die Wonne des Leids</i>. <i>Beiträge zur Erkenntniss -des menschlichen Empfindens in Kunst und Leben.</i> 2te umgearbeitete Auflage. -Leipzig, 1885, p. 111. This book is without value in point of ideas, for it -reproduces, in language deliberately inflated, and visibly aspiring to ‘depth,’ -the most imbecile drivel of the trio, Edward von Hartmann, Nietzsche and -Gustave Jäger. But the author, who is well read, has carefully compiled -some useful materials in certain chapters, particularly in that entitled, -‘Association of Voluptuousness and Cruelty’ (p. 107 <i>et seq.</i>). (The case of -Jeanneret, first published by Chatelain in the <i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, -has also been quoted by Krafft-Ebing, <i>Lehrbuch der gerichtlichen Psychopathologie</i>. -3te Auflage. Stuttgart, 1892, p. 248.)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_272_272" id="Footnote_272_272"></a><a href="#FNanchor_272_272"><span class="label">[272]</span></a></span> -Sollier, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 123: ‘The imbecile is refined in his persecutions, -and that knowingly. He loves to see suffering. He skins a bird alive, -laughs on hearing its cries and seeing its struggles. He tears off the feet -of a frog, looks at its suffering for a moment, then abruptly crushes it, or -kills it in some other way, as one of the imbeciles at Bicêtre does.... The -imbecile is as cruel to his fellow-creature as to animals, and that even in -his jesting. Thus he will laugh maliciously and mock at a comrade who has -become crippled.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_273_273" id="Footnote_273_273"></a><a href="#FNanchor_273_273"><span class="label">[273]</span></a></span> -Paul Bourget, <i>Essais de Psychologie contemporaine</i>. Paris, 1883, p. 28.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_274_274" id="Footnote_274_274"></a><a href="#FNanchor_274_274"><span class="label">[274]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, pp. 12, 13.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_275_275" id="Footnote_275_275"></a><a href="#FNanchor_275_275"><span class="label">[275]</span></a></span> -Verworn employs the word ‘chemotropism.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_276_276" id="Footnote_276_276"></a><a href="#FNanchor_276_276"><span class="label">[276]</span></a></span> -Sainte-Beuve, <i>Causeries du Lundi</i>, vol. xiv., p. 70. Article on the complete -poems of Théodore de Banville. October 12th, 1857.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_277_277" id="Footnote_277_277"></a><a href="#FNanchor_277_277"><span class="label">[277]</span></a></span> -Barbey d’Aurevilly, <i>Goethe et Diderot</i>. Paris, 1882.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_278_278" id="Footnote_278_278"></a><a href="#FNanchor_278_278"><span class="label">[278]</span></a></span> -J. K. Huysmans, <i>A Rebours</i>. 4ème mille. Paris, 1892, p. 251.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_279_279" id="Footnote_279_279"></a><a href="#FNanchor_279_279"><span class="label">[279]</span></a></span> -Paul Bourget, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 6: ‘He is a libertine, and depraved visions -amounting to Sadism disturb the very man who comes to worship the raised -finger of his Madonna. The morose orgies of the vulgar Venus, the heady -fumes of the black Venus, the refined delights of the learned Venus, the -criminal audacity of the bloodthirsty Venus, have left their memories in the -most spiritualized of his poems. An offensive odour of vile alcoves escapes -from these ... verses....’ And p. 19: ‘... It is not so with the mystic -soul—and that of Baudelaire’s was one. For this soul did not content itself -with a faith in an idea. It <i>saw</i> God. He was for it not a word, not a -symbol, not an abstraction, but a Being, in whose company the soul lived -as we live with a father who loves us.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_280_280" id="Footnote_280_280"></a><a href="#FNanchor_280_280"><span class="label">[280]</span></a></span> -Théophile Gautier, who was himself a member of a hashish club, tries -to make us believe (<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, p. 57 <i>et seq.</i>), that Baudelaire was -addicted to the use of narcotic poisons only with the object of ‘physiological -experiment’; but we know the tendency of the degenerate to represent the -impulsions of which they are ashamed as acts of free will, for which they -have all sorts of palliating explanations.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_281_281" id="Footnote_281_281"></a><a href="#FNanchor_281_281"><span class="label">[281]</span></a></span> -Dr. E. Régis, <i>Manuel pratique de Médecine mentale</i>. 2e édition. Paris, -1892, p. 279.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_282_282" id="Footnote_282_282"></a><a href="#FNanchor_282_282"><span class="label">[282]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, p. 5—‘le culte de soi-même.’ This is Théophile -Gautier’s own term.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_283_283" id="Footnote_283_283"></a><a href="#FNanchor_283_283"><span class="label">[283]</span></a></span> -Paul Bourget, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 31.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_284_284" id="Footnote_284_284"></a><a href="#FNanchor_284_284"><span class="label">[284]</span></a></span> -Ch. J. J. Sazaret, <i>Etude sur la Simulation de la Folie</i>. Nancy, 1888. -This pamphlet by a beginner, which contains a useful collection of clinical -observations, is particularly amusing, in that all the observations cited by the -author demonstrate exactly the reverse of what he proposes to prove. After -having himself asserted (p. 22) that ‘the victims of hysteria are much given -to simulate all sorts of maladies,’ he says (p. 29): ‘Persons mentally -affected now and then simulate madness; the case is rare, but it has nevertheless -been verified, and if it has not been oftener recorded, it is, we believe, -that observers have limited themselves to a superficial examination, and certain -actions have not been analyzed.’ The case is so far from rare that it is -pointed out in every observation quoted by the author. In the case of Baillarger -(2nd observation), the so-called simulatrix had been in a lunatic asylum -eight years before, as a fully confirmed madwoman; in the case of Morel -(4th observation), the simulator ‘had a nervous attack at the sight of a -lancet,’ which is clearly aichmophobia and a certain stigma of degeneration; -in the 6th observation Morel admits that ‘the extravagance of the subject, -his fear of poison’ (thus a case of pronounced iophobia), ‘and the fact of -picking up filth, indicate a possible mental disorder’; the case of Foville -(10th observation) ‘had a certain number of insane in his family’; the case -of Legrand du Saulle (18th observation) was ‘the son of a hysterical woman -and grandson of a madman’; the case of Bonnet and Delacroix (19th observation) -‘numbers some insane among his ancestors’; the case of Billod -(22nd observation) ‘has often manifested disturbance and delirium,’ etc. All -these supposed simulators were insane quite unmistakably, and the fact that -they intentionally exaggerated the symptoms of their delirium was only a -further proof of their alienation.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_285_285" id="Footnote_285_285"></a><a href="#FNanchor_285_285"><span class="label">[285]</span></a></span> -Fr. Paulhan, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 92: ‘While affecting the faith of a seminarist, -he [Villiers] delighted in blasphemy. He considered the right to blaspheme -as his peculiar property.... This Catholic Breton loved the society of Satan -more than that of God.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_286_286" id="Footnote_286_286"></a><a href="#FNanchor_286_286"><span class="label">[286]</span></a></span> -Joséphin Péladan, <i>Vice suprême</i>. Paris, 1882, p. 169.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_287_287" id="Footnote_287_287"></a><a href="#FNanchor_287_287"><span class="label">[287]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, p. 244:</p> - -<p class="pfp6s p1">‘Tête-à-tête sombre et limpide<br /> -Qu’un cœur devenu son miroir!<br /> -Puits de vérité, clair et noir,<br /> -Où tremble une étoile livide,</p> - -<p class="pfp6s p1">‘Un phare ironique, infernal,<br /> -Flambeau des grâces sataniques,<br /> -Soulagement et gloire uniques,<br /> -—La conscience dans le Mal!’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_288_288" id="Footnote_288_288"></a><a href="#FNanchor_288_288"><span class="label">[288]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, pp. 17, 18.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_289_289" id="Footnote_289_289"></a><a href="#FNanchor_289_289"><span class="label">[289]</span></a></span> -<i>Les Fleurs du Mal</i>, pp. 17, 18.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_290_290" id="Footnote_290_290"></a><a href="#FNanchor_290_290"><span class="label">[290]</span></a></span> -J. K. Huysmans, <i>A Rebours</i>. 4<sup>me</sup> mille. Paris, 1892, p. 49.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_291_291" id="Footnote_291_291"></a><a href="#FNanchor_291_291"><span class="label">[291]</span></a></span> -Henri Kurz, in his introduction to the ‘Simplician’ writings of Grimmelshausen. -Leipzig, 1863, 1st part, p. li. See also his remarks on the German -of Grimmelshausen (author of <i>Simplicissimus</i>), p. xlv. <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_292_292" id="Footnote_292_292"></a><a href="#FNanchor_292_292"><span class="label">[292]</span></a></span> -Paul Bourget, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 24.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_293_293" id="Footnote_293_293"></a><a href="#FNanchor_293_293"><span class="label">[293]</span></a></span> -The sacculus is a cirripedia which lives in the condition of a parasite in -the intestinal canal of certain crustacea. It represents the deepest retrograde -transformation of a living being primarily of a higher organization. -It has lost all its differentiated organs, and essentially only amounts to a -vesicule (hence its name: little bag), which fills itself with juices from its -host, absorbed by the parasite with the help of certain vessels, which it -plunges into the intestinal walls of the latter. This atrophied creature has -retained so few marks of an independent animal that it was looked upon -for a long time as a diseased excrescence of its host’s intestines.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_294_294" id="Footnote_294_294"></a><a href="#FNanchor_294_294"><span class="label">[294]</span></a></span> -Maurice Barrès, <i>Trois Stations de Psycho-thérapie</i>. Paris, 1892. -‘Deuxième Station.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_295_295" id="Footnote_295_295"></a><a href="#FNanchor_295_295"><span class="label">[295]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, <i>Un Homme libre</i>. 3e édition. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_296_296" id="Footnote_296_296"></a><a href="#FNanchor_296_296"><span class="label">[296]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, <i>Le Jardin de Bérénice</i>. Paris, 1891, p. 37 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_297_297" id="Footnote_297_297"></a><a href="#FNanchor_297_297"><span class="label">[297]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 245 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_298_298" id="Footnote_298_298"></a><a href="#FNanchor_298_298"><span class="label">[298]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, <i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>. Paris, 1893, pp. 63, 88, 170.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_299_299" id="Footnote_299_299"></a><a href="#FNanchor_299_299"><span class="label">[299]</span></a></span> -Maurice Barrès, <i>Examen de trois Idéologies</i>. Paris, 1892, p. 14.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_300_300" id="Footnote_300_300"></a><a href="#FNanchor_300_300"><span class="label">[300]</span></a></span> -<i>Examen de trois Idéologies</i>, p. 36.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_301_301" id="Footnote_301_301"></a><a href="#FNanchor_301_301"><span class="label">[301]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 46.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_302_302" id="Footnote_302_302"></a><a href="#FNanchor_302_302"><span class="label">[302]</span></a></span> -<i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>, p. 285.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_303_303" id="Footnote_303_303"></a><a href="#FNanchor_303_303"><span class="label">[303]</span></a></span> -Oscar Wilde, <i>Intentions</i>. London, 1891, p. 197.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_304_304" id="Footnote_304_304"></a><a href="#FNanchor_304_304"><span class="label">[304]</span></a></span> -Schiller also says:</p> - -<p class="pfp6s p1">‘Ewig jung is nur die Phantasie;<br /> -Was sich nie und nirgends hat begeben,<br /> -Das allein veraltet nie.’—<i>An die Freunde.</i></p> - -<p class="pfp6s p1">‘Forever young is fantasy alone;<br /> -That which nowhere ever has existed,<br /> -That alone grows never old.’</p> -<p class="pfc4 p1">But Schiller did not mean by this that Art should disregard truth and life, -but that it must discriminate between what is essential, and consequently -lasting, in the phenomenon, and that which is accidental, and therefore -ephemeral.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_305_305" id="Footnote_305_305"></a><a href="#FNanchor_305_305"><span class="label">[305]</span></a></span> -Compare this with Kant’s <i>Kritik der Urtheilskraft</i> (<i>herausgegeben und -erlautert von J. H. v. Kirchmann</i>); Berlin, 1869, p. 65: ‘All interest spoils -the judgment in matters of taste, and deprives it of its impartiality, especially -if it does not, as rational interest does, make the feeling of utility paramount -to that of pleasure, but bases it upon the latter, which always happens in an -æsthetic judgment in so far as a thing causes pleasure or pain.’ Modern -psycho-physiology has recognised this notion of Kant’s as erroneous, and -has demonstrated that ‘the feeling of pleasure’ in itself is originally a feeling -of organic ‘utility,’ and that ‘judgment in matters of taste’ does not exist at -all without ‘interest.’ Psycho-physiology makes use of the terms ‘organic -tendency’ or ‘proclivity,’ instead of ‘interest.’ Moreover Wilde, who does -not mind contradicting his own loose assertions, says (p. 186): ‘A critic -cannot be fair in the ordinary sense of the word. It is only about things -that do not interest one that one can give a really unbiased opinion, which -is no doubt the reason why an unbiased opinion is always absolutely valueless. -The man who sees both sides of a question is a man who sees absolutely -nothing at all.’ Hence Hecuba must be something to the critic, that -he may be able to criticise at all.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_306_306" id="Footnote_306_306"></a><a href="#FNanchor_306_306"><span class="label">[306]</span></a></span> -See in my <i>Paradoxe</i> the chapters ‘Inhalt der poetischen Literatur’ and -‘Zur Naturgeschichte der Liebe.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_307_307" id="Footnote_307_307"></a><a href="#FNanchor_307_307"><span class="label">[307]</span></a></span> -S. A. Tokarski’s article on ‘Myriachit’ in the <i>Neurologisches Central-Blatt</i> -for November, 1890. Tokarski in this article also informs us that -this word should be written <i>meriatschenja</i>, and not <i>myriachit</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_308_308" id="Footnote_308_308"></a><a href="#FNanchor_308_308"><span class="label">[308]</span></a></span> -Edmund R. Clay, <i>L’Alternative</i>. <i>Contribution à la Psychologie.</i> <i>Traduit -de l’anglais par A. Burdeau</i>; Paris, 1886, p. 234: ‘Sympathy is an emotion -caused in us by that which seems to us to be the emotion or the sensation of -others.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_309_309" id="Footnote_309_309"></a><a href="#FNanchor_309_309"><span class="label">[309]</span></a></span> -Helmholtz, <i>Die Lehre von den Tonemfindungen</i>. 4 Aufl. Braunschweig, -1877.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_310_310" id="Footnote_310_310"></a><a href="#FNanchor_310_310"><span class="label">[310]</span></a></span> -Pietro Blaserna, <i>Le Son et la Musique</i>, followed by <i>Causes physiologiques -de l’Harmonie musicale</i>, par H. Helmholtz. 4<sup>e</sup> édition. Paris, 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_311_311" id="Footnote_311_311"></a><a href="#FNanchor_311_311"><span class="label">[311]</span></a></span> -E. Brücke, <i>Bruchstücke aus der Theorie der bildenden Künste</i>. Leipzig, -Intern. wissensch. Bibl. (The French edition of Brücke’s works contains -also Helmholtz’s <i>L’Optique et la Peinture</i>.)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_312_312" id="Footnote_312_312"></a><a href="#FNanchor_312_312"><span class="label">[312]</span></a></span> -Henry Joly, <i>Les Lectures dans les Prisons de la Seine</i>. Lyon, 1891. See -also Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>. Turin, 1884, p. 366 <i>et seq.</i>, and p. 387 -<i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_313_313" id="Footnote_313_313"></a><a href="#FNanchor_313_313"><span class="label">[313]</span></a></span> -Pitrè, <i>Sui Canti popolari italiani in Carcere</i>. Firenze, 1876. See also -the portrait-group of the three brigands of Ravenna in Lombroso, <i>op. cit.</i>, -Plate XV., facing p. 396.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_314_314" id="Footnote_314_314"></a><a href="#FNanchor_314_314"><span class="label">[314]</span></a></span> -<i>Raskolnikow</i>, Roman von F. M. Dostojewskij, Nach der vierten Auflage -des russichen Originals; <i>Prestuplenie i Nakazanie</i>, übersetzt von Wilhelm -Henckel. Leipzig, 1882, Band I., pp. 122-128.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_315_315" id="Footnote_315_315"></a><a href="#FNanchor_315_315"><span class="label">[315]</span></a></span> -The knowledge of this fact is as old as æsthetic science itself. It is -well expressed, as by others, so by Dr. Wilh. Alex. Freund, in his <i>Blicken ins -Culturleben</i>; Breslau, 1879, p. 9: ‘Idealization consists ... in the removal -of accidental accessories disturbing the true expression of the essential;’ -p. 11: ‘All [eminent artists] raise that which they see to a purified -image, purged of all that is unessential, accidental, disturbing; from that -image springs up in all of them the idea lying at the base of the vision;’ p. 13: -‘He [the artist] comprehends the essential ... from which the accidental -disturbing accessories of the external phenomenon fall off like withered -leaves, so that to his inner eye the truth appears as a living idea,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_316_316" id="Footnote_316_316"></a><a href="#FNanchor_316_316"><span class="label">[316]</span></a></span> -See foot-note to p. 38.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_317_317" id="Footnote_317_317"></a><a href="#FNanchor_317_317"><span class="label">[317]</span></a></span> -Wilhelm Loewenthal makes the feeling and need of religion spring -from the same presentient emotion. For the author of <i>Grundzüge einer -Hygiene des Unterrichts</i>, religion is the form assumed in man’s consciousness -by the ideal, <i>i.e.</i>, the presentient knowledge of the aim of evolution. ‘The -instinct of development—the indispensable base of all life and all knowledge—is -identical with the religious need.’ Thus he writes in a memoir, -unfortunately only ‘printed as a manuscript,’ but most worthy of being made -accessible to all the world.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_318_318" id="Footnote_318_318"></a><a href="#FNanchor_318_318"><span class="label">[318]</span></a></span> -<span class="smcap">Nora</span> (<i>the children talk all at once to her during the following</i>). And -so you have been having great fun? That is splendid. Oh, really! you -have been giving Emmy and Bob a slide, both at once! Dear me! you are -quite a man, Ivar. Oh, give her to me a little, Mary Ann. My sweetheart! -(<i>Takes the smallest from the nurse, and dances it up and down.</i>) Yes, yes; -mother will dance with Bob, too. What! did you have a game of snowballs -as well? Oh, I ought to have been there. No, leave them, Mary Ann; I -will take their things off. No, no, let me do it; it is so amusing. Go to the -nursery for awhile, you look so frozen. You’ll find some hot coffee on the -stove. (<i>The nurse goes to the room on the left.</i> <span class="smcap">Nora</span> <i>takes off the -children’s things and throws them down anywhere, while she lets the children -talk to each other and to her</i>.) Really! Then there was a big dog there -who ran after you all the way home? But I’m sure he didn’t bite you. No; -dogs don’t bite dear dolly little children. Don’t peep into those parcels, -Ivar. You want to know what there is? Yes, you are the only people who -shall know. Oh, no, no, that is not pretty. What! must we have a game? -What shall it be, then? Hide and seek? Yes, let us play hide and seek. -Bob shall hide first. Am I to? Very well, I will hide first.—<i>A Doll’s -House</i>, Griffith and Farran, p. 30.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_319_319" id="Footnote_319_319"></a><a href="#FNanchor_319_319"><span class="label">[319]</span></a></span> -<span class="smcap">Rank</span> (in <span class="smcap">Nora’s</span> and <span class="smcap">Helmer’s</span> room). [He has that day discovered -a symptom in himself which he knows is an infallible sign of approaching -death.] Yes, here is the dear place I know so well. It is so quiet and comfortable -here with you two.</p> - -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> You seemed to enjoy yourself exceedingly upstairs, too.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Exceedingly. Why should I not? Why shouldn’t one get enjoyment -out of everything in this world? At any rate, as much and as long as -one can. The wine was splendid.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> Especially the champagne.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Did you notice it, too? It was perfectly incredible the quantity I -contrived to drink.... Well, why should one not have a merry evening -after a well-spent day?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> Well spent? As to that, I have not much to boast of.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank</span> (<i>tapping him on the shoulder</i>). But I have, don’t you see.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Then, you have certainly been engaged in some scientific investigation, -Dr. Rank.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Quite right....</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> And am I to congratulate you on the result?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> By all means you must.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Then the result was a good one?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> The best possible, alike for the physician and patient—namely, -certainty.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora</span> (<i>quickly and searchingly</i>). Certainty?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Complete certainty. Ought not I, upon the strength of it, to be -very merry this evening?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Yes, you were quite right to be, Dr. Rank.... I am sure you -are very fond of masquerade balls.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> When there are plenty of interesting masks present, I certainly -am....</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> ...But what character will you take [at our next masquerade]?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> I am perfectly clear as to that, my dear friend.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> Well?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> At the next masquerade I shall appear invisible.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer</span>. What a comical idea!</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Don’t you know there is a big black hat—haven’t you heard -stories of the hat that made people invisible? You pull it all over you, and -then nobody sees you.... But I am quite forgetting why I came in here. -Helmer, just give me a cigar—one of the dark Havanas.... Thanks. -(<i>He lights his cigar.</i>) And now good-bye ... and thank you for the light.</p> -<p class="pfp6">[<i>He nods to them both and goes.</i>—<i>A Doll’s House</i>, pp. 96-100.]</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_320_320" id="Footnote_320_320"></a><a href="#FNanchor_320_320"><span class="label">[320]</span></a></span> -Frau Alving is speaking with Pastor Manders, and is just relating that -she was one day witness to a scene in the adjoining room which proved to -her that her departed husband was carrying on an intrigue with her maidservant. -In the next room are Oswald, her son, and Regina, the offspring -of the intercourse of her husband with the maidservant.</p> -<p class="pfp6">[<i>From within the dining room comes the noise of a chair overturned,<br /> -and at the same moment is heard</i>:</p> -<p class="pfc4"> -<span class="smcap">Regina</span> (<i>sharply, but whispering</i>). Oswald, take care! Are you mad? -Let me go!</p> -<p class="pfc4"> -<span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving</span> (<i>starts in terror</i>). Ah! (<i>She stares wildly towards the -half opened door</i>; <span class="smcap">Oswald</span> <i>is heard coughing and humming inside. A bottle -is uncorked.</i>)</p> -<p class="pfc4"> -<span class="smcap">Manders</span> (<i>excited</i>). What in the world is the matter? What is it, Mrs. -Alving?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving</span> (<i>hoarsely</i>). Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory -have risen again!—<i>Ghosts, The Pillars of Society, and other Plays</i>. By -Henrik Ibsen, Camelot Series, p. 150.]</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_321_321" id="Footnote_321_321"></a><a href="#FNanchor_321_321"><span class="label">[321]</span></a></span> -Frau Helseth has in vain sought for Rosmer and Rebecca in the house.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Madame Helseth</span> (<i>goes to the window and looks out</i>). Oh, good God! -that white thing <i>there</i>!—My soul! They’re both of them out on the bridge! -God forgive the sinful creatures—if they’re not in each other’s arms! -(<i>Shrieks aloud</i>) Oh—down—both of them! Out into the mill-race! Help! -help! (<i>Her knees tremble, she holds on to the chair-back, shaking all over, -she can scarcely get the words out.</i>) No. No help here. The dead wife -has taken them.—<i>Rosmerholm.</i> London, Walter Scott, p. 144. The last -sentence is not a happy one. It is commonplace, upsetting the mood of the -hearer or reader.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_322_322" id="Footnote_322_322"></a><a href="#FNanchor_322_322"><span class="label">[322]</span></a></span> -Hjalmar has passed the night away from home, having learned that his -wife before her marriage with him had had a <i>liaison</i> with another. He -returns in the morning, crapulous and hipped. He is bombastic and melodramatic, -while his wife is calm and practical:—</p> -<p class="pfc4"> -<span class="smcap">Gina</span> (<i>standing with the brush in her hand, and looking at him</i>). Oh, -there now, Ekdal; so you’ve come after all?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>comes in and answers in a toneless voice</i>). I come—only to -depart again immediately.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> Yes, yes; I suppose so. But, Lord help us, what a sight you are!</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> A sight?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gina</span>. And your nice winter coat, too! Well, that’s done for.... Then, -you are still bent on leaving us, Ekdal?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> Yes; that’s a matter of course, I should think.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> Well, well.... (<i>Sets a tray with coffee, etc., on the table.</i>) Here’s -a drop of something warm, if you’d like it. And there’s some bread and -butter and a snack of salt meat.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>glancing at the tray</i>). Salt meat! Never under this roof! -It’s true I haven’t had a mouthful of solid food for nearly twenty-four hours; -but no matter.... Oh no, I must go out into the storm and the snow-blast—go -from house to house and seek shelter for my father and myself.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> But you’ve got no hat, Ekdal. You’ve lost your hat, you know, etc.—<i>The -Wild Duck</i>, Act V.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_323_323" id="Footnote_323_323"></a><a href="#FNanchor_323_323"><span class="label">[323]</span></a></span> -Auguste Ehrhard, Professor à la Faculté des Lettres de Clermont-Ferrand, -<i>Henrik Ibsen et le Théâtre contemporain</i>, Paris, 1892, p. 233: -‘Ibsen’s characters may in general be divided into two categories—those in -which the moral element, the life of the soul, dominates, and those in which -the animal prevails. The first are, for the most part, mouthpieces of the -theories dear to the poet.... They have their primary origin in the brain -of the poet.... It is he who gives them life.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_324_324" id="Footnote_324_324"></a><a href="#FNanchor_324_324"><span class="label">[324]</span></a></span> -Right out here so early—eh?... Well, did you get safe home from -the quay—eh? Look here. Let me untie the bow—eh? etc.—<i>Hedda -Gabler.</i> London, W. Heinemann, pp. 7-9.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_325_325" id="Footnote_325_325"></a><a href="#FNanchor_325_325"><span class="label">[325]</span></a></span> -<span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Yes, I really am now in a state of extraordinary happiness. There -is only one thing in the world that I should really like.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Well, and what’s that?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> There’s something that I should so like to say—but for Torvald to -hear it.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> Then, why don’t you say it to him?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> Because I daren’t, for it sounds so ugly....</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rank.</span> In that case I would advise you not to say it. But you might say -it to us, at any rate.... What is it that you would like to say in Helmer’s -presence?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I should like to shout with all my heart—Oh, dash it all!—<i>A -Doll’s House</i>, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 26, 27.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_326_326" id="Footnote_326_326"></a><a href="#FNanchor_326_326"><span class="label">[326]</span></a></span> -Auguste Ehrhard, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 270.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_327_327" id="Footnote_327_327"></a><a href="#FNanchor_327_327"><span class="label">[327]</span></a></span> -Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathia sexualis mit besonderer Berücksichtigung -der conträren Sexualempfindung</i>. <i>Eine klinisch-forensische -Studie.</i> Dritte vermehrte und verbesserte Auflage. Stuttgart, 1888. See -(p. 120) the observation relative to the young nobleman who was erotically -excited by his ‘boot-thoughts.’ I cite this single case only, but it would be -possible to instance dozens of cases where nightcaps, shoe-nails, white -aprons, the wrinkled head of an old woman, etc., have excited sensuality in -the highest degree.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_328_328" id="Footnote_328_328"></a><a href="#FNanchor_328_328"><span class="label">[328]</span></a></span> -<i>A Doll’s House</i>, p. 112:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> To forsake your home, your husband, and your children! And -only think what people will say about it.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I cannot take that into consideration. I only know that to go is -necessary for me....</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Helmer.</span> ... Your duties to ... your children?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Nora.</span> I have other duties equally sacred ... duties towards myself, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_329_329" id="Footnote_329_329"></a><a href="#FNanchor_329_329"><span class="label">[329]</span></a></span> -<i>Ghosts</i>, p. 170: <span class="smcap">Oswald.</span> At last he said, ‘You have been worm-eaten -from your birth.’ ... I didn’t understand either, and begged of him to give -me a clearer explanation. And then the old cynic said, ‘The father’s sins -are visited upon the children.’ And p. 194: <span class="smcap">Oswald.</span> The disease I have as -my birthright (<i>he points to his forehead, and adds very softly</i>) is seated here.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_330_330" id="Footnote_330_330"></a><a href="#FNanchor_330_330"><span class="label">[330]</span></a></span> -<i>The Wild Duck</i>, Act III.:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Besides, if I’m to go on living, I must try and find some cure -for my sick conscience.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Werle.</span> It will never be well. Your conscience has been sickly from -childhood. That’s an inheritance from your mother, Gregers—it is the only -inheritance she left you....</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Relling.</span> But, deuce take it, don’t you see the fellow’s mad, cracked, -demented!</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gina.</span> There, you hear! His mother before him had mad fits like that -sometimes.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_331_331" id="Footnote_331_331"></a><a href="#FNanchor_331_331"><span class="label">[331]</span></a></span> -<i>The Wild Duck</i>, Act II.:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> She is in danger of losing her eyesight.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> Becoming blind?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar.</span> ... But the doctor has warned us. It’s coming, inexorably.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Gregers.</span> What an awful misfortune! How do you account for it?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>sighs</i>). Hereditary, no doubt.</p> -<p class="pfn4">Again, Act IV.:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Sörby.</span> ... He (Werle) is going blind.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Hjalmar</span> (<i>with a start</i>). Going blind? That’s strange—Werle, too, becoming -blind!</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_332_332" id="Footnote_332_332"></a><a href="#FNanchor_332_332"><span class="label">[332]</span></a></span> -Dr Prosper Lucas, <i>Traité philosophique et physiologique de l’Hérédité -naturelle dans les États de Santé et de Maladie du Système nerveux</i>, etc. (The -title occupies seven lines more!) Paris, 1847, 2 volumes, t. i., p. 250. (It -appears that Montaigne had this inherited horror of doctors.)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_333_333" id="Footnote_333_333"></a><a href="#FNanchor_333_333"><span class="label">[333]</span></a></span> -Lucas, <i>op. cit.</i>, t. i., pp. 391-420: <i>De l’hérédité des modes sensitifs de la vue</i>. -On page 400 he tells of a family in which the mother became blind at the age -of twenty-one years, and the children at sixteen and seventeen respectively, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_334_334" id="Footnote_334_334"></a><a href="#FNanchor_334_334"><span class="label">[334]</span></a></span> -August Weismann, <i>Ueber die Vererbung</i>. Jena, 1883.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_335_335" id="Footnote_335_335"></a><a href="#FNanchor_335_335"><span class="label">[335]</span></a></span> -F. Galton, <i>Natural Inheritance</i>. London, 1888.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_336_336" id="Footnote_336_336"></a><a href="#FNanchor_336_336"><span class="label">[336]</span></a></span> -Page 136:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alving.</span> I know one who has kept both his inner and his outer -self unharmed. Only look at him, Mr. Manders.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_337_337" id="Footnote_337_337"></a><a href="#FNanchor_337_337"><span class="label">[337]</span></a></span> -Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathia sexualis</i>, p. 139. The author here cites all -the features in question as characteristic of the first stage of general paralysis: -‘Libidinous talk, unconstraint in intercourse with the opposite sex, plans of -marriage.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_338_338" id="Footnote_338_338"></a><a href="#FNanchor_338_338"><span class="label">[338]</span></a></span> -<i>Rosmersholm</i>, p. 23:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Rebecca</span> (<i>to Brendel</i>). You should apply to Peter Mortensgaard.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Brendel.</span> <i>Pardon, Madame</i>—what sort of an idiot is he?</p> -<p class="pfc4">See the flat travesty in <i>An Enemy of the People</i> (Act IV.) of the forum -scene in Shakespeare’s <i>Julius Cæsar</i>, and the characterization of the ‘crowd,’ -in <i>Brand</i> (Act V.).</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_339_339" id="Footnote_339_339"></a><a href="#FNanchor_339_339"><span class="label">[339]</span></a></span> -Herbert Spencer, <i>The Man</i> versus <i>the State</i>, 1884, p. 78.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_340_340" id="Footnote_340_340"></a><a href="#FNanchor_340_340"><span class="label">[340]</span></a></span> -In the German text, ‘only of themselves and their families.’—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_341_341" id="Footnote_341_341"></a><a href="#FNanchor_341_341"><span class="label">[341]</span></a></span> -Edward Westermarck, <i>The History of Human Marriage</i>. London: -Macmillan, 1892. See especially the two chapters on ‘The Forms of -Human Marriage,’ and ‘The Duration of Marriage.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_342_342" id="Footnote_342_342"></a><a href="#FNanchor_342_342"><span class="label">[342]</span></a></span></p> -<p class="pfp6s">‘At leve—er Kamp med Trolde</p> -<p class="pfp7">J Hjertet og Hjernens Hvaelv;</p> -<p class="pfp6">At digte—det er at holde</p> -<p class="pfp7">Dommedag over sig selv.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_343_343" id="Footnote_343_343"></a><a href="#FNanchor_343_343"><span class="label">[343]</span></a></span> -Dr. Wilhelm Griesinger, <i>Pathologie und Therapie der psychischen -Krankheiten für Aerzte und Studirende</i>. 5te Auflage. Gänzlich umgearbeitet -und erweitert. Von Dr. Willibald Levinstein-Schleger; Berlin, 1892. (See -p. 143, on ‘Diseased Impulses’; and p. 147, on ‘Excessive Energy of Will.’)</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_344_344" id="Footnote_344_344"></a><a href="#FNanchor_344_344"><span class="label">[344]</span></a></span> -Griesinger, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 77: ‘Retardation of thought may be produced -... by the state of constriction following a mental depression, by complete -inertia extending to the arrest of thought.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_345_345" id="Footnote_345_345"></a><a href="#FNanchor_345_345"><span class="label">[345]</span></a></span> -Rationalized in the English version cited, as follows (p. 25): ‘Yes, -perhaps I am a little delicate.’—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_346_346" id="Footnote_346_346"></a><a href="#FNanchor_346_346"><span class="label">[346]</span></a></span> -Rationalized in the English version by ‘now soon,’ being rendered as -‘nearly.’—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_347_347" id="Footnote_347_347"></a><a href="#FNanchor_347_347"><span class="label">[347]</span></a></span> -‘True’ is omitted in the English version quoted.—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_348_348" id="Footnote_348_348"></a><a href="#FNanchor_348_348"><span class="label">[348]</span></a></span> -Bracketed clause not in English version.—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_349_349" id="Footnote_349_349"></a><a href="#FNanchor_349_349"><span class="label">[349]</span></a></span> -Griesinger, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 176. He names the coining of words ‘phraseomania.’ -Kussmaul gives the name <i>Paraphrasia vesana</i> to the coining of -incomprehensible words, or the using of known words in a sense wholly -foreign to them.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_350_350" id="Footnote_350_350"></a><a href="#FNanchor_350_350"><span class="label">[350]</span></a></span> -Dr. A. Marie, <i>Études sur quelques Symptômes des Délires systématisés et -sur leur Valeur</i>; Paris, 1892, chap. ii.: ‘Eccentricities of language. Neologisms -and conjuring incantations.’ Tanzi cites, among others, the following -examples: A patient used continuously to repeat, ‘That is true, and not -false’; another began every phrase with, ‘God’s Word’; a third said, ‘Out -with the vile beast!’ making at the same time a sign of benediction with the -right hand; a fourth said unceasingly, ‘Turn over the page’; a fifth cried, -in a tone of command, ‘Lips acs livi cux lips sux!’ etc. One of Krafft-Ebing’s -patients (<i>op. cit.</i>, p. 130) constructed, among others, the following -words: ‘Magnetismusambosarbeitswellen, Augengedanken, Austrahlung, -Glückseligkeitsbetten, Ohrenschussmaschine,’ etc. Krafft-Ebing, <i>op. cit.</i>, -pp. 130, 131.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_351_351" id="Footnote_351_351"></a><a href="#FNanchor_351_351"><span class="label">[351]</span></a></span> -Vicomte E. M. de Vogué, ‘Les Cigognes,’ <i>Revue des deux Mondes</i>, -February 15, 1892, p. 922: ‘Ibsen would have won our trust, were it only by -certain axioms [?] which appeal to our actual distrusts, such as this ... in -<i>Rosmersholm</i>: “The Rosmer view of life ennobles, but it kills happiness.”’ -I am convinced that, unless previously told that they emanated from confined -lunatics, these ‘comprehensives’ would, without difficulty, understand -and interpret the expression ‘little-cupboards-of-appetite-of-representation’ -(<i>Vorstellungs-Appetitschränkchen</i>), freely used by one of Meynert’s lunatic -patients, or the words of a patient under Griesinger’s care (<i>op. cit.</i>, p. 176) -that ‘the lady superior was establishing herself in the military side-tone and -in the retardation of her teeth.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_352_352" id="Footnote_352_352"></a><a href="#FNanchor_352_352"><span class="label">[352]</span></a></span> -Tanzi, <i>I Neologismi in rapporta col Delirio cronico</i>. Turin, 1890.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_353_353" id="Footnote_353_353"></a><a href="#FNanchor_353_353"><span class="label">[353]</span></a></span></p> - -<p class="pfp6s">‘Vi vil gjöre det om igjen raditalere,<br /> -Men dertil sordres baade Maend og Talere.<br /> -J sörger sor Vandflom til Verdensparken,<br /> -Jeg laegger med Lyst Torpedo under Arken.’</p> -<p class="pfc4">Observe the purely mystic vapours of this thought. The poet wishes to -destroy everything, even the ark which shelters the saved remnants of -terrestrial life, but sees himself placed beyond the reach of the destruction, -and hence will survive the annihilation of everything else on earth.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_354_354" id="Footnote_354_354"></a><a href="#FNanchor_354_354"><span class="label">[354]</span></a></span> -Georges Brandes, <i>op. cit.</i>, pp. 431, 435, 438, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_355_355" id="Footnote_355_355"></a><a href="#FNanchor_355_355"><span class="label">[355]</span></a></span> -J. Cotard, <i>Études sur les Maladies cérébrales et mentales</i>; Paris, 1891. -In this book the <i>délire des négations</i> is for the first time recognised and -described as a form of melancholia. The Third Congress of French Alienists, -which sat at Blois from the 1st to the 6th of August, 1892, devoted almost -the whole of its conferences to the insanity of doubt. In a work by F. Raymond -and F. L. Arnaud, ‘Sur certains cas d’aboulie avec obsession interrogative -et trouble des mouvements’ (<i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, 7<sup>e</sup> -séries, t. xvi.), we read, p. 202: ‘The invalids occupy themselves with -questions intrinsically insoluble, such as the creation, nature, life, etc. Why -the trees are green? Why the rainbow has seven colours? Why men are -not as tall as houses?’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_356_356" id="Footnote_356_356"></a><a href="#FNanchor_356_356"><span class="label">[356]</span></a></span> -Lombroso and B. Laschi, <i>Le Crime politique et les Révolutions par -rapport au Droit, à l’Anthropologie criminelle et à la Science du Gouvernement. -Traduit de l’Italien par H. Bouchard</i>. Paris, 1892, t. i., p. 195.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_357_357" id="Footnote_357_357"></a><a href="#FNanchor_357_357"><span class="label">[357]</span></a></span> -Auguste Ehrhard, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 412: ‘He [Ibsen] assigns himself a <i>rôle</i> to -acquaint us in a direct manner with his own disillusionings.... He presents -himself in the fantastic and tormented character of Ulric Brendel. Let us -not be deceived by the disguise in which he veils himself. Ulric Brendel, -the fool, is no other than Henrik Ibsen, the idealist’(?).</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_358_358" id="Footnote_358_358"></a><a href="#FNanchor_358_358"><span class="label">[358]</span></a></span> -Auguste Ehrhard, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 120: ‘With admirable frankness Ibsen, -in his latest works, points out the abuse which may be made of his ideas [!]. -He counsels reformers to extreme prudence, if not to silence. As for himself, -he ceases to excite the multitude to the pursuit of moral and social -progress [!]; he entrenches himself in his disdainful pessimism, and in -aristocratic solitude enjoys the serene vision of future ages.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_359_359" id="Footnote_359_359"></a><a href="#FNanchor_359_359"><span class="label">[359]</span></a></span> -Henrik Jaeger, <i>Henrik Ibsen og haus Vaerker. En Fremstilling i -Grundrids</i>. Christiania, 1892, <i>passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_360_360" id="Footnote_360_360"></a><a href="#FNanchor_360_360"><span class="label">[360]</span></a></span> -G. R. S. Mead, <i>Simon Magus</i>. London, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_361_361" id="Footnote_361_361"></a><a href="#FNanchor_361_361"><span class="label">[361]</span></a></span> -Ehrhard, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 94.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_362_362" id="Footnote_362_362"></a><a href="#FNanchor_362_362"><span class="label">[362]</span></a></span> -W. Roux, <i>Ueber den Kampf der Theile des Organismus</i>. Leipzig, 1881. -Since the appearance of Roux’s work, the theory of phagocytose, or the -digestion of weaker cells by the stronger, has been considerably extended. -This, however, is not the place to cite the numerous communications bearing -on this subject which have appeared in the <i>Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche -Zoologie</i>, in Virchow’s <i>Archiv</i>, in the <i>Biologische Centralblatt</i>, in the -<i>Zoologische Jahrbücher</i>, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_363_363" id="Footnote_363_363"></a><a href="#FNanchor_363_363"><span class="label">[363]</span></a></span> -Jacoby, <i>La Folie de Césars</i>. Paris, 1880.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_364_364" id="Footnote_364_364"></a><a href="#FNanchor_364_364"><span class="label">[364]</span></a></span> -Alfred Binet, <i>Les Altérations de la Personnalité</i>, Paris, 1892, p. 23, communicates -the case (observed by Bourru and Burot, and often cited) of -Louis B., who united in himself six different personalities—six ‘I’s’ having -not the slightest knowledge of each other, each possessing another character, -another memory, other peculiarities of feeling and movement, etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_365_365" id="Footnote_365_365"></a><a href="#FNanchor_365_365"><span class="label">[365]</span></a></span> -‘Suicidal’ is here not a mere rhetorical expression. If the tyrannical -power of instinct always ends by leading the individual in the long-run to -his destruction, it sometimes does this directly. Instinct, namely, may have -for its direct object suicide or self-mutilation; and the ‘free’ man obeying -his instinct has then the ‘liberty’ of mutilating or killing himself, although -that so little tallies with his real wish that he seeks in others a protection -from himself. See Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Lehrbuch der gerichtlichen -Psychopathologie</i>. Dritte umgearbeitete Auflage. Stuttgart, 1892, -p. 311.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_366_366" id="Footnote_366_366"></a><a href="#FNanchor_366_366"><span class="label">[366]</span></a></span> -Herbert Spencer, <i>The Individual versus the State</i>. London, 1884.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_367_367" id="Footnote_367_367"></a><a href="#FNanchor_367_367"><span class="label">[367]</span></a></span> -Dr. Ph. Boileau de Castelnau, ‘Misopédie ou Lésion de l’Amour de la -Progeniture’ (<i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, 3<sup>e</sup> série, 7<sup>e</sup> volume, p. 553). -In this work the author communicates twelve observations, in which the -natural feeling of the mother for her children was transformed by disease -into hatred.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_368_368" id="Footnote_368_368"></a><a href="#FNanchor_368_368"><span class="label">[368]</span></a></span> -G. Ferrero, ‘L’Atavisme de la Prostitution,’ <i>Revue scientifique</i>, 50<sup>e</sup> -volume, p. 136.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_369_369" id="Footnote_369_369"></a><a href="#FNanchor_369_369"><span class="label">[369]</span></a></span> -R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathia sexualis</i>, etc., 7<sup>te</sup> Auflage, p. 89 (the -third edition of this book, from which I have made my previous citations, -contains nothing on masochism), and <i>Neue Forschungen auf dem Gebiete -der Psychopathia sexualis eine medicinisch-psychologische Studie</i>, Zweite umgearbeitete -und vermehrte Auflage, Stuttgart, 1891, p. 1 <i>ff.</i> Krafft-Ebing -gives this explanation of his word (p. 1 <i>et seq.</i>): ‘By masochism I understand -a peculiar perversion of the psychic <i>vita sexualis</i>, consisting in this, that the -individual seized with it is dominated in his sexual feeling and thought by -the idea that he is wholly and unconditionally subjected to the will of a -person of the opposite sex, who treats him imperiously, humiliates and -maltreats him.’ The word is formed from the name Sacher-Masoch, because -‘his writings delineate exactly typical pictures of the perverted psychic life -of men of this kind’ (<i>Neue Forschungen</i>, etc., p. 37). I do not look upon this -designation as a happy one. Krafft-Ebing himself shows that Zola and, -long before him, Rousseau (he might have added Balzac in Baron Hulot in -<i>Parents pauvres</i>, part i.: <i>La cousine Bette</i>) have embodied this condition -quite as clearly as Sacher-Masoch. Hence I prefer the designation ‘passivism,’ -proposed by Dimitry Stefanowsky. See <i>Archives de l’Anthropologie -criminelle</i>, 1892, p. 294.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_370_370" id="Footnote_370_370"></a><a href="#FNanchor_370_370"><span class="label">[370]</span></a></span> -Ehrhard, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 88.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_371_371" id="Footnote_371_371"></a><a href="#FNanchor_371_371"><span class="label">[371]</span></a></span> -Persian for Zoroaster.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_372_372" id="Footnote_372_372"></a><a href="#FNanchor_372_372"><span class="label">[372]</span></a></span> -Dr. Hugo Kaatz, <i>Die Weltanschauung Friedrich Nietzsche</i>: Erster -Theil, ‘Cultur und Moral’; Zweiter Theil, ‘Kunst und Leben.’ Dresden -und Leipzig, 1892, 1 Th., p. vi.: ‘We are accustomed, especially in matters -concerning the deepest problems of thought, to a finished, systematic exposition.... -There is none of all this in Nietzsche. No single work of his -forms a finished whole, or is wholly intelligible without the others. Each -book, moreover, is totally wanting in organic structure. Nietzsche writes -almost exclusively in aphorisms, which, filling sometimes two lines, sometimes -several pages, are complete in themselves, and seldom manifest -any direct connection with each other.... With proud indifference to -the reader, the author has avoided cutting even <i>one</i> gap in the hedge with -which he has closely surrounded his intellectual creations. Access to him -must be gained by fighting,’ etc. In spite of its seeming obscurity, Nietzsche -has himself given such pointed information concerning his method of work -as amounts to an avowal. ‘All writing makes me angry or ashamed; for -me, writing is a necessity.’ ‘But why, then, do you write?’ ‘Yes, my dear -friend, let me say it in confidence: I have hitherto found no other means of -<i>ridding</i> myself of my thoughts.’ (The italics are Nietzsche’s.) ‘And why -do you wish to rid yourself of them?’ ‘Why I wish? Do I so wish? I must.’ -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft.</i> Neue Ausgabe, p. 114.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_373_373" id="Footnote_373_373"></a><a href="#FNanchor_373_373"><span class="label">[373]</span></a></span> -Dr. Max Zerbst, <i>Nein und Ja!</i> Leipzig, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_374_374" id="Footnote_374_374"></a><a href="#FNanchor_374_374"><span class="label">[374]</span></a></span> -Robert Schellwien, <i>Max Stirner und Friedrich Nietzsche</i>, <i>Erscheinungen -des modernen Geister und das Wesen des Menschen</i>. Leipzig, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_375_375" id="Footnote_375_375"></a><a href="#FNanchor_375_375"><span class="label">[375]</span></a></span> -I refuted this silly sophism before Nietzsche propounded it in the -passages above quoted from <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 66, and <i>Jenseits -von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 228. See <i>Die conventionellen Lügen der Kulturmenschheit</i>, -14 Aufl., pp. 211, 212: ‘This expression [of Proudhon’s, that -property is theft] can be regarded as true only from the sophistical standpoint -that everything existing exists for itself, and from the fact of its existence -derives its right to belong to itself. According to this view, forsooth, a -man steals the blade of grass he plucks, the air he breathes, the fish he -catches; but, then, the martin, too, is stealing when it swallows a fly, and the -grub when it eats its way into the root of a tree; then Nature is altogether -peopled by arch-thieves, and, in general, everything steals that lives, <i>i.e.</i>, absorbs -from without materials not belonging to it, and organically elaborates them, -and a block of platinum, which does not even pilfer from the air a little -oxygen with which to oxidize itself, would be the sole example of honesty on -our globe. No; property resulting from earning, that is, from the exchange of -a determined amount of labour for a corresponding amount of goods, is not -theft.’ If, throughout this passage, ‘theft’ be substituted for the word -‘exploitation,’ used by Nietzsche, his sophism is answered.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_376_376" id="Footnote_376_376"></a><a href="#FNanchor_376_376"><span class="label">[376]</span></a></span> -<i>The Sacred Books of the East.</i> Translated by various Oriental scholars, -and edited by F. Max Müller. The Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1st series, -vol. x.: <i>Dhammapada</i>, by F. Max Müller; and <i>Sutta-Nipâta</i>, by V. Fausböll.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_377_377" id="Footnote_377_377"></a><a href="#FNanchor_377_377"><span class="label">[377]</span></a></span> -<i>The Sacred Books of the East</i>, etc., vol. xix.: <i>Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king</i>, by -Rev. S. Beal.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_378_378" id="Footnote_378_378"></a><a href="#FNanchor_378_378"><span class="label">[378]</span></a></span> -Charles Darwin, <i>The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to Sex</i>; -London, J. Murray, 1885, p. 101: ‘All the baboons had reascended the -heights, excepting a young one, about six months old, who, loudly calling -for aid, climbed on a block of rock, and was surrounded. Now one of the -largest males, a true hero, came down again from the mountain, slowly went -to the young one, coaxed him, and triumphantly led him away, the dogs -being too much astonished to make an attack.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_379_379" id="Footnote_379_379"></a><a href="#FNanchor_379_379"><span class="label">[379]</span></a></span> -Friedrich Nietsche, <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>. <i>Eine Streitschrift.</i> -Zweite Auflage. Leipzig, 1892, § 80.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_380_380" id="Footnote_380_380"></a><a href="#FNanchor_380_380"><span class="label">[380]</span></a></span> -Gustav Freytag, <i>Bilder aus der deutschen Vergangenheit</i>. Erster Band, -aus dem Mittelalter. Leipzig, 1872, p. 42 <i>ff.</i>: ‘The Roman Consul, Papirius -Carbo ... denies the strangers [the Cimbrians and Teutons!] the right of -sojourn because the inhabitants are enjoying the rights of hospitality of the -Romans. The strangers excuse themselves by saying they did not know -that the natives were under Roman protection, and they are ready to leave -the country.... The Cimbrians do not seek a quarrel; they send to -Consul Silanus, and urgently entreat him to assign them lands; they are -willing in return for it to serve the Romans in time of war.... Once more -the strangers do not invade Roman territory, but send an embassy to the -Senate and repeat the request for an assignment of land.... The victorious -Germans now sent a fresh embassy to the leader of the other army, for the -third time, to sue for peace and ask for land and seed-corn.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_381_381" id="Footnote_381_381"></a><a href="#FNanchor_381_381"><span class="label">[381]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 79.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_382_382" id="Footnote_382_382"></a><a href="#FNanchor_382_382"><span class="label">[382]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 73.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_383_383" id="Footnote_383_383"></a><a href="#FNanchor_383_383"><span class="label">[383]</span></a></span> -Charles Darwin, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 98: ‘As soon as the mental faculties had -become highly developed, images of all past actions and motives would be -incessantly passing through the brain of each individual; and that feeling -of dissatisfaction, or even misery, which invariably results ... from any -unsatisfied instinct, would arise as often as it was perceived that the enduring -and always present social instinct had yielded to some other instinct, at -the time stronger, but neither enduring in its nature nor leaving behind it a -very vivid impression. It is clear that many instinctive desires, such as that -of hunger, are, in their nature, of short duration, and, after being satisfied, -are not readily or vividly recalled,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_384_384" id="Footnote_384_384"></a><a href="#FNanchor_384_384"><span class="label">[384]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 9.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_385_385" id="Footnote_385_385"></a><a href="#FNanchor_385_385"><span class="label">[385]</span></a></span> -<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 48.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_386_386" id="Footnote_386_386"></a><a href="#FNanchor_386_386"><span class="label">[386]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 91: ‘The criminal is, often enough, not -grown to the level of his deed: he dwarfs and traduces it. The legal defenders -of the criminal are rarely artists enough to turn the beautiful terribleness -of the deed to the profit of the doer.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_387_387" id="Footnote_387_387"></a><a href="#FNanchor_387_387"><span class="label">[387]</span></a></span> -‘A people is the detour of nature, in order to arrive at six or seven great -men.’ See also: ‘The essential thing in a good and healthy aristocracy is, -that it should feel itself to be <i>not</i> the function, but the <i>end</i> and justification, -be it of royalty or of the commonwealth—that it should, therefore, with a -good conscience, suffer the sacrifice of a countless number of men who, <i>for -its sake</i>, must be humbled and reduced to imperfect beings, to slaves, to -instruments.’—<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 226.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_388_388" id="Footnote_388_388"></a><a href="#FNanchor_388_388"><span class="label">[388]</span></a></span> -The following are a few examples, which could easily be centupled -(literally, not hyperbolically)—<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 63: ‘It is the -Orient, the deep Orient.’ p. 239: ‘Such books of depth and of the first -importance.’ p. 248: ‘Deep suffering ennobles.’ ‘A bravery of taste, -resisting all that is sorrowful and deep.’ p. 249: ‘Any fervour and thirstiness -which constantly drives the soul ... into the bright, the brilliant, the -deep, the delicate.’ p. 256: ‘An odour quite as much of depth [!] as -of decay.’ p. 260: ‘To lie tranquilly like a mirror, so that the deep -heaven might reflect itself in them.’ p. 262: ‘I often think how I may make -him [man] stronger, wickeder, and deeper.’ <i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. i., -p. 71: ‘But thou Deep One, thou sufferest too deeply even from little -wounds.’ Pt. ii., p. 52: ‘Immovable is my depth; but it sparkles with -floating enigmas and laughters’ (!!). p. 64: ‘And this for me is knowledge: -all depth should rise—to my height.’ p. 70: ‘They did not think enough -into the depth.’ Pt. iii., p. 22: ‘The world is deep, and deeper than the -day has ever thought it.’ Pt. iv., p. 129: ‘What says the deep midnight?... -From a deep dream am I awakened. The world is deep, and deeper than -the day thought. Deep in its woe. Joy—deeper still than sorrow of heart. -All joy ... wishes for deep, deep eternity,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_389_389" id="Footnote_389_389"></a><a href="#FNanchor_389_389"><span class="label">[389]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 167.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_390_390" id="Footnote_390_390"></a><a href="#FNanchor_390_390"><span class="label">[390]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 159: ‘Our virtues? It is probable that -we, too, still have our virtues, albeit they are no longer the true-hearted and -robust virtues for which we hold our grandfathers in honour—though at a -little distance.’ p. 154: ‘The man beyond good and evil, the master of his -virtues ... he ought to be the greatest.’ So then, ‘beyond good and evil,’ -and yet having ‘virtues’!</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_391_391" id="Footnote_391_391"></a><a href="#FNanchor_391_391"><span class="label">[391]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 79: ‘As a premise to this hypothesis -concerning the origin of the evil conscience [through the ‘transvaluation of -values’ and the ‘revolt of slaves in morality’] belongs the fact ... that -this transformation was in no way gradual, or voluntary, and did not manifest -itself as an organic growing into new conditions, but as a rapture, a leap, a -compulsion.’ Hence, not only was that good which had previously been -evil, but this ‘transvaluation’ even occurred suddenly, ordered one fine day -by authority!</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_392_392" id="Footnote_392_392"></a><a href="#FNanchor_392_392"><span class="label">[392]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 232: ‘Slave-morality is essentially a -utilitarian morality.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_393_393" id="Footnote_393_393"></a><a href="#FNanchor_393_393"><span class="label">[393]</span></a></span> -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 32: ‘In reality, however, evil instincts -are just as purposive, as conservative of the species, and as indispensable as -the good, only they have a different function.’ <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, -p. 21: ‘At the root of all ... noble races lies the beast of prey ... this -foundation needs from time to time to disburden itself; the animal must out, -must hie him back to the desert.’ This means that it is essential to his -health, and, consequently, of utility to him.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_394_394" id="Footnote_394_394"></a><a href="#FNanchor_394_394"><span class="label">[394]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 6: ‘To what disorders, however, this -[democratic] prejudice can give rise, is shown by the infamous [!] case of -Buckle. The plebeianism of the modern spirit, which is of English origin, -once more breaks forth ... there.’ <i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 212: -‘There are truths that are best recognised by mediocre heads.... We are -driven to this proposition since the intellect of mediocre Englishmen—I -may mention Darwin, John Stuart Mill, and Herbert Spencer—acquired -preponderance in the mean region of European taste.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_395_395" id="Footnote_395_395"></a><a href="#FNanchor_395_395"><span class="label">[395]</span></a></span> -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 43.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_396_396" id="Footnote_396_396"></a><a href="#FNanchor_396_396"><span class="label">[396]</span></a></span> -See, in my novel, <i>Die Krankheit des Jahrhunderts</i>, Leipzig, 1889, -Band I., p. 140, Schrötter’s remarks: ‘Egoism is a word. All depends upon -the interpretation. Every living being strives for happiness, <i>i.e.</i>, for contentment.... -He [the healthy man] cannot be happy when he sees others -suffer. The higher the man’s development, the livelier is this feeling.... -The egoism of these men consists in their seeking out the pain of others -and striving to alleviate it, in which, while combating the sufferings of -others, they are simply struggling to attain to their own happiness. A Catholic -would say of St. Vincent de Paul or of Carlo Borromeo, He was a great -saint; I should say of him, He was a great egoist.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_397_397" id="Footnote_397_397"></a><a href="#FNanchor_397_397"><span class="label">[397]</span></a></span> -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 48.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_398_398" id="Footnote_398_398"></a><a href="#FNanchor_398_398"><span class="label">[398]</span></a></span> -Dr. Hugo Kaatz, <i>op. cit.</i>, Thiel I., Vorrede, p. viii.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_399_399" id="Footnote_399_399"></a><a href="#FNanchor_399_399"><span class="label">[399]</span></a></span> -Robert Schellwien, <i>Max Stierner und Friedrich Nietzsche</i>. Leipzig, -1892, p. 23.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_400_400" id="Footnote_400_400"></a><a href="#FNanchor_400_400"><span class="label">[400]</span></a></span> -<i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. i., p. 84: ‘The “thou” is proclaimed holy, -but not yet the “I.”’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_401_401" id="Footnote_401_401"></a><a href="#FNanchor_401_401"><span class="label">[401]</span></a></span> -<i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 43.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_402_402" id="Footnote_402_402"></a><a href="#FNanchor_402_402"><span class="label">[402]</span></a></span> -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 222.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_403_403" id="Footnote_403_403"></a><a href="#FNanchor_403_403"><span class="label">[403]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, pp. 78, 106.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_404_404" id="Footnote_404_404"></a><a href="#FNanchor_404_404"><span class="label">[404]</span></a></span> -C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, <i>Le Crime politique et les Révolutions</i>. -Paris, 1892, t. i., p. 142.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_405_405" id="Footnote_405_405"></a><a href="#FNanchor_405_405"><span class="label">[405]</span></a></span> -R. Schellwien, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 7: ‘The literary activity of the two thinkers [!] -is separated by more than fifty years; but great as may be the difference -between them, the agreement is not less, and thus the essential characters of -systematic individualism are presented with all the more distinctness.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_406_406" id="Footnote_406_406"></a><a href="#FNanchor_406_406"><span class="label">[406]</span></a></span> -See, in my <i>Paradoxe</i>, the chapter ‘Wo ist die Wahrheit?’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_407_407" id="Footnote_407_407"></a><a href="#FNanchor_407_407"><span class="label">[407]</span></a></span> -‘With what magic she lays hold of me! What? Has all the world’s -repose embarked here?’ ‘What use has the inspired one for wine? What? -Give the mole wings and proud imaginings?’ ‘In so far as he says Yes to -this other world, what? must he not then say No to its counterpart, this -world?’ ‘Round about God all becomes—what? perhaps world?’ ‘A -pessimist ... who says Yes to morality ... to <i>læde-neminem</i>-morality; -what? is that really—a pessimist?’ ‘Fear and pity: with these feelings has -man hitherto stood in the presence of woman. What? Is there now to be -an end of this?’ I will content myself with these examples, but let it be -remarked once for all, that all the specimens I adduce here for the purpose -of examining Nietzsche’s mental state could easily be multiplied a hundredfold, -as the characteristic peculiarities recur in him hundreds of times. -On one occasion he plainly becomes conscious of this living note of interrogation, -always present in his mind as an obsession. In <i>Also sprach -Zarathustra</i>, pt. iii., p. 55, he calls the passion for rule, ‘the flashing note of -interrogation by the side of premature answers.’ In this connection, this -expression has absolutely no sense; but it at once becomes intelligible when -it is remembered that the insane are in the habit of suddenly giving utterance -to the ideas springing up in their consciousness. Nietzsche plainly -<i>saw</i> in his mind ‘the flashing note of interrogation,’ and suddenly, and without -transition, spoke of it.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_408_408" id="Footnote_408_408"></a><a href="#FNanchor_408_408"><span class="label">[408]</span></a></span> -‘A Greek life, to which he said, No.’ ‘A pessimist who not merely -says, No, wishes No [!] but who ... does No’ [!!]. ‘An inward saying -No to this or that thing.’ ‘Free for death, and free in death, a holy No-sayer.’ -Then as a complementary counterpart: ‘Pregnant with lightnings, -who say, Yes! laugh Yes!’ ‘While all noble morality grows to itself out of -a triumphant saying Yea.’ (He feels himself to be something) ‘at least -saying Yea to life.’ ‘To be able to say Yea to yourself, that is ... a ripe -fruit.’ (Disinterested wickedness is felt by primitive humanity to be something) -‘to which conscience valiantly says Yea.’ We see what use Nietzsche -makes of his saying ‘Nay’ and ‘Yea.’ It stands in the place of nearly all -verbs joining subject with predicate. The thought ‘I am thirsty’ would, by -Nietzsche, be thus expressed, ‘I say Yes to water.’ Instead of ‘I am -sleepy,’ he would say, ‘I say Nay to wakefulness,’ or, ‘I say Yes to bed,’ -etc. This is the way in which invalids in incomplete aphasia are in the -habit of paraphrasing their thoughts.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_409_409" id="Footnote_409_409"></a><a href="#FNanchor_409_409"><span class="label">[409]</span></a></span> -Dr. Hermann Türck, <i>Fr. Nietzsche und seine philosophischen Irrwege</i>, -Zweite Auflage. Dresden, 1891, p. 7.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_410_410" id="Footnote_410_410"></a><a href="#FNanchor_410_410"><span class="label">[410]</span></a></span> -B. Ball, <i>La Folie érotique</i>, Paris, 1888, p. 50: ‘I have sketched for you -the picture of chaste love (amorous lunacy, or the erotomania of Esquirol), -where the greatest excesses remain enclosed within the limits of feeling, and -are never polluted by the intervention of the senses. I have shown you -some examples of this delirium pushed to the extreme bounds of insanity, -without the intermixture of a single idea foreign to the domain of platonic -affection.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_411_411" id="Footnote_411_411"></a><a href="#FNanchor_411_411"><span class="label">[411]</span></a></span> -In one passage of <i>Zur Genealogie der Moral</i>, p. 132, Nietzsche speaks -of the ‘species of moral onanists and self-indulgers.’ He does not apply the -expression to himself; but it was unquestionably suggested by an obscure -suspicion of his own state of mind.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_412_412" id="Footnote_412_412"></a><a href="#FNanchor_412_412"><span class="label">[412]</span></a></span> -Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Neue Forschungen</i>, u. s. w., p. 45 <i>ff.</i>: ‘The -complete contrary of masochism is Sadism. While in the former the subject -desires to suffer sorrows, and to feel himself in subjection to violence, in the -latter his aim is to cause sorrows, and to exercise violence.... All the -acts and situations carried out in the active part played by Sadism constitute, -for masochism, the object of longing, to be attained passively. In -both perversions these acts form a progression from purely symbolic events -to grievous misdeeds.... Both are to be considered as original psychopathies -of mentally abnormal individuals, afflicted in particular with psychic -<i>Hyperæsthesia sexualis</i>, but also, as a rule, with other anomalies.... -The pleasure of causing sorrow and the pleasure of experiencing sorrow -appear only as two different sides of the same psychic event, the primary -and essential principle in which is the consciousness of active and passive -subjection respectively.’ See Nietzsche, <i>Also sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. i., -p. 95: ‘Thou art going to women? Forget not the whip!’ <i>Jenseits von -Gut und Böse</i>, p. 186: ‘Woman unlearns the fear of man,’ and thus ‘exposes -her most womanly instincts.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_413_413" id="Footnote_413_413"></a><a href="#FNanchor_413_413"><span class="label">[413]</span></a></span> -Krafft-Ebing, <i>Neue Forschungen</i>, u. s. w., p. 108. (A sexual-psychopath -thus writes): ‘I take great interest in art and literature. Among poets and -authors, those attract me most who describe refined feelings, peculiar passions, -choice impressions: an artificial (or ultra-artificial) style pleases me. In -music, again, the nervous, stimulating music of a Chopin, a Schumann, a -Schubert[!], a Wagner, etc., appeal to me most. In art, all that is not only -original, but bizarre, attracts me.’ P. 128 (another patient): ‘I am passionately -fond of music, and am an enthusiastic partisan of Richard Wagner, -for whom I have remarked a predilection in most of us [sufferers from -contrary-sexual-feeling]; I find that this music accords so very much with -our nature,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_414_414" id="Footnote_414_414"></a><a href="#FNanchor_414_414"><span class="label">[414]</span></a></span> -See, in <i>Paradoxe</i>, the chapter on ‘Evolutionistische Æsthetik.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_415_415" id="Footnote_415_415"></a><a href="#FNanchor_415_415"><span class="label">[415]</span></a></span> -Dr. Max Zerbst, <i>Nein und Ja!</i> Leipzig, 1892, p. vii.: ‘It is not impossible -that this little book may fall into the hands of some who are nearly -connected with the invalid ... whom every indelicate treatment of his -affliction must wound most deeply.’ The very last person having the right -to complain of indelicate treatment, and to demand consideration, is surely -a partisan of Nietzsche’s, who claims for himself the ‘joy in wishing to -cause woe,’ and ‘grand unscrupulousness’ as the ‘privilege of the over-man’! -Zerbst calls his book a reply to that by Dr. Hermann Türck; but it is -nothing but a childishly obstinate and insolent repetition of all Nietzsche’s -assertions, the insanity of which has been proved by Dr. Türck. It is -exceedingly droll that Zerbst, appealing to a feeble compilation by Ziehen, -wishes to demonstrate to Türck that there are no such things as psychoses -of the will. Now, Türck has not said a single word about a psychosis of the -will in Nietzsche; but Nietzsche, indeed, in <i>Fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 270, -does speak of ‘monstrous disease of the will,’ and of a ‘will-disease.’ Zerbst’s -objection, therefore, applies, not to Türck, but to his own master—Nietzsche.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_416_416" id="Footnote_416_416"></a><a href="#FNanchor_416_416"><span class="label">[416]</span></a></span> -Dr. Hugo Kaatz, <i>op. cit.</i>, pt. i., p. 6.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_417_417" id="Footnote_417_417"></a><a href="#FNanchor_417_417"><span class="label">[417]</span></a></span> -Ola Hansson, <i>Das junge Skandinavien. Vier Essays.</i> Dresden und -Leipzig, 1891, p. 12.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_418_418" id="Footnote_418_418"></a><a href="#FNanchor_418_418"><span class="label">[418]</span></a></span> -Albert Kniepf, <i>Theorie der Geisteswerthe</i>. Leipzig, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_419_419" id="Footnote_419_419"></a><a href="#FNanchor_419_419"><span class="label">[419]</span></a></span> -Dr. Max Zerbst, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 1: ‘O, this modern natural science! these -modern psychologists! Nothing is sacred to them!’ ‘When a man, grown -up in the school of sickly “idealism,” confronts a cruel savant of this kind -... this godless man takes a small piece of chalk in his hand,’ etc. He -‘turns to the nonplussed idealist,’ and the latter somewhat timidly answers, -and ‘adds something sorrowfully,’ whereupon ‘the young psychologist replies, -with a gentle shrug of his shoulders.’ Quite so! the ‘cruel,’ the ‘godless,’ -the ‘shoulder-shrugging’ young psychologist is himself, Zerbst; the whimpering -idealist, the ‘timid’ and ‘sorrowful’ speaker and questioner is his -opponent, Dr. Türck!</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_420_420" id="Footnote_420_420"></a><a href="#FNanchor_420_420"><span class="label">[420]</span></a></span> -Kurt Eisner, <i>Psychopathia spiritualis. Friedrich Nietzsche und die -Apostel der Zukunft.</i> Leipzig, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_421_421" id="Footnote_421_421"></a><a href="#FNanchor_421_421"><span class="label">[421]</span></a></span> -Ola Hansson, <i>Materialisimen i Skönlitteraturen, Populär-vetenskapliga</i> -[scientific!] <i>Afhandlingar</i>. Stockholm, undated, pp. 28, 50. In this brochure -Hansson also designates the author of <i>Rembrandt als Erzieher</i> as a ‘genius’!!</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_422_422" id="Footnote_422_422"></a><a href="#FNanchor_422_422"><span class="label">[422]</span></a></span> -<i>Revue politique et littéraire</i>, année 1891.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_423_423" id="Footnote_423_423"></a><a href="#FNanchor_423_423"><span class="label">[423]</span></a></span> -‘During his sojourn of several years in the solitary mountainous district -of Sils Maria ... he was in the habit ... of lying on a verdant neck of -land stretching into the lake. One spring he returned, to find, on the consecrated -[!] spot, a seat, on which trivial folk might rest, in the place hitherto -peopled only by his most secret thoughts and visions. And the sight of this -all too human [!] structure was enough to render the beloved place of sojourn -insupportable to him. He never set foot there again.’—Ola Hansson, quoted -from Dr. Hermann Türck, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 10.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_424_424" id="Footnote_424_424"></a><a href="#FNanchor_424_424"><span class="label">[424]</span></a></span> -Dr. Wilhelm Griesinger, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 77.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_425_425" id="Footnote_425_425"></a><a href="#FNanchor_425_425"><span class="label">[425]</span></a></span> -Dr. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Lehrbuch der Psychiatrie auf klinischer Grundlage -für praktische Aertze und Studirende</i>. Vierte theilweise umgearbeitete -Auflage. Stuttgart, 1890, p. 363 <i>ff.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_426_426" id="Footnote_426_426"></a><a href="#FNanchor_426_426"><span class="label">[426]</span></a></span> -Translator.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_427_427" id="Footnote_427_427"></a><a href="#FNanchor_427_427"><span class="label">[427]</span></a></span> -Dr. Hermann Türck, <i>op. cit.</i>, s. 59.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_428_428" id="Footnote_428_428"></a><a href="#FNanchor_428_428"><span class="label">[428]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, pp. 198, 201.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_429_429" id="Footnote_429_429"></a><a href="#FNanchor_429_429"><span class="label">[429]</span></a></span> -<i>Die fröhliche Wissenschaft</i>, p. 130.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_430_430" id="Footnote_430_430"></a><a href="#FNanchor_430_430"><span class="label">[430]</span></a></span> -<i>Jenseits von Gut und Böse</i>, p. 147.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_431_431" id="Footnote_431_431"></a><a href="#FNanchor_431_431"><span class="label">[431]</span></a></span> -<i>Also Sprach Zarathustra</i>, pt. iii., p. 74.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_432_432" id="Footnote_432_432"></a><a href="#FNanchor_432_432"><span class="label">[432]</span></a></span> -<i>Paris unter der dritten Republik</i>, Vierte Auflage. Leipzig, 1890. <i>Zola -und Naturalismus Ausgewählte Pariser Briefe</i>, Zweite Auflage. Leipzig, -1887. ‘Pot Bouille, von Zola.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_433_433" id="Footnote_433_433"></a><a href="#FNanchor_433_433"><span class="label">[433]</span></a></span> -Jules Huret, <i>Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire</i>, p. 135.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_434_434" id="Footnote_434_434"></a><a href="#FNanchor_434_434"><span class="label">[434]</span></a></span> -J. H. Rosny, <i>Vamireh: Roman des Temps primitifs</i>. Paris, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_435_435" id="Footnote_435_435"></a><a href="#FNanchor_435_435"><span class="label">[435]</span></a></span> -Ferdinand Brunetière, <i>Le Roman naturaliste</i>, nouvelle édition. Paris, -1892, p. 285.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_436_436" id="Footnote_436_436"></a><a href="#FNanchor_436_436"><span class="label">[436]</span></a></span> -Thirty years before realism began to create a disturbance in Germany, -with its mania for description, the Swiss novelist, Gottfried Keller, with a -curious premonition, ridiculed it. See <i>Die Leute von Seldwyla</i>, Auflage 12, -Berlin, 1892, Band II., p. 108. (The hero of the story entitled <i>Die missbrauchten -Liebesbriefe</i> [the misused love-letters] suddenly conceives the -notion of becoming an author.) ‘He laid aside the book of commercial -notes, and drew forth a smaller one provided with a little steel lock. Then -he placed himself before the first tree he came to, examined it attentively, -and wrote: “A beech-trunk. Pale gray, with still paler flecks and transverse -stripes. Two kinds of moss cover it, one almost blackish, and one of a -sheeny, velvety green. In addition, yellowish, reddish and white lichen, -which often run one into another.... Might perhaps be serviceable in -scenes with brigands.” Next he paused before a stake driven into the earth, -on which some child had hung a dead slow-worm. He wrote: “Interesting -detail. A small staff driven into the ground. Body of a silver-gray snake -wound round it.... Is Mercury dead, and has he left his stick with dead -snakes sticking here? This last allusion serviceable, above all, for commercial -tales. N.B.—The staff or stake is old and weather-beaten; of the -same colour as the snake; in places where the sun shines upon it it is -covered with little silver-gray hairs. (This last observation might be new, -etc.),”’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_437_437" id="Footnote_437_437"></a><a href="#FNanchor_437_437"><span class="label">[437]</span></a></span> -Edmond et Jules de Goncourt, <i>Manette Solomon</i>. Paris, 1876, pp. 3, -145, 191.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_438_438" id="Footnote_438_438"></a><a href="#FNanchor_438_438"><span class="label">[438]</span></a></span> -F. Brunetière, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 153.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_439_439" id="Footnote_439_439"></a><a href="#FNanchor_439_439"><span class="label">[439]</span></a></span> -F. Brunetière, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. 156.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_440_440" id="Footnote_440_440"></a><a href="#FNanchor_440_440"><span class="label">[440]</span></a></span> -‘Everything is a mystery. Everything is a semblance. Nothing really -exists.’ The saying of one of Arnaud’s patients afflicted with the mania of -negation. See F. L. Arnaud, ‘Sur le Délire des Négations,’ <i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, -7<sup>e</sup> série, t. xvi., p. 387 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_441_441" id="Footnote_441_441"></a><a href="#FNanchor_441_441"><span class="label">[441]</span></a></span> -I would lay humanity on a white page, all things, all beings, a work -which would be a vast ark.’—E. Zola, preface to <i>La Faute de l’Abbé -Mouret</i>, edition of 1875. ‘Throw yourself into the commonplace current of -existence.’ ‘Choose for your hero a person in the simplicity of daily life.’ -‘No hollow apotheoses, no grand false sentiments, no ready-made formulæ.’—E. -Zola, <i>Le Roman expérimental</i>, <i>passim</i>.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_442_442" id="Footnote_442_442"></a><a href="#FNanchor_442_442"><span class="label">[442]</span></a></span> -The family of Kérangal has been the subject of many works, and is well -known in technical literature. The last published work on them is due to -Dr. Paul Aubry: ‘Une Famille de Criminels,’ <i>Annales médico-psychologiques</i>, -7<sup>e</sup> séries, t. xvi., p. 429 (reproduced in <i>La Contagion du Meurtre</i>, by the -same author; Paris, 1894). See especially, pp. 432, 433, the curious genealogical -tree of the family, in which Zola’s celebrated genealogical tree of the -Rougon-Macquart and the Quenu-Gradelle can be immediately recognised.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_443_443" id="Footnote_443_443"></a><a href="#FNanchor_443_443"><span class="label">[443]</span></a></span> -Brunetière, <i>op. cit.</i>, p. iii.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_444_444" id="Footnote_444_444"></a><a href="#FNanchor_444_444"><span class="label">[444]</span></a></span> -James Sully, <i>Pessimism: A History and a Criticism</i>. London, 1877, -p. 411.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_445_445" id="Footnote_445_445"></a><a href="#FNanchor_445_445"><span class="label">[445]</span></a></span> -Dr. Paul Sollier, <i>Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile</i>. Paris, 1891, -p. 95.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_446_446" id="Footnote_446_446"></a><a href="#FNanchor_446_446"><span class="label">[446]</span></a></span> -Catrou, <i>Étude sur la Maladie des Tics convulsifs</i> (Jumping, Latab, -Myriachit). Paris, 1890.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_447_447" id="Footnote_447_447"></a><a href="#FNanchor_447_447"><span class="label">[447]</span></a></span> -Lombroso, <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>, etc., pp. 450-480.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_448_448" id="Footnote_448_448"></a><a href="#FNanchor_448_448"><span class="label">[448]</span></a></span> -His descriptions of impulsive criminals are not really exact. The laity -have greatly admired his description of the assassin Lantier in <i>La Bête -humaine</i>. The most competent judge in such matters, however, Lombroso, -says of this character, which has been inspired in M. Zola, according to his -own declaration, by <i>L’Uomo delinquente</i>: ‘M. Zola, in my opinion, has -never observed criminals in real life.... His criminal characters give me -the impression of the wanness and inaccuracy of certain photographs which -reproduce portraits, not from Nature, but from pictures.’—<i>Le piu recenti -scoperte ed applicazioni della psichiatria ed antropologia criminale. Con -3 tavole e 52 figure nel testo.</i> Torino, 1893, p. 356.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_449_449" id="Footnote_449_449"></a><a href="#FNanchor_449_449"><span class="label">[449]</span></a></span> -Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathia Sexualis</i>, etc., 3<sup>e</sup> Auflage; Stuttgart, -1888. Beobachtung 23, Zippes Fall, s. 55; Beobachtung 24, Passow’s -Fall, s. 56; Aum. zu s. 57, Lombroso’s Fall.</p> -<p class="pfc4">Cæsare Lombroso, <i>Le piu recenti scoperte</i>, etc., p. 227: ‘He always had -voluptuous sensations on seeing animals killed, or in perceiving in shops -feminine under-garments and linen.’ The case of which Lombroso here -speaks is that of a degenerate of fifteen years old, who had been observed by -Dr. MacDonald, of Clark University.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_450_450" id="Footnote_450_450"></a><a href="#FNanchor_450_450"><span class="label">[450]</span></a></span> -Léon Tolstoi, <i>[Œuvres complètes</i>, p. 385: ‘He smelt the warmth of her -body, inhaled the odour of her perfumes ... and at this moment Pierre -understood that not only <i>might</i> Hélène become his wife, but that she <i>must</i> -become so—that nothing else was possible.’] It is related that the King of -France, Henri III., married Marie of Cleves because, at the wedding of the -King of Navarre and his sister, Marguerite of Valois, wishing to dry his face -in the chemise wet with the perspiration of the young princess, he was so -intoxicated by the scent which emanated from it, that he had no rest till he -had won her who had borne it. See Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathia Sexualis</i>, -p. 17.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_451_451" id="Footnote_451_451"></a><a href="#FNanchor_451_451"><span class="label">[451]</span></a></span> -Léon Tolstoi, <i>[Œuvres complètes</i>, t. ii., p. 385: ‘With him there had -come into the room a strong, but not disagreeable, smell,’ etc.]</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_452_452" id="Footnote_452_452"></a><a href="#FNanchor_452_452"><span class="label">[452]</span></a></span> -Maurice Barrès, <i>L’Ennemi des Lois</i>, p. 47.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_453_453" id="Footnote_453_453"></a><a href="#FNanchor_453_453"><span class="label">[453]</span></a></span> -Edmond de Goncourt, <i>La Faustin</i>. Paris, 1882, p. 267.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_454_454" id="Footnote_454_454"></a><a href="#FNanchor_454_454"><span class="label">[454]</span></a></span> -Alfred Binet, <i>Le Fétichisme dans l’Amour</i>, etc., p. 26. This passage -will make the German reader think of the sniffer of souls, G. Jaeger; I have -no occasion to mention him here.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_455_455" id="Footnote_455_455"></a><a href="#FNanchor_455_455"><span class="label">[455]</span></a></span> -Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Psychopathie Sexualis</i>, p. 15, foot-note, p. 17.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_456_456" id="Footnote_456_456"></a><a href="#FNanchor_456_456"><span class="label">[456]</span></a></span> -E. Séguin, <i>Traitement morale, Hygiène et Education des Idiots</i>. Paris, -1846.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_457_457" id="Footnote_457_457"></a><a href="#FNanchor_457_457"><span class="label">[457]</span></a></span> -L. Bernard, <i>Le Odeurs dans le Romans de Zola</i>. Montpellier, 1889.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_458_458" id="Footnote_458_458"></a><a href="#FNanchor_458_458"><span class="label">[458]</span></a></span> -<i>Le Temps</i>, N<sup>o</sup> du 13 Février, 1892: ‘Current literature ... is, at -present, at an inconceivably low ebb in Germany. From one end of the -year to the other it is becoming an impossibility to discover a novel, a -drama, or a page of criticism worthy of notice. The <i>Deutsche Rundschau</i> -itself recently admitted this in despair. It is not only the talent and the -style which are deficient—all is poor, weak and flat; one might imagine -one’s self in France, in the time of Bouilly.... Even the desire to rise -above a certain level of ordinary writing seems wanting. One ends by being -thankful to any contemporary German author who is seen to be making -... the simplest effort not to write like a crossing-sweeper.’ Every -German who observes all the literary productions of his contemporaries will -see that this is the opinion of a spiteful enemy. This opinion, nevertheless, -is explained and justified by the fact that at the present day it is only the -‘realists’ who make enough stir to be heard in certain places abroad, and -that there the natives are delighted to be able to consider them as representing -all the German literature of the day.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_459_459" id="Footnote_459_459"></a><a href="#FNanchor_459_459"><span class="label">[459]</span></a></span> -Arno Holz—Johannes Schlaf, <i>Die Familie Selicke</i>, 3<sup>e</sup> Auflage; Berlin, -1892, p. vi.: ‘In fact, nothing so provokes us to smile ... as when they, in -their anxiety to find models, label us as plagiarists of the great foreign -authors. Let them say it, then.... It will be acknowledged some day -that there has never yet been in our literature a movement less influenced -from without, more strongly originated from within—in one word, more -<i>national</i>—than this movement, even at the further development of which we -look to-day, and which has had for its visible point of departure our <i>Papa -Hamlet</i>. <i>Die Familie Selicke</i> is the most thoroughly German piece of writing -our literature possesses,’ etc. This passage may serve the reader as a model -both of the style in which these lads write, and of the tone in which they -speak of themselves and their productions.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_460_460" id="Footnote_460_460"></a><a href="#FNanchor_460_460"><span class="label">[460]</span></a></span> -The complaint of want of money is a constant refrain among the ‘Young -Germans.’ Listen to Baron Detlev von Liliencron: ‘You had nothing to -eat again to-day; as a set-off, every blackguard has had his fill.’ ‘The -terror of infernal damnation is—A garden of roses under the kisses of -spring,—When I think of how heart and soul fret,—To be hourly bitten by -the need of money.’ And Karl Bleibtreu: ‘Brass reigns, gold reigns,—Genius -goes its way a-begging.’ ‘To call a ton of gold one’s own,—Sublime -end, unattainable to man!’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_461_461" id="Footnote_461_461"></a><a href="#FNanchor_461_461"><span class="label">[461]</span></a></span> -Heinz Tovote, <i>Im Liebesrausch</i>, Berliner Roman, 6<sup>e</sup> Auflage. Berlin, -1893.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_462_462" id="Footnote_462_462"></a><a href="#FNanchor_462_462"><span class="label">[462]</span></a></span> -Hermann Bahr, <i>Die gute Schule; Seelenstände.</i> Berlin, 1890.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_463_463" id="Footnote_463_463"></a><a href="#FNanchor_463_463"><span class="label">[463]</span></a></span> -<i>Einsame Menschen</i>; Drama. 1891, p. 84.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_464_464" id="Footnote_464_464"></a><a href="#FNanchor_464_464"><span class="label">[464]</span></a></span> -Gerhart Hauptmann, <i>Vor Sonnenaufgang</i>; Soziales Drama, 6<sup>e</sup> Auflage; -Berlin, 1892, p. 14: ‘During the two years of my imprisonment, I wrote my -first book on political economy.’ p. 42: ‘The Icarians ... share equally -all work and all desert. No one is poor; there are no poor among them.’ -p. 47: ‘My fight is a fight for the happiness of all.... Moreover, I must -say that the fight in the interest of progress brings me great satisfaction.’ -(Let it be understood that not the smallest trace of this famous ‘fight’ is to -be seen in the piece!) p. 63: ‘I should like to study the state of things -here. I shall study the position of the miners here.... My work must -be pre-eminently descriptive,’ etc.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_465_465" id="Footnote_465_465"></a><a href="#FNanchor_465_465"><span class="label">[465]</span></a></span> -Since this book has been published, Hauptmann has put on the stage -two new pieces: <i>The Beaver Pelisse</i>, which was an utter fiasco, and -<i>Hannele, a Dream Poem</i>, much discussed on account of its strange mysticism.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_466_466" id="Footnote_466_466"></a><a href="#FNanchor_466_466"><span class="label">[466]</span></a></span> -Scipio Sighele, <i>La Folla delinquente</i>, Turin, 1892; translated into -French, <i>La Foule criminelle</i>, Paris, 1893. Fournial, <i>Essai sur la Psychologie -des Foules</i>. Lyon, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_467_467" id="Footnote_467_467"></a><a href="#FNanchor_467_467"><span class="label">[467]</span></a></span> -Gerhart Hauptmann, <i>Die Weber</i>, Schauspiel aus den vierziger Jahren, -2<sup>e</sup> Auflage; Berlin, 1892, p. 39:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Bertha.</span> Where is father, then? [Old Baumert has gone silently away.]</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mother Baumert.</span> I don’t know where he can have gone.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Bertha.</span> Could it be that he’s no longer used to meat?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mother Baumert</span> (<i>beside herself, in tears</i>). There now, you see—you -see for yourself, he can’t even keep it down. He’ll throw up all the little -good food he has had.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Old Baumert</span> (<i>returns, crying with vexation</i>). Well, well, ’twill soon be -all over with me. They’ll soon have done for me. If one do chance to -get something good, one isn’t able to keep it. (<i>He sits down on the bench by -the stove, weeping.</i>) [All this conversation is written in Silesian dialect.]</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_468_468" id="Footnote_468_468"></a><a href="#FNanchor_468_468"><span class="label">[468]</span></a></span> -Gerhart Hauptmann, <i>Der Apostel</i>, <i>Bahnwärter Thiel</i>, Novellistische -Studien. Berlin, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_469_469" id="Footnote_469_469"></a><a href="#FNanchor_469_469"><span class="label">[469]</span></a></span> -Hans Merian, <i>Die sogenannten ‘Jungdeutschen’ in unsererzeitgenössischen -Literatur</i>, 2<sup>e</sup> Auflage. Leipzig, ss. 12, 14. Undated.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_470_470" id="Footnote_470_470"></a><a href="#FNanchor_470_470"><span class="label">[470]</span></a></span> -C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, <i>Le Crime politique</i>, etc., t. ii., p. 116.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_471_471" id="Footnote_471_471"></a><a href="#FNanchor_471_471"><span class="label">[471]</span></a></span> -Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, <i>Neue Forshungen</i>, etc., 2 Auflage, pp. 109, 118. -By the same, <i>Psychopathia Sexualis</i>, 3 Auflage, p. 65.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_472_472" id="Footnote_472_472"></a><a href="#FNanchor_472_472"><span class="label">[472]</span></a></span> -Dr. A. B. Morel, <i>Traité des Dégénérescences</i>, p. 581, note: ‘The state of -arrested development and <i>sterility</i> are the essential characteristics of beings -arrived at the extreme limit of degeneracy.’</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_473_473" id="Footnote_473_473"></a><a href="#FNanchor_473_473"><span class="label">[473]</span></a></span> -C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, <i>Le Crime politique</i>, etc., t. i., p. 8 <i>et seq.</i></p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_474_474" id="Footnote_474_474"></a><a href="#FNanchor_474_474"><span class="label">[474]</span></a></span> -Charles Darwin, <i>A Naturalist’s Voyage round the World, Journal of -Researches</i>, etc., chap. x.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_475_475" id="Footnote_475_475"></a><a href="#FNanchor_475_475"><span class="label">[475]</span></a></span> -Ernest Renan, <i>Feuilles détachées</i>. Paris, 1892, Préface, p. 10.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_476_476" id="Footnote_476_476"></a><a href="#FNanchor_476_476"><span class="label">[476]</span></a></span> -Ludwig Fulda, <i>Das verlorene Paradies</i>, Schauspiel in drei Aufzügen. -Stuttgart, 1892. <i>Cf.</i> p. 112:</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mühlberger.</span> Rika, Rika; come out!</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Frederika.</span> Oh, Lord! will they send me back?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mühlberger.</span> Here’s my daughter. She must go into the fresh air—into -the fresh air.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Frederika.</span> Father, let me be. I must work.</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Mühlberger</span> (<i>with passionate resolution</i>). No. No more work—no -more—no more work. You must go out into the fresh air, my child—my -good sick child. (<i>He holds her in his embrace. Pause. No one present can -escape from the impression of this episode.</i>)</p> -<p class="pfc4">So says the author! I do not think that these sentimental phrases produce -the smallest effect on anybody. Note (in the original) how Fulda, an -author of talent, in no way affiliated to the ‘Young-German realists,’ is -himself sufficiently intimidated by their ranting to seek for ‘modernity’ by -using the Berlin dialect.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_477_477" id="Footnote_477_477"></a><a href="#FNanchor_477_477"><span class="label">[477]</span></a></span> -Ernst von Wildenbruch, <i>Die Haubenlerche</i>, Schauspiel in vier Akten. -Berlin, 1891. <i>Cf.</i> p. 134: -</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">August.</span> Work builds the world. Therefore, it must be executed for its -own sake; it must be loved!... And you—when I have seen you standing -before your tub—with the water-scoop in your hand—in such a way that -the windows flew open—then I thought, Ah! here is one who loves his -tub!...</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Ilefeld.</span> Master August, ‘tis as if I had been married to it, to my tub—that’s -how it’s been!</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">August.</span> And yet you leave it standing there so that anybody might take -your place? What am I to say to the tub, should it ask after Paul Ilefeld?</p> -<p class="pfc4"><span class="smcap">Ilefeld</span> (<i>sits down heavily and dries his eyes with his hand</i>).</p> -<p class="pfc4">All the workmen I know would be convulsed with laughing at this conversation.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_478_478" id="Footnote_478_478"></a><a href="#FNanchor_478_478"><span class="label">[478]</span></a></span> -Madame Minna Wettstein-Adelt, <i>Three and a Half Months in a -Factory</i>, Eine praktische Studie, 2<sup>e</sup> Auflage. Berlin, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_479_479" id="Footnote_479_479"></a><a href="#FNanchor_479_479"><span class="label">[479]</span></a></span> -Paul Gœhre, <i>Three Months Factory Hand and Apprentice</i>, Eine praktische -Studie. Leipzig, 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_480_480" id="Footnote_480_480"></a><a href="#FNanchor_480_480"><span class="label">[480]</span></a></span> -Dr. S. Frenkel, ‘Die Therapie atactischer Bewegungstörungen,’ <i>Münchener -medizinische Wochenschrift</i>, Nr. 52. 1892.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_481_481" id="Footnote_481_481"></a><a href="#FNanchor_481_481"><span class="label">[481]</span></a></span> -A. G. Bianchi, <i>La Patologia del Genie e gli scienziati Italiani</i>. Milano, -1892, p. 79.</p> - -<p class="pfn4"><span class="ln1"><a name="Footnote_482_482" id="Footnote_482_482"></a><a href="#FNanchor_482_482"><span class="label">[482]</span></a></span> -Allusion is here made to the political influence exercised in a number of -German electoral districts by the anti-Semite Passchen, a proved lunatic, -with a mania for persecution.—<span class="smcap">Translator.</span></p> -</div> -</div> - -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Degeneration, by Max Nordau - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEGENERATION *** - -***** This file should be named 51161-h.htm or 51161-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/1/6/51161/ - -Produced by Giovanni Fini, David Edwards and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> |