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diff --git a/old/51161-0.txt b/old/51161-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 495c1bf..0000000 --- a/old/51161-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,27395 +0,0 @@ -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 - - - - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - ---Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected. - ---Whereas adequate characters are not available, superscript has been -rendered as a^b and a^{bc}. - - - - - DEGENERATION - - - - - BY THE SAME AUTHOR. - - _Uniform with this Volume._ - - CONVENTIONAL LIES OF - OUR CIVILIZATION. - - PARADOXES. - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN. - - - - - DEGENERATION - - BY - - MAX NORDAU - - AUTHOR OF - - ‘CONVENTIONAL LIES OF OUR CIVILIZATION,’ ‘PARADOXES,’ ETC. - - Translated from the Second Edition - of the German Work - - Popular Edition - - LONDON - - WILLIAM HEINEMANN - - 1898 - - [_All rights reserved_] - - - - - _First Edition_ _February, 1895._ - - _New Impressions, March 4, 1895; - March 22, 1895; April, 1895; May, - 1895; June, 1895; August, 1895; - November, 1895; (Popular Edition), - September, 1898._ - - - - - Dedicated - - TO - - CÆSAR LOMBROSO, - - PROFESSOR OF PSYCHIATRY AND FORENSIC MEDICINE AT - THE ROYAL UNIVERSITY OF TURIN, - - BY - - THE AUTHOR. - - - - - TO - - PROFESSOR CÆSAR LOMBROSO, - - _TURIN_. - - - - - _DEAR AND HONOURED MASTER_ , - -_I dedicate this book to you, in open and joyful recognition of the -fact that without your labours it could never have been written._ - -_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._ - -_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._ - -_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._ - -_Some among these degenerates in literature, music, and painting have -in recent years come into extraordinary prominence, and are revered by -numerous admirers as creators of a new art, and heralds of the coming -centuries._ - -_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._ - -_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._ - -_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 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 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._ - -_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._ - -_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._ - -_Pray remain, dear and honoured master, ever favourably disposed -towards your gratefully devoted_ - - _MAX NORDAU_. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - BOOK I. - - _FIN-DE-SIÈCLE._ - - CHAPTER I. - - PAGE - - THE DUSK OF THE NATIONS 1 - - CHAPTER II. - - THE SYMPTOMS 7 - - CHAPTER III. - - DIAGNOSIS 15 - - CHAPTER IV. - - ETIOLOGY 34 - - - BOOK II. - - _MYSTICISM._ - - CHAPTER I. - - THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MYSTICISM 45 - - CHAPTER II. - - THE PRE-RAPHAELITES 67 - - CHAPTER III. - - SYMBOLISM 100 - - CHAPTER IV. - - TOLSTOISM 144 - - CHAPTER V. - - THE RICHARD WAGNER CULT 171 - - CHAPTER VI. - - PARODIES OF MYSTICISM 214 - - - BOOK III. - - _EGO-MANIA._ - - CHAPTER I. - - THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EGO-MANIA 241 - - CHAPTER II. - - PARNASSIANS AND DIABOLISTS 266 - - CHAPTER III. - - DECADENTS AND ÆSTHETES 296 - - CHAPTER IV. - - IBSENISM 338 - - CHAPTER V. - - FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 415 - - - BOOK IV. - - _REALISM._ - - CHAPTER I. - - ZOLA AND HIS SCHOOL 473 - - CHAPTER II. - - THE ‘YOUNG GERMAN’ PLAGIARISTS 506 - - - BOOK V. - - _THE TWENTIETH CENTURY._ - - CHAPTER I. - - PROGNOSIS 536 - - CHAPTER II. - - THERAPEUTICS 550 - - - - - DEGENERATION - - - - -BOOK I. - -_FIN-DE-SIÈCLE_. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE DUSK OF THE NATIONS. - - -FIN-DE-SIÈCLE 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. _Fin-de-siècle_ 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 -_fin-de-siècle_ 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. - -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 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 _fin-de-siècle_ when -they ought correctly to say _fin-de-race_.[1] - -But however silly a term _fin-de-siècle_ 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. _Fin-de-siècle_ 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. - -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 _fin-de-siècle_ 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 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 _fin-de-siècle_ 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.’[2] - -Quite otherwise is the _fin-de-siècle_ 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 _A Nest of Nobles_ 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 _Ghosts_--these express -rightly the _fin-de-siècle_ attitude of to-day. - -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 _fin-de-siècle_ -means nothing, and receives a varying signification according to the -diverse mental horizons of those who use it. - -The surest way of knowing what _fin-de-siècle_ 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.[3] - -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. _Fin-de-siècle_ king. - -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. _Fin-de-siècle_ bishop. - -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. _Fin-de-siècle_ official. - -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. -_Fin-de-siècle_ wedding. - -An _attaché_ 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. -_Fin-de-siècle_ diplomatist. - -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.’ _Fin-de-siècle_ son. - -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 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.’ -_Fin-de-siècle_ girls. - -Such test-cases show how the word is understood in the land of its -birth. Germans who ape Paris fashions, and apply _fin-de-siècle_ -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 _demi-monde_, misunderstanding its -proper meaning, and giving it the sense of _fille de joie_, 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. - -_Prima facie_, 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 _cicisbeo_. All -these _fin-de-siècle_ cases have, nevertheless, a common feature, to -wit, a contempt for traditional views of custom and morality. - -Such is the notion underlying the word _fin-de-siècle_. 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -Here is the place to forestall a possible misunderstanding. The -great majority of the middle and lower classes is naturally not -_fin-de-siècle_. 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 _Cavalleria -Rusticana_ 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 -_ton_ 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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE SYMPTOMS. - - -LET 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. - -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 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 -_motifs_ 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 _portière_, 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. - -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 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. - -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 _barbiche_ 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.’ - -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 matter whether -agreeably or disagreeably. The fixed idea is to produce an effect at -any price. - -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 _bonbonnière_ -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 _prie-Dieu_ -is a pledge for the piety of the inmate, and a broad divan, with an -orgiastic _abandon_ 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 appear, -now bathed in variegated diaphanous mist, now suffused with coloured -radiance, while the corners and backgrounds are shrouded in depths of -artfully-effected _clair-obscur_, 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. - -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, 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 _clientèle_ 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. - -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 _Tristan and Isolde_, -and especially the mystic _Parsifal_, for the religious music in -Bruneau’s _Dream_, 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 _motif_ 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 -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. - -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 _Justine_, for its embodiments. - -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, 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 -_Kreutzer Sonata_ 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 -_distingué_ 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. - -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 _Requiem_, 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 _Requiem_. -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 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 _habitué_ and -the dainty aristocratic fledgling. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -DIAGNOSIS. - - -THE 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 -_fin-de-siècle_ 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 that it is easier to observe them in -their composite forms, than each in isolation. - -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[4]--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.[5] - -‘The clearest notion we can form of degeneracy is to regard it as _a -morbid deviation from an original type_. 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.’ - -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.[6] - -Degeneracy betrays itself among men in certain physical -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[7] 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[8] expresses this very emphatically when he says, -‘Vice, crime and madness are only distinguished from each other by -social prejudices.’ - -There might be a sure means of proving that the application of the term -‘degenerates’ to the originators of all the _fin-de-siècle_ 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. - -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. - -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’ (_dégénérés -supérieurs_), and Lombroso speaks of ‘mattoids’ (from _matto_, 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. - -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;[9] 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,[10] and, secondly, -impulsiveness[11]--_i.e._, inability 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. - -Another mental stigma of degenerates is their emotionalism. -Morel[12] 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. - -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 the entire phenomenon of -the universe, or self-abhorrence. ‘These patients,’ says Morel,[13] -‘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[14] describes, ‘ennui of myself.’ -‘Among moral stigmata,’ says the same author,[15] ‘there are also to -be specified those undefinable apprehensions manifested by degenerates -when they see, smell, or touch any object.’ And he further[16] 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 _fin-de-siècle_ frame of mind, -described in the first chapter. - -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 -(_aboulia_). 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 _a posteriori_ 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, and need only to -acquire a knowledge of Buddhism to become converts to it. - -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.[17] - -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.[18] 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.[19] 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 -demanded for the solution of these chimerical problems. In view of -Lombroso’s researches,[20] 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. - -Finally, a cardinal mark of degeneration which I have reserved -to the last, is mysticism. Colin says:[21] ‘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. - -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,[22] ‘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 who have -contributed to the natural history of the degenerate. ‘As regards -their intellect, they can,’ says Roubinovitch,[23] ‘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[24] 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.[25] 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 -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 -_lusus naturæ_, 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[26] 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 _a posteriori_. 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,[27] ‘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,[28] ‘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,[29] ‘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.”’ - -Such are the qualities of the most gifted of those who are 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. - -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,[30] Richer,[31] and in particular Gilles de la -Tourette,[32] adequately comprise our present knowledge of this malady; -and I shall refer to these works when I enumerate the symptoms chiefly -indicative of hysteria. - -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[33]--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,[34] ‘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.[35] 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 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,[36] and the eagerness with which he yields to all the -suggestions of writers and artists.[37] 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. - -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.’[38] 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.’[39] - -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 -_fin-de-siècle_ 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 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 _bibelots_, 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. - -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 _nystagmus_, -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 _Fliegende Blätter_ 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. - -There is hardly a hysterical subject whose retina is not partly -insensitive.[40] 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 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[41] -teaches us, ‘are peripheral colours’ (_i.e._, 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.’ - -Red has also another peculiarity explanatory of the predilection -shown for it by the hysterical. The experiments of Binet[42] 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,[43] -in a report of an experiment on a female hysterical subject who was -paralyzed in one half of her body, ‘we place a dynamometer 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. - -If red is dynamogenous, violet is conversely enervating and -inhibitive.[44] 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. - -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 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.[45] Among pronounced lunatics it is the -_folie à deux_, 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;’[46] and finally authors -found schools. - -The common organic basis of these different forms of one and the same -phenomenon--of the _folie à deux_, 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 associates, the disciples, the submissive -part, weakness of will and morbid susceptibility to suggestion.[47] -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 Goncourt[48] 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. - -Thus a regular concourse is established about a victim of degeneration. -The fashionable coxcomb, the æsthetic ‘gigerl,’[49] 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. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -ETIOLOGY. - - -WE have recognised the effect of diseases in these _fin-de-siècle_ -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. - -Morel,[50] 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.[51] 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;[52] for Germany, 0.8 and 1.5 kilogrammes. The -consumption of alcohol[53] during 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.[54] And the children -of large towns who are not carried off at an early age suffer from the -peculiar arrested development which Morel[55] 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 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.[56] - -Now we know how, in the last generation, the number of the inhabitants -of great towns increased[57] 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. - -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:[58] ‘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 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.’ - -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. - -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 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.[59] - -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.[60] - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 what always happens if great expenses -are met by small incomes; first the savings are consumed, then comes -bankruptcy. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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.[61] Let it not be believed that they always existed, and were -merely overlooked. If they had been 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.[62] - -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.[63] 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 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. - -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 -Paris a veritable epidemic of mental diseases was observed, for which -a special name was found--_la folie obsidionale_, ‘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 _fin-de-siècle_. - -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. - -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. - -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. 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. - -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. - - - - -BOOK II. - -_MYSTICISM._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MYSTICISM. - - -WE 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:[64] ‘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,[65] 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. - -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. - -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[66] 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. - -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.[67] - -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 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. - -Every stimulus which reaches a place on the cerebral cortex results -in a rush of blood to that spot,[68] 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.[69] 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.[70] - -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 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. - -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 - - ‘...ein Tritt tausend Fäden regt, - Die Schifflein herüber, hinüber schiessen, - Die Fäden ungesehen fliessen, - Ein Schlag tausend Verbindungen schlägt.’[71] - -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. - -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. - -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, _e.g._, 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. - -One and the same quality belongs to many phenomena. There is a whole -series of things which are blue, round, and 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. - -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.[72] Contrast is the third cause of the association of ideas. - -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[73] 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. - -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. 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.e._, 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -What is attention? Th. Ribot[74] 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.e._, to the object -just perceived. - -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, 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.e._, 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.e._, 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.e._, 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,[75] and the -consequent supply of blood becomes more or less copious.[76] 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. - -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.e._, 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. - -This is the ‘adaptation of the whole organism to a predominant 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Attention, therefore, presupposes strength of will, and this, again, -is the property only of a normally constituted and unexhausted 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[77] 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[78] 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.’ - -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. - -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 -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. - -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 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,[79] ‘that God appeared to him in the form of luminous -shadows;’ or he remarks, as did another of Legrain’s patients:[80] ‘You -have given me an immutable evening’ (_soirée immutable_).[81] - -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 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.[82] 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 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. - -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 -_perpetuum mobile_, 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. - -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 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.e._, 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 (_Leibesträume_), _i.e._, dream-images -about the functioning of any organs which happen not to be in a normal -condition. - -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, _e.g._, 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. - -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. 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.[83] 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. - -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 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. - -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, _e.g._, 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.e._, 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 -(_Gedankenflucht_), _i.e._, 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 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. - -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,[84] 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 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[85] 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 _blague_, or _boulevard-esprit_, 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE PRE-RAPHAELITES. - - -MYSTICISM 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. - -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 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. - -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 artificial weakness of mind, just as, conversely, -weakness of mind is the natural organic incapacity for knowledge. - -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. - -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 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. - -What are the governing thoughts and aims of the Pre-Raphaelite -movement? An Anglo-German critic of repute, F. Hüffer,[86] 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 the -eye, and the warm fragrant springs of all the emotions bubbled up. - -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. - -Mysticism, which rebelled against the application of the rationalistic -methods to explain the universe, and the _Sturm und Drang_, 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 that if in their flight from -reality they come to a halt in mediævalism, they have German patriotism -as their pioneer. - -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 _Athenæum_, 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. - -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 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. - -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 _Les Burgraves_ -takes place in the thirteenth century; but in all the others, -_Cromwell_, _Maria Tudor_, _Lucrezia Borgia_, _Angelo_, _Ruy Blas_, -_Hernani_, _Marion Delorme_, _Le Roi s’amuse_, the scenes were laid in -the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; and his one mediæval romance, -_Notre Dame de Paris_, can be set over against all the rest, from _Han -d’Islande_, which has for its scene of action a fancied Thule, to _Les -Miserables_ and _1793_, 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 -conversion of Edwin to Christianity--has been cited by all authors -(_e.g._, by G. Freytag and H. Taine[87]) 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. - -Herein lies the explanation both of the devoutness of the English and -of the religious character of their mental degeneration. 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. - -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,’[88] ‘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. - -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 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 _Pilgrim’s Progress_ 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. - -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 _Modern -Painters_. 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. - -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,[89] ‘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 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. - -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 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.e._, -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 _Mona Lisa_, 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.e._, 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 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. - -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. - -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, 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. - -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. - -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:[90] ‘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:[91] ‘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 of accident or -disease.’ And, he continues, to recognise and to reproduce this ideal -form is the one great task of the painter. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 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[92] how the illiterate people of the Middle -Ages regarded church pictures. The dissolute poet makes his mother say -to the Virgin Mary: - - ‘A pitiful poor woman, shrunk and old, - I am, and nothing learn’d in letter-lore; - Within my parish-cloister I behold - A painted Heaven where harps and lutes adore, - And eke an Hell whose damned folk seethe full sore: - One bringeth fear, the other joy to me. - That joy, great Goddess, make thou mine to be-- - Thou of whom all must ask it even as I; - And that which faith desires, that let it see, - For in this faith I choose to live and die.’ - -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. - -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 _Shadow of the Cross_. 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 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. - -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,[93] -says of them: ‘They were themselves writers, and their painting is -literature.’ This speech is still applicable to the school. - -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.[94] He is the most instructive example -of the often-quoted assertion of Balzac, of the 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 _Divina Commedia_ or the -_Vita Nuova_. - -The analysis of one of his most celebrated poems, _The Blessed -Damozel_, 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: - - ‘The blessed damozel leaned out - From the gold bar of Heaven; - Her eyes were deeper than the depth - Of waters stilled at even; - She had three lilies in her hand, - And the stars in her hair were seven.’ - -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 _Paradiso_ (Canto iii.), where the Blessed -Virgin speaks to the poet from the moon. We even find details repeated, -_e.g._, the deep and still waters ( ... ‘_ver per acque nitide e -tranquille Non sì profonde, che i fondi sien persi ..._’). 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 _Purgatorio_ (Canto -xxx.), ‘_Manibus o date lilia plenis._’ 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. - -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 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 _Praise of Spring_ in these words: - - ‘Saatengrün, Veilchenduft, - Lerchenwirbel, Amselschlag, - Sonnenregen, linde Luft: - Wenn ich solche Worte singe, - Braucht es dann noch grosse Dinge, - Dich zu preisen, Frühlingstag?’[95] - -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.’ - -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 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. - - ‘It was the rampart of God’s house - That she was standing on; - By God built over the sheer depth - The which is space begun; - So high that, looking downward, thence - She scarce could see the sun. - - ‘It lies in heaven, across the flood - Of ether, as a bridge. - Beneath, the tides of day and night - With flame and darkness ridge - The void, as low as where this earth - Spins like a fretful midge. - - ‘Heard hardly, some of her new friends, - Amid their loving games, - Spake evermore among themselves - Their virginal chaste names, - And the souls mounting up to God - Went by her like thin flames. - - ‘From the fixed place of Heaven she saw - Time like a pulse shake fierce - Through all the worlds....’ - -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. - -The damozel begins to speak. She wishes that her beloved were already -with her. For come he will. - - ‘“When round his head the aureole clings, - And he is clothed in white, - I’ll take his hand and go with him - To the deep wells of light. - We will step down as to a stream. - And bathe there in God’s sight.”’ - -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. - - ‘“We two,” she said, “will seek the groves - Where the Lady Mary is, - With her five handmaidens, whose names - Are five sweet symphonies-- - Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, - Margaret, and Rosalys.”’ - -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. - -The maiden in paradise goes on picturing to herself the union with her -beloved, and then: - - ‘she cast her arms along - The golden barriers, - And laid her face between her hands - And wept--I heard her tears.’ - -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. - -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 _Inferno_ the poem must have appeared at least as well founded -on fact and as convincing as, let us say, Häckel’s _Natural History of -Creation_ 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 _Blessed Damozel_ 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,[96] ‘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. - -It is, of course, impossible to go so deeply into all Rossetti’s poems -as into the _Blessed Damozel_; 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. - -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 _Armensünderblum_, or ‘flower of the doomed soul,’ -which he sees when walking at night. (See Heine’s poem, _Am Kreuzweg -wird begraben_, in which the line _die Armensünderblum_ is repeated at -the end of both strophes with peculiarly thrilling effect.) - -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 _Troy Town_ 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: - - ‘Heaven-born Helen, Sparta’s Queen - (O Troy town!), - Had two breasts of heavenly sheen, - The sun and the moon of the heart’s desire. - All Love’s lordship lay between. - (O Troy’s down, - Tall Troy’s on fire!) - - ‘Helen knelt at Venus’ shrine - (O Troy town!) - Saying, “A little gift is mine, - A little gift for a heart’s desire. - Hear me speak and make me a sign! - (O Troy’s down, - Tall Troy’s on fire!)”’[97] - -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 in Holman Hunt’s -picture, _The Shadow of the Cross_. 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[98] 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 [_le rabâchage_] grows -into a veritable _tic_.’ - -In another very famous poem, _Eden Bower_,[99] 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. - -We frequently find this peculiarity of the weak and deranged mind, -_i.e._, echolalia, in Rossetti. Here are a few proofs: - - ‘So wet she comes to wed’ (_Stratton Water_). - -Here the sound ‘wed’ has called up the sound ‘wet.’ In the poem _My -Sisters Sleep_, in one place where the moon is spoken of, it is said: - - ‘The hollow halo it was in - Was like an icy crystal cup.’ - -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: - - ‘Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go’ - (_A New Year’s Burden_), - -and - - ‘Forgot it not, nay, but got it not’ (_Beauty_). - -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 _Song of the Bower_ says: - - ‘... My heart, when it flies to thy bower, - What does it find there that knows it again? - There it must droop like a shower-beaten flower, - Red at the rent core and dark with the rain. - Ah! yet what shelter is still shed above it-- - What waters still image its leaves torn apart? - Thy soul is the shade that clings round it to love it, - And tears are its mirror deep down in thy heart.’[100] - -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. - -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. - -Completely Rossettian, for example, is _A Christmas Carol_.[101] - - ‘Three damsels in the queen’s chamber, - The queen’s mouth was most fair; - She spake a word of God’s mother, - As the combs went in her hair. - “Mary that is of might, - Bring us to thy Son’s sight.”’ - -Here we find a mystical content united to the antiquarianism and -childish phraseology of genuine pre-Raphaelitism. _The Masque of -Queen Bersabe_ 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. - -Where he walks in Baudelaire’s footsteps, Swinburne tries to distort -his face to a diabolical mien, and makes the woman say (in _Anactoria_) -to the other unnaturally loved woman: - - ‘I would my love could kill thee. I am satiated - With seeing thee live, and fain would have thee dead. - I would earth had thy body as fruit to eat, - And no mouth but some serpent’s found thee sweet. - I would find grievous ways to have thee slain, - Intense device, and superflux of pain; - ... O! that I - Durst crush thee out of life with love, and die-- - Die of thy pain and my delight, and be - Mixed with thy blood and molten unto thee.’ - -Or, when he curses and reviles, as in _Before Dawn_: - - ‘To say of shame--what is it? - Of virtue--we can miss it, - Of sin--we can but kiss it, - And it’s no longer sin.’ - -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 _The King’s Daughter_. -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 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. - - ‘We were ten maidens in the green corn, - Small red leaves in the mill-water: - Fairer maidens never were born, - Apples of gold for the King’s daughter. - - ‘We were ten maidens by a well-head, - Small white birds in the mill-water: - Sweeter maidens never were wed, - Rings of red for the King’s daughter.’ - -In the following stanzas the admirable qualities of each of the ten -princesses are portrayed, and the symbolical intermediate lines run -thus: - - ‘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-- ...’ - -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: - - ‘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.’ - -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: - - ‘Broken boats in the mill-water; - Golden gifts for all the rest, - Sorrow of heart for the King’s daughter. - - ‘“Ye’ll make a grave for my fair body,” - Running rain in the mill-water; - “And ye’ll streek my brother at the side of me,” - The pains of hell for the King’s daughter.’ - -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 childish devilry. But I am not dwelling on -this aspect of the poem, but on its symbolism. - -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: - - ‘Es ragt ins Meer der Runenstein, - Da sitz ich mit meinen Träumen; - Es pfeift der Wind, die Möwen schrein, - Die Wellen, die wandern und schäumen. - - ‘Ich habe geliebt manch schönes Kind - Und manchen guten Gesellen-- - Wo sind sie hin?--Es pfeift der Wind, - Es schäumen und wandern die Wellen,’[102] - -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 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. - -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 _Assommoir_, 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 _Ghosts_, 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. - -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.[103] He artlessly -copies whole stanzas also from Dante, _e.g._, the well-known Francesca -and Paolo episode from Canto V. of the _Inferno_, when he writes in his -_Guenevere_: - - - ‘In that garden fair - Came Lancelot walking; this is true, the kiss - Wherewith we kissed in meeting that spring day, - I scarce dare talk of the remembered bliss.’ - -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, _e.g._, in a stanza of the _Earthly -Paradise_: - - ‘Of Margaret sitting glorious there, - In glory of gold and glory of hair, - And glory of glorious face most fair’-- - -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. - -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 _Canterbury Tales_; 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 _Idylls of the King_. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -SYMBOLISM. - - -A SIMILAR 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. - -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. - -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 _Les Névroses_; 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 _Lutèce_, which ceased after a few -issues.[104] - -About 1884 the society left their paternal pot-house, and pitched -their tent in the Café François I., Boulevard St. Michel. This _café_ -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 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.’ - -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 _bouquinistes_ 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 -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,[105] -‘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 (_sic!_), 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.) - -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’ -(_Tagedieb_) 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. - -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 _La Chanson -des Gueux_ is the most typical expression of this theory of life. -Baumbach’s _Lieder eines fahrenden Gesellen_ and _Spielmannslieder_ -are analogous specimens in German literature, but of a less pronounced -character. Schiller’s _Pegasus im Joch_ 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. - -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.’[106] Morice -complains[107] 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? - -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 _Revue Indépendante_, the _Revue Contemporaine_, 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 _chroniqueurs_ 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, 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. - -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. - -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 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,[108] ‘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.’ - -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,[109] ‘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.’ - -Charles Morice, the theorist and philosopher of the Symbolists, -arraigns Science on almost every page of his book, _La Littérature de -tout-à-l’heure_, for her great and divers sins. ‘It is lamentable,’ he -says in his apocalyptic phraseology,[110] ‘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 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.’ - -Another graphomaniac, the author of that imbecile book, _Rembrandt -as Educator_, 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.’[111] - -Edouard Rod[112] says: ‘The century has advanced without keeping all -its promises’; and further on he speaks again of ‘this ageing and -deluded century.’ - -In a small book, which has become a sort of gospel to imbeciles and -idiots, _Le Devoir présent_, the author, M. Paul Desjardins,[113] 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.’ - -Even a serious thinker, M. F. Paulhan,[114] 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.’ - -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 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? - -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. - -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, _Ignorabimus_. Both of -them in this respect are 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 _Ignorabimus_. 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. - -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. - -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 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! - -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. - -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 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. - -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.e._, for exact knowledge of nature. - -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 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. - -The brothers Janet[115] 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. - -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. - -That the mysticism of the degenerate, even in France, the 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. - -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. - -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. - -This choice is quite intelligible. The mass of the people in France, -especially in towns, is sceptical, and the aristocracy of the _ancien -régime_, who in the eighteenth century bragged about free thought, had -come out of the deluge of 1789 as very pious 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. - -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 _bourgeoisie_, 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 _bourgeoisie_, -but who felt that socialism, however radical its economic doctrines and -impossible its theories of equality, represented emancipation. - -But I have not to judge here whether the religious mimicry of the -French _bourgeoisie_, 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. 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.[116] 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.’ - -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.[117] 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 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 -_chic_, 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 _Imitation of Christ_; 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. - -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. - -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. - -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,[118] 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. - -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.e._, 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.’ - -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. - -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.’ - -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 _nombrilisme_, 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.’ - -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 [_fiction_]. 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.’ - -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.e._, 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. - -‘The Symbolists!’ exclaims M. Jules Lemaître, ‘there are 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 _Réclame_!’ 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. - -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 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. - -The Symbolists, so far as they are honestly degenerate and imbecile, -can think only in a mystical, _i.e._, 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.’ - -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 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. - -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[119] 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 _Select -Poems_ of Verlaine,[120] 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[121] has pointed out among -degenerates, and the Mongolian physiognomy indicated by the projecting -cheek-bones, obliquely placed eyes, and thin beard, which the same -investigator[122] looks upon as signs of degeneration. - -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 _Écrit en_ -1875[123] 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: - - ‘J’ai naguère habité le meilleur des châteaux - Dans le plus fin pays d’eau vive et de coteaux: - Quatre tours s’élevaient sur le front d’autant d’ailes, - Et j’ai longtemps, longtemps habité l’une d’elles... - Une chambre bien close, une table, une chaise, - Un lit strict où l’on pût dormir juste à son aise,... - Tel fut mon lot durant les longs mois là passés... - ...J’étais heureux avec ma vie, - Reconnaissant de biens que nul, certes, n’envie.’ - -And in the poem _Un Conte_ he says: - - ...’ce grand pécheur eut des conduites - Folles à ce point d’en devenir trop maladroites, - Si bien que les tribunaux s’en mirent--et les suites! - Et le voyez-vous dans la plus étroite des boîtes? - - Cellules! prison humanitaires! Il faut taire - Votre horreur fadasse et ce progrès d’hypocrisie’... - -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 _Les Coquillages_, -_Fille_, and _Auburn_.[124] 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’ (_La Bonne Chanson_), but succumbs to the temptation -at the next opportunity. - -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 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[125] 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 _Sagesse_), or strikes -the dejected note which Verlaine touches in the first four sonnets of -_Sagesse_: - - ‘Hommes durs! Vie atroce et laide d’ici bas! - Ah! que du moins, loin des baisers et des combats, - Quelque chose demeure un peu sur la montagne, - - ‘Quelque chose du cœur enfantin et subtil, - Bonté, respect! car qu’est-ce qui nous accompagne, - Et vraiment quand la mort viendra que reste-t-il?... - - ‘Ferme les yeux, pauvre âme, et rentre sur-le-champ: - Une tentation des pires. Fuis l’infâme ... - Si la vieille folie était encore en route? - - ‘Ces souvenirs, va-t-il falloir les retuer? - Un assaut furieux, le suprême, sans doute! - O va prier contre l’orage, va prier!... - - ‘C’est vers le Moyen-Age énorme et delicat - Qu’il faudrait que mon cœur en panne naviguât, - Loin de nos jours d’esprit charnel et de chair triste ... - - ‘Et là que j’eusse part... - ...à la chose vitale, - Et que je fusse un saint, actes bons, pensers droits, - - ‘Haute théologie et solide morale, - Guidé par la folie unique de la Croix - Sur tes ailes de pierre, ô folle Cathédrale!’ - -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.[126] - - ‘O mon Dieu, vous m’avez blessé d’amour, - Et la blessure est encore vibrante, - O mon Dieu, vous m’avez blessé d’amour. - - ‘O mon Dieu, votre crainte m’a frappé, - Et la brûlure est encore là qui tonne - O mon Dieu, votre crainte m’a frappé. - -(Observe the mode of expression and the constant repetitions.) - - ‘O mon Dieu, j’ai connu que tout est vil, - Et votre gloire en moi s’est installée, - O mon Dieu, j’ai connu que tout est vil. - - ‘Noyez mon âme aux flots de votre vin, - Fondez ma vie au pain de votre table, - Noyez mon âme aux flots de votre vin. - - ‘Voici mon sang que je n’ai pas versé, - Voici ma chair indignée de souffrance, - Voici mon sang que je n’ai pas versé.’ - -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: - - ‘Vous connaissez tout cela, tout cela, - Et que je suis plus pauvre que personne, - Vous connaissez tout cela, tout cela, - Mais ce que j’ai, mon Dieu, je vous le donne.’ - -He invokes the Virgin Mary as follows: - - ‘Je ne veux plus aimer que ma mère Marie. - Tous les autres amours sont de commandement, - Nécessaires qu’ils sont, ma mère seulement - Pourra les allumer aux cœurs qui l’ont chérie. - - ‘C’est pour Elle qu’il faut chérir mes ennemis, - C’est pour Elle que j’ai voué ce sacrifice, - Et la douceur de cœur et le zèle au service. - Comme je la priais, Elle les a permis. - - ‘Et comme j’étais faible et bien méchant encore, - Aux mains lâches, les yeux éblouis des chemins, - Elle baissa mes yeux et me joignit les mains, - Et m’enseigna les mots par lesquels on adore.’ - -The accents here uttered are well known to the clinics of psychiatry. -We may compare them to the picture which Legrain[127] 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. - -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,[128] ‘alternately devout and atheistical, orthodox and -sacrilegious.’ These he certainly is. But why? Simply because he is -a _circulaire_. This not very happy expression, invented by French -psychiatry, denotes that form 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 _circulaires_ belong to the worst -species of the degenerate. ‘They are drunkards, obscene, vicious, and -thievish.’[129] 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 _circulaires_ 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 (_Grotesques_): - - ‘Leur jambes pour toutes montures, - Pour tous biens l’or de leurs regards, - Par le chemin des aventures - Ils vont haillonneux et hagards. - - ‘Le sage, indigné, les harangue; - Le sot plaint ces fous hasardeux; - Les enfants leur tirent la langue - Et les filles se moquent d’eux.’ - -We find in every lunatic and imbecile the conviction that the rational -minds who discern and judge him are ‘blockheads.’ - - ‘... Dans leurs prunelles - Rit et pleure--fastidieux-- - L’amour des choses éternelles, - Des vieux morts et des anciens dieux! - - ‘Donc, allez, vagabonds sans trêves, - Errez, funestes et maudits, - Le long des gouffres et des grèves, - Sous l’œil fermé des paradis! - - ‘La nature à l’homme s’allie - Pour châtier comme il le faut - L’orgueilleuse mélancolie - Qui vous fait marcher le front haut.’ - -In another poem (_Autre_) he calls to his chosen mates: - - ‘Allons, frères, bons vieux voleurs, - Doux vagabonds - Filous en fleur - Mes chers, mes bons, - - ‘Fumons philosophiquement, - Promenons nous - Paisiblement: - Rien faire est doux.’ - -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: - - ‘Roi, le seul vrai Roi de ce siècle, salut, Sire, - Qui voulûtes mourir vengeant votre raison - Des choses de la politique, et du délire - De cette Science intruse dans la maison, - - ‘De cette Science assassin de l’Oraison - Et du Chant et de l’Art et de toute la Lyre, - Et simplement et plein d’orgueil et floraison - Tuâtes en mourant, salut, Roi, bravo, Sire! - - ‘Vous fûtes un poète, un soldat, le seul Roi - De ce siècle ... - Et le martyr de la Raison selon la Foi....’ - -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 _rabâchage_ (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 _Crépuscule -du soir mystique_ the lines, ‘Le souvenir avec le crépuscule,’ and -‘Dahlia, lys, tulipe et renoncules,’ are twice repeated without any -internal necessity. In the poem _Promenade sentimentale_ the adjective -_blême_ (wan) pursues the poet in the manner of an obsession or -‘onomatomania,’ and he applies it to water-lilies and waves (‘wan -waves’). The _Nuit du Walpurgis classique_ begins thus: - - ‘Un rythmique sabbat, rythmique, extrêmement - Rythmique.’... - -In the _Sérénade_ the first two lines are repeated _verbatim_ as the -fourth and eighth. Similarly in _Ariettes oubliées_, VIII.: - - ‘Dans l’interminable - Ennui de la plaine, - La neige incertaine - Luit comme du sable. - - ‘Le ciel est de cuivre, - Sans lueur aucune. - On croirait voir vivre - Et mourir la lune. - - ‘Comme des nuées - Flottent gris les chênes - Des forêts prochaines - Parmi les buées. - - ‘Le ciel est de cuivre, - Sans lueur aucune. - On croirait voir vivre - Et mourir la lune. - - ‘Corneille poussive, - Et vous, les loups maigres, - Par ces bises aigres - Quoi donc vous arrive? - - ‘Dans l’interminable - Ennui de la plaine, - La neige incertaine - Luit comme du sable.’ - -The _Chevaux de bois_ begins thus: - - ‘Tournez, tournez, bons chevaux de bois, - Tournez cent tours, tournez mille tours, - Tournez souvent et tournez toujours, - Tournez, tournez au son des hautbois.’ - -In a truly charming piece in _Sagesse_ he says: - - ‘Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit, - Si bleu, si calme! - Un arbre, par dessus le toit - Berce sa palme. - - ‘La cloche, dans le ciel qu’on voit, - Doucement tinte. - Un oiseau, sur l’arbre qu’on voit, - Chante sa plainte.’ - -In the passage in _Amour_, ‘Les fleurs des champs, les fleurs -innombrables des champs ... les fleurs des gens,’ ‘champs’ and ‘gens’ -sound somewhat alike. Here the imbecile repetition of similar sounds -suggests a senseless pun, to the poet, and as for this stanza in -_Pierrot gamin_: - - ‘Ce n’est pas Pierrot en herbe - Non plus que Pierrot en gerbe, - C’est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot. - Pierrot gamin, Pierrot gosse, - Le cerneau hors de la cosse, - C’est Pierrot, Pierrot, Pierrot!’ - -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 _Mains_ point to a complete ideational -standstill, to mechanical mumbling: - - ‘Ah! si ce sont des mains de rêve, - Tant mieux, ou tant pis, ou tant mieux.’[130] - -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,’[131] 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). - -Verlaine has a clear consciousness of the vagueness of his thoughts, -and in a very remarkable poem from the psychological point of view, -_Art poétique_, in which he attempts to give a theory of his lyric -creation, he raises nebulosity to the dignity of a fundamental method: - - ‘De la musique avant toute chose - Et pour cela préfère l’Impair - Plus vague et plus soluble dans l’air, - Sans rien en lui qui pèse ou qui pose.’ - -The two verbs ‘pèse’ and ‘pose’ are juxtaposed merely on account of -their similarity of sound. - - ‘Il faut aussi que tu n’ailles point - Choisir les mots sans quelque méprise; - Rien de plus cher que la chanson grise - Où l’Indécis au Précis se joint. - - ‘C’est des beaux yeux derrière des voiles, - C’est le grand jour tremblant de midi, - C’est par un ciel d’automne attiédi, - Le bleu fouillis des claires étoiles! - - ‘Car nous voulons la Nuance encor, - Pas la Couleur, rien que la nuance! - Oh! la nuance seule fiance - Le rêve au rêve et la flûte au cor!’ - -(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.) - - ‘Fuis du plus loin la Pointe assassine, - L’esprit cruel et le Rire impur, - Qui font pleurer les yeux de l’Azur, - Et tout cet ail de basse cuisine!’ - -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 _Chanson d’Automne_: - - ‘Les sanglots longs - Des violons - De l’automne - Blessent mon cœur - D’une langueur - Monotone. - - ‘Tout suffocant - Et blême, quand - Sonne l’heure, - ‘Je me souviens - Des jours anciens, - Et je pleure. - - ‘Et je m’en vais - Au vent mauvais - Qui m’emporte - Deçà, delà, - Pareil à la - Feuille morte.’ - -Even if literally translated, there remains something of the melancholy -magic of the lines, which in French are richly rhythmical and full of -music. _Avant que tu ne t’en ailles_ (p. 99) and _Il pleure dans mon -cœur_ (p. 116) may also be called pearls among French lyrics. - -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 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 -_Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh_, _Der Fischer_, or _Freudvoll und -leidvoll_, 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. - -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 _circulaire_ at large, whom only ignorant judges -could have condemned for his epileptoid crimes. - -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 of -these statements. M. Charles Morice[132] 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.’ - -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,[133] ‘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.’[134] - -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 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 _Les Dieux de la Grèce_ and _L’après-midi d’un Faune_, 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 _Emilia Galotti_, 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. - -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 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.’[135] After -Darwin, who was the first to point out the apish character of this -peculiarity, Hartmann,[136] Frigerio,[137] and Lombroso,[138] 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. - -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 _in toto_ three -attenuated collections of verses, of hardly one hundred to one hundred -and twenty pages, bearing the titles, _Les Syrtes_, _Les Cantilènes_, -and _Le Pélerin passionné_. 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. - -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 (_romanisme_). -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 _Pélerin passionné_ in 1891 was celebrated by -the Symbolists as an event which was to be the beginning of a new era -in 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.[139] ‘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,[140] ‘we have all been laughing at him. -It is that which has made him famous.’ René Ghil calls his _Pélerin -passionné_ ‘doggerel written by a pedant,’ and Gustav Kahn[141] 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. - -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 _Pélerin passionné_, in order -that the reader may form an idea of the softness of brain which -displays itself in these verses. - -The poem Agnes[142] begins thus: - - ‘Il y avait des arcs où passaient des escortes - Avec des bannières de deuil et du fer - Lacé (?) des potentats de toutes sortes - --Il y avait--dans la cité au bord de la mer. - Les places étaient noires, et bien pavées, et les portes, - Du côté de l’est et de l’ouest, hautes; et comme en hiver - La forêt, dépérissaient les salles de palais, et les porches, - Et les colonnades de belvéder. - C’était (tu dois bien t’en souvenir) c’était aux plus beaux jours de - ton adolescence. - - ‘Dans la cité au bord de la mer, la cape et la dague lourdes - De pierres jaunes, et sur ton chapeau des plumes de perroquets, - Tu t’en venais, devisant telles bourdes, - Tu t’en venais entre tes deux laquais - Si bouffis et tant sots--en verité, des happelourdes!-- - Dans la cité au bord de la mer tu t’en venais et tu vaguais - Parmi de grands vieillards qui travaillaient aux felouques, - Le long des môles et des quais. - C’était (tu dois bien t’en souvenir) c’était aux plus beaux jours de - ton adolescence. - -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 (_Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_), -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. - -Two _Chansons_[143] run thus: - - ‘Les courlis dans les roseaux! - (Faut-il que je vous en parle, - Des courlis dans les roseaux?) - O vous joli’ Fée des eaux. - - ‘Le porcher et les pourceaux! - (Faut-il que je vous en parle, - Du porcher et des pourceaux?) - O vous joli’ Fée des eaux. - - ‘Mon cœur pris en vos réseaux! - (Faut-il que je vous en parle, - De mon cœur en vos réseaux?) - O vous joli’ Fée des eaux. - - ‘On a marché sur les fleurs au bord de la route, - Et le vent d’automne les secoue si fort, en outre. - - ‘La malle-poste a renversé la vieille croix au bord de la route; - Elle était vraiment si pourrie, en outre. - - ‘L’idiot (tu sais) est mort au bord de la route, - Et personne ne le pleurera, en outre.’ - -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! - -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[144] of this kind, and we have done with him: - - ‘J’ai tellement soif, ô mon amour, de ta bouche, - Que j’y boirais en baisers le cours detourné - Du Strymon, l’Araxe et le Tanaïs farouche; - Et les cent méandres qui arrosent Pitané, - Et l’Hermus qui prend sa source où le soleil se couche, - Et toutes les claires fontaines dont abonde Gaza, - Sans que ma soif s’en apaisât.’ - -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 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,’[145] cries: ‘Oh, how daily -[_quotidienne_] is life!’ and in his poem _Pan et la Syrinx_ we come -upon lines like the following: - - ‘O Syrinx! voyez et comprenez la Terre et la merveille de cette - matinée et la circulation de la vie. - Oh, vous là! et moi, ici! Oh vous! Oh, moi! Tout est dans Tout!’[146] - -Gustav Kahn, one of the æstheticists and philosophers of Symbolism, -says in his _Nuit sur la Lande_: ‘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.’ - -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. - -Charles Vignier, ‘the beloved disciple of Verlaine,’ says to his -mistress: - - ‘Là-bas c’est trop loin, - Pauvre libellule, - Reste dans ton coin - Et prends des pilules... - - ‘Sois Edmond About - Et d’humeur coulante, - Sois un marabout - Du Jardin des Plantes.’ - -Another of his poems, _Une Coupe de Thulé_, runs thus: - - ‘Dans une coupe de Thulé - Où vient pâlir l’attrait de l’heure, - Dort le sénile et dolent leurre - De l’ultime rêve adulé. - - ‘Mais des cheveux d’argent filé - Font un voile à celle qui pleure, - Dans une coupe de Thulé - Où s’est éteint l’attrait de l’heure. - - ‘Et l’on ne sait quel jubilé - Célèbre une harpe mineure - Que le hautain fantôme effleure - D’un lucide doigt fuselé!... - Dans une coupe de Thulé!’ - -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 [_lit._ 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. - -Louis Dumur addresses the Neva in the following manner: - - ‘Puissante, magnifique, illustre, grave, noble reine! - O Tsaristsa [_sic!_] de glace et de fastes Souveraine! - Matrone hiératique et solennelle et vénérée!... - Toi qui me forces à rêver, toi qui me deconcertes, - Et toi surtout que j’aime, Émail, Beauté, Poème, Femme. - Néva! j’évoque ton spectacle et l’hymne de ton âme!’ - -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: - - ‘Ouïs! ouïs aux nues haut et nues où - Tirent-ils d’aile immense qui vire ... - et quand vide - et vers les grands pétales dans l’air plus aride-- - - ‘(Et en le lourd venir grandi lent stridule, et - Titille qui n’alentisse d’air qui dure, et! - Grandie, erratile et multiple d’éveils, stride - Mixte, plainte et splendeur! la plénitude aride) - - ‘et vers les grands pétales d’agitations - Lors évanouissait un vol ardent qui stride.... - - ‘(des saltigrades doux n’iront plus vers les mers....)’ - -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 _Les Syrtes_. -He might in truth just as well call it the _North Pole_, or _The -Marmot_, or _Abd-el-Kader_, since these have just as much connection -with the poems in the little volume as _Syrtes_; 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, _Quand -les Violons sont partis_; Louis Dumur, _Lassitudes_; Gustave Khan, -_Les Palais nomades_; Maurice du Plessis, _La Peau de Marsyas_; Ernest -Raynaud, _Chairs profanes_ and _Le Signe_; Henri de Régnier, _Sites -et Episodes_; Arthur Rimbaud, _Les Illuminations_; Albert Saint Paul, -_L’Echarpe d’Iris_; Viélé-Griffin, _Ancæus_; and Charles Vignier, -_Centon_. - -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, _La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure_, 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 _Rembrandt as Educator_, 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 _Littérature des Fous_, nor Philomnestes (Gustave -Brunet) in his _Fous Littéraires_, quotes examples of more complete -mental dislocation than are visible in every page of this book. Notice -the following confession of faith by Morice:[147] ‘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, THE 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 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. - -And this book, of which the passages we have cited give a sufficiently -correct idea, was, in France (just as _Rembrandt as Educator_ 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? - -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. - -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 _ad libitum_, 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 -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 _Prometheus_, _Mahomet’s Gesang_, _Harzreise im -Winter_, in Heine’s _Nordsee Cyklus_, 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. - -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 _Les Gammes_ (The Scales), -by Stuart Merrill; _Les Cantilènes_, by Jean Moréas; _Cloches dans la -Nuit_, by Adolphe Retté; _Romances sans Paroles_, 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 _rôle_ 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 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 _Iphigenie_ -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. - -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, _Les Voyelles_ -(Vowels), of which the first line runs thus: - - ‘A black, e white, i red, u green, o blue.’ - -Morice declares[148] 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 _Traité du -Verbe_ 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 _Derniers Songes_, 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.’ - -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,[149] -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 _pseudo-photesthésie_) ‘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 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 -_Farbenlehre_) this instrument is scarlet. Rimbaud calls the letter ‘a’ -black. Persons whom Suarez mentions heard this vowel as blue, and so on. - -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 _Pholas -dactylus_, 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 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[150] 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. - -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. - -Moreover, it is an old clinical observation that mental decay is -accompanied by colour mysticism. One of Legrain’s[151] 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[152] cites ‘eccentric 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. - -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. - -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’ (_le cas rare et unique_) deserves -the attention of the poet, _i.e._, the case which is significant of -nothing beyond itself, and consequently the opposite of a symbol.[153] - -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,[154] 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.’ - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -TOLSTOISM. - - -COUNT LEO TOLSTOI 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 we, then, can call Tolstoism is no æsthetic theory, but -rather a conception of life. - -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. - -Tolstoi is at once a poet and a philosopher, the latter in the widest -sense--_i.e._, 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 _War -and Peace_, M. de Vogüé[155] 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.’ - -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 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,[156] a mystically blurred, scarcely -recognisable, leading idea,[157] a deep and strong emotion.[158] This -is also distinctly felt by M. de Vogüé, but again without his being -able to explain it. He says:[159] ‘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.’ - -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 _émotif_ 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. - -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 _Peace and War_, nor _Anna Karenina_, -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 -_Biographical Dictionary of Authors of the Present Time_: ‘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. - -In 1889 his _Kreutzer Sonata_ 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 _Kreutzer Sonata_ stands, as a poetic creation, not so high -as most of his older works. A fame which was not gained by _War and -Peace_, _The Cossacks_, _Anna Karenina_, etc., nor, indeed, until long -after the appearance of these rich creations, but came at one stroke -through the _Kreutzer Sonata_, 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. - -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. - -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 _My Confession_, -_My Faith_, _A Short Exposition of the Gospel_, and _About my Life_. -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. - -How he arrived at these results is related in _My Confessions_: ‘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 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.’ - -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. - -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.e._, 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. - -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 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 -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. - -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. - -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 _My Confessions_, 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 _saltum_ 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 -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. - -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,[160] ‘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.’[161] - -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 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.’ - -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.’ - -One can read for one’s self in his _Short Exposition_ 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 _Physiognomische Fragmente_, 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:[162] ‘Men -imagine 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[163] 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. - -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[164] ‘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 _My -Religion_ 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.’ - -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 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[165] 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:[166] ‘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.’ - -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. - -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 which he need be thanked and praised.... -Only those live who do good’ (_Short Exposition of the Gospel_). ‘Not -is alms-giving effectual, but brotherly sharing. Whoever has two -cloaks should give one to him who has none’ (_What ought one to Do?_). -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. - -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 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. - -In the tale _Albert_[167] 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.’ - -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, 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? - -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, _From the -Diary of the Prince Nechljudow, Lucerne_, 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. - -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.’ - -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. 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. - -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. - -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 -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. - -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. - -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 _Kreutzer Sonata_ is the most complete, -and at the same time most celebrated, embodiment of these propositions. -Pozdnyscheff, the murderer from motives of jealousy, says:[168] ‘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.’ - -‘How do you mean--to the vice? You are speaking of one of the most -natural things--of an instinct.’ - -‘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.’ - -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.’ - -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 _Kreutzer -Sonata_ theory, and he makes his mouthpiece, Pozdnyscheff, declare[169] -that he ‘was looked upon as cracked.’ But in the _Short Exposition_, -where Tolstoi speaks in his own name, he develops, if with somewhat -more reserve, the same philosophy.[170] 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 _Family Happiness_[171] 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. - -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. - -For Tolstoi the great enemy is science. In _My Confession_ 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 occupies itself with idle -and vain things, such as the inquiries into protoplasm and spectrum -analysis, but has never yet thought of anything useful, _e.g._, ‘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. - -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 -_The Fruits of Enlightenment_. 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. - -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 _Fruits of -Enlightenment_. The degenerate Flaubert and the degenerate Tolstoi meet -here in the same frenzy. - -The way to happiness is, according to Tolstoi, the turning away from -science, the renunciation of reason, and the return to 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’ (_What ought one to Do?_). - -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? - -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 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. - -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. - -Rod[172] 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.’ - -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 Christian, Ascetic, Rousseauistic and Communistic, of Leo -Tolstoi. - -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,[173] ‘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[174] 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. - -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:[175] ‘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 _Confession_ he says explicitly: ‘I felt -that I was not quite mentally sound.’[176] His feeling was correct. He -was suffering from a mania of brooding doubt, observable in many of -the ‘higher degenerates.’ Professor Kowalewski[177] explains the mania -of doubt straight away as exclusively a psychosis of degeneration. -Griesinger[178] 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[179] 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. - -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--_e.g._, Sollier[180]--as a special stigma -of degeneration. It has appeared very strongly in Tolstoi at certain -times. ‘In the struggles for independence,’ relates Löwenfeld,[181] -‘Tolstoi frequently overstepped the limits of good taste, while he -combated tradition only because it was tradition. 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.’ - -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[182] says. We shall find it again in many degenerate -subjects. ‘In contrast to the selfish imbecile,’ Legrain[183] 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. - -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 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.[184] - -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 _Kreutzer Sonata_ -and in _Family Happiness_ the normal man never experiences towards his -wife, even if he has ceased to love her in the natural sense of the -word. - -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 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[185] 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 _Kreutzer Sonata_, 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. - -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. - -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. - -In England it was Tolstoi’s sexual morality that excited the 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 -_Kreutzer Sonata_ has, therefore, become the book of devotion of all -the spinsters of England. - -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. - -In Germany, on the whole, but little enthusiasm is evinced for the -abstinence-morality of the _Kreutzer Sonata_, and the intellectual -reaction of _My Confession_, _My Religion_, and _Fruits of -Enlightenment_. 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 _Short -Exposition of the Gospel_, 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. - -By the special _timbre_ 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 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. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE RICHARD WAGNER CULT. - - -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. - -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 his being, the -characteristic emotionalism of a colour at once erotic and religiously -enthusiastic. - -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 _Bayreuther Blätter_ 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. - -We will take a closer view of the graphomaniac Wagner. His _Collected -Writings and Poems_ 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 _The Art-work of the Future_.[186] 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. _The Opera and the Drama_, _Judaism in Music_, -_On the State and Religion_, _The Vocation of the Opera_, _Religion -and Art_, are nothing more than amplifications of single passages of -_The Art-work of the Future_. 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 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. - -The fundamental thought of the _Art-work of the Future_ 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. - -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 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. - -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 -_Divina Commedia_ need no landscape-painting as a frame and background; -Michael Angelo’s _Moses_ would hardly produce a deeper impression -surrounded by dancers and singers; and the _Pastoral Symphony_ 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,[187] ‘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 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[188] 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. - -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,[189] 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.e._, 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. - -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 _Art-work of the Future_ 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. - -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 -_sound_, 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.’ - -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 _accompaniment_ -of the moral deed, not as the _deed itself_; it can place feelings -and dispositions side by side, not develop in necessary sequence one -disposition from another; it is lacking in _moral will_’ [!]. - -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.’ - -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. - -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 _the real, undisfigured human being_ -who stands exhorting at the exit of their dreams. _But it is exactly -this very human being whom we must now place in the foreground._’ 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. - -In one passage (p. 206) he says: ‘Who, therefore, will be _the artist -of the future_? Unquestionably the poet. But _who_ will be the poet? -Incontestably the _interpreter_. Again, however, _who_ will be the -interpreter? Necessarily the _association of all artists_.’ 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, _What is -German?_[190]: ‘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 theatrical costume they gesticulate and declaim before their -touched and admiring relatives and acquaintances. Nay, old burgesses, -bald and bulky, abandoned their sacred _skat_, 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 _Pyramus -and Thisbe_, 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. - -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. - -Wagner is a declared anarchist. He distinctly develops the teaching -of this faction in the _Art-work of the Future_ (p. 217): ‘_All_ men -have but _one_ common _need_ ... the need of _living_ and _being -happy_. Herein lies the natural bond between all men.... It is only -the special needs which, according to time, place, and 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.’[191] 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 _Pharaohs_ 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.’ - -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 _Art-work -of the Future_ (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: _Lieben und Leben, Freuen und -Freien_!) 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 maidens, who have arisen before his mind’s eye, -following with lascivious longing the outline of their forms and their -seductive movements. - -The shameless sensuality which prevails in his dramatic poems has -impressed all his critics. Hanslick[192] speaks of the ‘bestial -sensuality’ in _Rheingold_, and says of _Siegfried_: ‘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 _Walküre_,[193] 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 _Tristan und Isolde_, -the entire second act of _Parsifal_, 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. - -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 beasts.[194] Wagner -suffered from ‘erotic madness,’ which leads coarse natures to murder -for lust, and inspires ‘higher degenerates’ with works like _Die -Walküre_, _Siegfried_, and _Tristan und Isolde_. - -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.[195] 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. - -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 _Art-work of the -Future_--p. 56: ‘Thus it [the science of music] acquires through sound, -which has become speech ... its most _exalted satisfaction_, and at -the same time its most _satisfying exaltation_,’ p. 91: ‘Like a second -Prometheus, who from _Thon_ (clay) formed men, Beethoven had striven to -form them from _Ton_ (music). Not from clay or music (_Thon_ or _Ton_), -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 _Tichten_ for _Dichten_ (to compose poetry), we should -thus obtain, in the united names of the three primitive human arts, -_Tanz_-, _Ton_-, and _Tichtkunst_ (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 _Tichtkunst_ (poetry), for only as its last member would -_Tichtkunst_ transform the alliteration into rhyme,’ etc. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 _a_, _c_, _e_, 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 _Art-work of the Future_) 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[196] 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 -_Tannhäuser_)? Or that even the Wandering Jew will be redeemed and -become sedentary when he marries (the case of _The Flying Dutchman_)? -Or that depraved old wantons prefer to be redeemed by chaste youths -(the case of _Kundry_)? Or that beauteous maidens like best to be -redeemed by a knight who is a Wagnerian (the case in _Meistersinger_)? -Or that even married women like to be redeemed by a knight (the case of -_Isolde_)? 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 _Niebelungen_)? How particularly admirable -is this last profundity! Do you understand it? As for me, defend me -from understanding it.’ - -The work of Wagner which may be truly termed ‘the opera of redemption’ -is _Parsifal_. Here we may catch Wagner’s mind in its most nonsensical -vagaries. In _Parsifal_ 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. - -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 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. - -We may mention only one of the other absurd details of the _Parsifal_. -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 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 _Parsifal_, 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. - -As Christology inspired Wagner with the figures of _Parsifal_, so -did the Eucharist inspire him with the most effective scene of the -piece--the love-feast of the Grail. It is the _mise-en-scène_ 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 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 _Confiteor_. 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 _Biblia -Pauperum_, 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. - -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 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. - -In one of his first compositions, as in his last, in _Tannhäuser_ as in -_Parsifal_, 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 _Tannhäuser_ 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 _Parsifal_ 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. - -In the _Walküre_ 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 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 _Walküre_. 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 _Walküre_ 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. - -_Siegfried_, _Götterdämmerung_, _Tristan und Isolde_ are exact -repetitions of the essential content of the _Walküre_. 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. _Tristan und Isolde_ 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 _Tristan und Isolde_; 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 _Götterdämmerung_. - -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 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 _Walküre_, _Götterdämmerung_, _Tristan und -Isolde_). 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 _De -Profundis_ of the timid voluptuary, who feels the sting of the flesh, -and implores aid to protect him from himself. - -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 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 -_Meistersinger_, 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. _Tannhäuser_, -the _Niebelungen Tetralogy_, _Tristan und Isolde_, _Parsifal_, and -_Lohengrin_, are constructed entirely from materials supplied him by -ancient literature. _Rienzi_ he derives from written history, and the -_Fliegender Holländer_ 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 _Fliegender Holländer_; 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 -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. - -Healthy geniuses have also, no doubt, allied themselves with popular -tradition or history, like Goethe in _Faust_ and _Tasso_. 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 -_Faust_ 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 _Faust_. 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 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. - -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. - -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, _Der Fall Wagner_[197]) 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 _Götterdämmerung_, 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 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. - -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. - -We know, moreover, that high musical talent is compatible with a very -advanced state of degeneration--nay, even with pronounced delusion, -illusion, and idiocy. Sollier[198] 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[199] -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.’ - -Wagner the musician encounters his most powerful attacks from musicians -themselves. He himself bears witness to it:[200] ‘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 _a -posteriori_ 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[201] 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 _Der Fall -Wagner_) says against Wagner as a musician is unimportant, since the -brochure of abjuration is quite as insanely delirious as the brochure -of deification (_Wagner in Bayreuth_) written twelve years before. - -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. - -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 _leit-motif_ and of the unending -melody. Everyone now undoubtedly knows what Wagner understood by -the former. The expression has passed into all civilized languages. -The _leit-motif_, 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 _leit-motif_ Wagner transforms -music into dry speech. The orchestration, leaping from _leit-motif_ -to _leit-motif_, 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 -_leit-motifs_ 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 _leit-motifs_ 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. - -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? - -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 _volapük_, and demands -that his hearers should learn it. No admission without hard work! Those -who have not assimilated the vocabulary of the Wagnerian _volapük_ -cannot understand his operas. It is useless to go to the trouble of a -journey to Bayreuth if one cannot talk fluently in _leit-motifs_. And -how pitiable after all is the result of this delirious effort! H. von -Wolzogen, the writer of the _Thematische Leitfaden_ (Thematic Guide) -to the Niebelungen Tetralogy, finds in all these four prodigious works -only ninety _leit-motifs_. 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 -_leit-motif_ language. The history of art knows no more astounding -aberration than this _leit-motif_ 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 _leit-motifs_ coldly -pasted together, as if by the labour of a conscientious registrar. - -With the ‘unending melody,’ the second of Wagner’s tenets, it is -the same as with the _leit-motif_. 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.e._, 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. - -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 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. - -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.e._, 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 -_The Origin and Function of Music_,[202] 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 _four_ strings, was played in -_unison_ 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.’ - -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. - -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 _Tannhäuser_, _Lohengrin_, _Fliegende Höllander_). -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 _a posteriori_ 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 -_leit-motif_.[203] Experiencing a great difficulty, especially with -advancing age, in creating true melodies, he set up the postulate of -the unending melody. - -All the other crotchets of his musical theory also find their -explanation in this clear consciousness of definite incompetency. In -the _Art-work of the Future_ 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 _epigoni_ 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.’ - -Here Wagner simply makes a virtue of his necessity, and of 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. - -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 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.e._, 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. - -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[204] that ‘younger -composers were most irrationally putting themselves to trouble in -imitating him.’ - -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 _leit-motif_, 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 -of Wagner must use his rich musical palette with caution if they are -not to be led astray. - -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[205] -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’ (_Anastatica asteriscus_), 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. - -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 _Ausgewählte Pariser Briefe_; 2^{te} 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--_e.g._, -of that A. Gleizès expressly cited by Lombroso[206] as a lunatic, but -whom Wagner praises in most exuberant terms;[207] 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 _Poetische Laut-Symbolik_ might have been written -by the most exquisite of French ‘Symbolists’ or ‘Instrumentists’;[208] -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. - -Although not so widespread as in France and England, this 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. - -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, _e.g._, 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 -‘_Reizend!_’ (charming), and ‘_Entzückend!_’ (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 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. - -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 _persécuté persécuteur_ of the French mental therapeutics).[209] -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. - -Wagner’s hysteria assumed the collective form of German hysteria. With -a slight modification of Terence’s _Homo sum_, 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.[210] He has -an inimitable mastery of Chauvinistic phraseology.[211] 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 poems of Provence and Northern -France, and from the Northern saga, who (with the exception of -_Tannhäuser_ and the _Meistersinger_) 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.’[212] He brandishes his knightly sword against the physiologists -who experiment on animals.[213] 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. - -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 _menu_, 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. - -I do not, however, go so far as to assert that _skat_[214] 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 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 _leit-motif_--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. - -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 ‘_Sursum_--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.e._, ambiguous, shadowy borderland presentations, -as a music which is itself born of nebulous adumbrations of thought. - -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. - -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 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, _nolens volens_, 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 _Lohengrin_ 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. - -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. - -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 _Il Trovatore_, 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 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. - -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. _Parsifal_ 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 _Parsifal_ has become -the religious act of all those who wish to receive the Communion in -musical form. - -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 _Bayreuther Blätter_, the Parisian -_Revue Wagnérienne_, are lasting monuments by which posterity will be -able to measure the whole breadth and depth of the degeneration and -hysteria of the age. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -PARODIES OF MYSTICISM. - - -THE 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. - -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. - -In Germany, too, spiritualism has found an entrance, although, on the -whole, it has not gained much ground. In the large towns there may be -some small spiritualist bodies. The English expression _trance_ has -become so familiar to some deranged persons that they have adopted -it in German as _trans_, 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’ (_Schicksalstragödien_), 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 _Hermannsschlacht_, and in the -_Seer of Prevorst_ 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. - -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 _n_ 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 _n_ 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 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. - -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 (_La -Clé des Songes_) 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, _L’Initiation_, 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, _Annales des Sciences Psychiques_, 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.’ - -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’ _Les États profonds de -l’Hypnose_, and C. A. de Bodisco’s _Traits de Lumière_, or ‘physical -researches dedicated to unbelievers and egoists.’ This has brought -many observers to the idea that the 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? - -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. - -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 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,[215] ‘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,[216] and it was not first -called forth by the observations of Parisian and Nancy hypnologists. - -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 _Traité méthodique de Science occulte_, an enormous large-octavo -volume of 1,050 pages, with 400 illustrations, which introduces the -reader to the cabala, magic, necromancy and 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, _Au -Seuil du Mystère and Le Serpent de la Genèse_, 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, _Isis dévoilée, ou l’Egyptologie sacrée_, 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. _Les Mages et le Secret magique_ is the name of the -modest pamphlet in which he initiates us into the profoundest magic -arts of the Chaldean Mobeds, or Knights Templars. - -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. - -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 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 (_mandements_). 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’ (_seigneurie_). The introduction is: ‘Health, light -and victory in Jesus Christ, in the only God, and in Peter, the only -king’; or ‘_Ad Rosam per Crucem, ad Crucem per Rosam, in eâ, in eis -gemmatus resurgam_.’ This is at the same time the heraldic motto of -the Order of the Rosy Cross. At the conclusion is usually, ‘_Amen. Non -nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nominis tui gloriæ solæ._’ He writes the -name of his order, with a cross inserted in the middle, thus: ‘_Rose_ -✠ _Croix._’ His novels he calls ‘_éthopées_,’ himself as their author -‘_éthopoète_,’ his dramas ‘_wagneries_,’ their table of contents -‘_éumolpées_.’ - -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, _Comment -on devient Mage_.[217] 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 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 _élenctique_ (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. - -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.’ - -Of the further contents of this mighty volume I think no examples need -be given. They correspond exactly with the headings of these chapters. - -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 -_Schéma de Concordance_,[218] which claims to give a synopsis of their -leading ideas. Let us hear how he explains his works: - -‘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. - -‘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. - -I have taken pains to reproduce faithfully all M. Péladan’s whimsical -methods of expression. That his _Concordance_ 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 _Tristan_, and especially from _Parsifal_. 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 _Parsifal_. -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.’ - -The mental life of Péladan permits us to follow, in an extremely -well-marked instance, the ways of mystic thought. He 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. - -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 _rôle_ 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. - -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 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. - -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. - -In his poems, which with characteristic self-knowledge he entitles -_Les Névroses_[219] (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. - -He feels in himself criminal impulses (_Le Fantôme du Crime_): - -‘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....’ - -The spectacle of death and corruption has a strong attraction for him. -He delights in putrefaction and revels in disease. - -‘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....’ (_L’Amante macabre_). - - ‘Mademoiselle Squelette! - Je la surnommais ainsi: - Elle était si maigrelette! - - ‘Crachant une gouttelette - De sang très peu cramoisi... - Elle était si maigrelette!... - - ‘Sa phthisie étant complète;... - Sa figure verdelette... - Un soir, à l’espagnolette - Elle vint se pendre ici. - - ‘Horreur! une cordelette - Décapitait sans merci - Mademoiselle Squelette: - Elle était si maigrelette!’ - - _Mademoiselle Squelette._ - -‘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....’ (_La Morte embaumée_). - -‘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....’ (_Le mauvais Mort_). - -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 (_Necrophilia_). - -Violent erotomaniacal excitement expresses itself in a series of -poems (_Les Luxures_), which not only celebrate the most unbridled -sensuality, but also all the aberrations of sexual psychopathy. - -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. - -‘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?” ...’ (_Le Maniaque_). - -‘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....’ (_La -Chambre_). - -‘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....’ (_La Bibliothèque_). - -‘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....’ (_La Peur_). - -I will not weary by multiplying examples, and will only quote the -titles of a few more poems: _The Living Grave_; _Troppmann’s Soliloquy_ -(a well-known eight-fold murderer); _The Crazy Hangman_; _The Monster_; -_The Madman_; _The Headache_ (_La Céphalalgie_); _The Disease_; _The -Frenzied Woman_; _Dead Eyes_; _The Abyss_; _Tears_; _Anguish_; _The -Slow Death-struggle_; _The Interment_; _The Coffin_; _The Death-knell_; -_Corruption_; _The Song of the Guillotined_, etc. - -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,[220] ‘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[221] quotes a degenerate lunatic -whose mania began ‘with feelings of fear and anguish at some fancy.’ -Professor Kowalewski[222] indicates as degrees of mental derangement in -degeneration--first, neurasthenia; secondly, impulses of ‘obsession’ -and feelings of morbid anguish. Legrand du Saulle[223] and Morel[224] -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 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. - -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,[225] of which I -will give a few examples. Here is the first of the collection--_Serres -chaudes_: - -‘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! - -‘The thoughts of a princess who is hungry; the tedium of a sailor in -the desert; a brass-band under the windows of incurables. - -‘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. - -‘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. - -‘My God! my God! when shall we have rain and snow and wind in the -hot-house?’ - -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. - -A few more examples of these fugitive thoughts exclusively under the -rule of unbridled association. Here is one entitled _Bell-glasses_ -(_Cloches de verre_): - -‘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! - -‘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 are waiting on the pond, and that -antediluvian beings are about to invade the towns. - -‘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. - -‘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.) - -‘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! - -‘Wait for the moon and the winter, among these bells, scattered at last -on the ice.’ - -Another called _Soul_ (_Ame_): - -‘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. - -‘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? - -‘Let us go lastly to the saddest: (at the last because they have -poisons). O my lips accept the kisses of one wounded! - -‘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! - -‘It is a long road from my heart to my soul! And all the sentries are -dead at their posts! - -‘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! - -‘My soul! And the sadness of it all, my soul! and the sadness of it -all!’ - -I have translated with the greatest exactness, and not omitted one -word of the three ‘poems.’ Nothing would be easier than to compose -others on these models, overtrumping even those of Maeterlinck--_e.g._, -‘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. - -Certain of his poems consist simply of assonances, linked together -without regard to sense and meaning, _e.g._, one which is entitled -_Ennui_: - -‘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.’ - -The French original reveals why these words were chosen; they contain -almost all the nasal sounds, ‘en’ or ‘an’ or ‘aon’: ‘_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_,’ etc. This is a case of that form of echolalia which is -observed not seldom among the insane. One patient says, _e.g._, ‘_Man -kann dann ran Mann wann Clan Bann Schwan Hahn_,’ 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. - -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’ (_lent_). 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 mysticism of faith. -They betray this association of ideas by this, that they frequently -use _lent_ together with _hiératique_ (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. - -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 _North Sea Songs_, -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. - -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.’[226] Mad Whitman was without doubt. -But a genius? That would be difficult to prove. He was a vagabond, -a reprobate rake, and his poems[227] 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. - -He has megalomania, and says of himself: - -‘From this hour I decree that my being be freed from all restraints and -limits. - -‘I go where I will, my own absolute and complete master. - -‘I breathe deeply in space. The east and the west are mine. - -‘Mine are the north and south. I am greater and better than I thought -myself. - -‘I did not know that so much boundless goodness was in me.... - -‘Whoever disowns me causes me no annoyance. - -‘Whoever recognises me shall be blessed, and will bless me.’ - -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: - - ‘Santa Spirita [_sic!_], breather, life, Beyond the light, lighter - than light, Beyond the flames of hell, joyous, leaping easily above - hell, Beyond Paradise, perfumed solely with mine own perfume, - Including all life on earth, touching, including God, including - Saviour and Satan, Ethereal, pervading all, for without me what were - all? what were God? Essence of forms, life of the real identities ... - Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man, I, the - general soul.’ - -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. His war-poems--the much -renowned _Drum Taps_--are chiefly remarkable for swaggering bombast and -stilted patter. - -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. - -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 -_Paramythien_ 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 _réchauffé_ 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. - -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 _The Princess Maleine_.[228] - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -Maleine has in the meantime been wandering with her nurse 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. - -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. - -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: - - NURSE. Come away, my poor lord. - - KING. Good God! good God! She is waiting now on the wharf of hell! - - NURSE. Come away! come away! - - KING. Is there anybody here that fears the curses of the dead? - - ANGUS. Ay, my lord, I do. - - KING. Well, you close their eyes, and let us be gone. - - NURSE. Ay, ay. Come hence! come hence! - - KING. 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? - - NURSE! Here, here! - - KING. You will not feel angry with me? Let us go to breakfast. Will - there be salad for breakfast? I should like a little salad. - - NURSE. Yes, yes. You shall have some, my lord. - - KING. I do not know why; I feel somewhat melancholy to-day. Good God! - good God! How unhappy the dead do look! [_Exit with_ NURSE. - - ANGUS. Another night such as this, and all our heads will have turned - white. - - [_Exeunt all save the_ NUNS, _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._ - -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. - -The piece begins in the following manner: - - _The Gardens of the Castle._ - - _Enter_ STEPHANO _and_ VANOX. - - VANOX. What o’clock is it? - - STEPHANO. Judging from the moon, it should be midnight. - - VANOX. I think ‘tis going to rain. - -Let us compare this with the first scene in _Hamlet_: - - _A platform before the Castle._ - - FRANCISCO ... BERNARDO. - - FRANCISCO. You come most carefully upon your hour. - - BERNARDO. ‘Tis now struck twelve.... - - FRANCISCO. ... ‘Tis bitter cold, and I am sick at heart, etc. - -One could, if it were worth while, trace scene for scene, word for -word, from some passage in Shakespeare. In the _Princesse Maleine_ -we find in succession the fearfully stormy night from _Julius Cæsar_ -(Act I., Scene 3); the entrance of King Lear into the palace of Albany -(Act I., Scene 4 ... ‘LEAR: Let me not stay a jot for dinner; go, get -it ready,’ etc.); the night scene in _Macbeth_, 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. - -Let us imagine a child, at the age when he is able to follow the -conversation of grown-up people, attending a performance or a reading -of _Hamlet_, _Lear_, _Macbeth_, _Romeo and Juliet_ and _Richard II._, -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 _Princesse Maleine_. -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. - -Maeterlinck’s _Princesse Maleine_ 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: - -King Marcellus in the First Act (Scene 2) endeavours to dissuade the -Princess Maleine from loving Hjalmar. - - MARCELLUS. Well, Maleine! - - MALEINE. My lord? - - MARCELLUS. Do you not understand? - - MALEINE. What, my lord? - - MARCELLUS. Will you promise me to forget Hjalmar? - - MALEINE. My lord!... - - MARCELLUS. What say you? Do you still love Hjalmar? - - MALEINE. Ay, my lord. - - MARCELLUS. 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. - - GODELIVA. My lord!... - - MARCELLUS. Be silent, you. “Ay, my lord!” and she is not yet fifteen! - Ha! it makes one long to kill them then and there.... - - GODELIVA. My lord.... - - NURSE. 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.... - - MARCELLUS. 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.... - - GODELIVA. My lord!... - - NURSE. A procuress! I a procuress! - - MARCELLUS. Will you let me speak? Begone! begone, both of you! Oh! - I know well enough you have put your heads together, and that the - season of scheming and plotting has set in; but wait awhile.... - Now, Maleine, ... you should be reasonable. Will you promise to be - reasonable? - - MALEINE. Ay, my lord. - - MARCELLUS. There! come now. Therefore you will not think any more of - this marriage?... - - MALEINE. Ay. - - MARCELLUS. Ay? You mean you will forget Prince Hjalmar? - - MALEINE. No. - - MARCELLUS. You do not yet give up Prince Hjalmar? - - MALEINE. No. - - MARCELLUS. 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? - (_She weeps._) Ha! that’s it--is’t? Begone, and we shall see about - that--begone! - -Next, the scene in the second act, where Maleine and Hjalmar meet in -the gloomy park of the castle: - - HJALMAR. ... Come! - - MALEINE. Not yet. - - HJALMAR. Uglyane! Uglyane! - - [_Kisses her. Here the waterfall, blown about by the wind, collapses - and splashes them._ - -MALEINE. Oh! what have you done? - -HJALMAR. It is the fountain. - -MALEINE. Oh, oh! - -HJALMAR. It’s the wind. - -MALEINE. I am afraid. - -HJALMAR. 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. - -MALEINE. There is somebody weeping, close by us. - -HJALMAR. Somebody weeping? - -MALEINE. I am afraid. - -HJALMAR. But cannot you hear that it’s only the wind? - -MALEINE. What are all those eyes on the tree, though? - -HJALMAR. Where? Ha! those are the owls. They have returned. I will put -them to flight. (_Throws earth at them._) Away! away! - -MALEINE. There is yonder one that will not go. - -HJALMAR. Where is it? - -MALEINE. On the weeping willow. - -HJALMAR. Away! - -MALEINE. He is not gone. - -HJALMAR. Away, away! - - [_Throws earth at the owl._ - -MALEINE. Oh! you have thrown earth on me. - -HJALMAR. Thrown earth on you? - -MALEINE. Ay, it fell on me. - -HJALMAR. Oh, my poor Uglyane! - -MALEINE. I am afraid. - -HJALMAR. Afraid--at my side? - -MALEINE. There are flames amid the trees. - -HJALMAR. That is nothing--mere lightning. It has been very sultry -to-day. - -MALEINE. I am afraid. Oh! who can be digging so at the ground around us? - -HJALMAR. That is nothing. ‘Tis but a mole--a poor little mole at work. - -(The mole in Hamlet! To our old acquaintance greeting!) - - MALEINE. I am afraid. - -After some more conversation in the same style: - - HJALMAR. What are you thinking of? - - MALEINE. I feel sad. - - HJALMAR. Sad? Now, what are your sad thoughts about, Uglyane? - - MALEINE. I am thinking of Princess Maleine. - - HJALMAR. What do you say? - - MALEINE. I am thinking of Princess Maleine.[229] - - HJALMAR. Do you know Princess Maleine? - - MALEINE. I am Princess Maleine. - - HJALMAR. You are not Uglyane? - - MALEINE. I am Princess Maleine. - - HJALMAR. What! you Princess Maleine? Dead! But Princess Maleine is - dead! - - MALEINE. I am Princess Maleine. - -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. - -Moreover, _Princesse Maleine_ is not altogether a Shakespearian dream. -The ‘seven nuns,’ _e.g._, 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 _Serres Chaudes_. 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 _The King’s Daughters_. 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. _canal_] of fresh water....’ (p. 110). -‘We have been to look at the windmills along the canal,’ etc. And sick -people and illness are mentioned on almost every page (p. 110): - - ANNE. I was fever-stricken myself. - - THE KING. Everyone is fever-stricken on arriving here. - - HJALMAR. There is much fever in the village, etc. - -Besides _Princesse Maleine_, Maeterlinck has written some other -pieces. One, _L’Intruse_ (The Intruder), deals with the idea that in a -house where a sick person lies _in extremis_, 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, _Les Aveugles_ (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, _Les Sept -Princesses_ (‘seven,’ of course!) and _Pelléas et Mélisande_. - -_The Intruder_ 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. - -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 -published in _Le Figaro_ 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 _Figaro_ 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 _Figaro_ 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. - -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 -_Princesse Maleine_ have been sold out since Mirbeau’s suggestion, and, -as I have said before, his _Aveugles_ and _Intruse_ have been performed -in various places. - -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. - - - - -BOOK III. - -_EGO-MANIA._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE PSYCHOLOGY OF EGO-MANIA. - - -HOWEVER 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. - -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. - -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 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.[230] 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’ and ‘manias,’ namely, -the great emotionalism of the degenerate.[231] 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,[232] -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. - -But if it be untenable to make a particular malady out of every symptom -in which the fundamental disorder (_i.e._, 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 (_Ichsüchtigen_). It is -not from affectation that I use this word instead of the terms ‘egoism’ -(_Selbstsucht_) 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 _Ichsucht_ and _Selbstsucht_, -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. - -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 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. - -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;[233] and Legrain[234] 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,’[235] 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.’[236] - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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.e._, 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.’ - -We may assume that a certain degree of consciousness is the -accompanying phenomenon of every reaction of the protoplasm on external -action--_i.e._, 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.[237] 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. - -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 -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? - -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.e._, 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 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. - -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.e._, 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 _ab extra_--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. - -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 sensation of our body, our organic ‘I,’ the so-called -cœnæsthesis or general sensibility. - -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. - -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. - -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. 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.’ - -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. - -We may now resume much more briefly the natural history of 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. - -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.[238] - -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 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. - -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 _altrui_, ‘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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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.e._, 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. - -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. - -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.’[239] 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.[240] In a later work he sums up in -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.’[241] 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.’[242] Maudsley[243] 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.’[244] - -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[245] 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 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.’ - -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. - -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.[246] The consciousness -of the emotionally degenerate subject is filled with obsessions which -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. - -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. - -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.[247] In megalomania, however, as in the delusion of -persecution, the patient is constantly engrossed with the external -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. - -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. 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. - -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.e._, against the necessity of -controlling instincts in so far as they are injurious to himself. - -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.[248] In perversion of taste the patient seeks greedily -to swallow all that ordinarily provokes the deepest repugnance, -_i.e._, 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.e._, -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. - -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 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.’[249] - -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.[250] I cannot avoid the -ruts 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, 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. - -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.[251] This leads to contempt for and rejection of -institutions already established, and hence not invented or chosen by -himself. He considers the social edifice absurd because it is not ‘a -work of logic,’ but of history. - -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. - -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. - -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.[252] In a child -the instinct of destruction is normal. It 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -PARNASSIANS AND DIABOLISTS. - - -IT 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.[253] ‘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....’ - -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 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, _Le Parnasse contemporain: recueil de vers nouveaux_, and which -contains contributions from almost all the poets of the period. - -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. - -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 _Le Parnasse_ has -been derived. Embodied most completely in Théophile Gautier, it can -be summed up in two words: perfection of form and _impassibilité_, or -impassiveness. - -To Gautier and his disciples the form is everything in poetry; the -substance has no importance. ‘A poet,’ says he,[254] ‘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 [_clavecin_], 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.’[255] Gustave Flaubert, another worshipper of words, takes -entirely this view of the subject when he exclaims:[256] ‘A beautiful -verse meaning nothing, is superior to a verse less beautiful meaning -something.’ By the words ‘beautiful’ and ‘less beautiful,’ Flaubert -here understands ‘names with triumphant syllables, sounding like the -blast of clarions,’ or ‘radiant words, words of light.’[257] Gautier -only credited Racine, for whom he, a romanticist, naturally had a -profound contempt, with one verse of any value: - - ‘La fille de Minos et de Pasiphae.’ - -The most instructive application of this theory is found in a piece of -poetry by Catulle Mendès, entitled _Récapitulation_, which begins as -follows: - - ‘Rose, Emmeline, - Margueridette, - Odette, - Alix, Aline. - - ‘Paule, Hippolyte, - Lucy, Lucile, - Cécile, - Daphné, Mélite. - - ‘Artémidore, - Myrrha, Myrrhine, - Périne, - Naïs, Eudore.’ - -Eleven stanzas of the same sort follow, which I will dispense with -reproducing, and then this final strophe: - - ‘Zulma, Zélie, - Régine, Reine, - Irène!... - Et j’en oublie.’[258] - -‘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. - -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, 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, _Récapitulation_ 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.’ - -Another eminent Parnassian, Théodore de Banville,[259] 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 -(_calembours_). This play on words inspires his ideas, or his simulacra -of ideas. - -Guyau rightly uses this criticism with regard to the æsthetic theory -of the Parnassians established by Banville.[260] ‘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 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.’ - -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. - -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.[261] 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. - -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 (_La seule Douceur_), where he describes in -the most fulsome manner a series of the pleasures of life, with this -envoi: ‘Prince, I lie. Beneath the Twins or the Urn (? Aquarius) to -make noble words rhyme together in one’s book, this is the sole joy of -life.’[262] 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.’[263] -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? - -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 -_Impassible_, and because I myself wrote this line, the avowed pose in -which is belied in the course of the poem, - - ‘“Pas de sanglots humains dans le chant des poètes!”[264] - -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?’[265] - -Criticism, in sooth, has chosen its word badly. ‘Impassibility’ 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. - -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 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.’[266] - -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. - -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: _pacem summa tenent_,’ he says,[267] in employing an image which -occurs dozens of times in Nietzsche. - -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 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. - -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.e._, moral, forces must be more vigorous than -destructive, _i.e._, 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 Gautier extols, in -_Mademoiselle de Maupin_, 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 -_Volupté_ 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 _Le -Roman d’une Nuit_) 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 [_démoniaque_] 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.’[268] - -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. - -This predilection for evil has been discerned by many observers, and -a good number have endeavoured to explain it philosophically. In a -lecture on ‘Evil as the Object of Poetical Representation,’ Franz -Brentano says:[269] - -‘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.”’ - -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.e._, 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! _Opium facit dormire quia est in -eo virtus dormitiva._ 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,[270] ‘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.’ - -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 _for the pleasure_ 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. - -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 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.’[271] - -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,[272] 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. - -Of course there have been attempts made to defend aberration as -something justified and voluntary, and even to erect it into an -intellectual distinction. Thus it is that M. Paul Bourget[273] 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.’ - -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.e._, -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? - -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,[274] ‘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.’ - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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’ -or chimiotaxia, invented by Pfeffer.[275] 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. - -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. - -The vehicle of this hereditary, organized, racial experience 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.e._, 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. - -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. - -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.e._, 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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.e._, painful, repugnant and revolting -impressions. - -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.e._, 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 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. - -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 [_grâce -vulgaire_].’[276] - -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,[277] 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, M. -J. K. Huysmans, says:[278] ‘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.’ - -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. - -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. - -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 erotomaniac,[279] an eater of hashish and -opium;[280] 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 _Confessions of an Opium-Eater_, by De Quincey, he compiled an -exhaustive selection, to which he wrote extravagant annotations. - -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: _Les Fleurs du Mal_--‘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. - -Baudelaire hates life and movement. In the piece entitled _Les Hiboux_, -he shows us his owls sitting in a row, motionless, under the black -yews, and continues: - - ‘Leur attitude au sage enseigne - Qu’il faut en ce monde qu’il craigne - Le tumulte et le mouvement. - - L’homme ivre d’une ombre qui passe - Porte toujours le châtiment - D’avoir voulu changer de place.’ - -Beauty says of herself, in the piece of that name: - - ‘Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes; - Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.’ - -He abhors the natural as much as he loves the artificial. Thus he -depicts his ideal world (_Rêve Parisien_): - - ‘De ce terrible paysage - Que jamais œil mortel ne vit, - Ce matin encore l’image, - Vague et lointaine, me ravit.... - - ‘J’avais banni de ces spectacles - Le végétal irrégulier.... - - ‘Je savourais dans mon tableau - L’enivrante [!] monotonie - Du métal, du marbre et de l’eau. - - ‘Babel d’escaliers et d’arcades - C’était un palais infini, - Plein de bassins et de cascades - Tombant dans l’or mat ou bruni; - - ‘Et des cataractes pesantes, - Comme des rideaux de cristal, - Se suspendaient, éblouissantes, - A des murailles de métal. - - ‘Non d’arbres, mais de colonnades - Les étangs dormants s’entouraient, - Où de gigantesques naïades, - Comme des femmes, se miraient. - - ‘Des nappes d’eau s’épanchaient, bleues, - Entre des quais roses et verts, - Pendant des millions de lieues, - Vers les confins de l’univers; - - ‘C’étaient des pierres inouïes - Et des flots magiques; c’étaient - D’immenses glaces éblouies - Par tout ce qu’elles reflétaient. - - ‘Et tout, même la couleur noire, - Semblait fourbi, clair, irisé.... - - ‘Nul astre d’ailleurs, nuls vestiges - De soleil, même au bas du ciel, - Pour illuminer ces prodiges, - Qui brillaient d’un feu personnel (!) - - ‘Et sur ces mouvantes merveilles - Planait (terrible nouveauté! - Tout pour l’œil, rien pour les oreilles!) - Un silence d’eternité.’ - -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.e._, 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 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. - -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 _Le Voyage_: - - ‘Nous avons vu partout... - Le spectacle ennuyeux de l’immortel péché: - - ‘La femme, esclave vile, orgueilleuse et stupide, - Sans rire s’adorant et s’aimant sans dégôut; - L’homme, tyran goulu, paillard, dur et cupide, - Esclave de l’esclave et ruisseau dans l’égout; - - ‘Le bourreau qui jouit, le martyr qui sanglote; - La fête qu’assaisonne et parfume le sang;... - - ‘Et les moins sots, hardis amants de la démence, - Fuyant le grand troupeau parqué par le Destin, - Et se réfugiant dans l’opium immense [!]. - --Tel est du globe entier l’éternel bulletin... - - ‘O Mort, vieux capitaine, il est temps! levons l’ancre! - Ce pays nous ennuie, O Mort! Appareillons! - - ‘Nous voulons... - Plonger au fond du gouffre, Enfer ou Ciel, qu’importe? - Au fond de l’Inconnu pour trouver du nouveau!’ - -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 forced constantly to indulge in -the contemplation of his ailing and whimpering self. - -The only pictures which fill the world of his thought are sombre, -wrathful and detestable. He says (_Un Mort joyeux_): - - ‘Dans une terre grasse et pleine d’escargots - Je veux creuser moi-même une fosse profonde - Où je puisse à loisir étaler mes vieux os - Et dormir dans l’oubli comme un requin dans l’onde... - Plutôt que d’implorer une larme du monde - Vivant, j’aimerais mieux inviter les corbeaux - A saigner tous les bouts de ma carcasse immonde. - - ‘O vers! noir compagnons sans oreille et sans yeux, - Voyez venir à vous un mort libre et joyeux!’ - -In _La Cloche fêlée_, he says of himself: - - ‘... Mon âme est fêlée, et lorsqu’en ses ennuis - Elle veut de ses chants peupler l’air froid des nuits - Il arrive souvent que sa voix affaiblie - - Semble le râle épais d’un blessé qu’on oublie - Au bord d’un lac de sang, sous un grand tas de morts.’ - -_Spleen_: - - ‘...on triste cerveau... - C’est.. un immense caveau - Qui contient plus de morts que la fosse commune. - --Je suis un cimetière abhorré de la lune - Où, comme des remords, se traînent de longs vers....’ - -_Horreur sympathique_: - - ‘Cieux déchirés comme des grèves, - En vous se mire mon orgueil! - Vos vastes nuages en deuil. - - ‘Sont les corbillards de mes rêves, - Et vos lueurs sont le reflet, - De l’Enfer où mon cœur se plaît!’ - -_Le Coucher du Soleil romantique_: - - ‘Une odeur de tombeau dans les ténèbres nage, - Et mon pied peureux froisse, au bord du marécage, - Des crapauds imprévus et de froids limaçons.’ - -_Dance macabre_: The poet speaking to a skeleton: - - ‘Aucuns t’appelleront une caricature, - Qui ne comprennent pas, amants ivres de chair, - L’élégance sans nom de l’humaine armature. - Tu réponds, grand squelette, à mon goût le plus cher!...’ - -_Une Charogne_: - - ‘Rappelez-vous l’objet que nous vîmes, mon âme, - Ce beau matin d’été si doux: - Au détour d’un sentier une charogne infâme - Sur un lit semé de cailloux, - - ‘Les jambes en l’air, comme une femme lubrique - Brûlante et suant les poisons, - Ouvrait d’une façon nonchalante et cynique - Son ventre plein d’exhalaisons.... - - ‘Et le ciel regardait la carcasse superbe [!] - Comme une fleur s’épanouir. - La puanteur était si forte, que sur l’herbe - Vous crûtes vous évanouir.... - - ‘Et pourtant vous serez semblable à cette ordure, - A cette horrible infection, - Étoile de mes yeux, soleil de ma nature, - Vous, mon ange et ma passion! - - ‘Oui! telle vous serez, ô la reine des grâces, - Après les derniers sacrements, - Quand vous irez, sous l’herbe et les floraisons grasses, - Moisir parmi les ossements....’ - -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. - -_Le Rêve d’un Curieux_: - - ‘Connais-tu, comme moi, la douleur savoureuse?...’ - -_Spleen_: - - ‘Mon chat sur le carreau cherchant une litière - Agite sans repos son corps maigre et galeux....’ - -_Le Vin du Solitaire_: - - ‘Un baiser libertin de la maigre Adeline....’ - -_Le Crépuscule du Soir_: - - ‘Voici le soir charmant, ami du criminel; ... - Et l’homme impatient se change en bête fauve....’ - -_La Destruction_: - - ‘Sans cesse à mes côtés s’agite le Démon.... - Je l’avale et le sens qui brûle mon poumon - Et l’emplit d’un désir éternel et coupable.... - - ‘Il me conduit.... - Haletant et brisé de fatigue, au milieu - Des plaines de l’Ennui, profondes et désertes, - - ‘Et jette dans mes yeux.... - Des vêtements souillés, des blessures ouvertes, - Et l’appareil sanglant de la Destruction!’ - -In _Une Martyre_ he describes complacently and in detail a bedroom in -which a young, presumably pretty courtesan has been murdered; the -assassin had cut off her head and carried it away. The poet is only -curious to know one thing: - - ‘L’homme vindicatif que tu n’as pu, vivante, - Malgré tant d’amour, assouvir, - Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et complaisante - L’immensité de son désir?’ - -_Femmes damnées_, a piece dedicated to the worst aberration of -degenerate women, terminates with this ecstatic apostrophe to the -heroines of unnatural vice: - - ‘O vierges, ô démons, ô monstres, ô martyres, - De la réalité grands esprits contempteurs, - Chercheuses d’infini, dévotes et satyres, - Tantôt pleines de cris, tantôt pleines de pleurs, - - Vous que dans votre enfer mon âme a poursuivies, - Pauvres sœurs, je vous aime autant que je vous plains....’ - -_Préface_: - - ‘Si le viol, le poison, le poignard, l’incendie, - N’ont pas encore brodé de leurs plaisants dessins - Le canevas banal de nos piteux destins, - C’est que notre âme, hélas! n’est pas assez hardie....’ - -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 (_Brumes et Pluies_). -He is ‘hostile to the universe rather than indifferent’ (_Les sept -Vieillards_). 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. - -_Madrigal triste_: - - ‘Que m’importe que tu sois sage? - Sois belle! et sois triste! Les pleurs - Ajoutent un charme au visage, - Comme le fleuve au paysage.’ - -In the struggle between _Abel et Caïn_ he takes the part of the latter -without hesitation: - - ‘Race d’Abel, dors, bois et mange; - Dieu te sourit complaisamment. - - ‘Race de Caïn, dans la fange - Rampe et meurs misérablement. - - ‘Race d’Abel, ton sacrifice - Flatte le nez du Séraphin. - - ‘Race de Caïn, ton supplice - Aura-t-il jamais une fin? - - ‘Race d’Abel, vois tes semailles - Et ton bétail venir à bien; - - ‘Race de Caïn, tes entrailles - Hurlent la faim comme un vieux chien. - - ‘Race d’Abel, chauffe ton ventre - A ton foyer patriarchal; - - ‘Race de Caïn, dans ton antre - Tremble de froid, pauvre chacal! - - ‘Ah! race d’Abel, ta charogne - Engraissera le sol fumant! - - ‘Race de Caïn, ta besogne - N’est pas faite suffisamment. - - ‘Race d’Abel, voici ta honte: - Le fer est vaincu par l’épieu! [?] - - ‘Race de Caïn, au ciel monte - Et sur la terre jette Dieu!’ - -If he prays it is to the devil (_Les Litanies de Satan_): - - ‘Gloire et louange à toi, Satan, dans les hauteurs - Du Ciel, où tu régnas, et dans les profondeurs - De l’Enfer, où, vaincu, tu rêves en silence! - Fais que mon âme un jour, sous l’Arbre de Science, - Près de toi se repose....’ - -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 _messe noire_, in -the presence of a really consecrated priest, and in a hideous travesty -of all the forms of the liturgy. - -Besides the devil, Baudelaire adores only one other power, viz., -voluptuousness. He prays thus to it (_La Prière d’un Païen_): - - ‘Ah! ne ralentis pas tes flammes! - Réchauffe mon cœur engourdi, - Volupté, torture des âmes!... - Volupté, sois toujours ma reine!’ - -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 (_Le Gouffre_), which is valuable as a confession: - - ‘... Tout est abîme,--action, désir, rêve, - Parole! et sur mon poil qui tout droit se relève - Mainte fois de la peur je sens passer le vent. - - ‘En haut, en bas, partout, la profondeur, la grève, - Le silence, l’espace affreux et captivant... - Sur le fonde de mes nuits, Dieu, de son doigt savant, - Dessine un cauchemar multiforme et sans trêve. - - ‘J’ai peur du sommeil comme on a peur d’un grand trou, - Tout plein de vague horreur, menant on ne sait où; - Je ne vois qu’infini par toutes les fenêtres, - - ‘Et mon esprit, toujours du vertige hanté, - Jalouse du néant l’insensibilité.’ - -Baudelaire describes here accurately enough that obsession of -degenerates which is called ‘fear of abysses’ (cremnophobia).[281] -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 -_Correspondances_: - - ‘Les parfums, les couleurs, et les sons se répondent. - - ‘Il est des parfums frais comme des chairs d’enfants, - Doux comme les hautbois, verts comme les prairies, - --Et d’autres, corrompus, riches et triomphants, - - ‘Ayant l’expansion des choses infinies, - Comme l’ambre, le musc, le benjoin et l’encens, - Qui chantent les transports de l’esprit et des sens.’ - -He loves woman through his sense of smell ... (‘Le parfum de tes -charmes étranges,’ _A une Malabaraise_), and never fails, in describing -a mistress, to mention her exhalations. - -_Parfum exotique_: - - ‘Quand les deux yeux fermés, en un soir chaud d’automne, - Je respire l’odeur de ton sein chaleureux, - Je vois se dérouler des rivages heureux - Qu’eblouissent les feux d’un soleil monotone.’ - -_La Chevelure_: - - ‘O toison, moutonnant jusque sur l’encolure! - O boucles! O parfum chargé de nonchaloir!... - - ‘La langoureuse Asie et la brûlante Afrique, - Tout un monde lointain, absent, presque défunt, - Vit dans tes profondeurs, forêt aromatique!’ - -Naturally, instead of good odours, he prefers the perfumes which affect -the healthy man as stinks. Putrefaction, decomposition and pestilence -charm his nose. - -_Le Flacon_: - - ‘Il est de forts parfums pour qui toute matière - Est poreuse. On dirait qu’ils pénètrent le verre... - Parfois on trouve un vieux flacon qui se souvient, - D’où jaillit toute vive une âme qui revient. - - ‘Voilà le souvenir enivrant qui voltige - Dans l’air troublé; les yeux se ferment; le vertige - Saisit l’âme vaincue et la pousse à deux mains - Vers un gouffre obscurci de miasmes humains; - - ‘Il la terrasse au bord d’un gouffre séculaire, - Où, Lazare odorant déchirant son suaire, - Se meut dans son réveil le cadavre spectral - D’un vieil amour ranci, charmant et sepulcral. - - ‘Ainsi, quand je serai perdu dans la memoire - Des hommes, dans le coin d’une sinistre armoire - Quand on m’aura jeté, vieux flacon désolé, - Décrépit, poudreux, sale, abject, visqueux, fêlé, - - ‘Je serai ton cercueil, aimable pestilence! - Le témoin de ta force et de ta virulence, - Cher poison préparé par les anges!...’ - -We now know all the features which compose Baudelaire’s character. -He has the ‘cult of self’;[282] 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. - -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 _Fleurs du Mal_, 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.’[283] The 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. - -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,[284] 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 _rôle_, 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 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. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -DECADENTS AND ÆSTHETES. - - -AS 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 _La -Chanson des Gueux_, has spied in him, and copied, his glorification -of crime, and, further, in _Les Blasphèmes_, 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 -_Litanies de Satan_, when he wrote his celebrated _Ode à Satan_. - -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, 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.[285] 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 _Le Prêtre marié_ might be written -by a contemporary of witch-burners; but it is surpassed in its turn by -_Les Diaboliques_, 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. - -Barbey, the imitator of Baudelaire, has himself found an imitator in -M. Joséphin Péladan, whose first novel, _Vice suprême_, 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 ‘_vice suprême_’: ‘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 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, _new -evil_, 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 _vice suprême_.’[286] - -Baudelaire has expressed this much more concisely in one single verse: -‘_La conscience dans le Mal_’ (‘consciousness in evil’).[287] - -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 _L’Ève -future_. 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! - -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 living, thinking and -acting. The book in which he shows us his model ‘Decadent’ is entitled -_A Rebours_ (‘Against the Grain’). - -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. - -‘The style of decadence,’ says Théophile Gautier,[288] ‘... 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 (_Verbe_), 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 (_faisandée_), 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.’ - -The same ideas that Gautier approximately expresses in this 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?’[289] - -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.’[290] - -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 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’;[291] 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.’[292] - -Very true. A society in decadence ‘produces too great a number of -individuals unfit for the labours of common life’; 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.e._, -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. - -We will now examine the ideal ‘decadent’ that Huysmans draws so -complacently and in such detail for us, in _A Rebours_. 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 _Marthe_) 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.’ - -_A Rebours_ 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. - -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 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.’ - -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. - -‘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). - -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). - -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). - -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 -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). - -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.e._, 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). - -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. - -That Des Esseintes should be made ill by this mode of life is not -surprising. His stomach rejects all forms of food, and this 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. - -Not to be too prolix, I omit many details, _e.g._, 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 _et seq._); 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: - -‘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). - -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.e._, 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 _minus_ sign, who, equally with the -latter, 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. - -Des Esseintes reads occasionally between his gustatory and olfactory -_séances_. 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 (_tacheté_) 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.’ - -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. - -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.’ - -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, 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 _rente_ 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.’ - -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). - -When he thinks of society, this cry bursts from his breast: ‘Oh, -perish, society! Die, old world!’ (p. 293). - -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, ‘_Là-bas_,’ -shows us what Des Esseintes eventually 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. - -We have him now, then, the ‘super-man’ (_surhomme_) 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,[293] 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. - -If M. Huysmans in his Des Esseintes has shown us the Decadent with all -his instincts perverted, _i.e._, 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 _culte du moi_, 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 _a posteriori_ the impulsions of -morbid unconscious life appear here conveniently summed up in a sort of -philosophical system. - -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’ -(_Notre Dame du Sleeping_).[294] - -His novels, _Sous l’[Œil des Barbares_, _Un Homme libre_, _Le Jardin -de Bérénice_, and _L’Ennemi des Lois_, 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;[295] on a French provincial museum and the industrial art of -the Middle Ages;[296] on Nero,[297] Saint Simon, Fourier, Marx, and -Lassalle.[298] 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 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 -_Essais_ of Montaigne, of _Parerga et Paralipomena_ of Schopenhauer, -and the effusions in the diary of a girl at a boarding-school. - -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,[299] ‘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.’ - -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 _désarmé_’ (_Examen_, p. 11); ‘a young -_bourgeois_ 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? - -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). - -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 _patrie psychique_’ -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, 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’ (_L’Ennemi -des Lois_, 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!) - -It is absolutely logical that M. Barrès, after having shown us in his -three first novels or _idéologies_ the development of his ‘cultivator -of the _moi_,’ should make the latter become an anarchist and an -_ennemi des lois_. 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! - -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 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. - -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.e._, from some law, from some recognised -morality. - -Such is the foolish aberration of the ‘cultivators of the “I.”’ -They fall into the same errors as the shallow psychologists of the -eighteenth century, who only recognised reason; they only see one -portion of man’s mental life, _i.e._, 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. - -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 _L’Ennemi des Lois_ -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.’ - -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.’ - -‘There is not a detail in the biography of Berenice which is not -shocking’--thus begins the third chapter of the _Jardin de Bérénice_. -‘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 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 _voyeur_, or pryer. M. Barrès -reveals himself here as a metaphysical _voyeur_. 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?[300] One -may well ask him, where is the ‘symbolism’ in the biographical details -of Petite Secousse, the name that he gives to his ‘symbol.’ - -Disease and corruption exercise the customary Baudelairian attraction -over him. ‘When Berenice was a little girl,’ he says, in the _Jardin -de Bérénice_ (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.’ - -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.’[301] -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.”’[302] 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. - -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 his -enthusiastic regard for poor Marie Bashkirtseff. His idea of Louis II. -of Bavaria is incomparable. The unfortunate King is, in his eyes, an -_insatisfait_ (_L’Ennemi des Lois_, 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? - -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 _Jardin de Bérénice_, 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 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 _souteneurs_. The -moral law of the brave anarchist has long been that of the gilded Paris -prostitutes, who from time immemorial have kept ‘_l’amant de cœur_,’ at -the same time as the ‘other,’ or the ‘others.’ - -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. - -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? - -Phasemakers are perpetually repeating the twaddle, that it is a proof -of honourable independence to follow one’s own taste 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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. - -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. - -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.’[303] - -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). - -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). - -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 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). - -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). - -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). - -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.[304] To us who live in 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....’[305] (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). - -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.[306] 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 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). - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -Let us remind ourselves how works of art and art in general originated. - -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.e._, -forms for itself a representation of any phenomenon whatever comprising -in itself a more or less molar form of movement (molecular movements, -and, _a fortiori_, 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[307] hitherto observed chiefly in Russia, and -especially in Siberia, there called _myriachit_, 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. - -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 (_e.g._, sexual _erethism_), or by -a representation of an abstract nature (_e.g._, 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. - -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. - -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 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.[308] 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. - -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.e._, the principles of law and morality. - -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. - -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 work of art in any other -light than that in which we view every other manifestation of an -individuality. - -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 not see how a privilege so inimical to -society can be willingly defended. - -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. - -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. - -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--_e.g._, 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[309] and -Blaserna[310] have thrown light on the cause of the feeling of -pleasure connected with certain acoustic perceptions, while those of -Brücke[311] 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 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.e._, 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. - -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. - -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. - -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 therefore not only moral, but, in its final essence, agreeable. -When Valdez, in his famous picture of the _Caridad de Sevilla_, -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 -_Requiem_. 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. - -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 _Editions des fermiers -généraux_ 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 (_Digitalis_) for its graceful form and rich -rosy hue. The noxiousness of the snake does not lie in its copper-red -dorsal bands, nor the 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. - -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.e._, 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 _Sonetti -lussuriosi_, 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;[312] and the drawings and inscriptions -with which they cover the walls of their cells have, for the most -part, their crimes as subjects.[313] 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 them, be their form never so -conformable to the most approved rules of art. - -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 _Raskolnikow_.[314] -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. - -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 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. - -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.e._, 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 _raison d’être_ 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.e._, 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 -evasion of this reward, by surrounding him with official forms of high -esteem. - -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. - -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.[315] Finally, art is the only glimmer of light, weak -and dubious though it be, which projects itself into the future, and -gives us at 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[316] that every -adaptation--_i.e._, 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.[317] - -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. - -By the most diverse methods we have always attained the same result, -viz., it is not true that art has nothing in common 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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 _post facto_. The degenerate who, in consequence of their -organic aberrations, make the repulsive 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. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -IBSENISM. - - -IN 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, ‘_le roi Voltaire_,’ 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. - -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. - -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.e._, 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 -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. - -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. _The Doll’s House_, _Ghosts_, _Rosmersholm_, _The Pillars -of Society_, and _Hedda Gabler_ comprise about twenty-four hours; _An -Enemy of Society_, _The Wild Duck_, _The Lady from the Sea_, 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 an impression of improbability, -and of toilsome and subtle lucubrations. - -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,[318] where Dr. -Rank relates that he is doomed to imminent death by his inexorable -disease,[319] where Frau Alving with horror discerns his dissolute -father[320] in her only son, where the housekeeper, Frau Helseth, sees -Rosmer and Rebecca die in each other’s arms,[321] etc. - -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 _The Wild Duck_) is one of the most profound creations of -world-literature--almost as great as Sancho Panza, who inspired 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, -_e.g._, in the scene where Hjalmar returns home after having spent the -night out.[322] 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 -_The Wild Duck_), the aunt Juliane Tesman (in _Hedda Gabler_), perhaps -also the childishly egoistical consumptive Lyngstrand (in _The Lady -from the Sea_), 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, -_homunculi_, originating not from natural procreation, but through the -black art of the poet. This is even admitted, although reluctantly and -with reservation, by one of his most raving panegyrists, the French -professor, Auguste Ehrhard.[323] 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[324] (in _Hedda -Gabler_), this ‘dash it all!’ and stealthy nibbling of sweetmeats by -Nora[325] (in _A Doll’s House_), this ‘smoking a large meerschaum’ and -champagne-drinking of Oswald (in _Ghosts_), 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. - -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 _seriatim_, and see if they can be supported -by Ibsen’s works, or are merely the arbitrary and undemonstrable -expressions of æsthetic wind-bags. - -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 _The Three Musketeers_ and -_Monte Cristo_, 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 _Ghosts_) 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 (_Ghosts_), 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 (_Ghosts_) that a -Paris doctor on 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. - -In _A Doll’s House_ 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.’ - -In _The Pillars of Society_ 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 the protection of a diminutive -coterie of Philistines in a northern Gotham. - -The American ship _Indian Girl_ 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 _Indian Girl_ will be ready to sail.’ Bernick -knows that he is sending the _Indian Girl’s_ 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 _Palm Tree_. 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.’[326] - -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.... 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. - -In _An Enemy of Society_ 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. - -Tesman, in _Hedda Gabler_, expects that his publication, _Domestic -Industries of Brabant during the Middle Ages_, will secure him a -professorship in a college. But he has a dangerous competitor in -Ejlert Lövborg, who has published a book on _The General March of -Civilization_. 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 _Democritus_ 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 _privat docent_, is an infantile -invention, fit to raise a laugh in all academical circles. - -In _The Lady from the Sea_ 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:-- - - STRANGER. 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? - - ELLIDA (_in low, trembling tone_). Do you hear that, Wangel? - - WANGEL. Only keep calm. We shall know how to prevent this visit. - - STRANGER. Good-bye for the present, Ellida. So to-morrow night---- - - ELLIDA (_imploringly_). Oh, no, no! Do not come to-morrow night! Never - come here again! - - STRANGER. And should you, then, have a mind to follow me over seas? - - ELLIDA. Oh, don’t look at me like that! - - STRANGER. I only mean that you must then be ready to set out. - - WANGEL. Go up to the house, Ellida, etc. - -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! - -All these crack-brained episodes are, however, far surpassed by the -scene in _Rosmersholm_, where Rebecca confesses to the doughty Rosmer -that she is consumed by ardent passion for him:-- - - ROSMER. What have you felt? Speak so that I can understand you. - - REBECCA. It came over me--this wild, uncontrollable desire--oh, Rosmer! - - ROSMER. Desire? You! For what? - - REBECCA. For you. - - ROSMER (_tries to spring up_). What is this? [Idiot!] - - REBECCA (_stops him_). Sit still, dear; there is more to tell. - - ROSMER. And you mean to say--that you love me--in that way? - - REBECCA. 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.’ - -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.[327] 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. - -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 _The Pillars of -Society_, Bernick, the man who calmly plans the 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 _A Doll’s House_, the wife, who was only a moment before -playing so tenderly with her children, suddenly abandons these children -without a thought for them.[328] In _Rosmersholm_ 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. - -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. - -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 _A Doll’s House_, 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 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 _Ghosts_ 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.[329] Regina, the natural daughter of the -late Alving, exactly resembles her mother. - - REGINA (_to herself_). So mother was that kind of woman, after all. - - MRS. ALVING. Your mother had many good qualities, Regina. - - REGINA. 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. - - MRS. ALVING. Yes, I see you do. But don’t throw yourself away, Regina. - - REGINA. Oh! what must be, must be. If Oswald takes after his father, I - take after my mother, I dare say. - -In _Rosmersholm_ 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 _The Wild Duck_ 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.[330] Little Hedwig becomes -blind, like her father, old Werle.[331] - -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, _e.g._, the horror of doctors,[332] and that he does not -doubt the transmission of diseased deviations from the norm, _e.g._, -the appearance of blindness at a definite age.[333] 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,[334] and, above all, Galton,[335] -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 _x_--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, which he seized on with -joy, because it offered him the possibility of scientifically cloaking -his mystic obsession. - -Ibsen’s excursions in the domain of medical science, which he hardly -ever denies himself, are most delightful. In _The Pillars of Society_ -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 _An Enemy of Society_ 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 _A Doll’s House_ 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 _Ghosts_ 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 _syphilis hereditaria tarda_, or _dementia paralytica_. -The first of these diseases is out of the question, for Oswald is -depicted as a model of manly strength and health.[336] 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 _dementia paralytica_, 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.[337] But together with these exact, though -subordinate, features there appear others infinitely more important, -which wholly preclude the diagnosis of _dementia paralytica_. 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. - -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 -diagnose without hesitation the _dementia senilis_ of Lear, Hamlet’s -weakness of will through nervous exhaustion (_neurasthenic ‘aboalie’_), -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. - -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 -(_The Pillars of Society_), that there is a cackle about bacilli (_An -Enemy of the People_), that the struggles of political parties play a -part in them (_The League of the Young_, _Rosmersholm_)--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 _Rosmersholm_, Haustad -and Billing in _An Enemy of the People_, Bahlmann in _The League of the -Young_--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 (_The Pillars of Society_)! 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.[338] - -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 (_Moderne Geister_, -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 _On Liberty_ 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 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. - -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 _maître de plaisir_. -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. - -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 (_Brand_, -_Rosmersholm_, etc.), his derision of the shackled pietism of -divines (Manders in _Ghosts_, Rörlund in _The Pillars of Society_, -the dean in _Brand_), 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. - -‘It is curious,’ writes Herbert Spencer,[339] ‘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. - -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. - -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 _The Wild Duck_ 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 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. - -Ibsen’s second theological _motif_ 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 _A Doll’s House_, -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.e._, -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.’ - -In _The Pillars of Society_ Miss Hessel exacts a confession in these -terms (p. 70): - - 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. - - BERNICK. Do you think I do not feel deeply how I have wronged him? Do - you think I am not prepared to make atonement? - - LONA. How? By speaking out? - - BERNICK. Can you ask such a thing? - - LONA. What else can atone for such a wrong? - -And Johan also says (p. 75): - - In two months I shall be back again. - - BERNICK. And then you will tell all? - - JOHAN. Then the guilty one must take the guilt upon himself. - -Bernick actually makes the confession demanded of him from pure -contrition, for at the time he makes it all proofs 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): - - 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_ was the guilty one, etc. - -In _Rosmersholm_ 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: - - REBECCA (_comes up close to Rosmer, and says rapidly and in a low - voice, so that the Rector does not hear her_). Do it now! - - ROSMER (_also in a low voice_). Not this evening. - - REBECCA (_as before_). Yes, this very evening. - -As he does not at once obey she will speak for him (p. 19): - - REBECCA. You must let me tell you frankly. - - ROSMER (_quickly_). No, no; be quiet. Not just now! - -Rosmer soon does it himself (p. 28): - - KROLL. We two are in practical agreement--at any rate, on the great - essential questions. - - ROSMER (_in a low voice_). No; not now. - - KROLL (_tries to jump up_). What is this? - - ROSMER (_holding him_). No; you must sit still. I entreat you, Kroll. - - KROLL. What can this mean? I don’t understand you. Speak plainly. - - ROSMER. A new summer has blossomed in my soul. I see with eyes grown - young again; and so now I stand---- - - KROLL. Where? where, Rosmer? - - ROSMER. Where your children stand. - - KROLL. You? you? Impossible! Where do you say you stand? - - ROSMER. On the same side as Laurits and Hilda. - - KROLL (_bows his head_). An apostate! Johannes Rosmer an apostate!... - Is this becoming language for a priest? - - ROSMER. I am no longer a priest. - - KROLL. Well, but--the faith of your childhood----? - - ROSMER. Is mine no longer.... I have given it up. I _had_ 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.... - - REBECCA. There now; he’s on his way to his great sacrifice. - -(We may here note the purely theological designation given to Rosmer’s -act.) - - ROSMER. I feel so relieved now it is over. You see, I am quite calm - Rebecca.... - -Like Rosmer, Rebecca also confesses to Rector Kroll (p. 86): - - REBECCA. Yes, Herr Rector, Rosmer and I--we say _thou_ 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. - - ROSMER (_seats himself mechanically_). What has come over you, - Rebecca? This unnatural calmness--what is it? - - REBECCA. I have only to tell you something.... Now it must out. It was - not you, Rosmer. You are innocent; it was _I_ who lured Beata out into - the paths of delusion ... that led to the mill-race. Now you know it, - both of you.... - - ROSMER (_after a pause_). Have you confessed all now, Rebecca? - -No, not yet all. But she hastens to complete to Rosmer the confession -begun to Kroll (p. 98): - - ROSMER. Have you more confessions to make? - - REBECCA. The greatest of all is to come. - - ROSMER. The greatest? - - REBECCA. What you have never suspected. What gives light and shade to - all the rest, etc. - -In _The Lady from the Sea_, 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. - -In _Hedda Gabler_ 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. - -In _The Wild Duck_ 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.). - - HJALMAR. 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? - - GINA. 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. - - HJALMAR. But afterwards, then! - - GINA. 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. - - HJALMAR. Well, and then? - - GINA. I suppose you must know it. He didn’t give it up until he’d had - his way. - - HJALMAR (_striking his hands together_). And this is the mother of my - child! How could you hide this from me? - - GINA. It was wrong of me; I ought certainly to have told you long ago. - - HJALMAR. You should have told me at the very first; then I should have - known what you were. - - GINA. But would you have married me all the same? - - HJALMAR. How can you suppose so? - - GINA. 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.... - - HJALMAR. 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? - - GINA. My dear Ekdal, I’ve plenty to do looking after the house, and - all the daily business---- - -Further on the idea of self-deliverance and purification through -confession is pitilessly travestied. - - GREGERS. Haven’t you done it yet? - - HJALMAR (_aloud_). It _is_ done. - - GREGERS. It _is_?... 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. - - HJALMAR. Yes, of course I do--that is, in a sort of way. - - GREGERS. 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. - -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.e._, 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 _Raskolnikow_; 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, 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. - -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 _motif_ 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 _contrapuntal_ -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 _motif_ are, agreeably with its form, now moral -and affecting, now comically base and repulsive. - -In _The Pillars of Society_ 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): - - BERNICK. Johan, now we are alone, you must give me leave to thank you. - - JOHAN. Oh, nonsense! - - BERNICK. My house and home, my domestic happiness, my whole position - as a citizen in society--all these I owe to you. - - JOHAN. Well, I am glad of it.... - - BERNICK. Thanks, thanks all the same. Not one in ten thousand would - have done what you then did for me. - - JOHAN. Oh, nonsense!... One of us had to take the blame upon him. - - BERNICK. But to whom did it lie nearer than to the guilty one? - - JOHAN. Stop! _Then_ 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 fond of you. What would have become of her if she had - come to know----? - - BERNICK. True, true, true; but ... but yet, that you should turn - appearances against yourself, and go away---- - - JOHAN. Have no scruples, my dear Karsten ... you had to be saved, and - you were my friend. - -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 _Indian Girl_ 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): - - KRAP. ... There is rascality at work, Consul. - - BERNICK. I cannot believe it, Krap. I cannot, and will not believe - such a thing of Aune. - - KRAP. I am sorry for it, but it is the plain truth.... All bogus! The - _Indian Girl_ will never get to New York.... - - BERNICK. But this is horrible! What do you think can be his motive? - - KRAP. He probably wants to bring the machines into discredit.... - - BERNICK. 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. - -In _Ghosts_ 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): - - Jacob Engstrand isn’t the man to desert a noble benefactor in the hour - of need, as the saying is [!]. - - MANDERS. Yes; but, my good fellow, how----? - - ENGSTRAND. Jacob Engstrand may be likened to a guardian angel--he may, - your reverence. - - MANDERS. No, no; I can’t accept that. - - ENGSTRAND. Oh, you will though, all the same. I know a man that’s - taken others’ sins upon himself before now, I do. - - MANDERS. Jacob (_wrings his hand_). You are a rare character. - -In _A Doll’s House_ 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): - - NORA. 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! - -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): - - ...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. - -In _The Wild Duck_ 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: - - WERLE. ... I was quite in the dark as to what Lieutenant Ekdal was - doing. - - GREGERS. Lieutenant Ekdal seems to have been in the dark as to what he - was doing. - - WERLE. That may be. But the fact remains that he was found guilty, and - I acquitted. - - GREGERS. Yes, of course I know that nothing was proved against you. - - WERLE. 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. - -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: - - But suppose you were to sacrifice the wild duck, of your own free - will, for his sake? - - HEDWIG (_rising_). The wild duck! - - GREGERS. Suppose you were to sacrifice, for his sake, the dearest - treasure you have in the world? - - HEDWIG. Do you think that would do any good? - - GREGERS. Try it, Hedwig. - - HEDWIG (_softly, with flashing eyes_). Yes, I will try it. - -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 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 _The Wild Duck_ of the idea of -the sacrificial lamb. - -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 _A Doll’s House_ Mrs. Linden -has this hunger for self-sacrifice. - - 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.... - - KROGSTAD. What! you really could? Tell me, do you know my past? - - MRS. LINDEN. Yes. - - KROGSTAD. And do you know my reputation? - - MRS. LINDEN. Did you not hint it just now, when you said that with me - you could have been another man? - - KROGSTAD. I am perfectly certain of it. - - MRS. LINDEN. Could it not yet be so? - - KROGSTAD. Christina, do you say this after full deliberation?... - - MRS. LINDEN. I need somebody to mother, and your children need a - mother. - -Here the idea is not so disguised as to be unrecognisable. Krogstad -is a culprit and an outlaw. If Mrs. Linden offers to 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 _The Lady from the -Sea_, 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 _Rosmersholm_ Rebecca says to Kroll (p. 8): - - So long as Mr. Rosmer thinks I am of any use or comfort to him, why, - so long, I suppose, I shall stay here. - - KROLL (_looks at her with emotion_). Do you know, it’s really fine for - a woman to sacrifice her whole youth to others, as you have done. - - REBECCA. Oh, what else should I have had to live for? - -In _The Pillars of Society_ 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): - - MARTHA. I have been a mother to that much-wronged child--have brought - her up as well as I could. - - JOHAN. And sacrificed your whole life in so doing. - - MARTHA. It has not been thrown away. - -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): - - LONA. Now we are alone, Martha. You have lost her, and I him. - - MARTHA. You him? - - LONA. Oh, I had half lost him already over there. The boy longed to - stand on his own feet, so I made him think _I_ was longing for home. - - MARTHA. That was it? Now I understand why you came. But he will want - you back again, Lona. - - LONA. An old stepsister--what can he want with her now? Men snap many - bonds to arrive at happiness. - - MARTHA. It is so, sometimes. - - LONA. But now we two must hold together, Martha. - - MARTHA. Can I be anything to you? - - LONA. Who more? We two foster-mothers--have we not both lost our - children? Now we are alone. - - MARTHA. Yes, alone. And therefore I will tell you--I have loved him - more than all the world. - - LONA. Martha! (_seizes her arm_). Is this the truth? - - MARTHA. 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. - - LONA. Loved him! and it was you that gave his happiness into his hands. - - MARTHA. Should I not have given him his happiness, since I loved him? - Yes, I have loved him. My whole life has been for him.... He did not - see me. - - LONA. It was Dina that overshadowed you, Martha. - - MARTHA. 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---- - - LONA. The thread of his happiness, Martha. - - MARTHA. Yes, it was gold I spun. No bitterness! Is it not true, Lona, - we have been two good sisters to him? - -In _Hedda Gabler_ 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): - - HEDDA. It will be lonesome for you now, Miss Tesman. - - MISS TESMAN. 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. - - HEDDA. Indeed! Who is going to move into it, eh? - - MISS TESMAN. Oh, there is always some poor invalid or other who needs - to be looked after and tended, unfortunately. - - HEDDA. Will you really take such a burden upon you again? - - MISS TESMAN. Burden! God forgive you, child! that has never been a - burden to me. - - HEDDA. But now, if a stranger should come, then surely---- - - MISS TESMAN. Oh, one soon becomes friends with sick people. And I must - positively have someone to live for, too. - -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. - -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, 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. - -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 (_Ghosts_, 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 _Hedda Gabler_), 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 _A Doll’s House_)--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 _The Wild Duck_), or, again, if he has illicit relations with -a married woman (Consul Bernick and the actress Dorf in _The Pillars -of Society_), 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. - -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.e._, that he should obey -every one of his caprices, nay, even of his diseased impulsions; that, -as his commentators idiotically put it, he should (_sich auslebe_) -‘live out his life.’ In _The Pillars of Society_ Miss Bernick says to -Dina (p. 94): - - Promise me to make him [her betrothed] happy. - - DINA. I will not promise anything. I hate this promising; things must - come as they can [_i.e._, as the circumstances of the moment may - suggest to the wayward brain]. - - MARTHA. Yes, yes; so they must. You need only remain as you are, true - and faithful to yourself. - - DINA. That I will, Aunt Martha. - -In _Rosmersholm_, 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 _Hedda Gabler_. ‘But it is -_this_--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 _Ghosts_, 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 _The Wild Duck_ 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 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.”’ - -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 _The Wild -Duck_, 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. - -‘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): - - Only think what people will say about it! - - NORA. I cannot take that into consideration. I only know that to go is - necessary for me. - - HELMER. Oh, it drives one wild! Is this the way you can evade your - holiest duties? - - NORA. What do you consider my holiest duties? - - HELMER. ... Are they not your duties to your husband and your children? - - NORA. I have other duties equally sacred. - - HELMER. ... What duties do you mean? - - NORA. Duties towards myself. - - HELMER. Before all else you are a wife and a mother. - - NORA. 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. - -In _Ghosts_ 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 _An Enemy of the People_, -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,[340] and not of the general -good.’ And in the very same piece (_A Doll’s House_), 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 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 _The Pillars -of Society_), 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! - - 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. - - JOHAN. Yes, but she herself? - - BERNICK. 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. - -And how severely Ibsen condemns the egoism of Mrs. Elvsted’s husband -(_Hedda Gabler_), 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!’ - -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 _A Doll’s House_ (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. - -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 (_A Doll’s House_, 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 mother’s heart -that forbids you to destroy your son’s ideals?’ asks Pastor Manders in -_Ghosts_ (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 _The Pillars of Society_, Lona Hessel -thus preaches to Consul Bernick (p. 57): - - Is it for the sake of the community, then, that for these fifteen - years you have stood upon a lie? - - BERNICK. A lie?... You call that---- - - LONA. 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? - - BERNICK. You would have me voluntarily sacrifice my domestic - happiness, and my position in society? - - LONA. What right have you to stand where you are standing? - -And subsequently (p. 70): - - LONA. A lie, then, has made you the man you now are? - - BERNICK. Whom did it hurt, then?... - - LONA. You ask whom it hurt? Look into yourself, and see if it has not - hurt you. - -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): - - BERNICK. Yes, yes, yes; it all comes of the lie.... - - LONA. Then, why do you not break with all this lying?... What - satisfaction does this show and deception give you? - - BERNICK. ... 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. - - LONA. With a lie for its groundwork? Reflect what it is you are giving - your son for an inheritance. - -In _An Enemy of the People_, 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 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. - - Yours is a complicated case ... that troublesome integrity-fever [he - says to him--p. 360].... - - I’m fostering the life-illusion [literally ‘the life-lie’] in him. - - GREGERS. Life-illusion? Is that what you said? - - RELLING. 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. - -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. - -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 _Ghosts_, Mrs. Alving ascribes her whole life’s -unhappiness 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 _The Lady from the Sea_, 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 (_Hedda Gabler_, 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 (_The Pillars of -Society_, 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.’ - -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 (_The Lady from the -Sea_) 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 -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 (_The Lady from the Sea_, 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 _The Pillars of Society_ -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): - - And do you never think what she might have been to you--she, whom you - chose in my stead? - - BERNICK. I know, at any rate, that she has been to me nothing of what - I required. - - LONA. Because you have never shared your life-work with her; because - you have never placed her in a free and true relation to you. - -In _Rosmersholm_ 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.’ - -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 the man help and educate the wife -intellectually, although it is to be remarked that this _rôle_ 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 (_A Doll’s House_, 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. _Farà da se!_ 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 _The Wild Duck_, 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): - - GREGERS. [I want] to lay the foundations of a true marriage. - - RELLING. So you don’t find Ekdal’s marriage good enough as it is? - - GREGERS. No doubt it’s as good a marriage as most others, worse luck. - But a _true_ marriage it has never been. - - HJALMAR. You have never had eyes for the claims of the ideal, Relling. - - RELLING. All rubbish, my boy! But, excuse me, Mr. Werle, how many ... - true marriages have you seen in the course of your life? - - GREGERS. Scarcely a single one. - - RELLING. Nor I, either. - -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 _Raskolnikow_ by Dostojewski, -where the assassin and the prostitute, after a contrite confession, -unite their soiled and broken lives; except that in Ibsen the scene -is stripped of its sombre grandeur and lowered to the ridiculous and -vulgar. - -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 _rôle_ of the tragic runaway to a man. ‘I must out into -the snow and tempest,’ declaims Hjalmar (_The Wild Duck_, 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. - -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 (_A Dolls House_, p. 111): - - NORA. 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. - - HELMER. You don’t understand the society in which you live. - - NORA. No, no more I do. But now I will set to work and learn it. - -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 all that he needs on this subject from -his half-compatriot, Professor Westermarck.[341] 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. - -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. - -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 _The Lady from the Sea_ 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 -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.’ - - WANGEL. What else do you know about him? - - ELLIDA. Only that he went to sea very young; and that he had been on - long voyages. - - WANGEL. Is there nothing more? - - ELLIDA. No; we never spoke of such things. - - WANGEL. Of what did you speak, then? - - ELLIDA. About the sea! - -And she betrothed herself to him - - Because he said I must. - - WANGEL. You must? Had you no will of your own, then? - - ELLIDA. Not when he was near. - -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. - -In this same _Lady from the Sea_, 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 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. - -We find the same absurdity repeated, in the fundamental idea, in the -premises and deductions of nearly all his plays. In _Ghosts_ 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 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. - -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 _Glove_? 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 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 _Credo_? -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. - -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 _The Pillars of Society_ 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 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 _An Enemy -of the People_, ‘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 _Rosmersholm_, 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 _Rosmersholm_ 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. - -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.e._, -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 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.’[342] - -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. - -It is in _Brand_ that Ibsen’s absurdity apparently achieves its -greatest triumph. Northern critics have reiterated _ad nauseam_ 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 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.) - -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,[343] 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. - -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[344] 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 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. - -Firstly, phrases saying absolutely nothing, interpolated between -intelligible words, and indicating a temporary paralysis of the centres -of ideation. - -In _The Lady from the Sea_ (p. 25) Lyngstrand says: ‘I am to a certain -extent a little infirm.’[345] This ‘to a certain extent’ is admirable! -Lyngstrand, a sculptor, is speaking of his artistic projects (p. 51): - - As soon as I can set about it, I am going to try if I can produce a - great work--a group, _as they call it_. - - ARNHOLM. Is there anything else? - - LYNGSTRAND. Yes, there is to be another figure--_a sort of apparition, - as they say_. - -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 _Hedda Gabler_, Brack, a sharp and clever _bon vivant_, -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, -_generally speaking_, Mrs. Hedda.’ In _Rosmersholm_ Brendel says (p. -24): ‘So you see when golden dreams descended and enwrapped me ... I -fashioned them into poems, into visions, into pictures--_in the rough_, -as it were, you understand. Oh, what pleasures, what intoxications I -have enjoyed in my time! The mysterious bliss of creation--_in the -rough_, 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.’[346] -‘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 _The Wild Duck_ -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): - - Are you glad when you have some good news to tell father when he comes - home in the evening? - - HEDWIG. Yes, for then we have a pleasanter time. - - GINA. Yes, _there is something [true][347] in that_!! - -In the conversation about the wild duck between Ekdal, Gregers and -Hjalmar we read (p. 289): - - EKDAL. He was out in a boat, _you see_, and he shot her. But father’s - sight is pretty bad now. H’m; he only wounded her. - - GREGERS. Ah! she got a couple of shot in her body, I suppose. - - HJALMAR. Yes, _two or three_.... - - GREGERS. And she thrives all right in the garret there? - - HJALMAR. 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. - - GREGERS. _You’re right there_, Hjalmar. - -And in a dialogue between Hedwig and Gregers Werle (p. 305): - - HEDWIG. ... If I had learnt basket-making, I could have made the new - basket for the wild duck. - - GREGERS. So you could; and it was, strictly speaking, your business, - wasn’t it? - - HEDWIG. Yes, for she’s _my_ wild duck. - - GREGERS. _Of course she is!_ - -Now for some examples of phrases which sound excessively profound, but -in reality express nothing, or mere foolishness. - -In _A Doll’s House_ (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. - -In _Rosmersholm_, 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 into their souls.’ Rebecca repeats to -him his programme (p. 62): - - 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. - - ROSMER. Joyful noblemen. - - REBECCA. Yes, joyful. - - ROSMER. For it is joy that ennobles the mind. - -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 _Ghosts_, 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 _was_ 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 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. - -In _Hedda Gabler_ 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_ 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). - - HEDDA. Could you not contrive that it should be done gracefully? - - LÖVBORG. Gracefully? With vine-leaves in my hair? - -‘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, _e.g._, -when we read in _The Pillars of Society_ (p. 19): - - RÖRLUND. Tell me, Dina, why you do like so much to be with me? - - DINA. Because you teach me so much that is beautiful. - - RÖRLUND. Beautiful? Do you call what I can teach you beautiful? - - DINA. Yes; or, rather, you teach me nothing; but when I hear you - speak, it makes me think of so much that is beautiful. - - RÖRLUND. What do you understand, then, by a beautiful thing? - - DINA. I have never thought of that. - - RÖRLUND. Then think of it now. What do you understand by a beautiful - thing? - - DINA. A beautiful thing is something great and far away. - -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 _The Wild Duck_ (p. 53): - - GREGERS. And she [the wild duck] has been down in the depths of the - sea. - - HEDWIG. Why do you say ‘in the depths of the sea’? - - GREGERS. What else could I say? - - HEDWIG. You could say ‘the bottom of the sea’ [or ‘at the bottom of - the water’].[348] - - GREGERS. Oh, mayn’t I just as well say the depths of the sea? - - HEDWIG. Yes; but it sounds so strange to me when other people speak of - the depths of the sea. - - GREGERS. Why so?... - - HEDWIG. ... 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.]. - -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. - -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 _Ghosts_ (p. 176): - - OSWALD. ... She was full of the joy of life (p. 177). - - MRS. ALVING. What were you saying about the joy of life? - - OSWALD. Have you noticed that everything I have painted has turned - upon the joy of life?--always, always upon the joy of life? (p. 187). - - MRS. ALVING. 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. - -In _Hedda Gabler_ the word ‘beauty’ plays a similar part (p. 190): - - HEDDA (_to_ Lövborg). _You_ use it [the pistol] now.... And do it - beautifully (p. 214). - - _Hedda._ I say that there is something beautiful in this [Lövborg’s - suicide] (p. 219). - - HEDDA. 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! - -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[349] often lays stress on this, and A. Marie[350] 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. - -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. - -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 _The Lady from the -Sea_, 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). - - 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 _in_ the sea, perhaps, we should be more perfect than we are--with - better and happier.... - - ARNHOLM (_jestingly_). 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. - - ELLIDA. 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. - -And Dr. Wangel, who is depicted as a rational man, says (p. 129): - - And then she is so changeable, so capricious--she varies so suddenly. - - ARNHOLM. No doubt that is the result of her morbid state of mind. - - WANGEL. Not altogether. Ellida belongs to the sea-folk. That is the - matter(!!). - -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. - -In an exceedingly amusing French farce, _Le Homard_, 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. - -These ‘comprehensives’ are like the chemist in _Le Homard_. 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, 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?[351] - -A final stigma of Ibsen’s mysticism must be considered--his symbolism. -In _The Wild Duck_, 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 _The Lady -from the Sea_, 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 _Ghosts_, 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, _Emperor and Galilean_, _Brand_, _Peer Gynt_, -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 _The Lady from the Sea_ 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 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,[352] 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. - -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, _To my Friend -the Destructive Orator_. In this he glorifies the deluge as the ‘sole -revolution not made by a half-and-half dabbler’ (_Halohedsfusker_); 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.’[353] In a series of letters offered by -elephant-driver Brandes for the edification of the adorers of Ibsen, -the poet gives conspicuous specimens of his theories.[354] 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,[355] -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. - -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 _The -Pillars of Society_, 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 _won’t be_’ (p. 44). - - 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. - - JOHAN. Well, at any rate, they’re not so bad as people here think. - - DINA. 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. - - MARTHA BERNICK. Oh, how we writhe under this tyranny of custom and - convention! Rebel against it, Dina. Do something to defy all this - use-and-wont! - -In _An Enemy of the People_ (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 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--_e.g._, when he entrusts the -maintenance of society to grotesque Philistines, or makes self-styled -Radicals betray the hypocrisy of their Liberal views. In _An Enemy of -the People_ (p. 238): - - BURGOMASTER. 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 - -In _Rosmersholm_ (p. 53): - - MORTENSGAARD [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. - -With the same purpose of anarchistic ridicule he always personifies the -sense of duty in idiots or contemptible Pharisees only. In _Ghosts_ 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 _The Pillars of Society_ 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 _An Enemy of the People_ 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.’ - -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. - -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[356] 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. - -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 _An Enemy of the People_ is contained in Stockmann’s -exclamation (p. 315): ‘The strongest man on earth is he who stands most -alone’; and in _Rosmersholm_ (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,[357] Ibsen wished to -portray himself in that personage. That which is expressed in these -passages is the _dégoût des gens_ and the _tedium vitæ_ of alienists, -phenomena never absent in depressed forms of mental alienation. - -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 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. - -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. - -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 (_A -Doll’s House_), Mrs. Alving (_Ghosts_), Selma Malsberg (_The League -of the Young_), Dina, Martha Hessel, Mrs. Bernick (_The Pillars of -Society_), Hedda Gabler, Ellida Wangel (_The Lady from the Sea_), -Rebecca (_Rosmersholm_), 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 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 (_The Lady from the Sea_): ‘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. (_Ghosts_, 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 (_The Pillars of Society_) 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 -(_Rosmersholm_) is also unmarried, yet she runs away (p. 96): - - I am going. - - ROSMER. Where are you going, Rebecca? - - REBECCA. North, by the steamer. It was there I came from. - - ROSMER. But you have no ties there now. - - REBECCA. I have none here either. - - ROSMER. What do you think of doing? - - REBECCA. I don’t know. I only want to have done with it all. - -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 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 _A Doll’s House_ -(p. 104, _et seq._), 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 _Ghosts_ -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 (_The Pillars of Society_): ‘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 _Rosmersholm_: ‘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? what infamous abuse they’ve dared to heap -upon me?’ Werle, in _The Wild Duck_: ‘Even if, out of attachment to -me, she were to disregard gossip and scandal and all that----?’ The -Burgomaster, in _An Enemy of the People_: ‘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.’ - -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 _rôle_; and this impression is correct, for under all the -different names there is only one _rôle_. 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 _The Wild Duck_ is travestied in Hjalmar’s departure from -his house. One feature of this scene appears word for word in all the -_réchauffés_ of it: - - NORA. Here I lay the keys down. The maids know how to manage - everything in the house far better than I do. - - ELLIDA. If I do go ... I haven’t a key to give up, an order to - give.... I am absolutely rootless in your house, etc. - -In _A Doll’s House_, 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 _Hedda -Gabler_, 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 -_she_ 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 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 _A Doll’s House_ we have Helmer; -in _The Wild Duck_, Hjalmar; in _The Pillars of Society_, Hilmar, Mrs. -Bernick’s brother. - -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. - -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 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 (_A Doll’s House_); their catastrophes, that one -no longer believes in the articles of their creed (_Rosmersholm_); -the loss of an appointment as physician at a watering-place (_An -Enemy of the People_); the raked-up rumours of an amorous nocturnal -_péché de jeunesse_ (_The Pillars of Society_); the frightful crimes -darkening, like a thunder-cloud, the lives of these beings and their -social circle are an intrigue with a maidservant (_Ghosts_, _The Wild -Duck_); a _liaison_ with an itinerant music-hall singer (_An Enemy of -the People_); the felling, by mistake, of wood in a state-forest (_The -Wild Duck_); the visit to a house of ill-fame after a good dinner -(_Hedda Gabler_). 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: - - MATILDA (_aged three years_). Why did they put the gentleman in prison? - - RICHARD (_five years old, very dignified and sententious_). It wasn’t - a gentleman; it was a bad man. They put him in prison because he was - wicked. - - MATILDA. What had he done then? - - RICHARD (_after reflecting a little_). 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. - -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. - -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. 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 _them_ 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,[358] 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[359] -that the most prominent characteristic of Ibsen’s works is their -unity (_Enhed_). 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. - -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,[360] 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. - -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. - -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 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 _The Wild Duck_, 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. - -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[361] sums up this doctrine in these words: ‘The revolt of the -individual against society. In other words, Ibsen is the apostle of -moral autonomy (_autonomie morale_).’ Now such a doctrine is surely -well fitted to cause ravages among the intellectually indolent or -intellectually incapable. - -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. - -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 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.[362] -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.e._, 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, 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. - -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 becomes atrophied. -Cæsarian madness[363] 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. - -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.[364] 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,[365] 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[366] 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 -_sacrifizio dell’ intelletto_ 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. But his revolt will always be in the name of judgment, not in -the name of instinct. - -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. - -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 _The Pillars of Society_, 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 (_Ghosts_, -p. 158): - - PASTOR MANDERS. It was my greatest victory, Helen--the victory over - myself. - - MRS. ALVING. It was a crime against us both. - -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, -was bound to secure the applause of those women who in the viragoes -of Ibsen’s drama--hysterical, nymphomaniacal, perverted in maternal -instinct[367]--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 _les femmes de ruisseau_ 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[368] 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. - -In his fiercely travestied exaggerations of Ibsen’s doctrines, entitled -_Der Vater_, _Gräfin Julie_, _Gläubiger_, 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.’[369] 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. - -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. - -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 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,[370] -believe that ‘sound common-sense and optimism are the two destructive -principles of all poetry’! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE. - - -AS 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 ‘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 _rôle_ 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. - -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 in itself. Although this -mode of explanation is also false, the explanation itself is at least -rational and psychologically tenable.’--_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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!’--_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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 _contrast_ -rather be the right disguise in which the shamefacedness of a god might -walk abroad?’) - -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 will -give only one or two examples of each kind among the thousands that -exist: - -_Also sprach Zarathustra_[371] (‘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?”’ - -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? - -_Also sprach Zarathustra_, 4 Theil, p. 124 _ff._: ‘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 _must_ 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 ye wish _all_ back again! All -anew, all eternally, all enchained, bound, amorous. Oh! then _loved_ -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 _herself_, 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!’ - -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. - -The following are obviously insane assertions or expressions: - -_Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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.’ - -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. - -_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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.’ - -I have no explanation or interpretation of this profundity to offer. - -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. 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.[372] 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, _e.g._, Kaatz, already cited, and, in -addition, Zerbst,[373] Schellwien,[374] 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. - -Nietzsche’s doctrine, promulgated as orthodox by his disciples, -criticises the foundations of ethics, investigates the 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’ (_Uebermensch_). 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. - -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?’ - -Nietzsche replies to these questions thrown out by him in the preface -to the book _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, in developing his idea of the -genesis of present morality. - -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 command, who is master by nature, who comes on -the scene with violence in deed and demeanour?’ - -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 _bonus_ I believe I may venture -to interpret as “the warrior.” Provided I rightly trace _bonus_ to a -more ancient _duonus_ (compare _bellum_, _duellum_, _duen-lum_, in -which it seems to me that _duonus_ is contained). _Bonus_, then, as a -man of discord, of disunion (_duo_), as warrior: whereby it is seen -what in ancient Rome constituted the “goodness” of a man.’ - -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.’ - -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’--_Umwerthung der Werthe_.) That which, under the master-morals, -had passed for good was now esteemed bad, and _vice versâ_. 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 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.’ - -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 _grand_ 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 _sub hoc signo_ Israel, with its vengeance and -transvaluation of all values, has hitherto triumphed again and again -over all other ideals, over all nobler ideals.’ - -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. - -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, 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 _essentially_--_i.e._, 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 _essence_ of living -things, as organic function.’[375] - -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, 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. - -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 -(_Unmensch und Uebermensch_).’ - -The intellectually free man must stand ‘beyond good and 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 -_Zarathustra_ 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.’ - -This is Nietzsche’s moral philosophy which (disregarding -contradictions) is deduced from separate concordant passages in -his various books (in particular _Menschliches Allzumenschliches_, -_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, and _Zur Genealogie der Moral_). I will -take it for a moment and subject it to criticism, before confronting it -with Nietzsche’s own assertions diametrically opposed to it. - -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 _Kjökkenmöddinge_, 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 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.’ - -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.e._, 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 _Dhammapada_[376] and from the -Chinese _Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king_:[377] ‘Do not speak harshly to anybody’ -(_Dhammapada_, 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’ (_Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king_, 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, 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,[378] after Brehm, a Jewish slave in revolt against the -masterfolk of blond beasts? - -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?’[379] Very well; history teaches that the ‘blond beast,’ -_i.e._, 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.[380] And long before -intelligence of the ‘ascetic ideal’ of Jewish Christianity reached it, -the same ‘blond beast’ developed the conception of feudal fidelity, -_i.e._, 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! - -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.[381] - -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,[382] ‘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.[383] - -Now for the philological argument. Originally, _bonus_ is supposed to -have read _duonus_, and hence signified ‘man of discord, disunion -(_duo_), warrior.’[384] The proof of the ancient form _duonus_ is -offered by ‘_bellum_ = _duellum_ = _duen-lum_.’ Now _duen-lum_ is -never met with, but is a free invention of Nietzsche, as is equally -_duonus_. How admirable is this method! He invents a word _duonus_ -which does not exist, and bases it on the word _duen-lum_, 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 _alopex_ -= _lopex_ = _pexpix_ = _pux_ = _fechs_ = _fichs_ = _Fuchs_ (fox). -Nietzsche is uncommonly proud of his discovery, that the conception -of _Schuld_ (guilt) is derived from the very narrow and material -conception of _Schulden_ (debts).[385] 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 _schlecht_ (_schlicht_) (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 has not the -remotest connection with a change in the moral valuation of feelings -and acts. - -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’[386]--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.[387] 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.e._, 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 -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. - -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.[388] 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? - -Nietzsche would seem to deny the legitimacy of a classification -of actions from moral standpoints. ‘Nothing is true, all is -permissible.’[389] There is no good and no evil. It is a superstition -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,’[390] 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 -_vice-versâ_--an intellectual performance of which every naughty and -mischievous child of four is certainly capable. - -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.[391] 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 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. - -He contemptuously reproaches slave-morality as being a utilitarian -morality,[392] 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.’[393] -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.’[394] - -He believes he has unearthed something deeply hidden, not yet descried -by human eye, when he announces,[395] ‘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 ‘ 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?[396] 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.e._, 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.e._, 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. - -Quite as ‘deep’ as his discovery of the egoism of all unselfishness -is Nietzsche’s harangue ‘to the teachers of unselfishness.’[397] 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. - -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 into consideration for the purposes -of this book.’[398] 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. - -In _Also sprach Zarathustra_, 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. - -Another example. _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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.’[399] - -But he denies his personality, his ‘I,’ still more decidedly. In the -preface to _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 6, he explains that the -foundation of all philosophies up to the present time has been ‘some -popular superstition,’ such as ‘the superstition 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.’[400] And yet the -‘ripest fruit of society and morality is the sovereign individual, who -resembles himself alone.’[401] And yet ‘a personality which denies -itself is no longer good for anything’! - -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. - -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. - -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.[402] 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.’[403] - -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.... (_Jenseits von Gut und -Böse_, pp. 154, 123.) ‘The strong are constrained by their nature to -segregate, as much as the feeble are by theirs to aggregate’ (_Zur -Genealogie der Moral_, p. 149). In opposition to this he teaches in -other places: ‘During the longest interval in the life of humanity -there was nothing more terrible than to feel one’s self alone’ (_Die -fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 147). Again: ‘We at present sometimes -undervalue the advantages of life in a community’ (_Zur Genealogie der -Moral_, 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.e._, hostility to the community -and contempt of its advantages, as characterizing the strong. - -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 _inter -pares_; 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’ (_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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. - -At one moment he makes merry over the ‘naïveté’ of those who believe -in an original social contract (_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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’? - -At one time ‘agony is something which inspires pity’ (_Jenseits von -Gut und Böse_, p. 136), and a ‘succession of crimes is horrible’ (_Zur -Genealogie der Moral_, p. 21); and then, again, the ‘beauty’ of crime -is spoken of (_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 91), and complaint is -made that ‘crime is calumniated’ (the same book, p. 123). - -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. - -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 (_Jenseits von -Gut und Böse_), ‘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.e._, -in signs of communication, by which fact the origin of consciousness -itself is revealed’ (_Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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 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’ [!!] (_Die -fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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 (_Jenseits -von Gut und Böse_, 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.e._, to inhibit an impulse by a thought -or a judgment. The descendant of mixed races ‘will on the average be -a weaker being’ (_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 120); indeed, the -‘European _Weltschmerz_, 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’ (_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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.’[404] ‘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’ (_Die fröhliche -Wissenschaft_, 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. - -Nietzsche lays special claim to extraordinary originality. He places -this epigraph at the beginning of his _Fröhliche Wissenschaft_: - - ‘I live in a house that’s my own, - I’ve never in nought copied no one, - And at every Master I’ve had my laugh, - Who had not first laughed at himself.’ - -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. - -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.[405] 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 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. - -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’ -(_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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’? - -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 _Zur Genealogie der Moral_ (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 _Intentions_ on ‘The Decay of Lying,’ as, -conversely, Wilde’s aphorisms: ‘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, _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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, _Intentions_, 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’ -_A Rebours_, 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. - -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?’ (_Jenseits von -Gut und Böse_, p. 3). ‘What, after all, are the truths of man? They are -the irrefutable errors of man’ (_Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 193). -‘The will for truth--that might be a hidden will for death’ (_Ibid._, -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,[406] 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 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 (_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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. - -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 _Jenseits von Gut und -Böse_, p. 168, where he vaunts, ‘What is really noble in works and -in men, their moment of smooth sea and halcyon self-sufficiency, the -_golden_ and the _cool_,’ 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’ (_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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’ (_Ibid._, p. 177). -‘Behold these superfluities!... They vomit their bile, and name it a -newspaper’ (_Also sprach Zarathustra_, 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!’ (_Ibid._, 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. - -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 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. - -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: - -‘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 _English_ kind, and which -attracted me with that attractive force possessed by everything -contrary, everything antipodal. The title of this little book was -_Der Ursprung der moralischen Empfindunger_ [“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 [_Menschliches Allzumenschliches_--“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’ (_Zur -Genealogie der Moral_, p. 7). - -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!’ - -This explanation of the source of his ‘original’ moral 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 _folie des négations_ 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,[407] and he makes use _ad -nauseam_ 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 _Paraphasia vesana_, -or insane language opposed to usage, as the reader is shown by the -examples cited in foot-note.[408] - -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’ (_Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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’ (_The Pillars of Society_). - -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,[409] and continues thus: - -‘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 as morbid -aberration the better opposing moral instincts, manifesting themselves -in us as that which we call conscience. - -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 (_pervers_) 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.[410] 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.’ - -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 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.[411] -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. - -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.[412] -Nietzsche is a sufferer from Sadism in its most pronounced form, -only with him it is 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 _in its lust_ after -prey and victory’ (_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 21). ‘The _feeling -of content_ at being able, without scruple, to wreak his power on a -powerless being, the _voluptuousness de faire le mal pour le plaisir -de le faire_, the _enjoyment_ of vanquishing’ (_Ibid._, p. 51). ‘Do -your pleasure, ye wantons; roar for very _lust_ and wickedness’ (_Die -fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 226). ‘The path to one’s own heaven ever -leads through the _voluptuousness_ of one’s own hell’ (_Ibid._, 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, -_voluptuousness_, passion?’ (_Ibid._, 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 -_lusting_’ (_Also sprach Zarathustra_, 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. - -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 _Psychopathia sexualis_. The masochism of Wagner and Ibsen, -the Skoptzism of Tolstoi, the erotomania (_folie amoureuse chaste_) -of the Diabolists, the Decadents, and of Nietzsche, unquestionably -obtain for 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,[413] -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.[414] 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. - -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 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.[415] 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. - -Kaatz[416] 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 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. - -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.’[417] - -A series of imitators are eagerly busying themselves to make Nietzsche -their model, whether in clearing the throat or in expectorating. His -treatise _Schopenhauer als Erzieher_ (_Unzeitgemässe Betrachtungen, -3 Stück_) has found a monstrous travesty in _Rembrandt als -Erzieher_. 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,[418] 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 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,[419] 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 _Pickwick_, 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.e._, ‘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! - -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 he has ‘bequeathed -us some powerful poems,’[420] and goes so far as to make use of this -unheard-of expression: ‘Nietzsche’s _Zarathustra_ is a work of art -like _Faust_.’ The question first of all obtruding itself is: Has Kurt -Eisner at any time read a line of _Faust_? 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 _Faust_ has not fallen at some time or other. -Then there remains only one other question: What may Kurt Eisner -have understood of _Faust_? To name in the same breath the senseless -spirting jet of words of a _Zarathustra_ with _Faust_ 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. - -Not only in Germany is the Nietzsche gang working mischief; it is also -infesting other lands. Ola Hansson,[421] already mentioned, entertains -his Swedish fellow-countrymen most enthusiastically with ‘Nietzsche’s -Poetry’ and ‘Nietzsche’s Midnight Hymn’; T. de Wysewa[422] 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. - -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 also be shown that Nietzsche has always been insane, and that -his writings are the abortions of frenzy (more exactly, of ‘maniacal -exaltation’). - -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! - -For Nietzsche’s ‘anthropophobia’ we have the evidence of his -biographers, who cite curious examples of it.[423] 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. - -‘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 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.’[424] - -Still more graphic is the description given by Krafft-Ebing.[425] ‘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.”’ - -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.) - -His cœnæstheses, or systemic sensations, continually inspire 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.’ - -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 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. - -(‘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. - -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.’ - -‘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.’ - -‘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.’ - -‘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. - -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. - -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. - -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, 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 -(_nachsagte_, _nachraunte_, _nachrühmte_) 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. - -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 (_Wende_) in all the need (_Noth_) is -called necessity (_Nothwendigkeit_).’ ‘Thus ye boast (_brüstet_) of -yourselves--alas! even without breasts (_Brüste_).’ ‘There is much -pious lick-spittle-work (_Speichel-Leckerie_), baking-of-flattery -(_Schmeichel-Bäckerei_) before the Lord of Hosts.’ ‘Spit upon the -great town, which is the great slum (_Abraum_), where all the scum -(_Abschaum_) froths together (_zusammanschäumt_).’ ‘Here and there -there is nothing to better (_bessern_), nothing to worsen (_bösern_).’ -‘What have they to do there, far-seeing (weitsichtige), far-seeking -(_weit-süchtige_) eyes?’ ‘In such processions (_Zügen_) goats -(_Ziegen_) and geese, and the strong-headed and the wrong-headed -(_Kreuz und Querköpfe_), were always running on before.... O, -Will, turn of all need (_Wende aller Noth_)! O thou my necessity -(_Nothwendigkeit_)!’ ‘Thus I look afar over the creeping and swarming -of little gray waves (_Wellen_) and wills (_Willen_).’ ‘This seeking -(_Suchen_) for my home was the visitation (_Heimsuchung_) of me.’ -‘Did not the world become perfect, round and ripe (_reif_)? O for the -golden round ring (_Reif_)!’ ‘Yawns (_Klafft_) the abyss here too? -Yelps (_Kläfft_) the dog of hell here too?’ ‘It stultifies, brutalizes -(_verthiert_), and transforms into a bull (_verstiert_).’ ‘Life is at -least (_mindestens_), at the mildest (_mildestens_), an exploiting.’ -‘Whom I deemed transformed akin to myself (_verwandt-verwandelt_),’ etc. - -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 sort of fellowship in meaning with these. He -speaks, for example, of _Hinterweltlern_ (inhabitants of remote worlds) -from _Hinterwäldlern_ (backwoodsmen), of a _Kesselbauche_ (kettle’s -belly) when he is thinking of _Kesselpauche_ (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?’ - -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,’ _e.g._, 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, _e.g._, 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, -_gemässigt_ and _mittelmässig_). - -‘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. - -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 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!’ - -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 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.’ - -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 _la bêtise -bourgeoise_, 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?’ - -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.’ - -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. - -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.’ - -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 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.’ - -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. _Also Sprach Zarathustra_ -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 _verbatim_ to analogous portions of the Gospel, _e.g._: ‘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;’ ‘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? _Hence_’ (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. - -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. - -As is general in frenzied madness, Nietzsche is conscious of 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 -_presto_.... 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 _tempo_.’ ‘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 _Zierrath_, _Schmierrath_.)[426] 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.’ - -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. - -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 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, _Der Fall Wagner_, 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. - -Dr. Hermann Türck[427] 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.’ - -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 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. - -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.e._, 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 cheaply our ancient renown as a people of depth -for Prussian “swagger,” and the wit and sand of Berlin.’[428] 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.’[429] 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,’[430] 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. - -Besides anarchists, born with incapacity for adaptation, his -‘individualism,’ _i.e._, 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. - -Finally, his consequential airs have also increased the number 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.”’[431] - -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. - -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. - - - - -BOOK IV. - -_REALISM._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -ZOLA AND HIS SCHOOL. - - -IT was necessary to treat in detail the two forms of degeneracy in -literature and art hitherto examined, _i.e._, 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.[432] 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. - -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 _Mercure de France_ (a Symbolist journal), it -was impossible for us to find anyone who had read through _La Bête -humaine_, 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.’[433] - -Among the disciples of Zola, among those who collaborated in the -_Soirées de Médan_, 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.[434] When Zola’s _La Terre_ 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 _flair_ 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 _L’Argent_ and _La Débâcle_, 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 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. - -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. - -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 (_Paris unter der dritten Republik_), and -will confine myself here to going very briefly over the argument. - -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 _ad libitum_, 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. - -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 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.e._, 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. - -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, 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. - -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 _work_, -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.e._, 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 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.e._, the reverse of ‘realism.’ - -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, 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.e._, 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.e._, ‘realistic.’ - -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.e._, 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.e._, -he will simply follow the wanderings of his imagination, even when he -desires to represent circumstances which may be personally familiar to -him. - -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 went into the forest and seated -herself on the brink of a cool fountain’ (_The Frog Prince; or, Iron -Henry_). ‘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. (_The -Twelve Brothers_). ‘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. (_Mary’s Child_). The unknown -writer of these fairy-tales transports his stories into royal palaces, -or even into heaven--_i.e._, 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 _La Faustin_, 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 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 -_dans le bleu_, this physical love in ideality, and all the rest of the -jargon which I spare the reader?’[435] M. Edmond de Goncourt professes -to depict a contemporary Englishman, an actress also of our own times, -events in Parisian life--_i.e._, 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. - -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.e._, 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 _Inferno_ or Goethe’s _Faust_; 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 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. - -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 _The Mill on the Floss_, 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 _Vanity Fair_ 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 idealistic, if realism signifies being occupied with inferior -persons and conditions, idealism with those that are superior? - -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. - -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. - -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.[436] 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.e._, 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 _Voyage to the Equinoxial Regions of the New Continent_, -by Alexander Humboldt, to _Sahara and Soudan_, by Nachtigal, _Im -Herzen Afrikas_, by Schweinfurth, or Edmond de Amicis’ books on -_Constantinople_, _Morocco_, _Spain_, _Holland_, 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 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.e._, 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. - -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.e._, 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 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.’[437] - -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. - -Another of his originalities is said to be the observation and -reproduction of the _milieu_, 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 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, 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.e._, 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. - -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 _Madame -Bovary_), 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 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. - -On the pretension of M. Zola and his partisans, that his novels -are ‘slices from real life’ (_tranches de vie_), 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. - -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 _ben trovati_ 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? 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^e 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. - -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 _L’Assommoir_ are borrowed from a study by M. Denis Poulot, -_Le Sublime_. The adventure of _Une Page d’Amour_ is taken from the -_Mémoires de Casanova_. Certain features in which the masochism or -passivism of Count Muffat is declared in _Nana_, M. Zola found in a -quotation from Taine relative to the _Venice Preserved_ of Thomas -Otway.[438] The scene of the confinement, in _La Joie de Vivre_, the -description of the Mass, in _La Faute de l’Abbé Mouret_, 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 _cocottes_. 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 _Bouvard et -Pécuchet_, 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. - -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. - -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 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 -_Pot-Bouille_, 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 -_La Terre_, 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. - -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 _Notre Dame de Paris_, 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, 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 _in flagrante delicto_, 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 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 -_Notre Dame de Paris_ 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. - -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 _magasin de modes_ 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 _L’Assommoir_, the -still; in _Pot-Bouille_, the ‘solemn staircase’; in _Au Bonheur des -Dames_, the draper’s shop; in _Nana_, the heroine herself, who is -no ordinary harlot, but ‘_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_.’[439] This 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.[440] -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. - -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.[441] -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 _magnum opus_ -the most exceptional case he could possibly have 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 _magnum -opus_, 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.[442] 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 _roman du colportage_, -_i.e._, 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 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 _Rinaldo -Rinaldini_, _Die blutige Nonne um Mitternacht_, _Der Scharfrichter -vom Schreckenstein_, 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. - -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.’[443] 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. - -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 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. - -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.’[444] Pessimism is always the form under which -the patient becomes conscious of certain morbid conditions, and first -and foremost of his nervous exhaustion. _Tædium vitæ_, 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, _post facto_, 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 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. - -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.’[445] 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.’[446] -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 _mania blasphematoria_, 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 _mania blasphematoria_, when in _La Terre_ 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.[447] - -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,[448] his -anthropomorphism and his symbolism, his 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. - -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 _La Terre_, 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.[449] - -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 _War and Peace_) represents to us Prince Pierre -suddenly deciding on marrying the Princess Hélène when he smells her -fragrance at a ball.[450] In the narrative entitled _The Cossacks_ -he never mentions the uncle Ieroschka without speaking of the smell -he emitted.[451] 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 _L’Ennemi des Lois_: ‘I go every morning to the -stables. Oh, that little stabley smell, so warm and pleasant! And she -inhaled with a pretty[!] sensual expression....’[452] M. de Goncourt -describes, in _La Faustin_, 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!”’[453] 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’[454]--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.e._, within the limits of -the healthy life).[455] 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.’[456] - -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[457]--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 _La Faute de l’Abbé Mouret_, -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 ‘_dégage une odeur de vie, une -toute-puissance de femme_.’ In _Pot-Bouille_, Bachelard exhales ‘une -odeur de débauche canaille’; Madame Campardon has ‘a good fresh -perfume of autumn fruit.’ In _Le Ventre de Paris_, 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 _L’Assommoir_. - -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 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.e._, 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. - -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 different novels, the printed indications, -for example, at the beginning of the last edition of _L’Assommoir_ -(bearing the date 1893). They have been put down as follows: Of _Nana_, -160,000; _La Débâcle_, 143,000; _L’Assommoir_, 127,000; _La Terre_, -100,000; _Germinal_, 88,000; _La Bête humaine_ and _Le Rêve_, each -83,000; _Pot-Bouille_, 82,000; as a contrast, _L’[Œuvre_, 55,000; _La -Joie de Vivre_, 44,000; _La Curée_, 36,000; _La Conquête de Plassans_, -25,000; of the _Contes à Ninon_ 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: _La Débâcle_, _Germinal_, and _Le Rêve_. 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. - -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 ‘_die Moderne_,’ 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! - -Moreover, justice exacts that among Zola’s imitators two groups should -be distinguished. The one cultivates chiefly his 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 _bonâ fide_, -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.e._, 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. - -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 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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE ‘YOUNG-GERMAN’ PLAGIARISTS. - - -THIS 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. - -If, then, in spite of this, I devote a special chapter to the so-called -‘Young-German’ ‘realists,’ while I have despatched 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. - -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.[458] - -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 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 _Faust_ 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.[459] But he who knows 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. - -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.[460] 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 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. - -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, -_Revolution in Literature_. 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. - -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 -_Revolution in der Literatur_ 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, _Die -Verkommenen_, 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 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 (_King Henry -IV._, 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. - -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 (_Aus einem lyrischen Tagebuch_): - - ‘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.’ - -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 _dans ce galère_. 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 _epigoni_ such as a Hans Hopfen, a -Hermann Lingg, a Martin Greif. Considering the high level that 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 -_honoris causâ_, 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. - -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 _Young Germany_, 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. - -As the first specimen of ‘realist’ literature of ‘Young Germany,’ -I will quote the novel by Heinz Tovote, _Im Liebesrausch_.[461] -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 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. - -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. - -The very first thing we have a right to expect of a man who assumes -to write for the public, _i.e._, 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. - -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 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 _The -Mikado_. ‘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.’ - -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.e._, 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 [_sich klammerten!_] -to his.’ ‘It must be granted that, considering his youth, he has the -incontestable genius of a lively conception,’ etc. - -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 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.’ - -We have seen what impressionism and the descriptive _tic_ 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 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. - -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 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. - -I do not consider it a crime when Tovote, in using French words, -confounds _tourniquet_ with _moulinet_, and speaks of _cabinets -séparés_ instead of _cabinets particuliers_. 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. - -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. - -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 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. - -Socialism enters into the ‘modern’ novel like Pilate into the -Creed. Tovote relates, _e.g._, 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 _Unter den -Linden_, 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! - -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 _ewig-Weibliche_; 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 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 _Schlechte Gesellschaft_. 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. - -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, _Die gute Schule; Seelenstände_.[462] _Seelenstände_ -literally means ‘states of soul.’ He had read and not understood the -term _états d’âme_ in the new French authors, _état_ having been used -in the political sense which it has in _tiers-états_. - -In the story related in the _Seelenstände_, 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. - -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. 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 _L’[Œuvre_, 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. - -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.’ - -What makes this struggle with the green sauce, for the purpose -of overcoming it in a ‘healing and redeeming’ work of art, so -irresistibly comic is that the whole passage is written in an entirely -serious view, and without the least idea of joking! - -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.’ - -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.’ - -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 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, ainder -is better expressed in the original, in Huysmans’ novel, _A Rebours_. -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. - -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. - -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. - -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, _Vor -Sonnenaufgang_ and _College Crampton_, 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, _e.g._, in the -play _Vor Sonnenaufgang_, the appearance of Hopslabär, the servant -Mary who is leaving, the coachman’s wife stealing the milk, etc. All -are pictures of manners, but at the same time cease to form united -compositions. - -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, _Einsame Menschen_ (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: - - FRÄULEIN ANNA (_the Russian_). 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? - - JOHANNES (_the idiot_). In what way? - - FRÄULEIN ANNA. 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.[463] - -The same swagger of modernity made the author decide on this title, -_Vor Sonnenaufgang_ (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 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,[464] and proves himself, by these shadowy indications, to be a -‘modern’ man. - -Hauptmann is true and strong only when he makes the poor of the -lowest class speak in their own dialect. The maidservants in _Vor -Sonnenaufgang_ 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 _Einsame Menschen_. And if -_Die Weber_ 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. - -_Die Weber_ (The Weavers) is the only real drama among the five which -Hauptmann has hitherto written.[465] There is 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,[466] 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 -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.[467] 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. - -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.e._, the opposite -of a ‘realistic’ copy of fact, which would have to be photographically -objective. - -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 -_Vor Sonnenaufgang_: ‘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 _Die Weber_, should after -this lofty composition have written the novels _Der Apostel_ and -_Bahnwärter Thiel_?[468] 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 _Der Apostel_. 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. _Zarathustra_ 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 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. - -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 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 _Die Weber_. - -Hauptmann’s successes have not let Arno Holz and Johannes Schlaf rest, -and both have joined to imitate his _Vor Sonnenaufgang_. Their united -efforts produced the _Familie Selicke_, 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 _magna opera_. - -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 _à la_ Paul Lindau, recently dealing with realism, we address -the reproach of false realism.’[469] 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 _souteneur_, 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 -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.’[470] - -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 _La Revue bleue_ -and in _Le Figaro_ of Conrad Alberti as the ‘poet’ who will dominate -German literature in the twentieth century. The ‘new reviews’ of the -Symbolists and Instrumentists, _La Revue blanche_, _La Plume_, 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, _Pierrot lunaire_, 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. - -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 _Via Crucis_ -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 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.e._, 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. - -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 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. - -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, 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. - -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. - - - - -BOOK V. - -_THE TWENTIETH CENTURY._ - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -PROGNOSIS. - - -OUR 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. - -Superficial or unfair critics have foisted on me the assertion -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 _Zeitgeist_, weakened by fatigue, -and rendered it incapable of resistance. - -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?’ - -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. - -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: - -Every city possesses its club of suicides. By the side of this exist -clubs for mutual assassination by strangulation, 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. - -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. - -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, 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.[471] 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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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. - -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 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. - -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;[472] 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. - -If, however, the new civilization should decidedly outstrip 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.[473] 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.[474] 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. - -As to the future of art and literature, with which these 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.e._, 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. - -But, as I have said, I merely venture on these passing hints as to -their yet remote destinies, and will confine myself to the immediate -future, which is far more certain. - -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.”’[475] 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. - -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 -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 _Lay of the Bell_; dramatic form includes at the same -time the _Geschundener Raub-ritter_ (The Highwayman Fleeced), acted -some time ago at Berlin, and Goethe’s _Faust_; the epic form embraces -Kortum’s _Jobsiade_ and Dante’s _Divina Commedia_, Heinz Tovote’s -_Im Liebesrauche_ and Thackeray’s _Vanity Fair_. 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. - -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 (_The Banquet of Trimalchio_) 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 beings; -Diderot, who in _Le Fils naturel_ and _Le Père de Famille_ 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 (_Nouvelle Héloïse_), -a Werther, a Constance (_Le Fils naturel_), 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, _Looking Backward_, 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 _Verlorene Paradies_,[476] or -Ernst von Wildenbruch’s _Haubenlerche_.[477] A brave woman like Minna -Wettstein-Adelt,[478] 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;[479] a Gerhart Hauptmann, -too, with his closely-observed details in _Die Weber_, do more for the -proletariat than all the Emile Zolas, with their empty theorizing in -_Germinal_ and _L’Argent_, 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 _Uncle Tom’s Cabin_ 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 negroes of the United States. -They cannot and will not do more. - -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.e._, with the association of -ideas directed by emotion; the latter works with observation, _i.e._, -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 _Aurora_ 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. - -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 -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. - -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 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. - -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. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THERAPEUTICS. - - -IS it possible to accelerate the recovery of the cultivated classes -from the present derangement of their nervous system? - -I seriously believe it to be so, and for that reason alone I undertook -this work. - -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. - -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 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.’ - -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. - -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, recover from the disease of the age -than it might under a strong and resolute combat with the evil. - -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 _Kreutzer -Sonata_ or Ibsen’s _Rosmersholm_ if it were of necessity admitted -that Goethe’s _Werther_ suffers from irrational eroticism, and that -the _Divina Commedia_ and _Faust_ 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 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.e._, 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. - -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 -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. - -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 _Nana_ (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. - -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 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[480] 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. - -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. - -It is the sacred duty of all healthy and moral men to take 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. - -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.’ - -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. - -The police cannot aid us. The public prosecutor and criminal judge -are not the proper protectors of society against 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. - -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, _e.g._, 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 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 _Gute Schule_, and would dishabituate the ‘realists’ from -parading a condemnation based on a crime against morality as a mark of -distinction. - -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,[481] ‘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,[482] 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 prominent official status would recommend them to the reader -would restrain many healthy spirits from affiliating themselves with -degenerate tendencies. - -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. - -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.’ - - - FINIS. - - - BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD - - - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[1] 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 _bourgeoisie_, are sound. I assert only the decay of -the rich inhabitants of great cities and the leading classes. It is -they who have discovered _fin-de-siècle_, and it is to them also that -_fin-de-race_ applies. - -[2] ‘My thought I hasten to fulfil.’ - -[3] A four-act comedy, by H. Micard and F. de Jouvenot, named -_Fin-de-Siècle_, 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. - -[4] _Traité des Dégénérescences physiques, intellectuelles et morales -de l’Espèce humaine et des Causes qui produisent ces Variétés -maladives._ Par le Dr. B. A. Morel. Paris, 1857, p. 5. - -[5] 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. - -[6] Morel, _op. cit._, p. 683. - -[7] _L’Uomo delinquente in rapporto all’ Antropologia, Giurisprudenza -e alle Discipline carcerarie._ 3ª edizione. Torino, 1884, p. 147 _et -seq._ See also Dr. Ch. Féré, ‘La Famille nevropathique.’ Paris, 1894, -pp. 176-212. - -[8] ‘La Famille nevropathique,’ _Archives de Nevrologie_, 1884, _Nos. -19 et 20_. - -[9] See, on this subject, in particular, Krafft Ebing, _Die Lehre -vom moralischen Wahnsinn_, 1871; H. Maudsley, _Responsibility in -Mental Disease_, International Scientific Series; and Ch. Féré, -_Dégénérescence et Criminalité_, Paris, 1888. - -[10] J. Roubinovitch, _Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence_; 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.’ - -Legrain, _Du Délire chez les Dégénérés_; 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. - -[11] Henry Colin, _Essai sur l’État mental des Hystériques_; 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.e._, coercive idea] and impulsion--both -irresistible.’ - -[12] Morel, ‘Du Délire émotif,’ _Archives générales_, 6 série, vol. -vii., pp. 385 and 530. See also Roubinovitch, _op. cit._, p. 53. - -[13] Morel, ‘Du Délire panophobique des Aliénés gémisseurs,’ _Annales -médico-psychologiques_, 1871. - -[14] Roubinovitch, _op. cit._, p. 28. - -[15] _Ibid._, p. 37. - -[16] _Ibid._, p. 66. - -[17] Charcot, ‘Leçons du Mardi à la Salpétrière,’ _Policlinique_, -Paris, 1890, 2^e 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.’ - -[18] Legrain, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[19] Magnan, ‘Considérations sur la Folie des Héréditaires ou -Dégénerés,’ _Progrès médical_, 1886, p. 1110 (in the report of a -medical case): ‘He also thought of seeking for the philosopher’s stone, -and of making gold.’ - -[20] Lombroso, ‘La Physionomie des Anarchistes,’ _Nouvelle Revue_, -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 _Pazzi ed Anomali_. Turin, 1884. - -[21] Colin, _op. cit._, p. 154. - -[22] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 11. - -[23] Roubinovitch, _op. cit._, p. 33. - -[24] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_; German translation by A. Courth. -Reclam’s _Universal Bibliothek_, Bde. 2313-16. See also in particular, -J. F. Nisbet, _The Insanity of Genius_. London, 1891. - -[25] Falret, _Annales médico-psychologiques_, 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.’ - -[26] _Nouvelle Revue_, July 15, 1891. - -[27] Tarabaud, _Des Rapports de la Dégénérescence mentale et de -l’Hystérie_. Paris, 1888, p. 12. - -[28] Legrain, _op. cit._, pp. 24 and 26. - -[29] Lombroso, _Nouvelles recherches de Psychiatrie et d’Anthropologie -criminelle_. Paris, 1892, p. 74. - -[30] Axenfeld, _Des Névroses_. 2 vols., 2^e édition, revue et complétée -par le Dr. Huchard. Paris, 1879. - -[31] Paul Richer, _Études cliniques sur l’Hystéro-épilepsie ou Grande -Hystérie_. Paris, 1891. - -[32] Gilles de la Tourette, _Traité clinique et thérapeutique de -l’Hystérie_. Paris, 1891. - -[33] Paul Michaut, _Contribution à l’Étude des Manifestations de -l’Hystérie chez l’Homme_. Paris, 1890. - -[34] Colin, _op. cit._, p. 14. - -[35] Gilles de la Tourette, _op. cit._, p. 548 _et passim_. - -[36] Colin, _op. cit._, pp. 15 and 16. - -[37] Gilles de la Tourette, _op. cit._, p. 493. - -[38] _Ibid._, p. 303. - -[39] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 39. - -[40] Dr. Emile Berger, _Les Maladies des Yeux dans leurs rapports avec -la Pathologie général_. Paris, 1892, p. 129 _et seq._ - -[41] _Traité clinique et thérapeutique de l’Hystérie_, p. 339. See -also Drs. A. Marie et J. Bonnet, _La Vision chez les Idiots et les -Imbéciles_. Paris, 1892. - -[42] Alfred Binet, ‘Recherches sur les Altérations de la Conscience -chez les Hystériques,’ _Revue philosophique_, 1889, vol. xxvii. - -[43] _Op. cit._, p. 150. - -[44] Ch. Féré, ‘Sensation et Mouvement,’ _Revue philosophique_, 1886. -See also the same author’s _Sensation et Mouvement_, Paris, 1887; -_Dégénérescence et criminalité_, Paris, 1888; and ‘L’Énergie et la -Vitesse des Mouvements volontaires,’ _Revue philosophique_, 1889. - -[45] Lombroso, _L’Uomo délinquente_, p. 524. - -[46] ‘Les Nerveux se recherchent,’ Charcot, _Leçons du Mardi_, _passim_. - -[47] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 173: ‘The true explanation of the -occurrence of _folie à deux_ 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, _La Folie à Deux_. -Paris, 1880. - -[48] _Journal des Goncourt._ Dernière série, premier volume, 1870-71. -Paris, 1890, p. 17. - -[49] Viennese for ‘fop.’--TRANSLATOR. - -[50] _Traité des Dégénérescences_, _passim_. - -[51] Personally communicated by the distinguished statistician, Herr -Josef Körösi, Head of the Bureau of Statistics at Budapest. - -[52] Speech of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Goschen, in the -House of Commons, April 11, 1892. - -[53] J. Vavasseur in the _Economiste français_ of 1890. See also -_Bulletin de Statistique_ 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: - - GREAT BRITAIN. - - Wine. Beer and Cider. - Gall. Gall. - - 1830-1850 0.2 26 - 1880-1888 0.4 27 - - FRANCE. - - 1840-1842 23 3 - 1870-1872 25 6 - - PRUSSIA. - - Quarts. - 1839 13.48 - 1871 17.92 - - GERMAN EMPIRE. - Litres. - 1872 81.7 - 1889-1890 90.3 - - -[54] 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. (_La Médecine -moderne_, year 1891.) - -[55] _Traité des Dégénérescences_, pp. 614, 615. - -[56] Brouardel, _La Semaine médicale_. 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.’ - -[57] 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.) - -[58] Féré, _La Semaine médicale_. Paris, 1890, p. 192. - -[59] See, besides the lecture by Hofmann, the excellent book: _Eine -deutsche Stadt vor 60 Jahren, Kulturgeschichtliche Skizze_, von Dr. -Otto Bähr, 2 Auflage. Leipzig, 1891. - -[60] 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,’ _Revue scientifique_, 1891-92; and -in a small degree from private publications (such as _Annuaire de la -Presse_, _Press Directory_, 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. - -[61] See G. André, _Les nouvelles maladies nerveuses_. Paris, 1892. - -[62] Legrain, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[63] _Revue scientifique_, year 1892; vol. xlix., p. 168 _et seq._ - -[64] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 266. - -[65] Quoted by J. Roubinovitch, _Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence_, p. -18. - -[66] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 200. - -[67] 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. - -[68] Mosso’s experiments on, and observations of, the exposed surface -of the brain during trepanning have quite established this fact. - -[69] 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. - -[70] 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. - -[71] - - ‘One tread moves a thousand threads, - The shuttles dart to and fro, - The threads flow on invisible, - One stroke sets up a thousand ties.’ - - -[72] Karl Abel, _Ueber den Gegensinn der Urworte_. Leipzig, 1884. - -[73] James Sully, _Illusions_. London, 1881. - -[74] Th. Ribot, _Psychologie de l’Attention_. Paris, 1889. - -[75] 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 (_inter alia_ by Dr. Morat, -_La Semaine médicale_, 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. - -[76] 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, _Die Hypnose und die damit verwandten normalen -Zustände_, Leipzig, 1890, and have there (pp. 27 _et seq._) 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 (_Hypnotismus und Suggestion_, 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. - -[77] _Brain_, January, 1886, quoted by Ribot, _Psychologie de -l’Attention_, p. 68. - -[78] Ribot, _op. cit._, pp. 106 and 119. - -[79] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 177. - -[80] _Ibid._, p. 156. - -[81] 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^{te} E. M. de Vogué, _Le -Roman Russe_, 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 [_résonnances_].... 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.” ...’ - -[82] ‘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.e._. 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, _La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure_. Paris, 1889, p. -171. - -[83] Gérard de Nerval, _Le Rêve et la Vie_, 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. - -[84] 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’ (_La Semaine médicale_, 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’ (_Genie -und Irsinn_, p. 264). In the book of a German graphomaniac entitled -_Rembrandt als Erzieher_, 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. - -[85] Dr. Paul Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_. -Paris, 1891, p. 153. - -[86] _Poems by Dante Gabriel Rossetti._ With a memoir of the author by -Franz Hüffer. Leipzig, 1873, p. viii. - -[87] Gustave Freytag, _Bilder aus der deutschen Vergangenheit_, Bd. I.: -‘Aus dem Mittelalter.’ Leipzig, 1872, § 266. H. Taine, _Histoire de la -Littérature anglaise_. Paris, 1866, 2^e édition, vol. i., p. 46. - -[88] This is not an arbitrary assertion. One of D. G. Rossetti’s most -famous poems, of which further mention will be made, _Eden Bowers_, -treats of the pre-Adamite Lilith. - -[89] J. Ruskin, _Modern Painters_, American edition, vol. i., pp. xxi. -_et seq._ - -[90] Ruskin, _op. cit._, p. 24. - -[91] _Ibid._, p. 26. - -[92] ‘BALLADE QUE VILLON FEIT À LA REQUESTE DE SA MÈRE POUR PRIER -NOSTRE DAME. - - ‘Femme je suis povrette et ancienne. - Que riens ne scay, oncques lettres ne leuz, - Au Monstier voy (dont suis parroissienne) - Paradis painct, ou sont harpes et luz, - Et ung enfer, où damnez sont boulluz, - L’ung me faict paour, l’autre joye et liesse, - La joye avoir faictz moy (haulte deesse) - A qui pecheurs doivent tous recourir - Combley de foy, sans faincte ne paresse, - En ceste foy je vueil vivre et mourir.’ - -It is significant that the pre-Raphaelite Rossetti has translated this -very poem of Villon, _His Mother’s Service to Our Lady_. _Poems_, p. -180. - -[93] Edward Rod, _Études sur le XIX. Siècle_. Paris et Lausanne, 1888, -p. 89. - -[94] Rossetti, _Poems_, p. 277. - -[95] - - ‘The springing green, the violet’s scent, - The trill of lark, the blackbird’s note, - Sunshowers soft, and balmy breeze: - If I sing such words as these, - Needs there any grander thing - To praise thee with, O day of spring?’ - - -[96] Rod, _op. cit._, p. 67. - -[97] _Poems_, p. 16. - -[98] Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_, p. 184. See -also Lombroso, _The Man of Genius_ (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 _riprovate_ (blame) -occurs about 143 times. - -[99] _Poems_, p. 31. - -[100] _Poems_, p. 247. - -[101] Algernon Charles Swinburne, _Poems and Ballads_. London: Chatto -and Windus, 1889, p. 247. - -[102] - - ‘The Runic stone stands out in the sea, - There sit I with my dreams, - ‘Mid whistling winds and wailing gulls, - And wandering, foaming waves. - I have loved many a lovely child, - And many a good comrade-- - Where are they gone? The wind whistles, - The waves wander foaming on.’ - - -[103] William Morris, _Poems_ (Tauchnitz edition), p. 169: - - ‘And if it hap that ... - My master, Geoffrey Chaucer, thou do meet, - Then speak ... the words: - “O master! O thou great of heart and tongue!”’... - - -[104] A history of the commencement of this society has been written by -one of the members, Mathias Morhardt. See ‘Les Symboliques,’ _Nouvelle -Revue_ du 15 Février, 1892, p. 765. - -[105] Charles Morice, _La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure_. Paris, 1889, -p. 274. - -[106] Jules Huret, _Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire_. Paris, 1891, -p. 65. - -[107] Charles Morice, _op. cit._, p. 271. - -[108] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 14. - -[109] V^{te} E. M. de Vogüé, _op. cit._, p. xix _et seq._ - -[110] Morice, _op. cit._, pp. 5, 103, 177. - -[111] _Rembrandt als Erzieher._ Leipzig, 1890, p. 2. - -[112] Edouard Rod, _Les Idées morales du Temps présent_. Paris, 1892, -p. 66. - -[113] Paul Desjardins, _Le Devoir présent_. Paris, 1892, pp. 5, 8, 39. - -[114] F. Paulhan, _Le nouveau Mysticisme_. Paris, 1891, p. 120. - -[115] 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^{er} vol., p. 616 - -[116] Morhardt, _op. cit._, p. 769. - -[117] 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. - -[118] Jules Huret, _Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire_. Paris, 1891. - -[119] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 65. - -[120] Paul Verlaine, _Choix de Poësies_. Paris, 1891. - -[121] Lombroso, _L’Uomo delinquente_, p. 184. - -[122] Lombroso, _op. cit._, p. 276. - -[123] Verlaine, _op. cit._, p. 272. - -[124] Verlaine, _op. cit._, pp. 72, 315, 317. - -[125] Shortly, but not immediately after, the immediate result being a -sense of great relief and satisfaction. - -[126] Verlaine, _op. cit._, pp. 175, 178. - -[127] Legrain, _Du délire chez les dégénéres_, pp. 135, 140, 164. - -[128] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 8. - -[129] E. Marandon de Montyel, ‘De la Criminalité et de la -Dégénérescence,’ _Archives de l’Anthropologie criminelle_, Mai, 1892, -p. 287. - -[130] - - Ah! if these are dream hands, - So much the better, or so much the worse, or so much the better. - - -[131] Virgil’s ‘lentus,’ when applied to aspects of nature conveys a -very different meaning. - -[132] Charles Morice, _La Littérature de tout-à-l’heure_, p. 238. - -[133] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 33. - -[134] 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. - -[135] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 55. - -[136] Hartmann, _Der Gorilla_. Leipzig, 1881, p. 34. - -[137] Dr. L. Frigerio, _L’Oreille externe: Étude d’Anthropologie -criminelle_. Lyon, 1889, pp. 32 and 40. - -[138] Lombroso, _L’Uomo delinquente_, p. 255. - -[139] Huret, _op. cit._, p. 102. - -[140] _Ibid._, p. 106. - -[141] _Ibid._, p. 401. - -[142] Jean Moréas, _Le Pélerin passionné_. Paris, 1891, p. 3. - -[143] Moréas, _op. cit._, pp. 21 and 2. - -[144] _Ibid._, p. 43. - -[145] Moréas, _op. cit._, p. 311. - -[146] - - ‘O Syrinx! do you see and understand the Earth, and the wonder of this - morning, and the circulation of life! - O thou, there! and I, here! O thou! O me! All is in All!’ - - -[147] Morice, _op. cit._, p. 30. - -[148] Morice, _op. cit._, p. 321. - -[149] Dr. F. Suarez de Mendoza, _L’Audition colorée: Étude sur les -fausses Sensations secondaires physiologiques_. Paris, 1892. - -[150] Alfred Binet, ‘Recherche sur les altérations de la conscience -chez les hystériques,’ _Revue philosophique_, 1889, 27^e vol., p. 165. - -[151] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 162. - -[152] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_. German edition, p. 233. - -[153] 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 _Paradoxe_ (popular edition, part ii., p. -253) the principle that the poet must ‘to the majority of his readers -utter the deep saying, “_Tat twam asi!_”--“That art thou!” of the -Indian sage,’ and ‘must be able, with the ancient Romans, to repeat to -the sound and normally developed man, “_Of thee is the fable related_.” -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.’ - -[154] Hugues Le Roux, _Portraits de Cire_. Paris, 1891, p. 129. - -[155] V^{te} E. M. de Vogüé, _Le Roman russe_. Paris, 1888, p. 293 _et -seq._ - -[156] See, in _War and Peace_ (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 _et seq._, 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. - -[157] See, in _War and Peace_, 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. - -[158] _War and Peace_, 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. - -[159] Vogüé, _op. cit._, p. 282. - -[160] Count Leo Tolstoi, _A Short Exposition of the Gospel_. From the -Russian, by Paul Lauterbach. Leipzig: Reclam’s Universal-Bibliothek, p. -13. - -[161] L. Tolstoi, _Short Exposition of the Gospel_, p. 13. - -[162] Tolstoi, _Short Exposition_, etc., p. 172. - -[163] More accurately, in Vedântism.--TRANSLATOR. - -[164] Tolstoi, _Short Exposition_, etc., p. 128. - -[165] _Short Exposition_, p. 60. - -[166] De Vogüé, _op. cit._, p. 333. - -[167] L. Tolstoi, _Gesammelte Werke_, Berlin, 1891, Band II.: _Novels -and Short Tales_, part i. - -[168] Léon Tolstoi, _La Sonate à Kreutzer_. Traduit du Russe par E. -Halpérine-Kaminsky. Paris: Collection des auteurs célèbres, p. 72. - -[169] P. 119. - -[170] _Short Exposition of the Gospel_, p. 140. - -[171] _Le Roman du Mariage._ Traduit du Russe par Michel Delines. -Paris. _Auteurs célèbres._ - -[172] Ed. Rod, _Les Idées morales du Temps présent_. Paris, 1892, p. -241. - -[173] Raphael Löwenfeld, _Leo N. Tolstoi, sein Leben, seine Werke, -seine Weltanschauung_. Erster Theil. Berlin, 1892, Introd., p. 1. - -[174] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, p. 256, foot-note. - -[175] Löwenfeld, _op. cit._, p. 39. - -[176] _Ibid._, p. 276. - -[177] Professor Kowalewski, in _The Journal of Mental Science_, -January, 1888. - -[178] Griesinger, ‘Ueber einen wenig bekannten psychopathischen -Zustand,’ _Archiv für Psychiatrie_, Band I. - -[179] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, p. 324. - -[180] Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_. - -[181] Löwenfeld, _op. cit._, p. 100. - -[182] Löwenfeld, _op. cit._, p. 47. - -[183] Legrain, _Du Délire chez les Dégénérés_, pp. 28, 195. - -[184] 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) _Des Aberrations du Sens -génésique_, 2^e édition, Paris, 1883; and Krafft-Ebing’s _Psychopathia -sexualis_, Stuttgart, 1886. Papers on this subject by Westphal (_Archiv -für Psychiatrie_, 1870 and 1876), by Charcot and Magnan (_Archives de -Neurologie_, 1882), etc., are scarcely accessible to the general public. - -[185] V. Magnan, _Leçons cliniques sur la Dipsomanie, faites à l’asile -Sainte-Anne_. Recueillies et publiées par M. le Dr. Marcel Briand. -Paris, 1884. - -[186] Richard Wagner, _Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft_. Leipzig, 1850. The -numbering of the pages given in quotations from this work refers to the -edition here indicated. - -[187] Arthur Schopenhauer, _Parerga und Paralipomena, Kurze Phil. -Schriften_. Leipzig, 1888, Band II., p. 465. - -[188] Charles Féré, _Sensation et Mouvement_. Paris, 1887. - -[189] _Das Kunstwerk der Zukunft_, p. 169: ‘It is only when the desire -of the artistic sculptor has passed into the soul of the _dancer_, -of the _mimic interpreter_, 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 -_architecture_--when the rigid solitude of this _one_ man carved in -stone will have been resolved into the infinitely flowing plurality of -veritable, living men ... it is only then, too, that _real plastic_ -will exist.’ And on p. 182: ‘That which it [painting] _honestly_ exerts -itself to attain, it attains in ... greatest perfection ... when it -descends from canvas and chalk to ascend to the _tragic stage_.... -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 -_stage_ for works of the dramatic art of the future, in which, itself -living, it will represent the warm _background_ of _nature_ for the use -of the _living_, and not for the imitated _man_.’ - -[190] Richard Wagner, _Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen_. Leipzig, -1883, Band X., p. 68. - -[191] Compare also, in _Das Bühnenweihfestspiel in Bayreuth_, 1882 -(_Gesammelte Schriften_, 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 _wishes_ to do, -namely (?), what is right.’ - -[192] Edward Hanslick, _Musikalische Stationen_. Berlin, 1880, pp. 220, -243. - -[193] Wagner, _Gesammelte Schriften und Dichtungen_, Band VI., p. 3 -_ff._ - -[194] 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,’ _Archives -de l’Anthropologie criminelle_, 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, _La -Folie érotique_. Paris, 1891, p. 127. - -[195] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, p. 229: ‘When the expression of -their ideas eludes their grasp ... they resort ... to the continual -italicizing of words and sentences,’ etc. - -[196] Friedrich Nietzsche, _Der Fall Wagner_. Leipzig, 1889. - -[197] _Der Fall Wagner._ _Ein Musikanten-Problem._ 2^{te} Auflage. -Leipzig, 1889. - -[198] Sollier, _op. cit._, p. 101. - -[199] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, p. 214 _et seq._ - -[200] Wagner, _Ges. Schriften_, Band X., p. 222. - -[201] Rubinstein, _Musiciens modernes_. Traduit du russe par M. -Delines. Paris, 1892. - -[202] _The Origin and Function of Music: Essays, Scientific, Political -and Speculative._ London: Williams and Norgate, 1883; vol. i., p. 213 -_et seq._ - -[203] E. Hanslick, _op. cit._, 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 _leit-motifs_ in the -orchestra.’ - -[204] Wagner, _Ueber die Anwendung der Musik auf das Drama_. _Ges. -Schriften_, Band X., p. 242. - -[205] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, p. 225. - -[206] _Ibid._, _op. cit._, p. 226. - -[207] Wagner, _Religion und Kunst_. _Ges. Schr._, Band X., p. 307, -note: ‘The author here expressly refers to A. Gleizès’ book, _Thalysia -oder das Heil der Menschheit_.... 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.’ - -[208] ‘Alberich’s seductive appeal to the water-sprites makes prominent -the hard, mordant sound of _N_, so well corresponding in its whole -essence to the negative power in the drama, inasmuch as it forms the -sharpest contrast to the soft _W_ of the water-spirits. Then when he -prepares to climb after the maidens, the alliance of the _Gl_ and -_Schl_ with the soft, gliding _F_ marks most forcibly the gliding off -the slippery rock. In the appropriate _Pr_ (_Fr_), Woglinde as it were -shouts “Good luck to you!” (_Prosit_) when Alberich sneezes.’--Cited by -Hanslick, _Musikalische Stationen_, p. 255. - -[209] Legrand du Saulle terms the persecutor who believes himself -persecuted, ‘persécuté actif.’ See his fundamental work: _Le Délire des -Persécutions_. Paris, 1871, p. 194. - -[210] Wagner, _Das Judenthum in der Musik_. _Ges. Schr._ Band V., p. -83. _Aufklärungen über das Judenthum in der Musik._ Band VIII., p. 299. - -[211] Wagner, _Deutsche Kunst und Deutsche Politik_. _Ges. Schr._ Band -VIII., p. 39. _Was ist Deutsche?_ Band X., p. 51 _et passim_. - -[212] Wagner, _Religion und Kunst_. _Ges. Schr._ Band X., p. 311. - -[213] _Offenes Schreiben an Herrn Ernst von Weber, Verfasser der -Schrift. Die Folterkammern der Wissenschaft._ _Ges. Schr._ Band X., p. -251. - -[214] A game of cards to which Teutomaniacs are much addicted. - -[215] F. Paulhan, _Le nouveau Mysticisme_. Paris, 1891, p. 104. - -[216] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 175: ‘The need for the marvellous is -almost always inevitable among the weak-minded.’ - -[217] Sar Mérodack J. Péladan, _Amphithéatre des Sciences mortes. -Comment on devient Mage_. Éthique. Avec un portrait pittoresque gravé -par G. Poirel. Paris, 1892. - -[218] Joséphin Péladan, _La Décadence latine_. Ethopée IX.: ‘La -Gynandre.’ Couverture de Séon, eau-forte de Desboutins. Paris, 1891, p. -xvii. - -[219] Maurice Rollinat, _Les Névroses_ (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, _L’Abîme_. Paris, 1891. - -[220] _Humiliés et Offensés_, p. 55; quoted by De Vogüé, _Le Roman -russe_, p. 222, foot-note. - -[221] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 246. - -[222] _Journal of Mental Science_, January, 1888. - -[223] _Le Délire des Persécutions._ Paris, 1871, p. 512. - -[224] Morel, ‘Du Délire panophobique des Aliénés gémisseurs.’ _Annales -médico-psychologiques_, 1871, 2^e vol., p. 322. - -[225] Maurice Maeterlinck, _Serres chaudes_. Nouvelle édition. -Bruxelles, 1890. - -[226] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_, 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.’ - -This constant changing of his profession Lombroso rightly characterizes -as one of the signs of mental derangement. A French admirer of -Whitman, Gabriel Sarrazin (_La Renaissance de la Poésie anglaise_, -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. - -[227] Walt Whitman, _Leaves of Grass_; a new edition. Glasgow, 1884. - -[228] Maurice Maeterlinck, _The Princess Maleine and the Intruder_. -London: W. Heinemann, 1892. - -[229] Omitted in the English translation.--TRANSLATOR. - -[230] Lisandro Reyes has clearly seen this in his useful sketch -entitled _Contribution à l’Etude de l’État mental chez les Enfants -dégénérés_; 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.’ - -[231] Legrain (_Du Délire chez les Dégénérés_, 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.’ - -[232] Analyzed in the _Journal of Mental Science_, January, 1888. - -[233] J. Roubinovitch, _Hystérie mâle et Dégénérescence_. Paris, 1890, -p. 62. - -[234] Legrain, _op. cit._, p. 10. - -[235] Lombroso, _Genie und Irrsinn_ (German edition cited in vol. i.), -p. 325. - -[236] Dr. Paul Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_. -Paris, 1890, p. 174. - -[237] See on this subject the remarkable treatise of Alfred Binet, -‘On the Psychic Life of Micro-organisms,’ contained in the volume -of extracts: ‘_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._’ 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 _Psycho-physiologische -Protisten-Studien_. Jena, 1889. - -[238] ‘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, _Les Maladies de la Personnalité_, 3^e édition. Paris, -1889, p. 35. - -[239] Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_, p. 52 _et -seq._ - -[240] Lombroso, _L’Uomo delinquente_. 3^a edizione. Torino, 1884, p. -329 _et seq._ - -[241] Lombroso, _Les Applications de l’Anthropologie criminelle_. -Paris, 1892, p. 179. - -[242] Th. Ribot, _Les Maladies de la Personnalité_, pp. 61, 78, 105. - -[243] Maudsley, _The Pathology of Mind_. London, 1879, p. 287. - -[244] See also Alfred Binet, _Les Altérations de la Personnalité_, -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 _La Semaine médicale_, 1892, p. 456. - -[245] Alfred Binet, _Les Altérations de la Personnalité_. Paris, 1892, -pp. 83, 85, _et seq._ - -[246] ‘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, _Les -Altérations de la Personnalité_, p. 208. - -[247] 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.e._, more full of waste and excreted organic -matter, while after the periods of depression it is less toxic, _i.e._, -poorer in disaggregated matter, than among sane individuals, which -proves that, among the former, the nutrition of the tissues is morbidly -increased or retarded. - -[248] Dr. Paul Moreau, of Tours, describes perversion (_l’aberration_) -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.’--_Des Aberrations du Sens génésique_. -4^e édition. Paris, 1887, p. 1. - -[249] ‘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, _Les Criminels mineurs_, quoted by -Lombroso in _Les Applications de l’Anthropologie criminelle_. Paris, -1892, p. 94. See also G. Tarde, _La Philosophie pénale_, Lyon, 1890, -_passim_; ‘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.’ - -[250] 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.e._, 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, _Von der Macht des Gemüthes_; 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. - -[251] H. Taine, _Les Origines de la France contemporaine: La -Révolution_, 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, _nolens volens_, 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 _an infirmity of growth_.’ - -[252] Dr. Paul Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_, p. -109 _et seq._: ‘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.’ - -[253] Jules Huret, _Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire_, p. 288. - -[254] Théophile Gautier, _Les Grotesques_. 3^{me} édition. Paris, 1856. - -[255] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, par Charles Baudelaire, précédées d’une -notice par Théophile Gautier. 2^e édition. Paris, 1869, p. 46. - -[256] M. Guyau, ‘L’Ésthétique du Vers moderne,’ _Revue philosophique_, -vol. xvii., p. 270. - -[257] Th. Gautier, quoted by M. Guyau, _loc. cit._, p. 270. - -[258] Printed in _L’Écho de Paris_, No. 2,972, July 8, 1892. - -[259] Théodore de Banville, _Petit Traité de Poésie française_. 2^e -édition revue. Paris, 1880, pp. 54, 64. - -[260] M. Guyau, _loc. cit._, pp. 264, 265. - -[261] 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, -_Gespräche über und mit Tolstoi_. Berlin, 1891, p. 77. - -[262] - - ‘Prince, je mens. Sous les Gémeaux - Ou l’Amphore, faire en son livre - Rimer entre eux de noble mots, - C’est la seule douceur de vivre.’ - - -[263] Eugène Crépet, _Les Poètes français_, vol. iv., p. 536: study by -Charles Baudelaire of Théodore de Banville. - -[264] ‘No human sobs in the poets’ song!’ - -[265] Jules Huret, _op. cit._, pp. 283, 297. - -[266] F. Brunetière, ‘La Statue de Baudelaire,’ _Revue des deux -Mondes_, September 1, 1892, vol. cxiii., p. 221. - -[267] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, par Charles Baudelaire, précédées d’une -notice par Théophile Gautier. 2^e édition. Paris, 1869, p. 22. - -[268] Baudelaire, in the work quoted by Eugène Crépet, _Les Poètes -français_, vol. iv., pp. 541, 542. - -[269] Franz Brentano, _Das Schlechte als Gegenstand dichterischer -Darstellung_. Vortrag gehalten in der Gesellschaft der Litteratur -freunde zu Wien. Leipzig, 1892, p. 17. - -[270] Fr. Paulhan, _Le nouveau Mysticisme_. Paris, 1891, p 94. See, in -addition, all the chapter ‘L’amour du mal,’ pp. 57-99. - -[271] Oswald Zimmermann, _Die Wonne des Leids_. _Beiträge zur -Erkenntniss des menschlichen Empfindens in Kunst und Leben._ 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 _et seq._). (The case of Jeanneret, -first published by Chatelain in the _Annales médico-psychologiques_, -has also been quoted by Krafft-Ebing, _Lehrbuch der gerichtlichen -Psychopathologie_. 3te Auflage. Stuttgart, 1892, p. 248.) - -[272] Sollier, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[273] Paul Bourget, _Essais de Psychologie contemporaine_. Paris, 1883, -p. 28. - -[274] _Ibid._, pp. 12, 13. - -[275] Verworn employs the word ‘chemotropism.’ - -[276] Sainte-Beuve, _Causeries du Lundi_, vol. xiv., p. 70. Article on -the complete poems of Théodore de Banville. October 12th, 1857. - -[277] Barbey d’Aurevilly, _Goethe et Diderot_. Paris, 1882. - -[278] J. K. Huysmans, _A Rebours_. 4ème mille. Paris, 1892, p. 251. - -[279] Paul Bourget, _op. cit._, 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 _saw_ 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.’ - -[280] Théophile Gautier, who was himself a member of a hashish club, -tries to make us believe (_Les Fleurs du Mal_, p. 57 _et seq._), 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. - -[281] Dr. E. Régis, _Manuel pratique de Médecine mentale_. 2e édition. -Paris, 1892, p. 279. - -[282] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, p. 5--‘le culte de soi-même.’ This is -Théophile Gautier’s own term. - -[283] Paul Bourget, _op. cit._, p. 31. - -[284] Ch. J. J. Sazaret, _Etude sur la Simulation de la Folie_. 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. - -[285] Fr. Paulhan, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[286] Joséphin Péladan, _Vice suprême_. Paris, 1882, p. 169. - -[287] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, p. 244: - - ‘Tête-à-tête sombre et limpide - Qu’un cœur devenu son miroir! - Puits de vérité, clair et noir, - Où tremble une étoile livide, - - ‘Un phare ironique, infernal, - Flambeau des grâces sataniques, - Soulagement et gloire uniques, - --La conscience dans le Mal!’ - - -[288] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, pp. 17, 18. - -[289] _Les Fleurs du Mal_, pp. 17, 18. - -[290] J. K. Huysmans, _A Rebours_. 4^{me} mille. Paris, 1892, p. 49. - -[291] 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 _Simplicissimus_), p. xlv. _et -seq._ - -[292] Paul Bourget, _op. cit._, p. 24. - -[293] 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. - -[294] Maurice Barrès, _Trois Stations de Psycho-thérapie_. Paris, 1892. -‘Deuxième Station.’ - -[295] _Ibid._, _Un Homme libre_. 3e édition. Paris, 1892. - -[296] _Ibid._, _Le Jardin de Bérénice_. Paris, 1891, p. 37 _et seq._ - -[297] _Ibid._, p. 245 _et seq._ - -[298] _Ibid._, _L’Ennemi des Lois_. Paris, 1893, pp. 63, 88, 170. - -[299] Maurice Barrès, _Examen de trois Idéologies_. Paris, 1892, p. 14. - -[300] _Examen de trois Idéologies_, p. 36. - -[301] _Ibid._, p. 46. - -[302] _L’Ennemi des Lois_, p. 285. - -[303] Oscar Wilde, _Intentions_. London, 1891, p. 197. - -[304] Schiller also says: - - ‘Ewig jung is nur die Phantasie; - Was sich nie und nirgends hat begeben, - Das allein veraltet nie.’--_An die Freunde._ - - ‘Forever young is fantasy alone; - That which nowhere ever has existed, - That alone grows never old.’ - -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. - -[305] Compare this with Kant’s _Kritik der Urtheilskraft_ -(_herausgegeben und erlautert von J. H. v. Kirchmann_); 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. - -[306] See in my _Paradoxe_ the chapters ‘Inhalt der poetischen -Literatur’ and ‘Zur Naturgeschichte der Liebe.’ - -[307] S. A. Tokarski’s article on ‘Myriachit’ in the _Neurologisches -Central-Blatt_ for November, 1890. Tokarski in this article also -informs us that this word should be written _meriatschenja_, and not -_myriachit_. - -[308] Edmund R. Clay, _L’Alternative_. _Contribution à la Psychologie._ -_Traduit de l’anglais par A. Burdeau_; 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.’ - -[309] Helmholtz, _Die Lehre von den Tonemfindungen_. 4 Aufl. -Braunschweig, 1877. - -[310] Pietro Blaserna, _Le Son et la Musique_, followed by _Causes -physiologiques de l’Harmonie musicale_, par H. Helmholtz. 4^e édition. -Paris, 1891. - -[311] E. Brücke, _Bruchstücke aus der Theorie der bildenden Künste_. -Leipzig, Intern. wissensch. Bibl. (The French edition of Brücke’s works -contains also Helmholtz’s _L’Optique et la Peinture_.) - -[312] Henry Joly, _Les Lectures dans les Prisons de la Seine_. Lyon, -1891. See also Lombroso, _L’Uomo delinquente_. Turin, 1884, p. 366 _et -seq._, and p. 387 _et seq._ - -[313] Pitrè, _Sui Canti popolari italiani in Carcere_. Firenze, 1876. -See also the portrait-group of the three brigands of Ravenna in -Lombroso, _op. cit._, Plate XV., facing p. 396. - -[314] _Raskolnikow_, Roman von F. M. Dostojewskij, Nach der vierten -Auflage des russichen Originals; _Prestuplenie i Nakazanie_, übersetzt -von Wilhelm Henckel. Leipzig, 1882, Band I., pp. 122-128. - -[315] 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 _Blicken ins Culturleben_; 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. - -[316] See foot-note to p. 38. - -[317] Wilhelm Loewenthal makes the feeling and need of religion spring -from the same presentient emotion. For the author of _Grundzüge einer -Hygiene des Unterrichts_, religion is the form assumed in man’s -consciousness by the ideal, _i.e._, 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. - -[318] NORA (_the children talk all at once to her during the -following_). 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! (_Takes the smallest from the nurse, and dances it -up and down._) 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. (_The nurse goes to -the room on the left._ NORA _takes off the children’s things and throws -them down anywhere, while she lets the children talk to each other and -to her_.) 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.--_A Doll’s House_, -Griffith and Farran, p. 30. - -[319] RANK (in NORA’S and HELMER’S 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. - -HELMER. You seemed to enjoy yourself exceedingly upstairs, too. - -RANK. 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. - -HELMER. Especially the champagne. - -RANK. 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? - -HELMER. Well spent? As to that, I have not much to boast of. - -RANK (_tapping him on the shoulder_). But I have, don’t you see. - -NORA. Then, you have certainly been engaged in some scientific -investigation, Dr. Rank. - -RANK. Quite right.... - -NORA. And am I to congratulate you on the result? - -RANK. By all means you must. - -NORA. Then the result was a good one? - -RANK. The best possible, alike for the physician and patient--namely, -certainty. - -NORA (_quickly and searchingly_). Certainty? - -RANK. Complete certainty. Ought not I, upon the strength of it, to be -very merry this evening? - -NORA. Yes, you were quite right to be, Dr. Rank.... I am sure you are -very fond of masquerade balls. - -RANK. When there are plenty of interesting masks present, I certainly -am.... - -HELMER. ...But what character will you take [at our next masquerade]? - -RANK. I am perfectly clear as to that, my dear friend. - -HELMER. Well? - -RANK. At the next masquerade I shall appear invisible. - -HELMER. What a comical idea! - -RANK. 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. (_He lights his cigar._) And now good-bye ... and thank you for -the light. - - [_He nods to them both and goes._--_A Doll’s House_, pp. 96-100.] - - -[320] 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. - - [_From within the dining room comes the noise of a chair overturned, - and at the same moment is heard_: - -REGINA (_sharply, but whispering_). Oswald, take care! Are you mad? Let -me go! - -MRS. ALVING (_starts in terror_). Ah! (_She stares wildly towards the -half opened door_; OSWALD _is heard coughing and humming inside. A -bottle is uncorked._) - -MANDERS (_excited_). What in the world is the matter? What is it, Mrs. -Alving? - -MRS. ALVING (_hoarsely_). Ghosts! The couple from the conservatory have -risen again!--_Ghosts, The Pillars of Society, and other Plays_. By -Henrik Ibsen, Camelot Series, p. 150.] - -[321] Frau Helseth has in vain sought for Rosmer and Rebecca in the -house. - -MADAME HELSETH (_goes to the window and looks out_). Oh, good God! that -white thing _there_!--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! -(_Shrieks aloud_) Oh--down--both of them! Out into the mill-race! Help! -help! (_Her knees tremble, she holds on to the chair-back, shaking all -over, she can scarcely get the words out._) No. No help here. The dead -wife has taken them.--_Rosmerholm._ London, Walter Scott, p. 144. The -last sentence is not a happy one. It is commonplace, upsetting the mood -of the hearer or reader. - -[322] Hjalmar has passed the night away from home, having learned that -his wife before her marriage with him had had a _liaison_ with another. -He returns in the morning, crapulous and hipped. He is bombastic and -melodramatic, while his wife is calm and practical:-- - -GINA (_standing with the brush in her hand, and looking at him_). Oh, -there now, Ekdal; so you’ve come after all? - -HJALMAR (_comes in and answers in a toneless voice_). I come--only to -depart again immediately. - -GINA. Yes, yes; I suppose so. But, Lord help us, what a sight you are! - -HJALMAR. A sight? - -GINA. And your nice winter coat, too! Well, that’s done for.... Then, -you are still bent on leaving us, Ekdal? - -HJALMAR. Yes; that’s a matter of course, I should think. - -GINA. Well, well.... (_Sets a tray with coffee, etc., on the table._) -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. - -HJALMAR (_glancing at the tray_). 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. - -GINA. But you’ve got no hat, Ekdal. You’ve lost your hat, you know, -etc.--_The Wild Duck_, Act V. - -[323] Auguste Ehrhard, Professor à la Faculté des Lettres de -Clermont-Ferrand, _Henrik Ibsen et le Théâtre contemporain_, 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.’ - -[324] 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.--_Hedda -Gabler._ London, W. Heinemann, pp. 7-9. - -[325] NORA. Yes, I really am now in a state of extraordinary happiness. -There is only one thing in the world that I should really like. - -RANK. Well, and what’s that? - -NORA. There’s something that I should so like to say--but for Torvald -to hear it. - -RANK. Then, why don’t you say it to him? - -NORA. Because I daren’t, for it sounds so ugly.... - -RANK. 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? - -NORA. I should like to shout with all my heart--Oh, dash it all!--_A -Doll’s House_, _op. cit._, pp. 26, 27. - -[326] Auguste Ehrhard, _op. cit._, p. 270. - -[327] Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Psychopathia sexualis mit -besonderer Berücksichtigung der conträren Sexualempfindung_. _Eine -klinisch-forensische Studie._ 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. - -[328] _A Doll’s House_, p. 112: - -HELMER. To forsake your home, your husband, and your children! And only -think what people will say about it. - -NORA. I cannot take that into consideration. I only know that to go is -necessary for me.... - -HELMER. ... Your duties to ... your children? - -NORA. I have other duties equally sacred ... duties towards myself, etc. - -[329] _Ghosts_, p. 170: OSWALD. 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: OSWALD. -The disease I have as my birthright (_he points to his forehead, and -adds very softly_) is seated here. - -[330] _The Wild Duck_, Act III.: - -GREGERS. Besides, if I’m to go on living, I must try and find some cure -for my sick conscience. - -WERLE. 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.... - -RELLING. But, deuce take it, don’t you see the fellow’s mad, cracked, -demented! - -GINA. There, you hear! His mother before him had mad fits like that -sometimes. - -[331] _The Wild Duck_, Act II.: - -HJALMAR. She is in danger of losing her eyesight. - -GREGERS. Becoming blind? - -HJALMAR. ... But the doctor has warned us. It’s coming, inexorably. - -GREGERS. What an awful misfortune! How do you account for it? - -HJALMAR (_sighs_). Hereditary, no doubt. - -Again, Act IV.: - -MRS. SÖRBY. ... He (Werle) is going blind. - -HJALMAR (_with a start_). Going blind? That’s strange--Werle, too, -becoming blind! - -[332] Dr Prosper Lucas, _Traité philosophique et physiologique de -l’Hérédité naturelle dans les États de Santé et de Maladie du Système -nerveux_, 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.) - -[333] Lucas, _op. cit._, t. i., pp. 391-420: _De l’hérédité des modes -sensitifs de la vue_. 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. - -[334] August Weismann, _Ueber die Vererbung_. Jena, 1883. - -[335] F. Galton, _Natural Inheritance_. London, 1888. - -[336] Page 136: - -MRS. ALVING. I know one who has kept both his inner and his outer self -unharmed. Only look at him, Mr. Manders. - -[337] Krafft-Ebing, _Psychopathia sexualis_, 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.’ - -[338] _Rosmersholm_, p. 23: - -REBECCA (_to Brendel_). You should apply to Peter Mortensgaard. - -BRENDEL. _Pardon, Madame_--what sort of an idiot is he? - -See the flat travesty in _An Enemy of the People_ (Act IV.) of the -forum scene in Shakespeare’s _Julius Cæsar_, and the characterization -of the ‘crowd,’ in _Brand_ (Act V.). - -[339] Herbert Spencer, _The Man_ versus _the State_, 1884, p. 78. - -[340] In the German text, ‘only of themselves and their -families.’--TRANSLATOR. - -[341] Edward Westermarck, _The History of Human Marriage_. London: -Macmillan, 1892. See especially the two chapters on ‘The Forms of Human -Marriage,’ and ‘The Duration of Marriage.’ - -[342] - - ‘At leve--er Kamp med Trolde - J Hjertet og Hjernens Hvaelv; - At digte--det er at holde - Dommedag over sig selv.’ - - -[343] Dr. Wilhelm Griesinger, _Pathologie und Therapie der psychischen -Krankheiten für Aerzte und Studirende_. 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.’) - -[344] Griesinger, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[345] Rationalized in the English version cited, as follows (p. 25): -‘Yes, perhaps I am a little delicate.’--TRANSLATOR. - -[346] Rationalized in the English version by ‘now soon,’ being rendered -as ‘nearly.’--TRANSLATOR. - -[347] ‘True’ is omitted in the English version quoted.--TRANSLATOR. - -[348] Bracketed clause not in English version.--TRANSLATOR. - -[349] Griesinger, _op. cit._, p. 176. He names the coining of words -‘phraseomania.’ Kussmaul gives the name _Paraphrasia vesana_ to the -coining of incomprehensible words, or the using of known words in a -sense wholly foreign to them. - -[350] Dr. A. Marie, _Études sur quelques Symptômes des Délires -systématisés et sur leur Valeur_; 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 (_op. cit._, p. 130) constructed, among others, -the following words: ‘Magnetismusambosarbeitswellen, Augengedanken, -Austrahlung, Glückseligkeitsbetten, Ohrenschussmaschine,’ etc. -Krafft-Ebing, _op. cit._, pp. 130, 131. - -[351] Vicomte E. M. de Vogué, ‘Les Cigognes,’ _Revue des deux -Mondes_, 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 _Rosmersholm_: “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’ -(_Vorstellungs-Appetitschränkchen_), freely used by one of Meynert’s -lunatic patients, or the words of a patient under Griesinger’s care -(_op. cit._, p. 176) that ‘the lady superior was establishing herself -in the military side-tone and in the retardation of her teeth.’ - -[352] Tanzi, _I Neologismi in rapporta col Delirio cronico_. Turin, -1890. - -[353] - - ‘Vi vil gjöre det om igjen raditalere, - Men dertil sordres baade Maend og Talere. - J sörger sor Vandflom til Verdensparken, - Jeg laegger med Lyst Torpedo under Arken.’ - -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. - -[354] Georges Brandes, _op. cit._, pp. 431, 435, 438, etc. - -[355] J. Cotard, _Études sur les Maladies cérébrales et mentales_; -Paris, 1891. In this book the _délire des négations_ 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’ (_Annales médico-psychologiques_, 7^e 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. - -[356] Lombroso and B. Laschi, _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_. Paris, 1892, t. -i., p. 195. - -[357] Auguste Ehrhard, _op. cit._, p. 412: ‘He [Ibsen] assigns -himself a _rôle_ 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’(?). - -[358] Auguste Ehrhard, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[359] Henrik Jaeger, _Henrik Ibsen og haus Vaerker. En Fremstilling i -Grundrids_. Christiania, 1892, _passim_. - -[360] G. R. S. Mead, _Simon Magus_. London, 1892. - -[361] Ehrhard, _op. cit._, p. 94. - -[362] W. Roux, _Ueber den Kampf der Theile des Organismus_. 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 -_Zeitschrift für wissenschaftliche Zoologie_, in Virchow’s _Archiv_, in -the _Biologische Centralblatt_, in the _Zoologische Jahrbücher_, etc. - -[363] Jacoby, _La Folie de Césars_. Paris, 1880. - -[364] Alfred Binet, _Les Altérations de la Personnalité_, 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. - -[365] ‘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, _Lehrbuch der gerichtlichen -Psychopathologie_. Dritte umgearbeitete Auflage. Stuttgart, 1892, p. -311. - -[366] Herbert Spencer, _The Individual versus the State_. London, 1884. - -[367] Dr. Ph. Boileau de Castelnau, ‘Misopédie ou Lésion de l’Amour -de la Progeniture’ (_Annales médico-psychologiques_, 3^e série, -7^e 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. - -[368] G. Ferrero, ‘L’Atavisme de la Prostitution,’ _Revue -scientifique_, 50^e volume, p. 136. - -[369] R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Psychopathia sexualis_, etc., 7^{te} -Auflage, p. 89 (the third edition of this book, from which I have -made my previous citations, contains nothing on masochism), and -_Neue Forschungen auf dem Gebiete der Psychopathia sexualis eine -medicinisch-psychologische Studie_, Zweite umgearbeitete und vermehrte -Auflage, Stuttgart, 1891, p. 1 _ff._ Krafft-Ebing gives this -explanation of his word (p. 1 _et seq._): ‘By masochism I understand -a peculiar perversion of the psychic _vita sexualis_, 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’ -(_Neue Forschungen_, 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 _Parents -pauvres_, part i.: _La cousine Bette_) have embodied this condition -quite as clearly as Sacher-Masoch. Hence I prefer the designation -‘passivism,’ proposed by Dimitry Stefanowsky. See _Archives de -l’Anthropologie criminelle_, 1892, p. 294. - -[370] Ehrhard, _op. cit._, p. 88. - -[371] Persian for Zoroaster. - -[372] Dr. Hugo Kaatz, _Die Weltanschauung Friedrich Nietzsche_: 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 _one_ 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 _ridding_ 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.’ _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft._ Neue -Ausgabe, p. 114. - -[373] Dr. Max Zerbst, _Nein und Ja!_ Leipzig, 1892. - -[374] Robert Schellwien, _Max Stirner und Friedrich Nietzsche_, -_Erscheinungen des modernen Geister und das Wesen des Menschen_. -Leipzig, 1892. - -[375] I refuted this silly sophism before Nietzsche propounded it in -the passages above quoted from _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 66, and -_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 228. See _Die conventionellen Lügen -der Kulturmenschheit_, 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.e._, 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. - -[376] _The Sacred Books of the East._ Translated by various Oriental -scholars, and edited by F. Max Müller. The Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1st -series, vol. x.: _Dhammapada_, by F. Max Müller; and _Sutta-Nipâta_, by -V. Fausböll. - -[377] _The Sacred Books of the East_, etc., vol. xix.: -_Fo-sho-hing-tsan-king_, by Rev. S. Beal. - -[378] Charles Darwin, _The Descent of Man, and Selection in Relation to -Sex_; 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.’ - -[379] Friedrich Nietsche, _Zur Genealogie der Moral_. _Eine -Streitschrift._ Zweite Auflage. Leipzig, 1892, § 80. - -[380] Gustav Freytag, _Bilder aus der deutschen Vergangenheit_. Erster -Band, aus dem Mittelalter. Leipzig, 1872, p. 42 _ff._: ‘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.’ - -[381] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 79. - -[382] _Ibid._, p. 73. - -[383] Charles Darwin, _op. cit._, 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. - -[384] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 9. - -[385] _Ibid._, p. 48. - -[386] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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.’ - -[387] ‘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 _not_ the -function, but the _end_ 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, _for its -sake_, must be humbled and reduced to imperfect beings, to slaves, to -instruments.’--_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 226. - -[388] The following are a few examples, which could easily be centupled -(literally, not hyperbolically)--_Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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.’ _Also sprach Zarathustra_, 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. - -[389] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 167. - -[390] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, 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’! - -[391] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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! - -[392] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 232: ‘Slave-morality is -essentially a utilitarian morality. - -[393] _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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.’ -_Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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. - -[394] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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.’ _Jenseits von -Gut und Böse_, 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.’ - -[395] _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 43. - -[396] See, in my novel, _Die Krankheit des Jahrhunderts_, 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.e._, 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.’ - -[397] _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 48. - -[398] Dr. Hugo Kaatz, _op. cit._, Thiel I., Vorrede, p. viii. - -[399] Robert Schellwien, _Max Stierner und Friedrich Nietzsche_. -Leipzig, 1892, p. 23. - -[400] _Also sprach Zarathustra_, pt. i., p. 84: ‘The “thou” is -proclaimed holy, but not yet the “I.”’ - -[401] _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, p. 43. - -[402] _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 222. - -[403] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, pp. 78, 106. - -[404] C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, _Le Crime politique et les -Révolutions_. Paris, 1892, t. i., p. 142. - -[405] R. Schellwien, _op. cit._, 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.’ - -[406] See, in my _Paradoxe_, the chapter ‘Wo ist die Wahrheit?’ - -[407] ‘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 _læde-neminem_-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 _Also sprach Zarathustra_, 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 _saw_ -in his mind ‘the flashing note of interrogation,’ and suddenly, and -without transition, spoke of it. - -[408] ‘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. - -[409] Dr. Hermann Türck, _Fr. Nietzsche und seine philosophischen -Irrwege_, Zweite Auflage. Dresden, 1891, p. 7. - -[410] B. Ball, _La Folie érotique_, 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.’ - -[411] In one passage of _Zur Genealogie der Moral_, 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. - -[412] Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Neue Forschungen_, u. s. w., p. 45 -_ff._: ‘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 _Hyperæsthesia -sexualis_, 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, _Also sprach Zarathustra_, pt. -i., p. 95: ‘Thou art going to women? Forget not the whip!’ _Jenseits -von Gut und Böse_, p. 186: ‘Woman unlearns the fear of man,’ and thus -‘exposes her most womanly instincts.’ - -[413] Krafft-Ebing, _Neue Forschungen_, 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. - -[414] See, in _Paradoxe_, the chapter on ‘Evolutionistische Æsthetik.’ - -[415] Dr. Max Zerbst, _Nein und Ja!_ 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 -_Fröhliche Wissenschaft_, 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. - -[416] Dr. Hugo Kaatz, _op. cit._, pt. i., p. 6. - -[417] Ola Hansson, _Das junge Skandinavien. Vier Essays._ Dresden und -Leipzig, 1891, p. 12. - -[418] Albert Kniepf, _Theorie der Geisteswerthe_. Leipzig, 1892. - -[419] Dr. Max Zerbst, _op. cit._, 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! - -[420] Kurt Eisner, _Psychopathia spiritualis. Friedrich Nietzsche und -die Apostel der Zukunft._ Leipzig, 1892. - -[421] Ola Hansson, _Materialisimen i Skönlitteraturen, -Populär-vetenskapliga_ [scientific!] _Afhandlingar_. Stockholm, -undated, pp. 28, 50. In this brochure Hansson also designates the -author of _Rembrandt als Erzieher_ as a ‘genius’!! - -[422] _Revue politique et littéraire_, année 1891. - -[423] ‘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, _op. cit._, p. 10. - -[424] Dr. Wilhelm Griesinger, _op. cit._, p. 77. - -[425] Dr. von Krafft-Ebing, _Lehrbuch der Psychiatrie auf klinischer -Grundlage für praktische Aertze und Studirende_. Vierte theilweise -umgearbeitete Auflage. Stuttgart, 1890, p. 363 _ff._ - -[426] Translator. - -[427] Dr. Hermann Türck, _op. cit._, s. 59. - -[428] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, pp. 198, 201. - -[429] _Die fröhliche Wissenschaft_, p. 130. - -[430] _Jenseits von Gut und Böse_, p. 147. - -[431] _Also Sprach Zarathustra_, pt. iii., p. 74. - -[432] _Paris unter der dritten Republik_, Vierte Auflage. Leipzig, -1890. _Zola und Naturalismus Ausgewählte Pariser Briefe_, Zweite -Auflage. Leipzig, 1887. ‘Pot Bouille, von Zola.’ - -[433] Jules Huret, _Enquête sur l’Évolution littéraire_, p. 135. - -[434] J. H. Rosny, _Vamireh: Roman des Temps primitifs_. Paris, 1892. - -[435] Ferdinand Brunetière, _Le Roman naturaliste_, nouvelle édition. -Paris, 1892, p. 285. - -[436] 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 _Die Leute von -Seldwyla_, Auflage 12, Berlin, 1892, Band II., p. 108. (The hero of -the story entitled _Die missbrauchten Liebesbriefe_ [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. - -[437] Edmond et Jules de Goncourt, _Manette Solomon_. Paris, 1876, pp. -3, 145, 191. - -[438] F. Brunetière, _op. cit._, p. 153. - -[439] F. Brunetière, _op. cit._, p. 156. - -[440] ‘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,’ -_Annales médico-psychologiques_, 7^e série, t. xvi., p. 387 _et seq._ - -[441] I would lay humanity on a white page, all things, all beings, -a work which would be a vast ark.’--E. Zola, preface to _La Faute de -l’Abbé Mouret_, 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, _Le Roman expérimental_, _passim_. - -[442] 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,’ _Annales -médico-psychologiques_, 7^e séries, t. xvi., p. 429 (reproduced in -_La Contagion du Meurtre_, 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. - -[443] Brunetière, _op. cit._, p. iii. - -[444] James Sully, _Pessimism: A History and a Criticism_. London, -1877, p. 411. - -[445] Dr. Paul Sollier, _Psychologie de l’Idiot et de l’Imbécile_. -Paris, 1891, p. 95. - -[446] Catrou, _Étude sur la Maladie des Tics convulsifs_ (Jumping, -Latab, Myriachit). Paris, 1890. - -[447] Lombroso, _L’Uomo delinquente_, etc., pp. 450-480. - -[448] His descriptions of impulsive criminals are not really exact. The -laity have greatly admired his description of the assassin Lantier in -_La Bête humaine_. 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 _L’Uomo delinquente_: ‘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.’--_Le piu recenti scoperte ed applicazioni della -psichiatria ed antropologia criminale. Con 3 tavole e 52 figure nel -testo._ Torino, 1893, p. 356. - -[449] Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Psychopathia Sexualis_, etc., 3^e -Auflage; Stuttgart, 1888. Beobachtung 23, Zippes Fall, s. 55; -Beobachtung 24, Passow’s Fall, s. 56; Aum. zu s. 57, Lombroso’s Fall. - -Cæsare Lombroso, _Le piu recenti scoperte_, 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. - -[450] Léon Tolstoi, _[Œuvres complètes_, p. 385: ‘He smelt the warmth -of her body, inhaled the odour of her perfumes ... and at this moment -Pierre understood that not only _might_ Hélène become his wife, but -that she _must_ 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, _Psychopathia Sexualis_, p. 17. - -[451] Léon Tolstoi, _[Œuvres complètes_, t. ii., p. 385: ‘With him -there had come into the room a strong, but not disagreeable, smell,’ -etc.] - -[452] Maurice Barrès, _L’Ennemi des Lois_, p. 47. - -[453] Edmond de Goncourt, _La Faustin_. Paris, 1882, p. 267. - -[454] Alfred Binet, _Le Fétichisme dans l’Amour_, 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. - -[455] Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Psychopathie Sexualis_, p. 15, -foot-note, p. 17. - -[456] E. Séguin, _Traitement morale, Hygiène et Education des Idiots_. -Paris, 1846. - -[457] L. Bernard, _Le Odeurs dans le Romans de Zola_. Montpellier, 1889. - -[458] _Le Temps_, N^o 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 -_Deutsche Rundschau_ 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. - -[459] Arno Holz--Johannes Schlaf, _Die Familie Selicke_, 3^e 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 _national_--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 _Papa Hamlet_. _Die Familie Selicke_ 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. - -[460] 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. - -[461] Heinz Tovote, _Im Liebesrausch_, Berliner Roman, 6^e Auflage. -Berlin, 1893. - -[462] Hermann Bahr, _Die gute Schule; Seelenstände._ Berlin, 1890. - -[463] _Einsame Menschen_; Drama. 1891, p. 84. - -[464] Gerhart Hauptmann, _Vor Sonnenaufgang_; Soziales Drama, 6^e -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. - -[465] Since this book has been published, Hauptmann has put on the -stage two new pieces: _The Beaver Pelisse_, which was an utter fiasco, -and _Hannele, a Dream Poem_, much discussed on account of its strange -mysticism. - -[466] Scipio Sighele, _La Folla delinquente_, Turin, 1892; translated -into French, _La Foule criminelle_, Paris, 1893. Fournial, _Essai sur -la Psychologie des Foules_. Lyon, 1892. - -[467] Gerhart Hauptmann, _Die Weber_, Schauspiel aus den vierziger -Jahren, 2^e Auflage; Berlin, 1892, p. 39: - -BERTHA. Where is father, then? [Old Baumert has gone silently away.] - -MOTHER BAUMERT. I don’t know where he can have gone. - -BERTHA. Could it be that he’s no longer used to meat? - -MOTHER BAUMERT (_beside herself, in tears_). 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. - -OLD BAUMERT (_returns, crying with vexation_). 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. (_He sits down on the -bench by the stove, weeping._) [All this conversation is written in -Silesian dialect.] - -[468] Gerhart Hauptmann, _Der Apostel_, _Bahnwärter Thiel_, -Novellistische Studien. Berlin, 1892. - -[469] Hans Merian, _Die sogenannten ‘Jungdeutschen’ in -unsererzeitgenössischen Literatur_, 2^e Auflage. Leipzig, ss. 12, 14. -Undated. - -[470] C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, _Le Crime politique_, etc., t. ii., p. -116. - -[471] Dr. R. von Krafft-Ebing, _Neue Forshungen_, etc., 2 Auflage, pp. -109, 118. By the same, _Psychopathia Sexualis_, 3 Auflage, p. 65. - -[472] Dr. A. B. Morel, _Traité des Dégénérescences_, p. 581, note: -‘The state of arrested development and _sterility_ are the essential -characteristics of beings arrived at the extreme limit of degeneracy.’ - -[473] C. Lombroso and R. Laschi, _Le Crime politique_, etc., t. i., p. -8 _et seq._ - -[474] Charles Darwin, _A Naturalist’s Voyage round the World, Journal -of Researches_, etc., chap. x. - -[475] Ernest Renan, _Feuilles détachées_. Paris, 1892, Préface, p. 10. - -[476] Ludwig Fulda, _Das verlorene Paradies_, Schauspiel in drei -Aufzügen. Stuttgart, 1892. _Cf._ p. 112: - -MÜHLBERGER. Rika, Rika; come out! - -FREDERIKA. Oh, Lord! will they send me back? - -MÜHLBERGER. Here’s my daughter. She must go into the fresh air--into -the fresh air. - -FREDERIKA. Father, let me be. I must work. - -MÜHLBERGER (_with passionate resolution_). No. No more work--no -more--no more work. You must go out into the fresh air, my child--my -good sick child. (_He holds her in his embrace. Pause. No one present -can escape from the impression of this episode._) - -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. - -[477] Ernst von Wildenbruch, _Die Haubenlerche_, Schauspiel in vier -Akten. Berlin, 1891. _Cf._ p. 134: - -AUGUST. 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!... - -ILEFELD. Master August, ‘tis as if I had been married to it, to my -tub--that’s how it’s been! - -AUGUST. 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? - -ILEFELD (_sits down heavily and dries his eyes with his hand_). - -All the workmen I know would be convulsed with laughing at this -conversation. - -[478] Madame Minna Wettstein-Adelt, _Three and a Half Months in a -Factory_, Eine praktische Studie, 2^e Auflage. Berlin, 1892. - -[479] Paul Gœhre, _Three Months Factory Hand and Apprentice_, Eine -praktische Studie. Leipzig, 1892. - -[480] Dr. S. Frenkel, ‘Die Therapie atactischer Bewegungstörungen,’ -_Münchener medizinische Wochenschrift_, Nr. 52. 1892. - -[481] A. G. Bianchi, _La Patologia del Genie e gli scienziati -Italiani_. Milano, 1892, p. 79. - -[482] 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.--TRANSLATOR. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Degeneration, by Max Nordau - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEGENERATION *** - -***** This file should be named 51161-0.txt or 51161-0.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. 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