diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/62939-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/62939-0.txt | 2654 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 2654 deletions
diff --git a/old/62939-0.txt b/old/62939-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5db17ab..0000000 --- a/old/62939-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2654 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Essays Irish and American, by John Butler Yeats - -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: Essays Irish and American - -Author: John Butler Yeats - -Contributor: George William Russell - -Release Date: August 16, 2020 [EBook #62939] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS IRISH AND AMERICAN *** - - - - -Produced by Susan Carr, Tim Lindell and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - Essays Irish and American - - - - - _First Edition, May, 1918._ - _Reprinted, December, 1918._ - - - [Illustration: JOHN BUTLER YEATS] - - - - - Essays - Irish and American - - - By - JOHN BUTLER YEATS, R.H.A. - - With an Appreciation by Æ - - [Illustration] - - DUBLIN LONDON - The Talbot Press Ltd. T. Fisher Unwin Ltd. - 89 Talbot Street 1 Adelphi Terrace - - - 1918 - - - - - “_Homo sum; humani nihil a me alienum puto._” - - - - - Contents - - - Page - - An Appreciation 5 - - Recollections of Samuel Butler 9 - - Back to the Home 23 - - Why the Englishman is Happy 37 - - Synge and the Irish 51 - - The Modern Woman 63 - - Watts and the Method of Art 75 - - - - - Four of the following Essays have appeared in _Harper’s Weekly_ - and one in _The Seven Arts_. The thanks of The Talbot Press, - Limited, are due to the proprietors and editors of both Journals, - for permission to reprint. - - - - - AN APPRECIATION - - -We admire some because of their accomplishment, others because -of what they are. I admire Mr. John Yeats as an artist as much -as any, but I feel that nature’s best gift to him was a humanity -which delights in the humanity of others. Few artists I think -found it more easy to be interested in the people they met or -painted. All his portraits, whether of men or women, seem touched -with affection. Rarely has he pourtrayed any, young or old, where -something like a soul does not look at us through the eyes. I -have liked people after seeing Mr. Yeats’ portraits of them, and -I am sure I would not have liked them so much if I had not first -looked at them with his vision. In his delightful letters, of -which extracts have been already published, and in his essays he -lets us unconsciously into the secret of his meditation about his -sitters. He is always discriminating between themselves and their -ideas, searching for some lovable natural life. He complains in -one of his essays that the American women whom he admires cannot -be easily natural. They want so much to be the ideal daughter or -the ideal wife or the ideal friend that poor ordinary human nature -is not good enough for them. He perhaps never heard of Laotze--how -few people know of that fount of wisdom--but Mr. Yeats, who is, -I fancy, unhappy in the society of metaphysicians, economists or -theorists, would, I believe, have loved the Chinese sage who made -a religion with this law, “Be ye natural.” All the other religions -draw us away from hearth and home and love and dominate us by an -overlaw, but Laotze alone among religious teachers heaves a sigh -when he hears of someone setting out to reform the world because -he knows there will be no end to it. When Laotze says in his -ideal state people would be contented in themselves, think their -poor clothes beautiful and their plain food sweet, I think of -Mr. Yeats and his fear that the reformer will improve the Irish -peasant off the face of the earth. He delights in him as he is. -Why should anybody want to alter what is already natural, wild -and eloquent? To be primitive is to be unspoiled. Mr. Yeats seems -to be seeking everywhere in art and letters for the contours and -emotions which are the natural mould of face or mind. Mr. Orpen -can astonish us with technical accomplishment and Mr. John with -masterly drawing, but if we look at the face of a woman painted -by Mr. Yeats we will be attracted, not by the transient interest -of novelty in treatment, but because of some ancient and sweet -tradition of womanhood in the face, the eyes, the lips. We find the -eyes so kind that it is so we imagine mothers or wives from the -beginning of time have looked upon their children or have bewitched -men to build about them the shelter of home and civilisation. -Mr. Yeats in his art had this intimacy with the heart’s desire, -which is not external beauty, as those who have degenerated art -into the pourtrayal of prettiness suppose, but beauty of spirit. -Those who knew Mr. Yeats will remember that enchanting flow of -conversation which lightened the burden of sitting; and nature -was wise in uniting the gift of conversation with the gift of -portrait painting, because the artist was so happy in his art and -so reluctant to finish his work; without that grace of speech -few sitters could have endured to the end with an artist always -following up some new light of the soul, obliterating what already -seemed beautiful to substitute some other expression which seemed -more natural or characteristic. To those who knew Mr. Yeats these -essays will recall that conversation with which we did not always -agree but which always excited us and started us thinking on our -own account. The reader will find here thoughts which are profound, -said so simply that their wisdom might be overlooked, and also -much delightful folly uttered with such vivacity and gaiety that -it seems to have the glow of truth. Perhaps these fantasies and -freaks of judgment are as good as if they were true. One of the -most delightful inventions of nature is the kitten chasing its own -tail, and this and many other inventions of nature seem to indicate -that a beautiful folly is one of the many aspects of wisdom. What -is it but mere delight in life for its own sake, in invention for -its own sake, or, as Mr. Yeats puts it elsewhere, a disinterested -love of mischief for its own dear sake. How dear that is to us -Irish who have often had nothing but love of mischief to console -us when all the substantial virtues and prizes of life had been -amassed by our neighbours. How witty Mr. Yeats is those who read -these essays will discover. “When a belief rests on nothing you -cannot knock away its foundations,” he says, perhaps half slyly -thinking how secure were some of his own best sayings from attack. -I refuse to argue over or criticise the philosophy of the man who -wrote that, for I do not know how to get at him. I am content to -enjoy, as I am sure his friends will, and new friends also who will -be made by a reading of this book, and who will be grateful to -Mrs. Bellinger of New York, who cut out and preserved from various -papers these essays as they appeared; for the writer, unlike the -kitten, had no interest in chasing his own tail, and had forgotten -what he had written or where it had appeared. Gathered in one book -these essays reflect a light upon each other and recreate for us -a personality which has deserted Dublin, but which none who knew -would wish to forget. - - A. E. - - - - - RECOLLECTIONS OF SAMUEL BUTLER - - -I knew Butler. In the year 1867-68 I was a pupil at Heatherleigh’s -Art School, Newman Street, London, and Butler was there also. It is -not true that Butler had talent. To be a painter after the manner -of John Bellini was for years the passion of his life. It was vain; -he had no talent. At the time I knew him he was beginning to see -this and it was pathetic! We tried to comfort him and would have -cheered him with false hopes. All the intellect in the world won’t -make a painter if it is not the right kind of intellect. - -A Scotch friend of mine and his, whom Butler loved because of his -knowledge of music, would sometimes say, “Yes, Mr. Butler, you are -a dominie”--and he would chuckle slowly in his Scotch manner. Like -a dominie he kept us all in order. We called each other briefly -by our surnames without the prefix of the Mr.--Butler was always -_Mr._ Butler. Once a daring citizen of London ventured, “Have you -been to the Alhambra, Butler?” He pronounced it “Al’ambra”--that -gave Butler his opportunity. The Englishman in possession of all -his aitches can always hold the many in check because of their -deficiency in aitches. “Is there an aitch in the word?” said -Butler. Never again did my poor friend venture, or for that matter -any of us. - -The Irishman likes his equal and is, as every one admits, the best -of comrades; the German likes his superior; but the Englishman -likes to be with his inferior and is not comfortable in any other -relation. He is sent to the public school and the university by -his anxious parents and guardians that he may acquire the superior -manner. There are two sneers in England, the cockney variety which -no one respects, and the university and public school sneer which -compels respect, even among foreigners. It impressed Goethe. The -footman puts it on but overdoes it, so that at a glance we know it -to be counterfeit. Butler was the politest, the most ceremonious of -men, but the sneer was there and all the more palpable because so -carefully veiled. - -We were art students and tried to be Bohemian, or would have done -so had not Butler been one of us. There was a student whom he much -liked; one day he took him in hand and in his most paternal manner -admonished him that he must not use the word “chap.” Butler was -an Englishman through and through and an Englishman of “class.” -The Englishman of class will part with his faith, with his wife -and children, with his money, even, or his reputation and be -cheerful about it, but closer than his skin sticks to him his class -conceit; and in his accent, his voice, his gestures, his phrases he -carefully preserves all its insignia. Possessed of these he knows -he may go anywhere and associate with anyone; it is a passport -entitling him to a nobleman’s freedom. Every Englishman, gentle -or simple, either by force or by patient groping will try for a -sheltered spot where he may have his own thoughts and his own ways -hampered by none. But the Englishman of class is freest of all; a -policeman, even he, will hesitate to interfere with you if he knows -that you are a gentleman. - -In his “Way of All Flesh,” Butler describes English home life and -he enables us to see that affection and sympathy do not form part -of it. Butler, the product of that life, sets little importance -on either affection or sympathy; and yet there never was a kinder -man. Good nature was fundamental in his character and was, I think, -the source of most of his writings and opinions. The English going -about life in an intensely selfish way and doing this on principle -are obliged to have strict laws strictly enforced; yet outside -these laws they claim and allow the utmost license of action and -thought. It is their distinction among nations that they love -personal liberty so much,--that is for themselves, for they are -quite ready to enslave other people. With this love for personal -freedom has grown up, side by side with it and as part and parcel -of it, an immense appreciation of human nature itself. Against this -appreciation Puritanism has vainly and indeed dolorously struggled. -Butler’s good nature was due to his liking for human nature itself; -hence his zeal against all the conventions and illusions and -veiling “respectabilities” that would snatch from human nature its -proper food. - -The continental nations may hate human nature and produce their -Goyas, but such art among Englishmen excites only a lazy contempt. -Notwithstanding their passion for law and rule, a necessary thing -among people so selfishly bent on their own gains, the Englishman -does not actually hate his neighbour, even though he keeps aloof -from him. He has indeed a genial relish for the selfishness in his -neighbour which is so strong in himself. Edmund Burke has some -such sentence as “the _good nature_ and integrity of this ancient -people.” The Dutch, being a freedom-loving people, have a similar -good nature. Rembrandt and Shakespeare get artistic pleasure out -of the ugly but with laughter, not as in Goya with a grin of -hatred. Indeed, looking at some of Goya’s work, one is forced to -believe that he hated even the people who looked at his pictures -and wished through them to insult and offend all his friends,--a -kind of disorderly impulse which in him and others prompts to the -disgusting and obscene in art. Butler’s emancipated intellect had -won for his soul and senses a freedom which he wished to share -with others; he had as it were acquired a freedom to be on good -terms with himself. To be sure, a Scotchman is on good terms with -himself when he is conceited. Butler wanted people to be on good -terms with their senses and appetites and everything else that goes -into our make-up as men, to all of which Scotch conceit is the -enemy. For this he was always fighting, and he began to fight at -Heatherleigh’s Art School. He found us, as he thought, enslaved by -this or that convention or illusion and by his mockeries and his -wit worked for our liberation. - -He always occupied one place in the school chosen so that he -could be as close as possible to the model and might paint with -small brushes his kind of John Bellini art. There he would stand -very intent and mostly quite silent, intent also on our casual -conversation, watchful for the moment when he could make some sally -of wit that would crush his victim. He had thick eyebrows and grey -eyes,--or were they light hazel? These eyes would sometimes look -tired as he plied his hopeless task of learning how to paint. But -the discovery of any mental slavery or insincerity among our band -of students would bring a dangerous light into them, and he would -say things that perhaps hurt very much men who were absolutely -sincere, however mistaken. Then Butler, who respected, as he often -told me, every kind of sincerity, would humble himself and make -apologies that were not always accepted, and in the grey eyes, like -a little fire on a cold hearth, I would see a melting kindness that -it must have been hard to resist. The virtuous are not always the -generous, neither are they always as wise as Solomon. - -At that time I was a very busy student working from morning to -night, otherwise I should have tried to see more of Butler. -There is nothing so winning as a look of helpful kindness in a -mocking face. Besides, he was a good deal my senior and seniority -is attractive to ingenuous youth; and I was then ingenuous. I -sometimes think I have lost all my opportunities; the chance -of knowing Butler well was one of these. Slowly I have come to -feel that affection for human nature which is at the root of all -poetry and art, whether the poet be pessimist or optimist. Had I -stayed much with Butler I should have learned my lesson almost at -once. Matthew Arnold’s “sweetness and light” was not much to his -taste, and he cared nothing for the high ethics of Wordsworth. An -affectionate mother, such as we have among the peasants of Ireland, -where mother-love is a passion, does not want her children to be -good half as much as she wants them to be happy. It was so Butler -regarded poor, struggling and deceived human nature. _There_ was -the source of his “good nature” and of his influence. In this -he was pre-eminently English of the English, and in this there -was nothing of the system maker or the philanthropist. Nor was -he a philosopher or anything else except a mere man touching and -handling the concrete matters of everyday life. With tenderness of -humour and a most real poetry he touched, healingly, all the sores -of ailing humanity. - -Butler liked women but disapproved of marriage. He liked women -because, as I heard him say, they are so good natured. They would -laugh with him but never at him. Then they are obedient and -teachable and the dominie within him liked pupils. His attitude -towards them was a smiling indulgence. The charming women of those -backward days were still in the Middle Ages, apologetic, almost -penitential, as if they asked pardon for being so beautiful or so -merry and engaging, and did not a bit mind if Butler regarded them -as inferior, especially as towards them he was always kindly and -fatherly and innocent. It is quite easy to see why Butler disliked -marriage; it would have curtailed his freedom to follow out all -his queer vagaries of Butlerian thought and inclination. This -consideration does not affect the ordinary Englishman of coarser -grain, tenacious of his ancient right to do what he likes with his -own, his own being his wife and children and servants and “all that -he possesses.” The ordinary Englishman lives alone in his English -home, lord and master of it, with his wife second in command. -Butler, of course, could not so live; therefore to keep his liberty -he dismissed forever the thought of a married home. Had he married -I have no doubt he would have chosen a helpmate not likely to -dispute his supremacy. I knew Miss Savage, the model for his good -woman in “The Way of All Flesh.” She was a student at the art -school and not very young, and she was lame; life had disciplined -her. She was fair, with a roundish face and light blue eyes that -were very sensitive and full of light; a small head, her features -charmingly mobile and harmonious. She radiated goodness and sense. -She kept herself very much to herself, yet all liked her, even -though we never spoke to her. Butler soon discovered that she -laughed easily; but as usual he was cautious. One day he consulted -me as to whether he could with safety ask her a school-boy riddle -he had picked up somewhere, a school-boy riddle in that, though -quite innocent, it was not altogether nice. I don’t remember how I -advised, only that they became fast friends. - -Though he avoided marriage, his flesh was weak. “I have a little -needle-woman, a good little thing. I have given her a sewing -machine. I go to see her.” As he made his confession he retired -backwards, bowing his head several times as in mockery of himself -and acknowledgment of a sad necessity from which even he was not -exempt. For it was given to him also to tread “The Way of All -Flesh.” It was always part of his philosophy that he should confess -his sins, besides being a necessity to his social nature and one of -his most engaging qualities. - -Though he professed to despise Greek plays he was a good classical -scholar. Outside the classics he had read nothing except -Shakespeare and “The Origin of Species” and the Bible. For him “The -Origin of Species” was the book of books. If he took a fancy to a -student he would watch him for a few days and then approach him -with cautious ceremony--he was always ceremonious--and ask him if -he had read _the book_ and perhaps offer to lend it to him. I am -proud to remember that he lent it to me. “The Origin of Species” -had, as he told me, completely destroyed his belief in a personal -God; so occasionally instead of the usual question he would ask the -student if he believed in God. In this he did not confine himself -to students. There was a nude model named Moseley who often sat -to us at Heatherleigh’s. He liked this model, in whom he found a -whimsical uprightness that appealed to his sense of things. Once -in the deep silence of the class I heard him asking, “Moseley, -do you believe in God?” Without altering a muscle or a change -of expression, Moseley replied, “No, sir, don’t believe in old -Bogey.” The form of the answer was unexpected; its cheerful cockney -impudence was beyond even Butler’s reach of courage. He retired in -confusion, and we laughed. We liked a laugh at Butler’s expense. -Besides, in those days most of us were orthodox; in fact had never -given a thought to the question of Deity. But that fear kept them -quiet, there were some valiant spirits who would have cried out -against him, since then as well as now, in America as well as in -England, an orthodox inertia was characteristic of artists. They -do not go to church, they never give a thought to religion, but -they are profoundly orthodox in a deep, untroubled somnolency. I -remember that one man, a very successful student, did engage in -controversy and was highly sentimental in a dandified, affected -way. Butler’s reply was one word repeated several times--“Pooh!” -that ended it. I have no doubt that that gentleman still retains -his orthodoxy. When a belief rests on nothing you cannot knock away -its foundations. - -Butler’s father was a wealthy dean of the Church of England, and, I -fancy, pompous and authoritative. He told me that his father never -became excited unless the dinner was late. When he broke away from -orthodoxy and announced his intention of becoming an artist instead -of a clergyman, his family refused him all assistance. Nor is it -true that his father helped him in his New Zealand venture. He -himself told me that he managed to borrow from friends £10,000, and -that he was more proud of that than of anything else in his life. -He stayed in New Zealand four years, after which a lucky turn on -the market enabled him to return to England and repay the money, -while keeping enough to support himself in his pursuit of art. He -liked to tell of his New Zealand life and of his hatred of sheep. -They were always getting lost, so that he said the word “sheep” -would be found engraved on his heart. He did not know one of his -horses from another or from anybody else’s horse, and said he was -like the Lord, whose delight is not in the strength of a horse. - -Sam Butler’s desire for truth and his stripping away from life -and belief all the veils of illusion was the characteristic of a -man truly poetic. He and his pupil, G. B. Shaw, by their passion -for sincerity, help the imaginative life. When Michael Angelo -maintained that only the Italians understood art, Vittoria Colonna -pointed out that the German pictures touched the feelings. “Yes,” -he replied, “because of the weakness of our sensibilities.” -Poetry and the imaginative life can only flourish where truth -is of supreme moment; an education which contents itself with -half-knowledge and half-thought will inevitably produce a crowd -of sentimentalists and false poets and rhetoricians. The great -artist and the great poet have rigorous minds. Michael Angelo -said of those German pictures that they were only fit for “women, -ecclesiastics and people of quality.” After all a poet must -believe, and without rigorous thinking there is no sense of belief. - -To know things thoroughly, or not at all,--this was the habit of -Butler’s mind, derived from his classical education, in which the -whole stress is on the minutiæ of scholarship. For instance, he -told me that he never studied music till he was twenty-one years -of age, after which he gave to it every moment he could spare. Yet -he only cared for Händel, content that all the rest should be to -him an unknown world. What he could not study thoroughly he would -not study at all. In his eyes superficial knowledge was superficial -ignorance and the mental habits engendered by it disastrous. Among -painters he valued chiefly those who, like John Bellini, are -thorough to minuteness. Though he professed to despise style he was -a precisian in words. At a restaurant which he and I frequented -for our midday meal he met a man who said he never “used” hasty -pudding. This application of the verb “use” was to him a source of -endless amusement. I have heard him tell the story many times. - -I think he read Shakespeare continually. I know he read no other -poetry, although he did glance once a little wistfully at -Whitman,--“the catalogue man,” he called him. All the same he was -a genuine Englishman and brooded in the imaginative mood of a -self-centred solitude which could not be shared with anyone, as the -sympathetic Frenchman lives in the imaginative mood of an expansive -existence which he would share with everyone. - -I remember the last time I saw Butler. I was sitting at breakfast, -alone, in a lodging in an out of the way part of London, having -come from Ireland the night before after an absence of seven or -eight years. I saw him passing and in glad surprise at once raised -the window, meaning to hail him. But I reflected sadly and changed -my mind, closing the window and returning to my breakfast, as I -thought: “God forbid that I should intrude myself uninvited on any -Englishman.” - - - - - BACK TO THE HOME - - -Everywhere or almost everywhere among English-speaking peoples the -monarchical principle is under notice to quit. In the school it is -the boy and not the master who rules; even in the courts the judges -interpreting the law go cautiously, in fear of public disfavour; -finally, change has reached the home and the family, which were -wont to be a dual monarchy--the mother ruling within the house and -the father his own world outside. Just as business is a matter of -committees and syndicates and corporations--the individual man a -mere wheel or pulley in some immense machine which is controlled by -a cold-blooded arithmetician--so, inside the home, the mother is -superseded by an expert, some specialist in up-to-date science or -quackery who occupies her place and asks to sit where she sat. Can -we wonder that she sometimes leaves vacant her chair and goes in -pursuit of distraction? - -It is a curious change and means much; for one thing, the world -has lost its two most picturesque figures--the master of the house -and its mistress. When hospitality was hospitality, it meant that -you were admitted for a brief while to bask in the smiles of two -gracious sovereigns--the lord and the lady of the house that -entertained you--their good-will, radiating forth to warm you, the -real attraction, to which the wine and the food and the guests were -only secondary, so much heart on their side creating a heart within -your own narrow ribs. Now all is changed, and the entertainment -is more important than the entertainers. We come to be pleased, -we no longer come to please; the old delicious autocracy with its -smiling court of sympathetic and affectionate guests has tumbled -into the dust, the feelings of host and hostess, the home cookery -and the old-fashioned house with its gathered associations are -nothing to us; we demand to dine where the food and drink are up -to date, so we dine at a restaurant, where are noise, distraction -and confusion. I myself would sooner dine in a good man’s kitchen. -Personal rule is at an end. The host used authoritatively to lead -the talking and the hostess controlled it, for, though too busy -to talk, she was never too busy to listen, and the guests took -care that the conversation flowed in her direction and sought her -approval. In my youth, after the dinner-things were removed, we -sat around an ancient mahogany table, on which there was not, as -in later times, any garish white cloth. It would have been gloomy -but for the many-coloured reflections cast into its polished depths -from wine-filled glasses and decanters and from the faces and -dresses of the guests. Overhead were candelabra, the sole light in -the room; outside the circle of diners such deep shadows that the -faces looked like portraits by Rembrandt; and when, at the proper -moment, the hostess and her ladies swept out of the room, leaving -us to our men-talk, how lean would fall the entertainment! And it -was our hostess we missed, so much divinity did hedge her. - -The monarchical principle is extinct in the home, it is likewise -extinct in the schools. I was educated at a school where the master -ruled by terror. He was a Scotchman and knew no other method, -and we were not in the least bit democratic. But if we trembled -before him we did not fear one another. There were between fifty -and sixty of us, a curious collection of diversities; not a boy in -the place who had not something marked in him, either by his own -strength or because of his home individuality. It was a time when -parents had little money and travelling expenses were heavy, so -that holidays were scanty and far apart. For instance, we never -went home at Christmas. The cheap railway had not yet everywhere -supplanted the mail coach. Yet we lived haunted by the thought of -our homes,--it possessed us, it obsessed us, it was our food and -drink with which we fed our imaginations and spiritually nourished -ourselves. We would talk incessantly to one another of our homes; -and friendships, our only solace in that abode of sternness, were -made up of similarities of taste and experience in the matter of -homes. The methods of education were, if you like, brutal; but -the brutality made our homes all the dearer. We leaned heavily -on the thought of our homes; while in our happiness, as in our -misery, we possessed a faculty of concentration unknown to boys -educated in the latitudinarian methods of the modern schools. -Whether it was our first Latin author, Cornelius Nepos, or our -Latin exercises, or the horrible Latin grammar of that period, or -the big Latin dictionary or Greek lexicon--implements of education -whose repulsiveness was supposed to add to their efficiency--or -our letters from home, or our long talks of home and yearnings for -home--no matter what the subject, we brought to it an intensity -that would have been foreign to the careless boys of this -effeminate age. I remember a boy under twelve who talked to me in -whispers of his father and mother not being friendly, and of his -mother preferring to him his younger brother. There was another boy -whose trouble was that there was so little money at home. There was -yet another very little boy, who would take me aside and read long -letters from a beautiful sister married to a military officer in -India. Depend upon it, there is nothing that concentrates the mind -like having for schoolmaster a conscientious Scotchman teaching -Greek and Latin in the old clumsy methods. - -A young boy is mostly regarded as something quite outside the pale -of sympathy and understanding. Only his mother can endure him, -and she because, as many think, love has made her blind. Yet in -himself he is of all beings the most ingenuously and ingeniously -human, and a veritable fountain of imaginative desire, who, if -he do but retain his spontaneity, may become a Charles Lamb or a -Coleridge or a Shelley; or, if he be built on the grand scale, a -Dante or a Michael Angelo. The mission of the modern school is for -the boys themselves to take in hand this little boy and, by force -of their own rude animalism and with joyous pressure, strip him of -everything exceptional and compel him to take on another likeness. -I remember an English lady telling me that she had been to visit a -great public school to see her son, a little boy. She told me that -at a distance she could not distinguish him from any other boy; -and she smiled helplessly as she added that it was the ambition of -every little boy in that famous school to be exactly like the other -little boys. And yet we wonder that the world no longer produces -distinguished individualities. This mother knew that her boy would -come back to her the average boy, to grow into the average man, -like his father, like his uncle, like everybody else. A friend of -mine, a most interesting man, very happy in his hobbies and in his -dreams and visions and beliefs, a poet though without learning, and -without the sweet accomplishment of verse, lamented that he had not -been kept longer at school, where, as he said, he might have had -all the “nonsense knocked out of him.” The poor fellow does not -know how happy and interesting he is; he only knows that his wife -and all his friends find him different from other people and on -this account disapprove of him. Yet there was an old French artist -in 1830 who advised his friends to cultivate their faults carefully. - -The old methods were brutal and made the boys brutal, yet they, at -any rate, did not break down and insidiously destroy singularity -of character as is being done every day by the democratic methods -of modern schools. A celebrated master of Eton in the eighteenth -century said, “My business is to teach Greek, not morality.” In -that robust century people did not take much thought about one -another. You might be unhappy and all astray, but they let you -alone; provided you did your Greek right, your morals were your own -affair. Chatham may have left Eton a “cowed” boy, as he implied -he did, yet he brought with him an individuality of a quality -so angular and so challenging that it is impossible to believe -it could have survived had it been ground between the upper and -nether millstones of modern school-boy life. These schools, both in -America and in England, with their great prestige and with the boys -in full control, have become so powerful in moulding character that -it is no longer accurate to say “the boy is father of the man,” but -rather, “the school-boy is father of the man.” In Ireland things -are different. The old brutal methods being discarded, the boys -do not fear the master, neither do they fear each other, and the -explanation is that the Irishman, man and boy, gentle and simple, -is much more of an aristocrat than a democrat. He belongs to his -home and to his family; he has the passion for home and family, he -passes through school or college without really belonging to either -of them. - -For that reason the home among the Irish remains stronger than -any school or college, exactly the reverse of what has happened -in England and may happen in America. When I say an Irishman, -gentle or simple, is an aristocrat, I do not mean that he is a -person of class or wants to be one, or that he bears the slightest -resemblance to the modern English nobleman, but I do mean that he -likes to think that he is a person of distinction, and that he -differs from all other men, and values himself accordingly. Nature -herself would, if we did not thwart her, evolve each man on a -different plan; as she makes every leaf and every twig and every -tree in the forest different from all its fellows. She has an Irish -delight in diversity, and smiles to see her sturdy children each -fighting for its own hand. - -The typical Irish family is poor, ambitious, and intellectual; and -all have the national habit, once indigenous in “Merry England,” -of much conversation. In modern England they like a dull man and -so they like a dull boy. We like bright men and bright boys. -When there is a dull boy we send him to England and put him into -business where he may sink or swim; but a bright boy is a different -story. Quickly he becomes the family confidant, learning all about -the family necessities; with so much frank conversation it cannot -be otherwise. He knows every detail in the school bills and what it -will cost to put him through the university, and how that cost can -be reduced by winning scholarships and prizes. As he grows older -he watches, like an expert, the younger brothers coming on, and -is eager to advise in his young wisdom as to their prospects. He -studies constantly, perhaps overworks himself while his mother and -sisters keep watch; and yet he is too serious, and they on their -side are too anxious for compliments. It is indeed characteristic -of the Irish mother that, unlike the flattering mothers of -England, she loves too anxiously to admire her children; with her -intimate knowledge there goes a cautious judgment. The family -habit of conversation into which he enters with the arrogance of -his tender years gives him the chance of vitalizing his newly -acquired knowledge. Father, mother, brothers and sisters are all -on his mind; and the family fortunes are a responsibility. He is -not dull-witted, as are those who go into business to exercise -the will in plodding along some prescribed path; on the contrary, -his intellect is in constant exercise. He is full of intellectual -curiosity, so much conversation keeping it alive, and therein is -unlike the English or the American boy. Indeed, he experiences -a constant temptation to spend in varied reading the time that -should be given to restricted study. He is at once sceptical and -credulous, but, provided his opinions are expressed gaily and -frankly, no one minds. With us intellect takes the place which -in the English home is occupied by the business faculty. We love -the valour of the free intellect; so that, the more audacious his -opinion, the higher rise the family hopes. He and all his family -approve of amusement--to do so is an Irish tradition unbroken from -the days before St. Patrick; but they have none. They are too poor -and too busy; or rather they have a great deal, but it is found -in boyish friendships and in the bonds of the strongest family -affection, inevitable because they are Irish and because they have -hopes that make them dependent upon one another. The long family -talks over the fire, the long talks between clever boys on country -walks--these are not the least exciting amusements--even though -they bear no resemblance to what is called “sport.” - -These are the gifts of the Irish home; among the poor, affection -infinite as the sea, which, because of an idleness which is not -their fault, has had full scope to grow into an intensity of -longing that makes it sometimes hungry as the sea; among the -better-off, ambition also and a free intellect; and in everybody an -ancient philosophy of human nature which warms rather than chills -human relations. - -The English boy has an entirely different history. He enters some -famous historical school, anxious, like his parents and all his -aunts and cousins, that he be stamped and sealed with its approval. -His desire is to be an Eton, Harrow, or Rugby boy, after which -he will become an Oxford or Cambridge man, marked in his accent, -clothes, and manner with the sign-manual of his university. For -the Irish boy this is as impossible as it is repugnant. His home -is stronger than his school and his college. In the great English -schools the boys manage one another; a system of rules and of -etiquette has democratically grown up which all must obey; this -kind of docility is English and not Irish. Our boys cannot thus -surrender themselves, for behind the Irish boy is the drama of a -full home life. There is no such drama in English home life--it is -prosperous, uneventful, and lies icily cold in the lap of law. -The Irish home, in which so much happens, awaits its novelist; -but, alas! English readers won’t read novels about Ireland, and -Irish readers are too few to make their custom worth anybody’s -attention. All we know is that the Irishman is, boy and man, a -detached personality. He is often the gayest and most sociable of -beings, and a true comrade, and he may be able to adapt himself to -every situation, yet he remains apart; even with his friends he -is inscrutable, he cannot be read. And this to my mind is right, -for no one should be able to read another’s secret, except the -mother who bore him, and sometimes a sweetheart. The ordinary -well-to-do Englishman has no secrets, for you can read them all -in his bank-book, in his Catechism, in the rules of his club and -the laws of his country. He is an admirable citizen on whom you -can calculate as on a railway time-table. The English mother when -she parts from her boy at the school doors may sigh to think that -she has lost her boy, yet be proud to think that he will return -remodelled into the smart Eton or Harrow boy. The Irish mother -has no such hopes and no such fears; her boy will come back what -he was when he left her side, and though he go to India, and rule -provinces, with many well-trained public-school Englishmen working -under him, he will still remain the passionate Irish boy of her -heart’s desire. - -The great factor in the Irish education is not the school, but the -Irish home, unique in its combination of small means, intellect, -and ambition with conversation. Without this conversation the home -would not be Irish. From every manor-house and cabin ascends the -incense of pleasant talk; it is that in which we most excel. With -us all journeys end in talkers’ meeting; “we are the greatest -talkers since the Greeks,” said Oscar Wilde. When any Irish reform -is proposed--and they are innumerable--I always ask, how will it -affect our conversation? France has her art and literature, England -her House of Lords, and America her vast initiative; we have our -conversation. We watch impatiently for the meals, because we are -hungry and thirsty for conversation; not for argument’s sake or to -improve ourselves, but because we spontaneously like one another. -We like human voices and faces and the smiles and gestures and all -the little drama of household colloquy, varying every moment from -serious to gay, with skill, with finesse; we like human nature -for its own sake, and we like it vocal--that is why we talk; we -even like our enemies, on the Irish principle that it is “better -to be quarrelling than to be lonesome.” Arthur Symons, staying in -a pilot’s cottage on the west of Ireland, said to my daughter: “I -don’t believe these people ever go to bed.” No, they have so much -to say to one another. - -“England,” said Bernard Shaw, “cannot do without its Irish and -Scots to-day because it cannot do without at least a little -sanity.” Both these nations are conversational. - -The home must play its part vigorously if the race is to be saved -for affection and happiness, and if we would bring back the -conditions from which spring art and poetry. - - - - - WHY THE ENGLISHMAN IS HAPPY - - AN IRISHMAN’S NOTES ON THE SAXON TEMPERAMENT - - -In the long quest for self-knowledge and self-fulfilment there are -two types of men and two methods. There are some who would have the -individual man care only for himself morning, noon, and night, for -his spirit, his mind, his body, his temporal and eternal welfare. -There are others who would say he should forget himself and lose -himself in great ideas, great causes, great enthusiasms, in -passionate love or humanitarianism, or even in the anger of battle. -Of these two methods the second is found in France while the first -is the Englishman’s creed. - -The English are a fortunate people, or seemed so in the happy past, -their primal good fortune being that they lived and grew up on an -island surrounded by stormy seas and fenced in by high cliffs. -Their second good fortune sprang out of the first; they never -submitted themselves to a strong central government. Of all people -in the known world, they were the least governed; of all men the -Englishman was the freest, little more being required of him than -that he should live on good terms with his neighbours. Doubtless -one of these neighbours was the brutal Norman noble who regarded -him as an inferior being of an inferior race, and as a landlord -oppressed him. Outside this relation of landlord and tenant, and -of superior and inferior, he lived a free man among his fellows -without, indeed, the dignity and honour of being a soldier, but -also without his constant subjection and unrelaxing discipline. He -was a boor, but his thoughts were his own; and his language, being -different from that of his oppressor, afforded him an additional -protection. He lived in his own world--he lived apart among his own -race and kindred. - -The other nations on the continent of Europe, notably France, lay -open to one another’s ravages; and for that reason had always to -remain under arms, every man a soldier, martial law superseding all -other laws. However England might war with other nations, however -she might despoil them, pursuit and revenge were impossible; -behind her cliffs she was safe. No matter how great the cloud of -hatred or what it threatened, she lived in security and laughed -at her enemies. The peasant returned in peace to his village and -his plough, the merchant to his shop, and the noble to his castle; -while crimes that could not be punished left no visitings of -remorse. The English grew in liberty and in the arts of peace while -other nations grew in the arts of war and lost their liberty. The -English poor man was never taught his military dignity, but he -was taught his social inferiority; yet, while he bowed down, as -he still does, before his social superior, his thoughts remained -free; the better part of liberty remained to him. Froissart was -astonished at the squalor in which the English peasant lived; yet, -had he looked a little closer, he would have seen that under the -smouldering ashes on his hearth a fire was burning that had long -been extinct in his own country. - -The French government was a military despotism, and since tyranny -begets tyranny and seeks to extend itself, it speedily drew to -itself the forces of religion, art and education, and allied -them in one vast conspiracy against the forces of freedom; so -that from the first the people were trained in submission to -power, authority and tradition. It was an eager and spontaneous -submission, the soldier proud to follow his captain, the student -eager to listen to his teacher, and the Catholic anxious to obey -the command of his priest. The people were accomplices in their own -enthralment; the more so since there was this discretion reserved -in the exercise of dominion: all were free to think out and draw -their own conclusions, provided that the State, the Church, and -the academies furnished the premises. Deductive logic was free; -inductive logic, the higher order, the kings, soldiers, magistrates -and statesmen kept in their own hands. As time advanced the French -became a nation of teachers and orators as well as soldiers, while -the creative impulse was everywhere arrested and hampered Welded -together and bound and clamped into a nation by their military -and ecclesiastical organizations, the French rapidly acquired the -instinct of solidarity; and the individual dwindled until he became -a mere unit of the state. This feeling of solidarity combined with -the free exercise of deductive logic, resulting in a fertility of -beautiful ideas--beautiful as rainbows on a stormy sky--and the -missionary habit. Of all men the Frenchman is the most picturesque -and the most attractive, as he is also the most eloquent and the -most persuasive. In literature, in life, in everything, the French -genius is social and sympathetic and propagandist. - -The Englishman is the contrary of all this. He has a passion for -liberty and cares little for equality, fraternity, or any of the -ideals which are the glory of the French intellect. He is, indeed, -so entirely without the faculty of ideas that even his feeling -for liberty has never become an idea or a doctrine; he has no -intellectual cognizance of it; it is merely his habit. A something -which from long use has grown into him and become part almost of -his physiology, it is in his blood and in his bones and remains -by him always, keeping vigilant watch and ward. But it is for -himself alone; it is not for universal application; it is not his -philosophy. So that when he robs another nation, as in the case -of India or Ireland, and, in order to facilitate the theft, first -takes away that nation’s liberty, his conscience does not smite -him, for by liberty he always means English liberty, which includes -the privilege of robbing any nation that is weak enough to stand -it. To me a Frenchman is always like a student; either as he is -when he works diligently at his studies or as he is when he plays -truant, breaks away from discipline, and defies his teachers. An -Englishman, on the other hand, is a person untutored, who has -never been either to school or to college; he has neither the -attractiveness of the diligent student nor the excesses of the -rebel student. He is still almost what he was when he came first -from his Maker’s hands. - -Besides his exemption from military organization and a central -government, there is yet another fact to be noted in the -Englishman’s history. A peaceful immigration into his country -has been as difficult as a warlike invasion. In other countries, -when the population was reduced by plague and pestilence, the -void was quickly filled up by an inrush of hungry foreigners; in -England this was impossible. There a sudden fall in population -meant a sudden rise in the abundance of food, because there was -no one to come from outside to take the food out of men’s mouths. -The population of mediæval England remained always small. The -Englishman’s native joviality and ease of heart were his song of -triumph over a condition in which, if he managed to survive, he -lived easily and fed well and clothed himself warmly. If other -people died, so much the worse for them and the better for him. To -this day the Englishman takes extraordinary care of his health. The -French and Irish contempt for death is to him a continual and a -shocking surprise. He never needed to work hard; he faced no great -struggles; he merely took care of his health. - -In those far-off days of ease, little work, and much mortality -the Englishman acquired all his habits, all his positive and -negative qualities, together with that fear of death which we know -oppressed Dr. Johnson; and though the last hundred years have -much blunted his characteristics, the pattern still remains. He -is still given to much self-contemplation in its various forms -of self-complacency, self-examination, self-condemnation, and -self-exultation. He talks continually of himself; deprived of that -subject and of what is akin to it, he is a silent man. Not to be -the subject of conversation, neither to be praised nor abused, is -to him a disconcerting experience. He is not vain; it is merely -that his occupation is gone. The Americans are too busy with their -own growing fortunes to remember his existence, and for that reason -he is, here in New York, either so gentle and sad or so peppery and -quarrelsome as to be quite unrecognizable. He is no longer himself. -In his own country he is an unwearied egotist. When pleased it -is with himself, when displeased it is still with himself. With -his neighbours he is often sulky; yet his worst quarrels are with -himself, and therefore the hardest to reconcile. His variations are -variations not of idea, but of mood. The French live in a ferment -of opinion; it is their atmosphere--man contending against man with -noise, vociferation, oratory, and much action and movement. Among -the English there is always the silence of inward communing, the -stillness of a people overweighted with meditation. In France new -schools of art and movements in literature are the triumphs or--it -may be--the eccentricities and freaks of the logical process. In -England such movements mean the welcome or unwelcome emergence into -light of a new species. French impressionism was ushered into the -world with loud argument. Turner’s art was something inscrutable -and mysterious, the expression of a temperament that did not -argue and looked for no converts. Under any strong excitement the -Englishman withdraws into himself as into the security of his own -home. The Frenchman, on the contrary, gets away from himself -into the world of friends and ideas and starts a propaganda to -embrace the world. He seeks to impress; his literature and art -are full of dramatic surprises, while English art and literature -have always avoided startling effects; and, if they impress, do -so accidentally, as a tall mountain might the people who lived -in the valley. They continually spring forth from the mysterious -depths of personality, and, concerning themselves only with moods -of feeling, rely for expression on rhythm and music. A personality -cannot explain itself or account for itself; it can only cure its -ache and soothe its irritability by the music--the long-drawn-out -or fantastic music of artistic creation. French art and literature -concern themselves with ideas, and their effort is to make these -brilliant, orderly and specious, using the emphasis and animation -and sonorousness of art rather that its deeper music. So that in -France they watch for a distinguished intellect, while in England -we look for an individuality that is at once powerful, strange, -and intimate, its expression intelligible only to those who have -explored the farthest recesses of consciousness. In France we -find a garden, in England a wilderness. Yet, do not forget, the -gardener will often visit the wilderness in search for new plants -and shrubs. The inductive mind sows that which the deductive mind -plants out and waters. - -The egotist is popularly supposed to be a wearisome chatterbox -incessantly talking about himself; and such men do abound in -England. An egotist is any man who habitually and instinctively -makes himself, his likings and dislikings, the sole test of truth; -and it is only when there is some streak of folly or childishness -that he becomes the garrulous chatterbox. Of these men some are -delightful humorists, as was Charles Lamb, or undelightful, as was -his boisterous brother John. Among them are, in fact, all sorts, -including all the bores, cranks and faddists, with the innumerable -company of monologists; including also the great pioneers and -forerunners of thought in poetry and art: the Shakespeares, -Turners, Hogarths, and Constables. - -Socially, the egotist, where there is not some great compensating -charm, is a failure; he does not amalgamate; he is ever an alien -in the company, a difficult person. You don’t know whether to -make much of him or drop him altogether. At a dinner-party the -Englishman is apt to be that sad mistake, a guest who has to -be apologized for. Lovers are always poor company except with -each other. This is proverbial, and the Englishman is always in -love--that is, with himself. The sociable man, the welcome guest, -is in love with other people. As it is in the lighter matters of -social intercourse, so it is in graver matters. Gladstone, who, as -a Scotchman in England, was an acute critic, once wrote that the -Englishman needed a great deal of discipline; and this is true. -A community whose members are not spontaneously amenable to one -another’s feelings must have definite rules laid down and enforced -by definite penalties. On the other hand, the Frenchman, with his -social impulses and social training, knows “how to behave.” He -does not need to get rules by heart, for he has intuition; and -where he has not this inner light he turns naturally to reason, the -great sociable spirit, the friendly arbiter, the wise judge before -whom all men are equal. The English egotist has not this social -impulse; neither does he willingly appeal to reason. Latterly -he has become saturated with class feeling, which is neither -sociable nor reasonable; but his original instinct, to which he -constantly returns, is to regard himself as neither a superior nor -an inferior, but different; a humorist who cannot be classed and to -whom no general rules can apply; and such a man will not readily -appeal to a tribunal before which all men are equal. - -The Frenchman is a gentleman; he has the finer instinct, the finer -training, and the finer intelligence; wanting these, the Englishman -has to be taught by the cumbrous methods of reward and punishment; -he learns under the whip and becomes more like a well-trained -animal than a reasonable human being. Yet--such is the blessedness -of mere habit--even he ends by doing quite cheerfully what he -learned most unwillingly. Legality, hard-and-fast rules that must -not be broken and that are interpreted in the narrowest spirit, -depressing enough in all conscience although they be, are to him -an enjoyment and a matter of incessant thought; since if they -circumscribe, they also define and secure the spaces of personal -liberty. They are his substitute for ideas, and, if they excite -no enthusiasm and are some of them admittedly bad, all the same, -he makes it his glad duty to obey them. Outside these laws he is -intractable and inclined to be surly, quarrels with his neighbours, -and is as jealous and suspicious of his rights as a dog with a -bone. Yet the Englishman is not unhappy. He has the happiness of a -perpetual self-complacency. Indeed, your self-absorbed egotist will -sometimes extract enjoyment of a kind out of the consciousness that -he is a wet blanket and a perpetual embarrassment and kill-joy; -it does not quicken the pulses, but it flatters his sense of -power, and, strange as it may seem, his sense of hatred. At any -rate, I have met such men both in England and elsewhere. And yet -there is another side to the picture; for this self-contained -egotist, when trained in a good school and taught the amenities -of good behaviour, and when he has received the discipline which -Gladstone said he so much needed, utters the best kind of talk, -since it flows not out of the logic which divides, but out of -the inner personality which makes the whole world kin. There is -in his conversation almost always a flavour of the intimate and -the confidential. He listens well, too, and never contradicts or -seeks to convince. Indeed, it disappoints him to find one opinion -where he thought there had been two. Cultivated Englishmen talking -together are like men sitting in the woods through a long summer’s -night and listening during the intervals of silence to the noise -made by a near-by stream or of a wind among the branches or to the -singing of a nightingale. So always should mortals talk: clamorous -and confident argument are the resource of the intellectual -half-breed. - -Out of his habit of mind the egotist gains two valuable qualities. -First of all he learns how to manage himself. This, of course, -is not the same as the high and difficult art of self-mastery, -yet it counts for much that a man should know how to get the best -and leave out the worst from his life, even though that life be -in its essential mean and meagre or vicious and self-indulgent. -Self-management, smooth and adroit, is eminently the Englishman’s -accomplishment. The other quality is still more important; the -egotist makes the best of all husbands if regard be had to the -ordinary woman’s needs; for what are these if they are not all -summed up in the one word--companionship? Now a wife cannot find -a sufficing companionship in her husband’s business concerns. Here -she is beaten by the confidential clerk. There is, however, one -kind of friendship, one kind of companionship, which she alone can -supply in the required abundance; it is when the husband talks of -himself. Here is the chamber into which the wife enters willingly -when everybody else keeps away: the husband’s talk of his pains -and aches and tribulations. There is the pain in his knee or his -elbow, or the never-to-be-sufficiently-indicated pain in his head -or his back, or his cough, and how it differs from every previous -cough in his experience, or bears a dangerous resemblance to some -other body’s cough, together with the innumerable aches of his -wounded and exaggerated self-love. All this wearisome detail about -what is mostly nothing at all and which everybody else flees from, -the “pleasing wife” listens to with an attentive and intelligent -and credulous ear. It is her duty, or so she thinks it, and the -greater the intelligence the greater the credulity. There are -happy wives married to husbands whom it would bore to talk about -themselves, but the happiest woman, in whom content ripens to its -fullest, is the egotist’s wife. Like a bee in a flower, she hides -herself almost out of sight in wifely devotion. He finds happiness -in living in and for himself, she in living out of herself and -in him. Both are pleased. This is English conjugal life as I have -observed it; and here in perfection we have side by side our two -methods of human growth. - - - - - SYNGE AND THE IRISH. - - -The acrimonious dispute carried on in the newspapers over John -M. Synge and his plays is the eternal dispute between the man of -prose and the man of imagination. Synge’s plays, his prefaces to -his plays, and his book on the Aran Islands, like his conversation, -describe a little community rich in natural poetry, in fancy, in -wild humour, and in wild philosophy; as wild flowers among rocks, -these qualities spring out of their lives of incessant danger and -incessant leisure; there are also bitter herbs. When I used to -listen to Synge’s conversation, so rare and sudden, as now when I -read or listen to what he has written, I can say to myself, “Here -among these peasants is the one spot in the British Islands, the -one spot among English-speaking people, where Shakespeare would -have found himself a happy guest.” - -The people in Mr. Shaw’s plays would not have bored him, only -because nothing human would have ever bored Shakespeare; but they -would not have inspired him. And though in their company he -might have stayed for a time and been perhaps as witty as Oscar -Wilde or Shaw, the lyrical Shakespeare, the poetical and creating -Shakespeare, would soon have tired of their arid gaieties, and have -gone to sit with the courteous peasants round their turf fires, -that he might listen to their words, musical sentences, musical -names, folk tales, and tales of apparitions, embodying images -and thoughts and theories of life and a whole variegated world -of lovely or bitter and sometimes savage emotion out of which to -construct poetical drama--a very different thing from the drama of -wit or satire or sensationalism whose inspiration is prose. - -It was Synge’s luck that he found this people before the modern -reformer had improved them off the face of the earth. Each of us -has his destiny, and this was his. Every event in his life and -every chance encounter did but help to push him along till he -found his real self by living among them in the intimacy of their -family life and in the closer intimacy that came from speaking -with them a language into which they put their inmost feelings and -longings, using English for what was merely external. It was his -destiny to know these people and reveal them, and then die; and -to be denounced as an obscene and indecent writer and artist by a -set of people who will not listen and therefore cannot know, and -whose service to Ireland consists in striving to shout down every -distinguished Irishman. - -Synge’s people are primitive in the sense that they are unspoiled. -A lady of fashion among the Chinese would regard the foot of a -European woman as primitive; we think it is unspoiled. Synge’s -offence consists in showing that these people have never been -moulded into the pattern that finds favour with the convent parlour -and in the fashionable drawing-room. New York is proud of its -progress and makes pretensions to high culture; and yet New York -might do worse than turn aside and learn of these humble people. A -young girl told a friend of mine that what she and her companions -always look forward to in Ireland are the long winter evenings -around the kitchen fire when the neighbours come in to talk. I -fancy all New York is in constant conspiracy to cut as short as -possible its dull winter evenings. - -In Ireland we are still medieval, and think that how to live is -more important than how to get a living. When I was a young man -if I announced that I intended next morning at break of day to -start on some enterprise of amusement, or it might be of high -duty, the whole family would get up to see me off; but if it were -on some matter of mere commercial gain, I would breakfast in the -care of the servants. It was thus through the whole of Irish life. -If Curran, for instance, fought a duel in Phœnix Park at some -unearthly hour, five hundred sleepy Dublin citizens would rouse -themselves out of their beds and be there to see the fight, to -witness the courage of the combatants and enjoy the wit of Curran, -that never failed when danger threatened--and in those days and in -that country people shot to kill. We Irish are still what we’ve -always been, a people of leisure; like people sitting at a play, we -watch the game of life, we enjoy our neighbours, whether we love or -hate them. - -Because of this enjoyment of the spectacle of life, we have -produced the ablest dramatists of latter-day England: Farquhar, -Goldsmith, Sheridan, Oscar Wilde, G. B. Shaw, and finally John -Synge. And of these, Synge, though he died so young, is the -greatest. He stands apart from them all, because he portrays -peasant poetry and passion, and a humour which cuts deep into -the mystery and terror of life. In the other dramatists we have -abundance of wit and liveliness, great powers of enjoyment, and a -commendable contempt for the prudential virtues; but there is also -a denial of spirituality and but a modicum of poetry; the deeper -feelings are never sounded, while their pathos is only a dainty -pity, not the genuine article: not one of them could have written -“Riders to the Sea.” Behind the Irish humour and pity are will -and intellect, as in Swift. In the drawing-room plays of Synge’s -predecessors there is merely the sensitive nature, so easily -chilled by what is not nice, becoming, and charming. Those who -object to Synge’s plays are suffering from the delicate stomach of -people who have lived effeminate lives. Dr. Swift would have come -to Synge’s plays and applauded them. - -A good many years ago cultivated people and others began to take -an interest in the Irish peasant; it added something to the gaiety -of London and Dublin drawing-rooms. But socialism and communism, -the labour party and anarchy, had not then been invented to teach -people the seriousness of starving poverty. So Carleton and other -writers set to work to exploit the Irish peasant and make him into -something “fit for a lady’s chamber.” Hence has arisen the foolish -tradition that the Irish are all gentleness and innocence, and, -though wildly amusing, still within the bounds of good taste; hence -also came the comic Irishman, a buffoon without seriousness who -lived by making laughter for his patrons. - -Synge’s plays exist to prove the contrary of all this. And yet -there is some truth in the picture. The Irish character has a -side which is turned toward spirituality and poetry, a musical -instrument exquisitely attuned to the beauties of nature and life. -Among this fighting race, square-chinned and with short features, -is scattered another type, with long, oval faces and soft eyes, -born to all hoping gentleness and affection, with imagination fed -on the mysteries of life and death and religion. This type Stella -might have discovered had she not been too English; Swift could -not, because probably he frightened it away. Yet Dr. Goldsmith was -as true an Irishman as Dr. Swift. How vividly Synge knew this side -of the Irish mind is shown in his book on the Aran Islands. The -other side is in his plays. - -“A picture,” said Blake, “should be like a lawyer presenting a -writ.” Synge presents us with such a picture. Let us be patient; -people brought up on the literature of good taste cannot be -expected all at once to enjoy the literature of power. - -“I can look at a knot in a piece of wood until I am frightened by -it,” so spake William Blake. This is the creative imagination, -and it is that of folklore and of the Aran Islands. These people -know no distinction between natural and supernatural; they believe -everything to be carried on by miracle; and the civilized man who -does not know that behind all science and reason and all moral -systems there is a something transcending all knowledge and which -is a continued miracle of love and beauty is not only incapable of -culture, he is incapable of desiring it. To him the Bible is as -inscrutable as Shelley. These peasants are not as well educated -as, say, Mr. Rockefeller, yet they have this feeling, this feeling -which is the religion of children and poets, and which is not -subject for reason at all--even though it be the source of our -whole intellectual life. - -False education is like the pressure which the Chinese mother -applies to the feet of her infant. True education liberates. The -industrial movement would turn these peasants into smug artisans, -without a thought that consoles or a hope that elevates, greedy, -envious, and covetous, seeking only the triumphs of selfishness. -And yet man is naturally a singing bird; sometimes he is singing in -a cage of childish and brutish ignorance; and sometimes, though the -cage be roomy and handsome, he does not sing at all, has not the -heart to do so. True education would liberate him so that he could -sing in the open sky of knowledge and power and desire. - -Synge says of these people that they have “some of the emotions -thought peculiar to people who have lived with the arts.” He also -speaks of “the singularly spiritual expression which is so marked” -on the faces of some of these women. And again he says that “they -are a people whose lives have the strange quality that is found in -the oldest legend and poetry.” A priest told me that on his return -from America the servant said she was glad to see him back, “for,” -said she, “while you were away there was a colour of loneliness in -the air.” In these people’s words, as in their lives, is the colour -of beauty, as the blue sky reflects itself in every little pool of -water among the rocks. - -As to Synge’s great comedy, “The Playboy of the Western World,” -could Synge have chosen a better type for his hero than Christy -Mahon? Despite certain newspaper critics who have written of the -play, he is neither a weakling nor a fool, but a young poet in the -supreme difficulty of getting born; only in this case the struggle -is a little worse than usual. He has a drink-maddened father of -great strength and most violent passions, whose cruelty, backed -by his strength, has driven away all his family except this young -boy. Of course, Christy has no education, and his circumstances -are altogether so dreadful that to live at all he must live the -life of the imagination, wandering on the hills poaching and -snaring rabbits. Finally he strikes his father with a spade, and -in his terror runs away from home. After travelling for many days -he arrives in Mayo and finds himself a hero; not because he is a -murderer, but because he is a good-looking fellow in distress, -and, as the sequel proves, spirited withal and athletic. His -talk about the murder is a sudden freak of self-advertisement; -no one so cunning as your young poet! Besides, he liked to be -frightening himself. No one really believes it, and the Widow -Quinn is scornfully sceptical; and when, later on, as they think, -he actually murders his father, every one turns against him--his -sweetheart, though it breaks her heart, joining actively in handing -him over to justice. - -In every well-constructed drama there is some central point of -interest around which all the other incidents are grouped. The -personality of the girl Pegeen, Christy’s sweetheart, is here the -central interest. She towers over every one, not only by her force, -but by her maidenly purity and Diana-like fierceness; nothing, -neither the coarseness she herself utters in wild humour, nor what -the others say or do, can soil her sunshine. And in the love-talk -between the lovers, he is all imagination and poet’s make-believe, -and she all heart and passion and actuality, which is the peasant -woman’s good sense! It is among peasants of the west of Ireland -that the poetical dramatist must henceforth find his opportunity. -Young gentlemen and young ladies in America have doctrinaire minds; -they have grown up attending classes and listening to lectures in -the atmosphere of a specious self-improvement, and know nothing of -the surroundings amid which this peasant girl grew up straight and -tall as a young tree. Some day people will recognize in this play -Synge’s tribute to the Irish peasant girl. “And to think it’s me is -talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands -for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder, and I’m thinking -there won’t be our like in Mayo for gallant lovers from this hour.” - -The peasants of the west of Ireland are like Christy Mahon; sorrow -and danger and ignorance are their daily portion, yet like -him they live the life of the imagination. Liberate them from -what oppresses, but so that they may still live the life of the -imagination. - -Synge’s history was peculiar. He took up music as his profession -and studied it in Germany, Rome, and Paris; and having only a -very small income, for economy’s sake always lived with poor -people. In Paris he stayed with a man cook and his wife, who was -a _couturière_. He told me that they had but one sitting-room, in -which the man did his cooking and the wife her sewing, with another -sewing-woman who helped. When, as sometimes happened, a large -order for hats came in, Synge, who by this time had given up music -for philology, would drop his studies and apply himself also to -hat-making, bending wires, etc. After a year or so he moved into a -hotel, where he met my son, who urged him to leave Paris for the -west of Ireland and apply himself to the study of Irish. Among -these western peasants he thenceforth spent a great part of every -winter, living as one of the family, they calling one another by -their Christian names; and he told me that he would rather live -among them than in the best hotel. - -Synge was morally one of the most fastidious men I ever met, at -once too sensitive and too proud and passionate for anything -unworthy. He was a well-built, muscular man, with broad shoulders, -carrying his head finely. He had large, light-hazel eyes which -looked straight at you. His conversation, like his book on the Aran -Islands, had the charm of entire sincerity, a quality rare among -men and artists, though it be the one without which nothing else -matters. He neither deceived himself nor anybody else, and yet he -had the enthusiasm of the poet. In this combination of enthusiasm -and veracity he was like that other great Irishman, Michael Davitt. -Like Davitt, also, he was without any desire to be pugnacious; -resolute, yet essentially gentle, he was a man of peace. - - - - - THE MODERN WOMAN - - REFLECTIONS ON A NEW AND INTERESTING TYPE - - -Queen Elizabeth, we know, had many lovers, but was herself never -in love; and so she was able to get the better of her cousin, Mary -Queen of Scots, who, poor soul! allowed herself to be ensnared by -the tender passion. Queen Elizabeth, on the historic page, is a -monster. Yet what was singular in her is now quite general. - -It has been America which has given the world, this strange type; -like everything else that happens in this country, she has sprung -suddenly upon us, as if she had neither father nor mother nor any -visible ancestry. - -She may be in a minority, yet she is not difficult to discover, for -she is most active, showing herself everywhere. Nor is it difficult -to describe her, since she spends much of her time in describing -herself. In the first place, like the orator, she is made rather -than born; indeed, she is herself a good deal of an orator, always -being ready to harangue her friends, explaining and enforcing -her ideas. Self-improvement is her passion; improvement in what -direction? you will ask. She herself does not know. Meantime she -insists on absolute personal liberty--moral, physical, mental, and -also political. That she may be free she places a ban on the senses -and upon sex; either of these would put her back under subjugation. -She announces herself to be eager for affection, but its object -must be some person who is supernaturally perfect and complete; -anything else would be illogical and unworthy and enslaving. And -while her mother dreamed of a life of love and duty in a world -where both are necessary because of its sorrowful imperfections, -she will be satisfied with nothing less than a perfect love and -a perfect affection. At the same time, while resolved on liberty -she does not forget that she is born into a business community; -therefore she has adopted the business man’s creed--efficiency: -“Whatsoever thou doest, do it with all thy might.” - -The young men know liberty to be a chimera--that vision has never -flattered their eyes. Life to them means hard work and obedience -and a constant struggle in circumstances where everything is -compromise, and where even honesty is not always the best policy; -and as to success and the making of money, even the greatest energy -will not suffice if there be not good luck and the opportunity. -Unlike the women, these young men have their dreams, for dreams -are the solace of labour and abstinence: dreams, first of all, -of success and fortune, of which they constantly speak; and then -another dream not so easy to talk about: that each may marry some -day the girl of his choice. - -Here you have American life as it is among the young. The man -under discipline and a dreamer; the woman a triumphant egotist, -and without any dreams at all. And as to this liberty which she -haughtily demands, what is it, among the girls, except the right -to choose and dismiss her teachers, abandoning everything and -everybody as soon as she ceases to feel interested? Never having -been curbed, she has not learned to prefer another to herself. -In vain nature cries out within her for the sweet burden of -service and sacrifice; she is much too busy listening to her -own voice, repeating its new catch words: “I will be myself. -I belong to myself, I must lead my own life.” Once she enters -society and becomes a woman and meets men, she acquires a very -definite purpose, and goes straight for it. Since she will not -serve the men, let the men serve her. “The American woman,” said a -languidly insolent Englishman to me, “are interesting; the men are -nonentities.” In the Englishman’s conception, the man who does not -take the upper hand with his women is a poor creature. - -The ladies in England do not like the modern American woman. Her -success with their own menkind is bitter to bear; yet they envy -her. For these men are serving woman as they never served before; -and it is precisely because, like the Englishman, the modern woman -is herself an egotist. Egoism the Englishman understands: it has -always been his honoured creed and his practice; and here at last -is a woman who, because of her frank selfishness, is perfectly -intelligible; no longer the mystery she used to be, but simple -like a child’s puzzle. Her frantic, brand-new egoism is not quite -the sober article he patronizes for himself, but it delights him -nevertheless, because it is so like his own daily contest with -antagonists whom he must overcome in business. And here is a -beautiful enemy, whom he must both overcome and capture and carry -away with him as a prize of war; to be the ornament of his house -and a delight to the eyes, to be his courtier, his worshipper, -his wife; and as to the extravagance of her egoism, he feels -that as a man he can soon teach her a different lesson, so that -she will settle back into tameness and play her woman’s part, -and be his English wife. And even if she does not, consider what -an advantage it is to have within doors a wife who is perfectly -intelligible, and with whom he knows what to do! Why, he can be -as logical in his own home as in his place of business. The woman -used to be the greatest mystery in the world--you might defy her, -or be kind and yield to her, or crush her with your iron will; but -you couldn’t understand her. No man could read that riddle. The -writers of comedy, the writers of tragedy, all tried their hands -at it. Satirists and wits were never tired of the fascinating -theme. Yet it was all guess-work. No one pretended to know, and -the husbands least of all. Henry the Eighth, who cut off the heads -of his wives, knew no more than last year’s lover. Such used to be -woman. Now she is as easy to read as an old almanac. Watch her as -she paces Fifth Avenue, with her businesslike air. How bright her -eyes, and yet hard as jewels! Her smile how thin-lipped! and her -figure that of a young athlete. Her mode of dress and of personal -array, how smart and efficient and almost military! She is the -very embodiment of briskness, and of commanding decision. But all -the lines of allurement are vanished, and she no longer undulates -with slow grace. She is not feline, neither is she deerlike; and -she no longer caresses, for her voice is as uncompromising as her -style of dress. The ordinary man, unless he was a gentleman of the -old school, or a high-placed nobleman, or an Irish peasant, has -always despised the arts of pleasing, until some charming woman has -taken him in hand; but the modern woman has ceased to instruct him, -and has become his imitator, so that her manners are almost as -intimidating as those of the successful business man. Where is that -threefold charm of mystery, subtlety and concealment, under which -womanhood was wont to veil its powers; and while so many bow down -before the conquering woman, where are the poets? The astronomers, -the mathematicians, the scientists, the men of business, the -lawyers, especially the lawyers, _are_ at her feet, but no music -comes from the poet; and she--is she so happy? - -Egoism is unhappiness for man and woman. Talleyrand called Napoleon -“the unamusable.” It used to be the man who was egotist and the -woman who served, for she said: Our mission is to please. Hence her -all-prevailing charm, and hence also her invincible happiness, for -happiness is the denial of egoism. However it be at other times, -the happy woman and the happy man are righteous--in man’s sight and -in God’s. - -Happiness is the secret known only to poets and to women; and it -was the women who taught it to the poets. Mere man knows little -about it; least of all the successful man, for risking everything -he has mostly lost everything; under his prosperity there is -generally distaste. And how sorrow and disaster can at times -degrade a man we all know; he becomes gloomy, bitter, or drearily -self-contained, or he drops into dissipation and becomes vulgar. -The woman, on the other hand, finds in disaster her opportunity; -and sorrow, which the woman’s life seldom escapes, however it -be with the men, only intensifies her womanhood, so that she -anticipates a later wisdom, and luminously refuses to recognize any -distinction except that between the happy and the unhappy. There -are only two people who are perfectly content--a woman busy in -her home and a poet among his rhymes. They have the secret; they -share it between them; they break bread together, they are of the -company, even though the poet knows nothing of domestic life nor -the other of rhymes. The true, the natural woman is like a bird, -she has wings. When she is a young girl she is like a bird just -spreading her wings for flight; when she is a matured woman she -is like a bird in full flight: desire gives her wings, and stirs -within her the creative impulse; and nothing can stop her strong -flight towards happiness. She has the creative gifts--wherever her -eye lights, there is happiness--she gilds with “heavenly alchemy” -whatever she touches. - -The resolute, practical man puts away the thought of happiness, and -for it substitutes pleasures, which are the gratification of the -senses, and his unquenchable thirst for variety and movement. These -gratifications he can resign with little effort--mere pleasure is -ashes in the mouth, while the other he thinks would unnerve him; -that is for poets, he will tell you. The woman does not believe in -pleasures, she believes in happiness. A supreme belief in happiness -is the woman’s soul. It awakens in her the moment she is in love -or has a child, and accompanies her everywhere. It explains, I -think, the curious self-centredness of her mind, and that strange -aloofness which seems to envelop her who has husband and children. -In her presence we talk of this and that, and do this and that, and -she watches us with eyes in which is the light of knowledge and -foreknowledge. - -The man is a worker and a fighter; with strenuous effort he pushes -along the car of progress, and dies under its wheels; and we make -lamentations. But these women should be carried to their graves -with song of hope and wistful triumph; any other kind of music -would be wounding to our recollections. A man talks mysticism and -he argues; and I am bored. A woman looks and perhaps smiles, and -almost as by the touching of hands communicates her own unfading -hopes. She does not use words, and we do not oppose her with words. - -Long ago people talked much of ladies’ eyes, and ancient Homer, as -we know, sang of the x-eyed Juno and the azure-eyed Minerva. Now -ladies’ eyes are too bright and too exacting to be so eloquent, so -persuading; and for all her dominating ways she is not the queen -she was, nor for all her witchlike effectiveness is she so calmly -beautiful. By turning egotist she has dropped down to our level. -She is one of us. - -And yet the modern woman is right and has arrived in the nick -of time; she is needed because the modern man is not always a -gentleman. Some fifteen years ago I was witness to a strange -scene on Kew Bridge, outside London, one Sunday morning. A line -of five young ladies came riding by on cycles, wearing bloomers. -This excited the loud derision of some loafers, some half-breeds, -standing together on the side-path, and one of them said something, -I did not know what, but the last of the girls heard it and -understood. She stopped, and, carefully adjusting her machine so -that it stood up against the curb of the side-path, walked back to -the young man and asked him if he had used the offensive words; she -then knocked him down, and he fell, probably not so much because -of her strength as because of his own surprise. Sheepishly he got -up, brushing his clothes, and his companions laughed as sheepishly, -while she remounted and rode after her friends. Here was the modern -woman but immature, effective on this occasion, yet much too crude -for anything except a guerrilla war. In Belfast, famous for its -bad manners, every one tries to be “boss” over some one else; yet -if every one can’t be “boss” in Belfast, there is no man even now -who cannot find, both in Belfast and New York and everywhere else, -a woman whom he may “boss.” This is one of the solid comforts of -the masculine existence; but young ladies teaching in the public -schools are watching sympathetically the career of the modern woman. - -It insults a woman nowadays to say that the woman’s destiny is -to be always dependent on some man; but we who say this know -perfectly well that it is equally true to say of the man that -it is his destiny to be dependent on some woman. These two must -patch up their differences. Man must yield to woman equality and -dignity; and she must take him back into favour. There is no such -companionship as that between a man and a woman. She brings her -wisdom, traditional with her sex, and derived from a long study -of the question how to live, and he brings his energy, derived -from his long study of how to make a living. When energy makes him -say, Let us forget the present and think about the future, she -will reply: Let us enjoy the present--am I not young? Is not the -childhood of these children exquisite? - -People forget or do not know that man’s desire for liberty is -not greater than his desire for restraint. By practising the art -of happiness he gets both. The gratification of all the desires, -tempered each by each, is happiness--hope restrained by memory and -the lust of the flesh by affection and sympathy; herein is richest -harmony and a servitude which is perfect freedom. Pleasure is the -gratification of some one desire pushed to excess and followed by -weariness and satiety; and while pleasure overwhelms intellect and -silences it, happiness makes intellect supreme. Happiness enforces -discipline spontaneously; pleasure relaxes it and brings on -licence, which is the shadow of liberty and its final destruction. - -It is character, they say, that saves the world. Does this mean -the will that is strong to grasp and hold? If so, then I know of -something infinitely greater: the full and varied knowledge that -comes from the whole complex human personality--every instrument -in the orchestra--being developed in our consciousness, so that -no single desire is “refused a hearing,” as in a good democracy -where every citizen has his rights secured. Here we have the benign -wisdom of Shakespeare and of good women, and its motive is the -deliberate search for happiness; it kindles the heart and shines in -the eyes of a beautiful woman when she goes about in her home and -among her friends and neighbours--beautiful and a sceptre-bearing -queen; because in a world where every one runs mad after this and -that falsehood, she stands for the simple truth of human happiness -and all its possibilities. Wisdom is better than force, and -supersedes it. - - - - - WATTS AND THE METHOD OF ART.[1] - - -I have often wished that some great painter had written his -autobiography, beginning with his earliest childhood. Saints and -sinners have left us their memoirs in more than sufficient detail; -and we have also the autobiographies of many famous writers. - -As yet we have not had the confessions of the Painter; for I am -sure they would be called confessions, since it would have been -with a sense of shame that these men, including the magnificent -Michael Angelo himself, would have confessed their failures at -school to learn as other boys learned, and receive, as other boys -did, instruction from their teachers. - -We are all familiar with instances of boys who, exceptionally -quick and clever to ordinary observation, are almost unteachable -at school. It would be thought cruel, as well as impossible, -to attempt teaching grammar and arithmetic to a young musical -genius in a concert-room where musicians were playing; yet this is -precisely what is done every time we try to teach grammar and such -things to a boy with the eyes of a painter. Time and experience -have at last taught us to be respectful and tender with the -musical mind; we accept, and we understand it; and the boy with -the wonderful ear is caught up and carried away and instructed and -fondled, and the world is made smooth for him. But how about the -boy with the wonderful eye? And yet the musical boy is only tempted -when music is actually being played, whereas this other is never -free from solicitation, since to him there is always, except in the -dark, colour and form and light and shade. He will know the shape -and surface of every object in his schoolroom, and how light falls -on desk and table; he will know among his school-fellows all the -profiles and all the front faces, what colour the eyes are, and how -they are shaped; every detail of form and colour will be familiar -to him, since to watch these things and to draw from them a -continuous, intellectual intoxication is the very purpose for which -he has been created; for with him the eyes are the gates of wisdom; -and with young children these eyes are so thronged by wisdom trying -to get in that all their time is taken up in opening the gates to -its inrush. - -In this progress of the painter--in this preparation for what, if -the conditions are favourable, ought to be the solemn business -of painting or sculpture--there will be various stages. At first -it will be all observation; after that will come a time in which -the boy will make inferences; to him the face will be the index -of the mind; and, looking round on master and boy, he will be a -physiognomist who has never heard of Lavater, or a craniologist -or phrenologist, until some happy moment when, having exhausted -his interest in scientific inquiry, there will burst upon him the -glorious world of intellectual desire. - -A friend of mine--an old painter, who went to school in the North -of Scotland--described to me his experience. The dominie had one -morning been particularly drastic in his methods, and this led -to great concentration of thought among the pupils, while at the -same time it did not in the least alter the usual current of their -ideas. My friend, for instance, busied himself as usual, observing -form and colour, only with a keener zest and, as I have said, -a more concentrated purpose. It was a spring morning, and, for -the first time that year, a ray of sunshine came into the room, -making a square of yellow light on the dusty floor at his feet. It -was only at that particular period of the year such a thing was -possible: later on there would be too many leaves on the trees, -and in winter the sun was not in that quarter of the heavens. My -friend was an unhappy and anxious schoolboy, but the events of that -morning and the menaces of the dominie, combined with the sudden -sunlight at his feet, made a new boy of him, and he looked at the -square of brightness which stirred his heart. He received, as it -were, his mystical message; and some time afterwards, leaving -school, he became a landscape-painter. - -With a man like Mr. Watts the world of desire would have burst -differently. He was the greatest figure-painter England has ever -produced. With the exception of Blake, who hardly counts, I may say -he was the one painter who worked in the grand manner and on great -subjects. Years ago, by a happy accident, I met him in my studio. I -remember his handsome face and a certain air, as it seemed to me, -of imperious detachment; in his voice also there was a touch of -austerity. He looked at my pictures without a word, till I asked -him for his opinion. It then came clear, frank, and to the point. I -did not tell him what, nevertheless, was the fact--that, though I -had never seen him before, I had been his diligent pupil for years, -and that from him first I learned the true meaning of painting, and -why I, or indeed anyone else, had been induced to take up the craft. - -All his days Watts was a hermit and a recluse; had he loved life -and enjoyed it, he would have lived in it and painted it, as -Hogarth lived and painted; yet he loved his fellow-man, and sought -unweariedly whatever made for his happiness: indeed it might be -said that he painted because he loved his fellow-man. With such a -man the world of desire must have burst in some scene that excited -his indignation or his pity, or his moral admiration and love, -and from that moment he would become a dreamer who incessantly -re-builds life, according to the dictates of a kindled imagination; -for since the eye finds what it looks for, the world of desire -becomes in the self-same moment the world of creation; the desiring -eye is the creating eye: the world itself is neither beautiful -nor ugly; it is a formless vast out of which we create, according -to our desires, new worlds; the madman and the poet look out on -the same scene, but where the one finds ugliness the other finds -beauty; and the world Watts looked out on was the world of men when -they suffer or when they strive together in serious purpose. - -In speaking about Watts, I would begin with his portraits. As -regards these, there is no controversy; some people harden their -hearts against his pictures, but no one denies his portraits. Now -it seems to me that the genius of portrait-painting is largely a -genius for friendship; at any rate, I am quite sure that the best -portraits will be painted where the relation of the sitter and the -painter is one of friendship; and it considerably helps my argument -to know that in Watts’ case he mostly painted people whom he had -himself invited to sit. - -The technique of portrait-painting is mainly a technique of -interpretation; to get the colour, to model the face adequately, -this to the practised hand is comparatively easy; to so paint that -people should, perforce, see the particular curve, the particular -shadow, and the particular shape of brow or eye that interest the -painter; here is the true difficulty, here the true enjoyment and -exquisite triumph of the painter. - -In his early portraits there is little attempt at this -interpretation. There is, indeed, the charm of atmosphere never -absent from Watts’ work at any time, and there is a very obvious -decorative purpose; but these early portraits do not grip the -attention as the later portraits do, because the technique of -interpretation is lacking. - -I have heard people say they liked his male portraits better than -his portraits of women, but I cannot share this preference; each in -its degree is perfect. Watts will paint a young lady in fashionable -evening attire--surely the most modern and up-to-date arrangement -possible--and he will so paint her, so gild her with the heavenly -alchemy of his art, that she shall appear like a Venetian beauty -gazing at us from the page of history. - -Indeed, over all his portraits, whether of men or women, he spreads -a sort of dim religious light; so that while painted with Dutch -realism, they yet seem to come to us out of the mists of memory and -romance. - -Before speaking of his pictures of imagination, I will discuss a -little the whole purpose of art and artists. - -The moralist says: I teach morality, without which society would -not hold together. - -The trader says: I teach trade, without which there would be no -wealth, and life would not be worth living. - -The religious teacher: I teach religion, without which people would -forget that there was another world or a judgment to come. - -And the scientist says: I teach truth, which is the basis of -everything. - -What can the artist say for himself in presence of this congress -of teachers, before whom we stand silent with hats off in age-long -reverence? - -First, what is his record? - -He works only to please himself, and regards it as the most -egregious folly--indeed, a kind of wickedness--to try and please -anybody else; he admires wrong as often as right; at one time -he occupies himself with the things of the spirit, and again he -turns just as eagerly to the things of sense; without conscience -and without scruple he flatters in turn every passion and every -instinct, good or bad; he will make the unhappy more unhappy, -and the wicked he will make worse; he inculcates no lessons, and -preaches no dogma; yet often the noble will become nobler for his -companionship. - -He is to be found in every community; among the sinners he is a -sort of father confessor, whose absolution is light, so that you -may confess all your sins to him, and you may still go on sinning; -he will laugh at the faces of the good, finding them guilty of -self-complacency, of formalism, of insincerity, of prudence, of -cowardice, of half-heartedness; indeed he is often much more -respectful to sinners than he is to good people of the earth; and -withal is it not from the hands of the painter and the poet that, -as in some royal caprice, the hero receives his crown? - -This strange creature with the dubious record; what use is he in -the scheme of things? He seems to stand outside the whole circle of -the utilities. - -Why there is morality, why there is commerce, and why there is -science, and why there is religion; these questions are easy to -answer. But why there are painters, and sculptors, and poets, and -musicians, is another mystery; it is as if you asked me why there -are billions of suns rolling through illimitable space. - -Among these august teachers the mere artist stands like another -Lucifer among the angels. And yet all these teachers, high and -mighty though they be, pay to the artist continual court, and would -fain make him one of themselves: would indeed rescue him as a very -wanton from his bad surroundings, and persuade him to live with -them always; and this partly because human nature is strong within -them, and they love the craft we practise, and partly because they -recognize that where men are gathered together the artist--that -is, the poet, the painter, the musician, and the sculptor--wields, -for good or evil, the mightiest power on earth. Where is the -theologian that the poet does not help? Where is the moralist? At -the present moment, here in this exhibition, it seems to me that, -in their astute way, the theologian, the moralist, and even the -metaphysician, all think that they have patched up an admirable -working arrangement with one of the greatest of our artists. - -The titles “Love and Death,” “Time, Death, and Judgment,” “The -Temptation of Eve,” “The Penitence of Eve,” “The Contrition -of Cain,” etc., do perhaps explain the facts that in Scotland -Presbyterian ministers crowded the Watts’ Gallery; and also that -here in Dublin, for the first time in the history of our animated -city, a splendid collection of pictures has been shown, and the -voice of detraction and malignant criticism remains silent. - -Well! do these pictures teach anything? Has Mr. Watts been -captured? Is he a theologian or a moralist, or a metaphysician? Or -is he merely a highly-gifted man, working out his salvation by way -of art? - -Take his two pictures of Eve. In all this collection there are none -more poetical. - -In the first of these, “The Temptation,” what have we? A woman -in the fulness of her magnificent animalism, and we have this -animalism in the moment of its highest provocation. She seems to -curl herself and to quiver with delight as she listens to the -whispers of the subtle serpent; how voluptuously she leans over -to the tempter, her body elastic with health and vitality. It is -womanhood; it is splendid animalism, as yet untouched by conscience -or doubt, and unchilled by the thoughts of death; all about her -summer flowers and rich perfumes. At her feet a leopard rolls, -itself a faint echo or reverberation of her vast personality. - -It is the merest sophistry to call this moral teaching; it -celebrates the deliciousness of temptation as Pindar, the ancient -poet, celebrates the wine-cup. In both these pictures Watts -celebrates the beauty of the nude and the beauty of the flesh. -Leighton would have painted Eve grand and statuesque--a figure out -of the penumbra of that decorative world where nothing is quite -real. But this woman, colossal and demi-god though she be, is as -real as one of his portraits--that of J. S. Mill, for instance, or -the Earl of Ripon. She is so real, that you feel almost that you -could touch her golden flesh, and hear her cries and murmurs of -delight; while the other Eve is so realistically painted that it -might be said she weeps audibly. - -Next take his picture of Paolo and Francesca. Of all pictures in -this gallery it is the most complete, possibly because his friends -liked it, and gave him the encouragement all artists need. It is at -once beautifully imaginative and a piece of charming decoration. -But these poor guilty lovers, these wrecks of humanity, these -fragments of tenuity, afloat on the winds like dead leaves, like -lightest gossamer, teach no moral lesson. This picture illustrates -afresh the sad fate of true lovers, and makes their punishment -tender and beautiful. I should like to have had John Knox’s opinion -of this picture. There was a certain grimness, a certain severity -in the painter. A meeting between these two champions would have -been interesting. - -Yet we are so hemmed about with difficulty, and so bewildered by a -multitude of counsellors, and have got so much into the pestilent -habit of seeking guidance everywhere, that one must needs find a -moral even in the bosom of a rose. - -Therefore--although it be quite unnecessary to the true -appreciation of art--I will, reluctantly as it were, entirely on my -own responsibility, pluck some moral guidance from imaginative art. - -If morality frames for our guidance rules of conduct which, if we -do not obey, we are to be punished--if it bids us shun temptation -and remove temptation from our path and from the paths of all -the world--Art, on the contrary, seems to say, with all its -strength and with all its voices: “Seek temptation; run to meet -it; we are here to be tempted.” Art does not say--“Be happy, or -be miserable, or be wise, or be prudent”; but it says--“Live, -have it out with fortune, don’t spare yourself, be no laggard -or coward, have no fear.” And this also is part of the message: -“Abide where Watts lived, and where the true artist always -lived--on the high table-lands, in the unshaded sunshine of -intellectual happiness--never descending into the valleys, where -hang, mist-like, the languors and lethargies, the low miseries, -sensualities, and adulteries which afflict human nature when it is -defeated, discouraged, disintegrated.” - -At the end of this room there is a large picture enormously -impressive--“Time, Death and Judgment.” To be impressive is itself -a great artistic merit; yet I do not think this a great picture; -there is, indeed, a fine arrangement of colour, and mass, and line, -yet behind it all there is no energy of conviction. - -Time moves forward, a striding figure, carrying a scythe; beside -him walks Death, his wife, a weary woman, tenderly gathering into -her lap the flowers of life; above these two figures is Judgment. -These figures are vague and conventional as regards any meaning or -intention they might convey. If this picture has any meaning, it is -as if Watts had said to himself: “I am a figure-painter and will, -by my craft of figure-painting, translate into a picture the kind -of pleasing terror which is excited by watching a fine sunset or -listening to an oratorio.” This is not art, as Michael Angelo gave -it. Blake said a picture should be like a lawyer presenting a writ. - -“Love and Death” seems much finer--it grips the attention at once. -Before the other picture we stand idly pensive; but here we want -to get at the root of the matter--to grope our way into the very -heart of the picture. There is the naked figure of Love, wavering, -falling backwards; and then Death, this huge bulk; draped, and -hooded, and horrid. Is it man? Is it woman? and its face is hidden; -and is this because it was in the thought of the painter that no -one has ever seen the face of Death except the piteous dead, who -carry their knowledge into the grave? - -As regards a famous picture not in this collection--the picture -called “Hope”--I would say that pleasing though it be, it owes -its success mainly to its faults; and that people like it because -no one can say exactly what it means. A man who really lived by -hope--a Krapotkin or a William Morris--would find its vagueness -utterly displeasing. - -England likes her artists to preserve a soft, indefinite touch, -because in her world of action and practical effort ideas must not -be pushed too far, and compromise rules. Art, on the contrary, -does not like half thoughts--she will have a positive yea or -nay. If thought is not pursued to its furthest bourne and limit, -the picture lacks energy, and is without effect. In Art, as in -everything else, energy is the true solvent. - -In my mind, pictures of this kind are meant to hang in the rooms -of the idle rich--because intended for people who wish, without -effort, to indulge themselves--and see all things past, present, -and to come, rosily and smilingly, however falsely. There are -artists, poets, and painters--and in this case Watts is among -them--who seem to keep in stock a sort of pharmacopœia of drugs and -opiates and soothing mixtures to be served out as required. Michael -Angelo owed his terribleness, his black melancholy, to the fact -that in his pride he would not accept any soothing mixtures; he -faced all the facts of life. - -Now, let me say a word in reply to those who are so ready to point -out defects in Watts’ technique. To find fault is easy--is at all -times easy. In this vivacious city it is a special accomplishment, -where, indeed, everyone has learned logic, but no one has learned -enthusiasm, and few care for the ideal or for poetry. - -In answer to these people I would enter a plea of confession and -avoidance. - -Granted all they say about these faults, I would ask, in all the -roll of English painters, is there one who would have given us that -magnificent Eve of the Temptation? How royally she leans forward as -she stoops to her fate: what swing and what pose in her movement. -In the strain, in the ecstacy of her sinning, every nerve and -every muscle seems to tremble. Not Millais, nor Leighton, nor Alma -Tadema--far more accomplished artists than Watts--could have done -it; nor Reynolds, nor Gainsborough, nor Vandyke. None of these men -had the technique to do what Watts has here done. Watts triumphs by -his technique. - -But it has not been always so in Watts’ work. When not roused to -great exertion by his theme, he fell away into carelessness and -into haste. You see, this man who lived so long a life had such a -teeming mind that his hands could not work fast enough. - -And here let me allude for a moment to Watts the man. All accounts -that have reached us represent him as singularly humble and modest. -It was so with Michael Angelo, and it is so with all men who work -among great ideas. When The Last Judgment was finished, and all -Italy burst into praise, and princes, cardinals, and poets, vied -with each other in presenting homage, Michael Angelo waved them -off with scorn. “If,” he said, “I carried Paradise in my bosom, -these words would be too much”; and he wrote in reply to one of -them: “I am merely a poor man, working in the Art God has given -me, and trying to lengthen out my life.” When an artist or poet -gives himself airs, puts on side, as we say, it is because, like -Lord Byron, he is working away from great ideas, and because in -all simplicity and good faith he finds nothing which asks his -reverence, nothing greater than his own fortunes and his own -sensations. Art for Art’s sake is for those who hate life, as many -poets do, or who hate ideas, as again many poets do. The great -artist is also a man like unto ourselves, and great personality is -the material out of which is woven all his Art. - -Now, let me offer most respectfully a startling opinion. I think -that as a religious painter Watts failed; and that he failed -because he was bound to fail. - -The spiritual world is as much with us as it was with the people -of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries; but we seek to explore -its recesses, by tabulated observation, by sequences of thought, by -scientific guesses, and carefully planned experiments: things not -to be expressed in pictorial or plastic forms, even though Michael -Angelo has said everything might be expressed as sculpture. - -Is it that Nature never repeats herself? She has produced her -religious painter; his day is over; and Watts was trying to do what -was impossible. - -In those far-off days people believed--and actually, with the most -vivid realisation, believed--at one and the same time in angels, -archangels, and saints, and gods, and goddesses, and prophets, and -sybils, and fiends of the under-world, and all the machinery of -the supernatural, including angels, such as that which Watts has -painted in the picture “Love and Life”; and the painter who painted -those images worked under the exacting criticism of an alert and -expectant people. Now, in place of these beautiful or terrible -personages, we have substituted the forces of nature. - -Examine his picture called “Love and Life.” It is a vast subject. -The whole mind of the civilized world is groping a way among -its problems. But this picture is wholly inadequate. Life is -represented as a feeble mendicant sort of creature, blindly -stumbling up rocky stairs. This is a poor image of life. Milton -would have scorned it. Watts should have remembered his own “Eve.” -And “Love” is represented as a strong angel. It is precisely -because Love is not a strong angel that all the trouble is upon -us. If his picture of “Hope” should be placed in a lady’s boudoir, -this picture should hang in the cabinets of those who think life -is to be saved merely by the clasping of hands and turning eyes -heavenward. - -In “Eve’s Repentance” there is a cold light bursting through the -blue clouds, and shining over the back and shoulders. We have here -the old Venetian harmony of blue and yellow and white; and because -of it, in some subtle way, we have an enhanced sense of the warmth -of the palpitating, naked flesh. But, bless you! this is not all. -By this light breaking through the clouds, Watts symbolizes that -there is redemption for sinners. And who is interested? Compare -this symbolism with that in Michael Angelo’s picture, where the -just-created and half-awakened Adam raises his arm in superb -languor to receive Divine knowledge by the touching of God’s -forefinger. I do not here include the picture “Love and Death,” -because it does not seem to me in any sense a religious picture. -It suggests no dogma nor mystical theory, nor is there any kind -of sentiment. The artist, by his labour, has placed before us in -monumental effectiveness certain facts now and always with us. It -is a great picture, but it is not a religious picture. - -Watts is a portrait-painter beyond all praise; he is singular among -all painters for the interest he imparts to his subject. Before -most portraits people stand and say, “What dull things portraits -are! why are they ever exhibited?” or perhaps they say, “What a -clever painter! but what an ugly man to paint!” In presence of a -Watts we are interested in a face; we feel liking or aversion, or -a tantalizing curiosity. - -In Watts’ portraits craftsmanship attains its perfection, because -here he worked in an atmosphere of exacting criticism; everyone -understands a portrait, and the stupidest is interested when it is -his own portrait. - -When Watts painted his imaginative work, it was done in an -atmosphere of polite indifference. It is a strange paradox that -Watts lived surrounded by the most distinguished and intellectual -society of his time, and yet he worked in solitude. When he went -wrong, there was no one to tell him; and when he was right, equally -there was no response. They were interested in the artist, but not -in his art. This lofty-minded recluse, who laboured by his painting -to give the world great thoughts, impressed these cultivated -worldlings: they were interested in the man, but neither in his -thoughts nor in his pictures. At a private view in the Grosvenor -Gallery a friend of mine overheard Watts saying to a lady: -“Everyone is interested in my velvet coat, but no one asks me about -my pictures.” - -It was not so in ancient Italy. When Michael Angelo, at the -imperious command of the impetuous Pope Julius, uncovered half his -work on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he stood to receive -the judgment of a people who were superstitious, ignorant men of -violence, men of war, homicidal, but each one of them impassioned -for Art. - -“Italy,” said the Spanish painter to Michael Angelo, “produces -the best Art, because Italians hate mediocrity.” We are clay in -the hands of the potter. We may affect to be proud and solitary -as Lucifer, but in vain; the artist gives that he may receive; to -seek sympathy and desire companionship is as instinctive as hunger -and thirst. To the true artist exacting criticism is comforting as -mother’s love; and, wanting this exacting criticism, Watts fell -away into slackness of work and of thought. - -We can only say that had he lived in Dublin his fate would have -been worse. Indifference, however polite and respectful, is bad: -but destructive criticism kills. - -There was once a small but mighty nation, now numerous as the sands -of the seashore, and no longer so interesting. To this nation was -born a poet, and they made him the poet of all time. They took him -and taught him all they knew--and they had great things to teach; -and when, at their command, he made great dramas, they stood at his -elbow; and everything they gave him he gave back to them tenfold. - -England was then Shakespeare’s land. - -The poet is always amongst us: the difficulty is how to find him; -he is like the proverbial needle in a bundle of hay. - -But one thing is certain--logicians without love will not find -him; they leave a desolation, and call it peace--nay, they call it -culture. Critics of this sort will allow nothing to exist except -themselves. No; I am wrong. There is one thing they admire more -even than themselves--the _fait accompli_, a mundane success. Had -Watts been born in Dublin, he would have read for the “Indian -Civil,” and perhaps--passed. - - J. B. YEATS, R.H.A. - -1907. - - -FOOTNOTE: - -[1] A report of a lecture delivered in the spring of 1907 at the -Hibernian Academy, Dublin. - - - - -[Illustration: - - PRINTED BY THE - EDUCATIONAL COMPANY - OF IRELAND LIMITED - AT THE TALBOT PRESS - DUBLIN -] - - - - - A Selection from the Publications of THE TALBOT PRESS, Ltd. - - - _The Talbot Literary Studies._ - - - APPRECIATIONS AND DEPRECIATIONS. Irish Literary Studies. By Ernest - A. Boyd. Imperial 16mo.; cloth bound. 4s. 6d. net. - -“Mr. Boyd has applied himself not merely with painstaking diligence -to the consideration of his subjects, but has joined to the -honesty of the craftsman an alert and critical insight, and an -uprightness of judgment which confer on the essays an accent of -authority.”--_The Nation._ - -“Ernest Boyd’s ‘Appreciations and Depreciations’ are admirable -examples of the critical and biographical essay.”--_The Bookman._ - - - ANGLO-IRISH ESSAYS. By John Eglinton. Imperial 16mo.; cloth bound. - 4s. 6d. net. - -“He has very independent individual views and delivers them in -noble language and in a style of diction as rare as it is strong, -subtle and beautiful.”--_Irish Independent._ - -“John Eglinton’s Essays have a charm of perfect sanity and a style -which is a model of elegant erudition.”--_The Morning Post._ - - - FRENCH LITERARY STUDIES. By Professor T. B. Rudmose-Brown, D.Litt. - Imperial 16mo.; cloth bound. 4s. 6d. net. - -“They have all a fine literary flavour and will be recognised -as the work of a keen and an appreciative authority.”--_Irish -Independent._ - - - ESSAYS: IRISH AND AMERICAN. By John Butler Yeats. Imperial 16mo.; - cloth. 4s. 6d. net. - - - BYE-WAYS OF STUDY. By Darrell Figgis. Imperial 16mo.; cloth. 4s. - 6d. net. - - - _Every Irishman’s Library._ - - Edited by A. P. Graves, M.A.; Douglas Hyde, LL.D.; and W. - Magennis, M.A. Complete in 12 volumes; crown 8vo; handsomely bound - and beautifully printed. 3s. 6d. net each volume. - - THE BOOK OF IRISH POETRY. Edited by Alfred Perceval Graves, M.A. - - - WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST. By W. H. Maxwell. Edited by the Earl of - Dunraven. - - - LEGENDS OF SAINTS AND SINNERS. (From the Irish). Edited by Douglas - Hyde, LL.D. - - - HUMOURS OF IRISH LIFE. Edited by Charles L. Graves, M.A. (Oxon.). - - - IRISH ORATORS AND ORATORY. Edited by Professor T. M. Kettle, - National University of Ireland. - - - THOMAS DAVIS. Selections from his Prose and Poetry. Edited by T. - W. Rolleston, M.A. - - - STANDISH O’GRADY. Selected Essays and Passages. Edited with an - Introduction by Ernest A. Boyd. - - - POEMS OF SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON. Edited with an Introduction by - Alfred Perceval Graves. - - - RECOLLECTIONS OF JONAH BARRINGTON. Edited with an Introduction by - George Birmingham. - - - CARLETON’S STORIES OF IRISH LIFE. With an Introduction by Darrell - Figgis. - - MARIA EDGEWORTH. Selections from her Works. With an Introduction - by M. C. Seton, C.B. - - - THE COLLEGIANS. By Gerald Griffin. With Introduction by Padraic - Colum. - -“The idea of ‘Every Irishman’s Library’ is excellent, and it has -only to maintain the standard of its first six volumes to be -found on the book-shelves of men and women of the other three -nationalities.”--_The Morning Post._ - - - _Poetry._ - - - FROM THE LAND OF DREAMS. By John Todhunter. With a photogravure - portrait of the author, and an Introduction by T. W. Rolleston, - M.A. Imperial 16mo.; cloth. 4s. 6d. net. - -A representative collection of the poems of the late John -Todhunter, which includes, in addition to previously published -work, many poems now published for the first time. The book records -the achievement of a distinguished pioneer of the Irish Literary -Revival. - - - _Fiction._ - - - ORIEL. By Bernard Duffy. Extra crown 8vo.; cloth. 7s. net. - -A story of youth and love, ideals and friendship, filled with the -sunshine and happiness of the joyful years. Oriel Bartley will -appeal to you whether you are young or old. His adventures lead him -through many delightful and curious experiences in the Ireland of -to-day and yesterday which is the scene of Mr. Duffy’s story. No -politics! No recriminations! Just a romance of the golden land of -youth. - - - DINNY OF THE DOORSTEP. By K. F. Purdon. Extra crown 8vo. 6s. net. - -Miss Purdon here tells the story of one of the little street -urchins who swarm and play on the steps of the tenements in the -faded Georgian thoroughfares of Dublin. Realism and sentiment -combine to make this novel one which will move and interest every -reader who has felt the pathos and humour of the city waif. - - - WRACK AND OTHER STORIES. By Dermot O’Byrne. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. - -These half-dozen tales of Ireland, ancient and modern, are in -that peculiar vein of historic realism which set the author’s -“Children of the Hills” apart from the average book of Irish short -stories. The Syngesque vigour and raciness of Mr. O’Byrne’s idiom -gives a quality to his writings which is absent from that of his -contemporaries. - - - A GARDEN BY THE SEA. By Forrest Reid. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. - -The author of “The Bracknels” and “Following Darkness” has brought -together a volume of short stories marked by the distinction which -has characterised his previous novels of Irish life. - - * * * * * - - - - - Transcriber’s Notes: - - Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the - text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. - - Front Matter “The thanks The Talbot Press, Limited” changed to - “The thanks of The Talbot Press, Limited”. - Page 13 Period at end of “make-up as men” changed to comma. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Essays Irish and American, by John Butler Yeats - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS IRISH AND AMERICAN *** - -***** This file should be named 62939-0.txt or 62939-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/9/3/62939/ - -Produced by Susan Carr, Tim Lindell and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |