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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4acae28 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67639 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67639) diff --git a/old/67639-0.txt b/old/67639-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3f7c46d..0000000 --- a/old/67639-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3377 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of William Blake, by G. K. Chesterton - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: William Blake - -Author: G. K. Chesterton - -Release Date: March 16, 2022 [eBook #67639] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Thomas Frost, 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.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM BLAKE *** - - - - - - The Popular Library of Art - - -ALBRECHT DÜRER (37 Illustrations). -By LINA ECKENSTEIN. - -ROSSETTI (53 Illustrations). -By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - -REMBRANDT (61 Illustrations). -By AUGUSTE BRÉAL. - -FRED. WALKER (32 Illustrations and Photogravure). -By CLEMENTINA BLACK. - -MILLET (32 Illustrations). -By ROMAIN ROLLAND. - -LEONARDO DA VINCI (44 Illustrations). -By Dr GEORG GRONAU. - -GAINSBOROUGH (55 Illustrations). -By ARTHUR B. CHAMBERLAIN. - -THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS (50 Illustrations). -By CAMILLE MAUCLAIR. - -BOTTICELLI (37 Illustrations). -By JULIA CARTWRIGHT (Mrs ADY). - -VELAZQUEZ (51 Illustrations). -By AUGUSTE BRÉAL. - -WATTS (33 Illustrations). -By G. K. CHESTERTON. - -RAPHAEL (50 Illustrations). -By JULIA CARTWRIGHT (Mrs ADY). - -HOLBEIN (50 Illustrations). -By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - -ENGLISH WATER COLOUR PAINTERS (42 Illustrations). -By A. J. FINBERG. - -WATTEAU (35 Illustrations). -By CAMILLE MAUCLAIR. - -PERUGINO (50 Illustrations). -By EDWARD HUTTON. - -THE PRE-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD (38 Illustrations). -By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - -CRUIKSHANK (55 Illustrations). -By W. H. CHESSON. - -WHISTLER (26 Illustrations). -By BERNHARD SICKERT. - -HOGARTH (48 Illustrations). -By EDWARD GARNETT. - -WILLIAM BLAKE (33 Illustrations). -By G. K. CHESTERTON. - - - - -[Illustration: FROM “SONGS OF INNOCENCE” - -1789] - - - - - WILLIAM BLAKE - - - BY - - G. K. CHESTERTON - - AUTHOR OF “ROBERT BROWNING,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - - =LONDON=: DUCKWORTH & CO. - NEW YORK =E. P. DUTTON & CO.= - - - - - PRINTED BY - TURNBULL AND SPEARS, - EDINBURGH - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - -THE LAMB _Frontispiece_ - -THE LILLY (1789) 13 - -THE DIVINE IMAGE (1789) 21 - -THE LITTLE BLACK BOY (1789) 27 - -THE SWAN (1789) 35 - -SPACE (1793) 43 - -OOTHOON (1793) 49 - -SPELLS OF LAW (1793) 55 - -FRONTISPIECE TO “AMERICA” (1793) 63 - -PRELUDIUM (1793) 69 - -A PROPHECY (1793) 77 - -A FEMALE DREAM (1793) 84 - -THE TYGER (1794) 91 - -HOLY THURSDAY (1794) 97 - -ARIEL 105 - -PRELUDIUM TO URIZEN (1794) 112 - -HAR AND HEVA (1795) 117 - -PHILANDER’S DUST (1796) 121 - -A GROUP (1804) 129 - -THE WATERS OF LIFE (1804) 136 - -PLOUGHING THE EARTH (1804) 141 - -THE EAGLE (1804) 147 - -“ALBION! AROUSE THYSELF!” (1804) 153 - -THE CRUCIFIXION (1804) 159 - -THE JUDGMENT DAY (1806) 165 - -THE TOMB (1806) 171 - -THE SELFHOOD OF DECEIT (1807) 177 - -THE SHEPHERDS (1821) 183 - -THE MORNING STARS (1821) 189 - -THE WHIRLWIND (1825) 195 - -THE JUST UPRIGHT MAN (1825) 202 - -FOR HIS EYES ARE UPON THE WAYS OF MAN (1825) 207 - - - - -William Blake would have been the first to understand that the -biography of anybody ought really to begin with the words, “In the -beginning God created heaven and earth.” If we were telling the story -of Mr Jones of Kentish Town, we should need all the centuries to -explain it. We cannot comprehend even the name “Jones,” until we have -realised that its commonness is not the commonness of vulgar but of -divine things; for its very commonness is an echo of the adoration of -St John the Divine. The adjective “Kentish” is rather a mystery in that -geographical connection; but the word Kentish is not so mysterious as -the awful and impenetrable word “town.” We shall have rent up the roots -of prehistoric mankind and seen the last revolutions of modern society -before we really know the meaning of the word “town.” So every word -we use comes to us coloured from all its adventures in history, every -phase of which has made at least a faint alteration. The only right -way of telling a story is to begin at the beginning--at the beginning -of the world. Therefore all books have to be begun in the wrong way, -for the sake of brevity. If Blake wrote the life of Blake it would not -begin with any business about his birth or parentage. - -Blake was born in 1757, in Carnaby Market--but Blake’s life of Blake -would not have begun like that. It would have begun with a great deal -about the giant Albion, about the many disagreements between the spirit -and the spectre of that gentleman, about the golden pillars that -covered the earth at its beginning and the lions that walked in their -golden innocence before God. It would have been full of symbolic wild -beasts and naked women, of monstrous clouds and colossal temples; and -it would all have been highly incomprehensible, but none of it would -have been irrelevant. All the biggest events of Blake’s life would have -happened before he was born. But, on consideration, I think it will -be better to tell the tale of Blake’s life first and go back to his -century afterwards. It is not, indeed, easy to resist temptation here, -for there was much to be said about Blake before he existed. But I will -resist the temptation and begin with the facts. - - * * * * * - -WILLIAM BLAKE was born on the 28th of November 1757 in Broad -Street, Carnaby Market. Like so many other great English artists and -poets, he was born in London. Like so many other starry philosophers -and flaming mystics, he came out of a shop. His father was James Blake, -a fairly prosperous hosier; and it is certainly remarkable to note how -many imaginative men in our island have arisen in such an environment. -Napoleon said that we English were a nation of shopkeepers; if he had -pursued the problem a little further he might have discovered why we -are a nation of poets. Our recent slackness in poetry and in everything -else is due to the fact that we are no longer a nation of shopkeepers, -but merely a nation of shop-owners. In any case there seems to be no -doubt that William Blake was brought up in the ordinary atmosphere -of the smaller English bourgeoisie. His manners and morals were -trained in the old obvious way; nobody ever thought of training his -imagination, which perhaps was all the better for the neglect. There -are few tales of his actual infancy. Once he lingered too long in the -fields and came back to tell his mother that he had seen the prophet -Ezekiel sitting under a tree. His mother smacked him. Thus ended the -first adventure of William Blake in that wonderland of which he was a -citizen. - -His father, James Blake, was almost certainly an Irishman; his -mother was probably English. Some have found in his Irish origin an -explanation of his imaginative energy; the idea may be admitted, -but under strong reservations. It is probably true that Ireland, if -she were free from oppression, would produce more pure mystics than -England. And for the same reason she would still produce fewer poets. -A poet may be vague, and a mystic hates vagueness. A poet is a man -who mixes up heaven and earth unconsciously. A mystic is a man who -separates heaven and earth even if he enjoys them both. Broadly the -English type is he who sees the elves entangled in the forests of -Arcady, like Shakespeare and Keats: the Irish type is he who sees the -fairies quite distinct from the forest, like Blake and Mr W. B. Yeats. -If Blake inherited anything from his Irish blood it was his strong -Irish logic. The Irish are as logical as the English are illogical. The -Irish excel at the trades for which mere logic is wanted, such as law -or military strategy. This element of elaborate and severe reason there -certainly was in Blake. There was nothing in the least formless or -drifting about him. He had a most comprehensive scheme of the universe, -only that no one could comprehend it. - -If Blake, then, inherited anything from Ireland it was his logic. There -was perhaps in his lucid tracing of a tangled scheme of mysticism -something of that faculty which enables Mr Tim Healy to understand -the rules of the House of Commons. There was perhaps in the prompt -pugnacity with which he kicked the impudent dragoon out of his front -garden something of the success of the Irish soldier. But all such -speculations are futile. For we do not know what James Blake really -was, whether an Irishman by accident or by true tradition. We do not -know what heredity is; the most recent investigators incline to the -view that it is nothing at all. And we do not know what Ireland is; and -we shall never know until Ireland is free, like any other Christian -nation, to create her own institutions. - -Let us pass to more positive and certain things. William Blake grew -up slight and small, but with a big and very broad head, and with -shoulders more broad than were natural to his stature. There exists a -fine portrait of him which gives the impression of a certain squareness -in the mere plan of his face and figure. He has something in common, so -to speak, with the typically square men of the eighteenth century; he -seems a little like Danton, without the height; like Napoleon, without -the mask of Roman beauty; or like Mirabeau, without the dissipation -and the disease. He had abnormally big dark eyes; but to judge by this -plainly sincere portrait, the great eyes were rather bright than dark. -If he suddenly entered the room (and he was likely to have entered it -suddenly) I think we should have felt first a broad Bonaparte head -and broad Bonaparte shoulders, and then afterwards realised that the -figure under them was frail and slight. - -His spiritual structure was somewhat similar, as it slowly built -itself up. His character was queer but quite solid. You might call -him a solid maniac or a solid liar; but you could not possibly call -him a wavering hysteric or a weak dabbler in doubtful things. With -his big owlish head and small fantastic figure he must have seemed -more like an actual elf than any human traveller in Elfland; he was -a sober native of that unnatural plain. There was nothing of the -obviously fervid and futile about Blake’s supernaturalism. It was not -his frenzy but his coolness that was startling. From his first meeting -with Ezekiel under the tree he always talked of such spirits in an -everyday intonation. There was plenty of pompous supernaturalism in the -eighteenth century; but Blake’s was the only natural supernaturalism. -Many reputable persons reported miracles; he only mentioned them. He -spoke of having met Isaiah or Queen Elizabeth, not so much even as if -the fact were indisputable, but rather as if so simple a thing were not -worth disputing. Kings and prophets came from heaven or hell to sit to -him, and he complained of them quite casually, as if they were rather -troublesome professional models. He was angry because King Edward I. -would blunder in between him and Sir William Wallace. There have been -other witnesses to the supernatural even more convincing, but I think -there was never any other quite so calm. His private life, as he laid -its foundations in his youth, had the same indescribable element; it -was a sort of abrupt innocence. Everything that he was destined to -do, especially in these early years, had a placid and prosaic oddity. -He went through the ordinary fights and flirtations of boyhood; and -one day he happened to be talking about the unreasonable ways of -some girl to another girl. The other girl (her name was Katherine -Boucher) listened with apparent patience until Blake used some phrase -or mentioned some incident which (she said) she really thought was -pathetic or, popularly speaking, “hard on him.” “Do you?” said William -Blake with great suddenness. “Then I love you.” After a long pause the -girl said in a leisurely manner, “I love you too.” In this brief and -extraordinary manner was decided a marriage of which the unbroken -tenderness was tried by a long life of wild experiments and wilder -opinions, and which was never truly darkened until the day when Blake, -dying in an astonishing ecstasy, named her only after God. - -To the same primary period of his life, boyish, romantic, and -untouched, belongs the publication of his first and most famous books, -“Songs of Innocence and Experience.” These poems are the most natural -and juvenile things Blake ever wrote. Yet they are startlingly old and -unnatural poems for so young and natural a man. They have the quality -already described--a matured and massive supernaturalism. If there is -anything in the book extraordinary to the reader it is clearly quite -ordinary to the writer. It is characteristic of him that he could write -quite perfect poetry, a lyric entirely classic. No Elizabethan or -Augustan could have moved with a lighter precision than-- - - “O sunflower, weary of time, - That countest the steps of the sun.” - -But it is also characteristic of him that he could and would put into -an otherwise good poem lines like-- - - “And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church, - Would not have bandy children, nor fasting nor birch”; - -lines that have no sense at all and no connection with the poem -whatever. There is a stronger and simpler case of contrast. There is -the quiet and beautiful stanza in which Blake first described the -emotions of the nurse, the spiritual mother of many children. - - “When the voices of children are heard in the vale, - And laughter is heard on the hill, - My heart is at rest within my breast - And everything else is still.” - -And here is the equally quiet verse which William Blake afterwards -wrote down, equally calmly-- - - “When the laughter of children is heard on the hill, - And whisperings are in the dale, - The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind, - My face turns green and pale.” - -That last monstrous line is typical. He would mention with as easy -an emphasis that a woman’s face turned green as that the fields were -green when she looked at them. That is the quality of Blake which is -most personal and interesting in the fixed psychology of his youth. -He came out into the world a mystic in this very practical sense, -that he came out to teach rather than to learn. Even as a boy he was -bursting with occult information. And all through his life he had the -deficiencies of one who is always giving out and has no time to take -in. He was deaf with his own cataract of speech. Hence it followed that -he was devoid of patience while he was by no means devoid of charity: -but impatience produced every evil effect that could practically have -come from uncharitableness: impatience tripped him up and sent him -sprawling twenty times in his life. The result was the unlucky paradox, -that he who was always preaching perfect forgiveness seemed not to -forgive even imperfectly the feeblest slights. He himself wrote in a -strong epigram-- - - “To forgive enemies Hayley does pretend, - Who never in his life forgave a friend.” - -[Illustration: THE LILLY (1789)] - -But the effect of the epigram is a little lost through its considerable -truth if applied to the epigrammatist. The wretched Hayley had himself -been a friend to Blake--and Blake could not forgive him. But this was -not really lack of love or pity. It was strictly lack of patience, -which in its turn was due to that bursting and almost brutal mass of -convictions with which he plunged into the world like a red-hot cannon -ball, just as we have already imagined him plunging into a room with -his big bullet head. His head was indeed a bullet; it was an explosive -bullet. - -Of his other early relations we know little. The parents who are often -mentioned in his poems, both for praise and blame, are the abstract -and eternal father and mother and have no individual touches. It might -be inferred, perhaps, that he had a special emotional tie with his -elder brother Robert, for Robert constantly appeared to him in visions -and even explained to him a new method of engraving. But even this -inference is doubtful, for Blake saw the oddest people in his visions, -people with whom neither he nor any one else has anything particular to -do; and the method of engraving might just as well have been revealed -by Bubb Doddington or Prester John or the oldest baker in Brighton. -That is one of the facts that makes one fancy that Blake’s visions -were genuine. But whoever taught him his own style of engraving, an -ordinary mortal engraver taught him the ordinary mortal style, and -he seems to have learnt it very well. When apprenticed by his father -to a London engraving business he was diligent and capable. All his -life he was a good workman, and his failures, which were many, never -arose from that common idleness or looseness of life attributed to the -artistic temperament. He was of a bitter and intolerant temper, but not -otherwise unbusiness-like; and he was prone to insult his patrons, but -not, as a rule, to fail them. But with this part of his character we -shall probably have to deal afterwards. His technical skill was very -great. This and a certain original touch also attracted to the young -artist the attention and interest of the sculptor Flaxman. - -The influence of this great man on Blake’s life and work has been -gravely underrated. The mistake has arisen from causes too complex -to be considered, at any rate at this stage; but they resolve -themselves into a misunderstanding of the nature of classicism and -of the nature of mysticism. But this can be said decisively: Blake -remained a Flaxmanite to the day of his death. Flaxman as a sculptor -and draughtsman stood, as everybody knows, for classicism at its -clearest and coldest. He would admit no line into a modern picture -that might not have been on a Greek bas-relief. Even foreshortening -and perspective he avoided as if there were something grotesque -about them--as, indeed, there is. Nothing can be funnier, properly -considered, than the fact that one’s own father is a pigmy if he stands -far enough off. Perspective really is the comic element in things. -Flaxman vaguely felt this; Flaxman shrank from the almost insolent -foreshortenings of Rubens or Veronese as he would have shrank from the -gigantic boots in the foreground of an amateur photograph. For him high -art was flat art in painting or drawing, everything could be done by -pure line upon a single plane. Flaxman is probably best known to the -existing public by his illustrations in line to Pope’s “Homer,”--which -have certainly copied most exquisitely the austere limitations of Greek -vases and reliefs. Anger may be uttered by the lifted arm or sorrow by -the sunken head, but the faces of all those gods and heroes are, as -you may think them, beautiful or foolish, like the faces of the dead. -Above all, the line must never falter and come to nothing; Flaxman -would regard a line fading away in such a picture as we should regard a -railway line fading away upon a map. - -This was the principle of Flaxman; and this remained to the day of -his death one of the firmest principles of William Blake. I will not -say that Blake took it from the great sculptor, for it formed an -integral part of Blake’s individual artistic philosophy; but he must -have been encouraged to find it in Flaxman and strengthened in it by -the influence of an older and more famous man. No one can understand -Blake’s pictures, no one can understand a hundred allusions in his -epigrams, satires, and art criticism who does not first of all realise -that William Blake was a fanatic on the subject of the firm line. The -thing he loved most in art was that lucidity and decision of outline -which can be seen best in the cartoons of Raphael, in the Elgin -Marbles, and in the simpler designs of Michael Angelo. The thing he -hated most in art was the thing which we now call Impressionism--the -substitution of atmosphere for shape, the sacrifice of form to tint, -the cloudland of the mere colourist. With that cyclopean impudence -which was the most stunning sign of his sincerity, he treated the -greatest names not only as if they were despicable, but as if they were -actually despised. He reasons mildly with the artistic authorities, -saying-- - - “You must admit that Rubens was a fool, - And yet you make him master in your school, - And give more money for his slobberings - Than you will give for Raphael’s finest things.” - -And then, with one of those sudden lunges of sense which made him a -swordsman after all, he really gets home upon Rubens-- - - “I understood Christ was a carpenter - And not a brewer’s drayman, my good sir.” - -In another satire he retells the fable of the dog, the bone, and the -river, and permits (with admirable humour) the dog to expatiate upon -the vast pictorial superiority of the bone’s reflection in the river -over the bone itself; the shadow so delicate, suggestive, rich in tone, -the real bone so hard and academic in outline. He was the sharpest -satirist of the Impressionists who ever wrote, only he satirised the -Impressionists before they were born. - -[Illustration: THE DIVINE IMAGE (1789)] - -The ordinary history of Blake would obviously be that he was a man -who began as a good engraver and became a great artist. The inner -truth of Blake could hardly be better put than this: that he was a -good artist whose idea of greatness was to be a great engraver. For -him it was no mere technical accident that the art of reproduction -had to cut into wood or bite into stone. He loved to think that even -in being a draughtsman he was also a sculptor. When he put his lines -on a decorative page he would have much preferred to carve them out -of marble or cut them into rock. Like every true romantic, he loved -the irrevocable. Like every true artist, he detested india-rubber. -Take, for the sake of example, all the designs to the Book of Job. -When he gets the thing right he gets it suddenly and perfectly right, -as in the picture of all the sons of God shouting for joy. We feel -that the sons of God might really shout for joy at the excellence of -their own portrait. When he gets it wrong he gets it completely and -incurably wrong, as in the preposterous picture of Satan dancing among -paving-stones. But both are equally final and fixed. If one picture -is incurably bad, the other picture is incurably good. Courage (which -is, with kindness, the only fundamental virtue in man), is present and -prodigious in both. No coward could have drawn such pictures. - -The chief movement of Blake either in art or literature was the first -publication of the batch of his own allegorical works. “The Gates of -Paradise” came first, and was followed by “Urizen” and the “Book of -Thel.” With these he introduced his own mode of engraving and began his -own style of decorative illustration. That style was steeped in the -Blake and Flaxman feeling for the hard line and the harsh and heroic -treatment. There were, of course, many other personalities besides -that of Flaxman which were destined to influence the art of William -Blake. Among others, the personality of William Blake influences it -not inconsiderably. But no influence ever disturbed the love of the -absolute academic line. If the reader will look at any of the designs -of Blake, many of which are reproduced in this book, he will see the -main fact which I mention here. Many of them are hideous, some of -them are outrageous, but none of them are shapeless; none of them are -what would now be called “suggestive”; none of them (in a word) are -timid. The figure of man may be a monster, but he is a solid monster. -The figure of God may be a mistake, but it is an unmistakable mistake. -About this same time Blake began to illustrate books, decorating -Blair’s “Grave” and the Book of Job with his dark but very definite -designs. In these plates it is quite plain that the artist, when he -errs, errs not by vagueness but by hardness of treatment. The beauty -of the angel upside down who blows the trumpet in the face of Blair’s -skeleton is the beauty of a perfect Greek athlete. And if the beauty -is the beauty of an athlete, so the ugliness is the ugliness of an -athlete--or perhaps of an acrobat. The contortions and clumsy attitudes -of some of Blake’s figures do not arise from his ignorance of the -human anatomy. They arise from a sort of wild knowledge of it. He is -straining muscles and cracking joints like a sportsman racing for a cup. - -These book illustrations by Blake are among the simplest and strongest -designs of his pencil, which at its best (to do him justice) tended -to the simple and the strong. Nothing (for instance) could well be -more comic or more tragic than the fact that Blake should illustrate -Blair’s elephantine epic called “The Grave.” It was as well that Blake -and Blair should meet over the grave. It was about all they had in -common. The poet was full of the most crushing platitudes of eighteenth -century rationalism. The artist was full of a poetry that would have -seemed frightful to the poet, a poetry inherited from the mystics of -all ages and handed on to the mystics of to-day. Blake was the child -of the Rosy Cross and the Eleusinian Mysteries; he was the father of -the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and even of the “Yellow Book.” But of -all this the excellent Mr Blair was innocent, and so, indeed, in all -probability was the excellent Mr Blake. But the really interesting -point is this: that the illustrations were efficient and satisfactory, -from the Blair as well as the Blake point of view. The cut, for -instance, with the figure of the old man bowing his head to enter the -black grotto of the grave is a fine piece of drawing, apart from its -meaning, and is all the finer for its simplicity. But wherever he errs -it is always in being too hard and harsh, not too faint or fanciful. -Blake was a greater man than Flaxman, though a less perfectly poised -man. He was harder than his master, because he was madder. The figure -upside down blowing the trumpet is as perfect as a Flaxman figure: only -it is upside down. Flaxman upside down is almost a definition of Blake. - -[Illustration: THE LITTLE BLACK BOY (1789)] - - * * * * * - -SUCH an elementary statement of Blake’s idea of art is not out -of place at this stage; for his convictions had formed and hardened -unusually early, and his career is almost unintelligible apart from his -opinions. It is fairly eccentric even with them. Flaxman had introduced -him to literary society, especially to the evening parties of a -Blue-stocking named Mrs Matthews. Here his force of mind was admitted; -but he was not personally very popular. Most of his biographers -attribute this to his “unbending deportment,” and a certain almost -babyish candour which certainly belonged to him. But I cannot help -thinking that the fact that he was in the habit of singing his own -poems to tunes invented by himself may perhaps have had something to -do with it. His opinions on all subjects were not only positive but -aggressive. He was a fierce republican and denouncer of kings. But Mrs -Matthews was probably accustomed to fierce republicans who denounced -kings. She may have been less accustomed to a gentleman who insisted on -wearing a red cap of liberty in ordinary society. It is due to Blake to -say that his politics showed nevertheless that eccentric practicality -which was mixed up with his unworldliness; it was certainly through his -presence of mind that Tom Paine did not perish on the scaffold. - -But Blake had none of the marks of the poetical weakling, of the mere -moon-calf of mysticism. If he was a madman, one can emphasise the word -man as well as the word mad. For instance, in spite of his sedentary -trade and his pacific theories, he had extraordinary physical courage. -Not that reasonable minimum of physical courage which is guaranteed -by certain conventional sports, but intrinsic contempt of danger, -a readiness to put himself into unknown perils. He would suddenly -attack men much bigger and stronger than himself, and that with such -violence that they were often defeated by their own amazement. He -attacked a huge drayman who was harsh to some women and beat him in -the most excited manner. He leapt upon a Lifeguardsman who came into -his front garden, and ran that astonished warrior into the road by the -elbows. The vivacity and violence of these physical outbreaks must -be remembered and allowed for when we are judging some of his mental -outbreaks. The most serious blot (indeed, the only serious blot) on -the moral character of Blake was his habit of letting his rage get the -better not only of decency but of gratitude and truth. He would abuse -his benefactors as virulently as his enemies. He left epigrams lying -about in which he called Flaxman a blockhead and Hayley (as far as the -words can be understood) a seducer and an assassin. But the curious -thing is that he often did justice to the same people both before and -after such eruptions. The truth is, I fancy, that such writings were -like sudden attitudes or bodily movements. We talk of a word and a -blow; with Blake a word had the same momentary character as a blow. It -was not a judgment, but a gesture. He had little or no feeling of the -idea that “litera scripta manet.” He did not see any particular reason -why he should not be fond of a man merely because he had called the man -a murderer a few days before. And he was innocently surprised if the -man was not fond of him. In this he was perhaps rather feminine than -masculine. - -He had many friends and acquaintances of distinction besides Flaxman. -Among them was the great Priestley, whose speculations were the life -of early Unitarianism and whose Jacobin sympathies led to something -not far from martyrdom; other friends were the wild optimist Godwin -and his daughter Mary Wollstonecraft. But although he gained many new -acquaintances he gained only one new helper. This was a Mr Thomas -Butts, who lived in Fitzroy Square, and ought to have a statue there, -for he is an eternal model and monument for all patrons of art. While -in all other respects apparently a sane and rational British merchant, -he conceived an affection for Blake’s allegorical designs. But he gave -no commissions for pictures; he simply gave Blake money for pictures -as fast as Blake chose to paint them. The subject and size and medium -were left entirely to the artist. One day Blake might leave at Fitzroy -Square a little water-colour of the “Soul of a Porcupine”; the next -day a gorgeous and intricate illumination in gold of the obstetrics -and birth of Cain; the next day an enormous mural painting of Hector -capturing the arms of Patroclus; the following day a simple pen and ink -drawing of the prophet Habbakuk taken from life. All these Mr Thomas -Butts of Fitzroy Square received with solid benevolence and paid for in -solid coin. Many modern writers and painters may think of such a patron -somewhat dreamily. He had his reward, though it was unique rather than -particularly practical. Blake regarded him with a serene affection -which was never ruffled by the flying storms that were too frequent -in his friendships. No allusions can be found in his poetry to the -effect that Thomas Butts was a Spectre from Satan’s Loins. No epigram -was discovered among Blake’s papers accusing Mr Butts of bereaving -anybody’s life. If to have kept one’s own temper with Blake was a large -achievement (and it was not a small one), it was certainly a truly -noble achievement to have kept Blake’s temper for him. And this Mr -Butts and Mrs Blake can alone really claim to have done. For Blake was -to pass under a patron who showed him how different is kindness from -sympathy. - -In the year 1800 he effected a change of residence which was in many -ways an epoch in his life. He was a Londoner, though doubtless a -Londoner of the time when London was small enough to feel itself on -every side to be on the edge of the country. Still Blake had never in -any true sense been in the heart of the country. In his earliest poems -we read of seraphs stirring in the trees; but we have somehow a feeling -that they were garden trees. We read of saints and sages walking in -the fields, and we almost have the feeling that they were brickfields. -The perfect landscape is pastoral to the point of conventionality; it -has not in any sense the actual smell of England. The sights of the -town are evidently as native (one might say vital) with him as any -of the sights of the country. The black chimney-sweep is as obvious as -the white lamb. What is worse still, the white lamb of England is no -more natural or native than the alien golden lion of Africa. He was, in -fact, a Cockney, like Keats; and Cockneys as a class tend to have too -poetical and luxuriantly imaginative a view of life. Blake was about -as little affected by environment as any man that ever lived in this -world. Still he did change his environment, and it did change him. - -[Illustration: THE SWAN (1789)] - -There lived about this time near the little village of Eartham, in -Sussex, a simple, kind-hearted but somewhat consequential squire of the -name of Hayley. He was a landlord and an aristocrat; but he was not -one of those whose vanity can be wholly fulfilled by such functions. -He considered himself a patron of poetry; and indeed he was one; but, -alas! he had a yet more alarming idea. He also considered himself a -poet. Whether any one agreed with that opinion while he still ruled the -estates and hunted the country it is difficult now to discover. It is -sufficiently certain that nobody agrees with it now. “The Triumphs of -Temper,” the only poem by Hayley that any modern person can remember, -is probably only remembered because it was used to round off scornfully -one of the ringing sentences in Macaulay’s Essays. Nevertheless in his -own time Hayley was a powerful and important man, quite unshaken as yet -as a poet, quite unshakeable as a landed proprietor. But like almost -all quite indefensible English oligarchs, he had a sort of unreasonable -good nature which somehow balanced or protected his obvious unfitness -and ineptitude. His heart was in the right place, though he was in -the wrong one. To this blameless and beaming lord of creation, too -self-satisfied to be arrogant, too solemnly childish to be cynical, -too much at his ease to doubt either others or himself, to him Flaxman -introduced, at him rather Flaxman threw, the red-hot cannon-ball called -Blake. I wonder whether Flaxman laughed. But laughter convulses and -crumples up the pure outline of the Greek profile. - -Hayley, who was in his way as munificent as Mæcenas (and I suspect -that Mæcenas was quite as stupid as Hayley), gave Blake a cottage in -Felpham, a few miles from his own house, a cottage with which Blake -almost literally fell in love. He writes as if he had never seen an -English country cottage before; and perhaps he never had. “Nothing,” -he cries in a kind of ecstasy, “can ever be more grand than its -simplicity and usefulness. Simple and without intricacy, it seems to -be the spontaneous expression of humanity, congenial to the wants of -man. No other formed house can ever please me so well.” It is probably -true that none ever did. All that was purest and most chivalrous in his -poetry and philosophy flowered in the great winds that pass and repass -between the noble Sussex hills and the sea. He was always a happy man, -since he had a God. But here he was almost a contented man. - -By this time had passed over Blake’s head first the beginning and then -the growing blackness of the great French terror. Blake was now in a -world in which even he could not venture to walk about in a red cap. -Moreover, like most of the men of genius of that age and school, like -Coleridge and like Shelley, he seems to have been slightly sickened -with the full sensational actuality of the French tragedy; and -somewhat unreasonably having urged the rebels to fight, complained -because they killed people. If sincere revolutionists like Blake and -Coleridge were disappointed at the Revolution, the English Government -and governing class were against it with a solidity of desperation. -People talk about the reign of terror in France; but allowing for the -difference of national temperament and national peril, the two things -were twin; there was a reign of terror in England. A gentleman was -sent to penal servitude (which some gentlemen find worse than the -guillotine) if he said that the Prince Regent was fat. Our terror was -as cruel as Robespierre’s, but more cowardly, just as our press-gang -was as cruel as conscription, only more cowardly. Everywhere that the -Government could knock down an enemy as if by accident, could brain a -Jacobin with some brutal club of legal coincidence, the thing was done. -Many such blows were struck in that time, and one of them was struck at -Blake. - -On a certain morning in the August of 1803 Blake walked out into his -garden and found standing there a trooper of the 1st Dragoons -in a scarlet coat, surveying the landscape with a satisfied air of -possession. Blake expressed a desire that the dragoon should leave the -garden. The dragoon expressed a desire to knock out Blake’s eyes, “with -many abominable imprecations.” Blake sprang upon the man with startling -activity, and catching him from behind by both elbows ran him out of -the garden as if he were a perambulator. The man, who was probably -drunk and must certainly have been surprised, went off with many verbal -accusations, but none of a political nature. A little while afterwards, -however, he turned up with a grave legal statement to the effect that -Blake had taken the opportunity to utter these somewhat improbable -words: “Damn the king, damn all his subjects, damn his soldiers, -they are all slaves: when Bonaparte comes it will be cut-throat for -cut-throat. I will help him.” The impartial critic will be inclined to -say that few persons would have even the breath to utter such political -generalisations while at the same time running one of the Dragoon -Guards bodily out of the gate; and it was not alleged that the incident -took more than half a minute. Blake may possibly or even probably have -said “damn,” but the rest of the sentence originated, I imagine, in the -mind of someone else. But although most of Blake’s biography treats the -case as a mere clumsy accident, I can hardly think that it was so. It -involves too much of a coincidence. Why did not the dragoon wander into -some other garden? Why did not some other poet have to deal with the -dragoon? It seems odd that the man of the red cap should be the one man -to wrestle with the man of the red coat. It was a time of tyranny, and -tyranny is always full of small intrigues. It is not at all impossible -that the police, as we should now put it, really tried to entrap -Blake. But there entered upon the scene something which in England is -stronger even than the police. Hayley, not the small Hayley who was -the author of the “Triumphs of Temper,” but the colossal Hayley, who -was the squire of Eartham and Bognor, entered the court with the extra -aristocratic charm of an accident in the hunting-field. He defended -Blake with generosity and good sense, such as seldom fail his class on -such occasions; and Blake was acquitted. It was said that the evidence -was incomplete; but I fancy that if Hayley had not come the evidence -would have been complete enough. - -[Illustration: SPACE (1793)] - -It is unfortunate that this excellent attitude of Hayley nevertheless -coincides to a great extent with the solution of the bonds that bound -him to Blake. “The Visions were angry with me at Felpham,” said the -poet, which was his way of stating that he was somewhat bored with the -benevolence of the English gentry. “Voices of celestial inhabitants -were _not_ more distinctly heard, nor their forms more distinctly -seen,” in the neighbourhood of the Squire of Eartham than in that of Mr -Butts of Fitzroy Square; and Blake abruptly returned to London, taking -lodgings just off Oxford Street. He started at once on a work with the -promising title, “Jerusalem, the Emanation of the Giant Albion.” I say -there is a certain pathos in this parting from Hayley, for he was now -to fall into the power of a much more unpleasant kind of capitalist. -Poor Blake fell indeed from bad to worse in the matter of patrons. -Butts was sensible and sympathetic, Hayley was honest and silly. And -his last protector seems to have been something very like a swindler. - -The name of this benevolent being was Richard Hartley Cromek, a -Yorkshireman, and a publisher. He found Blake in bitter poverty after -his breach with Hayley (he and his wife lived on 10s. a week), and his -method of sweating was of the simplest and most artistic character. He -used to go to Blake, tell him that he would give him the engraving of -a number of designs; he would easily make Blake talk enthusiastically, -show his sketches and so on; then having got the sketches he would go -away and give the engraving to somebody else. This annoyed Blake. It -is pleasant to reflect that it was about Cromek that the best of his -epigrams was written-- - - “A petty sneaking knave I knew ... - Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do you do?” - -Blake’s irritation broke out, as was common with him, not over the -clearest but over the most confused case of Cromek’s misconduct. -The publisher had seen a design by Blake of Chaucer’s “Canterbury -Pilgrims,” and commissioned Blake to complete it. A few days -afterwards Cromek found himself in the studio of the popular painter -Stothard, and suggested the subject to him. Stothard finished his -picture first and it appeared before Blake’s. Blake went into one of -his worst rages and wrote one of his best pieces of prose. - - * * * * * - -A BROTHER artist said of Blake, with beautiful simplicity, -“He is a good man to steal from.” The remark is as philosophical -as it is practical. Blake had the great mark of real intellectual -wealth; anything that fell from him might be worth picking up. What -he dropped in the street might as easily be half-a-sovereign as a -halfpenny. Moreover, he invited theft in this further sense, that his -mental wealth existed, so to speak, in the most concentrated form. It -is easier to steal half-a-sovereign in gold than in halfpence. He was -literally packed with ideas--with ideas which required unpacking. In -him and his works they were too compressed to be intelligible; they -were too brief to be even witty. And as a thief might steal a diamond -and turn it into twenty farms, so the plagiarist of Blake might steal -a sentence and turn it into twenty volumes. It was profitable to steal -an epigram from Blake for three reasons--first, that the original -phrase was small and would not leave a large gap; second, that it was -cosmic and synthetic and could be applied to things in general; third, -that it was unintelligible and no one would know it again. I could give -innumerable instances of what I mean; I will let one instance stand -for the rest. In the middle of that long poem which is so disconnected -that it may reasonably be doubted whether it is a long poem at all (I -mean that commonly bearing the title “The Auguries of Innocence”), he -introduces these two lines: - - “When gold and gems adorn the plough - To peaceful arts shall envy bow.” - -A careless and honest man would read these lines and make nothing of -them. A careful thief might make out of them a whole entertaining and -symbolic romance, like “Gulliver’s Travels” or “Erewhon.” The idea -obviously is this;--that we still for some reason admit the tools of -destruction to be nobler than the tools of production, because -decorative art is expended on the one and not on the other. The sword -has a golden hilt; but no plough has golden handles. There is such a -thing as a sword of state; there is no such thing as a scythe of state. -Men come to court wearing imitation swords; few men come to court -wearing imitation flails. It is fascinating to reflect how fantastic -a story might be written upon this hint by Blake. But Blake does not -write the story; he only gives the hint, and that so hurriedly that -even as a hint it may hardly be understood. - -[Illustration: OOTHOON (1793)] - -Most of Blake’s quarrels were trivial, and some were little short of -discreditable. But in his quarrel with Cromek and Stothard he does -really stand as the champion of all that is heroic and ideal, as -against all that is worldly and insincere. The celebrated Stothard was -at this time in the height of his earlier success; he occupied somewhat -the same relation to art and society that has been occupied within our -own time by Frederic Leighton. He was, like Leighton, an accomplished -draughtsman, a man of slight but genuine poetic feeling, an artist -who thoroughly realised that the aim of art was to please. Ruskin -said of him very truly (I forget the exact words) that there were no -thorns to his roses. At the same time, his smoothness was a smoothness -of innocence rather than a smoothness of self-indulgence; his work -has a girlish timidity rather than any real conventional cowardice; -he was a true artist in a somewhat effeminate style of art. Nor is -there any reason to doubt that his personal character was as clean and -good-natured as his pictures. It may be that he began his _Canterbury -Pilgrims_ without any commission from Cromek, or it may be that he took -the commission from Cromek without the least idea that the conception -had been borrowed from Blake. That Cromek treated Blake badly is beyond -dispute; that Stothard treated him badly is unproved; but Blake was -not much in the habit of waiting for proof in such cases. Stothard, -I say, may not have been morally in the wrong at all. But he was -intellectually and critically very much in the wrong; and Blake pointed -this out in a pamphlet which, though defaced here and there with his -fantastic malice, is a solid and powerful contribution to artistic and -literary criticism. - -Stothard, the elegant gentleman, the man of sensibility, the eighteenth -century æsthete, cast his condescending eye upon the Middle Ages. He -was of that age and school that only saw the Middle Ages by moonlight. -Chaucer’s Pilgrims were to him a quaint masquerade of hypocrisy or -superstition, now only interesting from its comic or antiquated -costume. The monk was amusing because he was fat, the wife of Bath -because she was gay, the Squire because he was dandified, and so on. -Blake knew as little about the Middle Ages as Stothard did; but Blake -knew about eternity and about man; he saw the image of God under all -garments. And in a rage which may really be called noble he tore in -pieces Stothard’s antiquarian frivolity, and asked him to look with a -more decent reverence at the great creations of a great poet. Stothard -called the young Squire of Chaucer “a fop.” Blake points out forcibly -and with fine critical truth that the daintiness of the Squire’s dress -is the mere last touch to his youth, gaiety, and completeness; but -that he was no fop at all, but a serious, chivalrous, and many-sided -gentleman who enjoyed books, understood music, and was hardy and prompt -in battle. Moreover, he is definitely described as humble, reverent, -and full of filial respect. That such a man should be called a fop -because of a frill or a feather Blake rightly regarded as a sign of the -mean superficiality of his rival’s ideas. Stothard spoke of “the fair -young wife of Bath”; Blake placidly points out that she had had four -husbands, and was, as in Blake’s picture, a loud, lewd, brazen woman -of quite advanced age, but of enormous vitality and humour. Stothard -makes the monk the mere comic monk of commonplace pictures, shaped like -a wine barrel and as full of wine. Blake points out that Chaucer’s monk -was a man, and an influential man; not without sensual faults, but also -not without dignity and authority. Everywhere, in fact, he reminds his -opponent that in entering the world of Chaucer he is not entering a -fancy-dress ball, but a temple carved with colossal and eternal images -of the gods of good and evil. Stothard was only interested in Chaucer’s -types because they were dead; Blake was interested in them because -they cannot die. In many of Blake’s pictures may be found one figure -quite monotonously recurrent--the figure of a monstrously muscular old -man, with hair and beard like a snowstorm, but with limbs like young -trees. That is Blake’s root conception; the Ancient of Days; the thing -which is old with all the awfulness of its past, but young with all the -energies of its future. - -[Illustration: SPELLS OF LAW (1793)] - -I make no excuse for dwelling at length on this in a life of Blake; -it is the most important event. It is worth while to describe this -quarrel between Blake and Stothard, because it is really a symbolic -quarrel, interesting to the whole world of artists and important to -the whole destiny of art. It is the quarrel between the artist who is -a poet and the artist who is only a painter. In many of his merely -technical designs Blake was a better and bolder artist than Stothard; -still, I should admit, and most people who saw the two pictures would -be ready to admit, that Stothard’s _Canterbury Pilgrims_ as a mere -piece of drawing and painting is better than Blake’s. But this if -anything only makes the whole argument more certain. It is the duel -between the artist who wishes only to be an artist and the artist who -has the higher and harder ambition to be a man--that is, an archangel. -Or, again, it might be put thus: whether an artist ought to be a -universalist or whether he is better as a specialist. Now against the -specialist, against the man who studies only art or electricity, or -the violin, or the thumbscrew or what not, there is only one really -important argument, and that, for some reason or other, is never -offered. People say that specialists are inhuman; but that is unjust. -People say an expert is not a man; but that is unkind and untrue. The -real difficulty about the specialist or expert is much more singular -and fascinating. The trouble with the expert is never that he is not -a man; it is always that wherever he is not an expert he is too much -of an ordinary man. Wherever he is not exceptionally learned he is -quite casually ignorant. This is the great fallacy in the case of what -is called the impartiality of men of science. If scientific men had -no idea beyond their scientific work it might be all very well--that -is to say, all very well for everybody except them. But the truth is -that, beyond their scientific ideas, they have not the absence of -ideas but the presence of the most vulgar and sentimental ideas that -happen to be common to their social clique. If a biologist had no -views on art and morals it might be all very well. The truth is that -a biologist has all the wrong views of art and morals that happen to -be going about in the smart set in his time. If Professor Tyndall had -held no views about politics, he could have done no harm with his views -about evolution. Unfortunately, however, he held a very low order of -political ideas from his sectarian and Orange ancestry; and those -ideas have poisoned evolution to this day. In short, the danger of the -mere technical artist or expert is that of becoming a snob or average -silly man in all things not affecting his peculiar topic of study; -wherever he is not an extraordinary man he is a particularly stupid -ordinary man. The very fact that he has studied machine guns to fight -the French proves that he has not studied the French. Therefore he will -probably say that they eat frogs. The very fact that he has learnt -to paint the light on medieval armour proves that he has not studied -the medieval philosophy. Therefore he will probably suppose that -medieval barons did nothing but order vassals into the dungeons beneath -the castle moat. Now all through the eighteenth and early nineteenth -centuries art, that is, the art of painting, suffered terribly from -this conventional and uncultured quality in the working artist. People -talk about something pedantic in the knowledge of the expert; but what -ruins mankind is the ignorance of the expert. In the period of which we -speak the experts in painting were bursting with this ignorance. The -early essays of Thackeray are full of the complaint, that the whole -trouble with painters was that they only knew how to paint. If they had -painted unimportant or contemptible subjects, all would have been well; -if they had painted the nearest donkey or lamp-post no one would have -complained. But exactly because they were experts they fell into the -mere snobbish sentimentalism of their times; they insisted on painting -all the things they had read about in the cheapest history books and -the most maudlin novels. As Thackeray has immortally described in the -case of Mr Gandish, they painted Boadishia and declared that they -had discovered “in their researches into ’istry” the story of King -Alfred and the Cakes. In other words, the expert does not escape his -age; he only lays himself open to the meanest and most obvious of the -influences of his age. The specialist does not avoid having prejudices; -he only succeeds in specialising in the most passing and illiterate -prejudices. - -Of all this type of technical ignorance Stothard is absolutely typical. -He was an admirable instance of the highly cultivated and utterly -ignorant man. He had spent his life in making lines swerve smoothly and -shadows creep exactly into their right place; he had never had any time -to understand the things that he was drawing except by their basest and -most conventional connotation. Somebody suggested that he should draw -some medieval pilgrims--that is, some vigorous types in the heyday of -European civilisation in the act of accepting the European religion. -But he who alone could draw them right was especially likely to see -them wrong. He had learnt, like a modern, the truth from newspapers, -because he had no time to read even encyclopedias. He had learnt how -to paint armour and armorial bearings; it was too much to expect him -to understand them. He had learnt to draw a horse; it was too late to -ask him to ride one. His whole business was somehow or other to make -pictures; and therefore when he looked at Chaucer, he could see nothing -but the picturesque. - -Against this sort of sound technical artist, another type of artist has -been eternally offered; this was the type of Blake. It was also the -type of Michael Angelo; it was the type of Leonardo da Vinci; it was -the type of several French mystics, and in our own country and recent -period, of Rossetti. Blake, as a painter among other things, belongs -to that small group of painters who did something else besides paint. -But this is indeed a very inadequate way of stating the matter. The -fuller and fairer way is this: that Blake was one of those few painters -who understood his subject as well as his picture. I have already -said that I think Stothard’s picture of the _Canterbury Pilgrims_ in -a purely technical sense better than his. Indeed, there is nothing -to be said against Stothard’s picture of the _Canterbury Pilgrims_, -except that it is not a picture of the _Canterbury Pilgrims_. Blake -(to summarise the whole matter as simply as it can be summarised) was -in the tradition of the best and most educated ideas about Chaucer; -Stothard was the inheritor of the most fashionable ideas and the worst. -The whole incident cannot be without its moral and effect for all -discussions about the morality or unmorality of art. If art could be -unmoral it might be all very well. But the truth is that unless art is -moral, art is not only immoral, but immoral in the most commonplace, -slangy, and prosaic way. In the future, the fastidious artists who -refuse to be anything but artists will go down to history as the -embodiment of all the vulgarities and banalities of their time. People -will point to a picture by Mr Sargent or Mr Shannon and say, “See, that -man had caught all the most middle class cant of the early twentieth -century.” - -[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE TO “AMERICA”] - -We can now recur, however, to the general relations of Blake with his -later patron. In a phrase of singular unconscious humour Mr Cromek -accused Blake of “a want of common politeness.” Common politeness -certainly can hardly be said to have been Blake’s strong point. But -Cromek’s politeness was certainly an uncommon sort of politeness. -One is tempted to be thankful that it is not a common sort. Cromek’s -notion of common politeness was to give the artist a guinea a drawing -on the understanding that he should get some more for engraving them, -and then give the engraving to somebody else who cost him next to -nothing. Blake, as we have said, resented this startling simplicity -of swindling. Blake was in such matters a singular mixture of madness -and shrewdness in the judgment of such things. He was the kind of man -whom a publisher found at one moment more vague and viewless than -any poet, and at the next moment more prompt and rapacious than any -literary agent. He was sometimes above his commercial enemy, sometimes -below him; but he never was on his level; one never knew where he was. -Cromek’s letter is a human document of extraordinary sincerity and -interest. The Yorkshire publisher positively breaks for once in his -life into a kind of poetry. He describes Blake as being “a combination -of the serpent and the dove.” He did not quite realise, perhaps, that -according to the New Testament he was paying Blake a compliment. But -the truth is, I fancy, that the painter and poet had been one too many -for the publisher. I think that on any occasion Cromek would have -willingly forgiven Blake for showing the harmlessness of the dove. I -fancy that on one occasion Blake must have shown the wisdom of the -serpent. - -From the mere slavery of this sweater Blake was probably delivered by -the help of the last and most human of his patrons, a young man named -John Linnell, a landscape painter and a friend of the great Mulready. -It is extraordinary to think that he was young enough to die in 1882; -and that a man who had read in the Prophetic Books the last crusades -of Blake may have lived to read in the newspapers some of the last -crusades of Gladstone. This man Linnell covers the last years of Blake -as with an ambulance tent in the wilderness. Blake never had any ugly -relations with Linnell, just as he had never had any with Butts. His -quarrels had wearied many friends; but by this time I think he was too -weary even to quarrel. On Linnell’s commission he began a system of -illustrations to Dante; but I think that no one expected him to live to -finish it. - - * * * * * - -HIS last sickness fell upon him very slowly, and he does not -seem to have taken much notice of it. He continued perpetually his -pictorial designs; and as long as they were growing stronger he seems -to have cared very little for the fact that he was growing weaker -himself. One of the last designs he made was one of the strongest -he ever made--the tremendous image of the Almighty bending forward, -foreshortened in a colossal perspective, to trace out the heavens with -a compass. Nowhere else has he so well expressed his primary theistic -ideas--that God, though infinitely gigantic, should be as solid as -a giant. He had often drawn men from the life; not unfrequently he -had drawn his dead men from the life. Here, according to his own -conceptions, he may be said to have drawn God from the life. When he -had finished the portrait (which he made sitting up in his sick-bed) -he called out cheerfully, “What shall I draw after that?” Doubtless -he racked his brain for some superlative spirit or archangel which -would not be a mere bathos after the other. His rolling eyes (those -round lustrous eyes which one can always see roll in his painted -portraits) fell on the old frail and somewhat ugly woman who had been -his companion so long, and he called out, “Catherine, you have been -an angel to me; I will draw you next.” Throwing aside the sketch of -God measuring the universe, he began industriously to draw a portrait -of his wife, a portrait which is unfortunately lost, but which must -have substantially resembled the remarkable sketch which a friend drew -some months afterwards; the portrait of a woman at once plain and -distinguished, with a face that is supremely humorous and at once harsh -and kind. Long before that portrait was drawn, long before those months -had elapsed, William Blake was dead. - -[Illustration: PRELUDIUM (1793)] - -Whatever be the explanation, it is quite certain that Blake had more -positive joy on his death-bed than any other of the sons of Adam. One -has heard of men singing hymns on their death-beds, in low plaintive -voices. Blake was not at all like that on his death-bed: the room -shook with his singing. All his songs were in praise of God, and -apparently new: all his songs were songs of innocence. Every now and -then he would stop and cry out to his wife, “Not mine! Not mine!” -in a sort of ecstatic explanation. He truly seemed to wait for the -opening of the door of death as a child waits for the opening of the -cupboard on his birthday. He genuinely and solemnly seemed to hear -the hoofs of the horses of death as a baby hears on Christmas eve the -reindeer-hooves of Santa Claus. He was in his last moments in that -wonderful world of whiteness in which white is still a colour. He would -have clapped his hands at a white snowflake and sung as at the white -wings of an angel at the moment when he himself turned suddenly white -with death. - - * * * * * - -AND NOW, after a due pause, someone will ask and we must -answer a popular question which, like many popular questions, is really -a somewhat deep and subtle one. To put the matter quite simply, as the -popular instinct would put it, “Was William Blake mad?” It is easy -enough to say, of course, in the non-committal modern manner that it -all depends on how you define madness. If you mean it in its practical -or legal sense (which is perhaps the most really useful sense of all), -if you mean was William Blake unfit to look after himself, unable to -exercise civic functions or to administer property, then certainly the -answer is “No.” Blake was a citizen, and capable of being a very good -citizen. Blake, so far from being incapable of managing property, was -capable (in so far as he chose) of collecting a great deal of it. His -conduct was generally business-like; and when it was unbusiness-like -it was not through any subhuman imbecility or superhuman abstraction, -but generally through an unmixed exhibition of very human bad temper. -Again, if when we say “Was Blake mad?” we mean was he fundamentally -morbid, was his soul cut off from the universe and merely feeding on -itself, then again the answer is emphatically “No.” There was nothing -defective about Blake; he was in contact with all the songs and smells -of the universe, and he was entirely guiltless of that one evil element -which is almost universal in the character of the morbidly insane--I -mean secrecy. Yet again, if we mean by madness anything inconsistent -or unreasonable, then Blake was not mad. Blake was one of the most -consistent men that ever lived, both in theory and practice. Blake may -have been quite wrong, but he was not in the least unreasonable. He was -quite as calm and scientific as Herbert Spencer on the basis of his own -theory of things. He was vain to the last degree; but it was the gay -and gusty vanity of a child, not the imprisoned pride of a maniac. In -all these aspects we can say with confidence that the man was not at -least obviously mad or completely mad. But if we ask whether there was -not some madness about him, whether his naturally just mind was not -subject to some kind of disturbing influence which was not essential to -itself, then we ask a very different question, and require, unless I am -mistaken, a very different answer. - -When all Philistine mistakes are set aside, when all mystical ideas -are appreciated, there is a real sense in which Blake was mad. It -is a practical and certain sense, exactly like the sense in which -he was not mad. In fact, in almost every case of his character and -extraordinary career we can safely offer this proposition, that if -there was something wrong with it, it was wrong even from his own best -standpoint. People talk of appealing from Philip drunk to Philip sober; -it is easy to appeal from Blake mad to Blake sane. - -When Blake lived at Felpham angels appear to have been as native to -the Sussex trees as birds. Hebrew patriarchs walked on the Sussex -Downs as easily as if they were in the desert. Some people will be -quite satisfied with saying that the mere solemn attestation of such -miracles marks a man as a madman or a liar. But that is a short cut of -sceptical dogmatism which is not far removed from impudence. Surely we -cannot take an open question like the supernatural and shut it with a -bang, turning the key of the mad-house on all the mystics of history. -To call a man mad because he has seen ghosts is in a literal sense -religious persecution. It is denying him his full dignity as a citizen -because he cannot be fitted into your theory of the cosmos. It is -disfranchising him because of his religion. It is just as intolerant -to tell an old woman that she cannot be a witch as to tell her that -she must be a witch. In both cases you are setting your own theory of -things inexorably against the sincerity or sanity of human testimony. -Such dogmatism at least must be quite as impossible to anyone calling -himself an agnostic as to anyone calling himself a spiritualist. You -cannot take the region called the unknown and calmly say that though -you know nothing about it, you know that all its gates are locked. You -cannot say, “This island is not discovered yet; but I am sure that -it has a wall of cliffs all round it and no harbour.” That was the -whole fallacy of Herbert Spencer and Huxley when they talked about the -unknowable instead of about the unknown. An agnostic like Huxley must -concede the possibility of a gnostic like Blake. We do not know enough -about the unknown to know that it is unknowable. - -If, then, people call Blake mad merely for seeing ghosts and angels, -we shall venture to dismiss them as highly respectable but very -bigoted people. But then, again, there is another line along which the -same swift assumption can be made. While he was at Felpham Blake’s -eccentricity broke out on another side. A quality that can frankly -be called indecency appeared in his pictures, his opinions, and to -some extent in his conduct. But it was an idealistic indecency. Blake’s -mistake was not so much that he aimed at sin as that he aimed at an -impossible and inhuman sinlessness. It is said that he proposed to his -wife that they should live naked in their back garden like Adam and -Eve. If the husband ever really proposed this, the wife succeeded in -averting it. But in his verse and prose, particularly in some of the -Prophetic Books, he began to talk very wildly. However far he really -meant to go against common morality, he certainly meant (like Walt -Whitman) to go the whole way against common decency. He professed -to regard the veiling of the most central of human relations as the -unnatural cloaking of a natural work. He was never at a loss for an -effective phrase; and in one of his poems on this topic he says finely -if fallaciously-- - - “Does the sower sow by night - Or the ploughman in darkness plough?” - -[Illustration: A PROPHECY (1793)] - -But his speculations went past decorum and at least touched the idea -of primary law. In some parts of the Prophetic Books (written in the -period which may fairly be called a paroxysm) he really seems to be -preaching the idea that sin is sometimes a good thing because it leads -to forgiveness. I cannot think this idea does much credit to Blake’s -power of logic, which was generally good. The very fact of forgiveness -implies that what led up to it was evil. But though the position is -hardly rational, it is quite unfair to say that it is insane. It is no -sillier or more untenable than a hundred sophistries that one may hear -at every tea-table or read in every magazine. A little while ago the -family of a young lady attempted to shut her up in an asylum because -she believed in Free Love. This atrocious injustice was stopped; but -many people wrote to the papers to say that marriage was a very fine -thing--as indeed it is. Of course the answer was simple: that if -everyone with silly opinions were locked up in an asylum, the asylums -of the twentieth century would have to be somewhat unduly enlarged. The -same common-sense applies to the case of Blake. That he did maintain -some monstrous propositions proves that he was not always right, -that he had even a fine faculty for being exceedingly wrong. But it -does not prove that he was a madman or anything remotely resembling -one. Nor is there any reason to suppose that he was carried into any -practice inconsistent with his strong domestic affections. Indeed, I -think that much of Blake’s anarchy is connected with his innocence. I -have noticed the combination more than once, especially in men of Irish -blood like Blake. Heavy, full-blooded men feel the need of bonds and -are glad to bind themselves. But the chaste are often lawless. They -are theoretically reckless, because they are practically pure. Thus -Ireland, while it is the island of rebels is also the island of saints, -and might be called the island of virgins. - - * * * * * - -BUT when we have reached this point--that this ugly element in -Blake was an intrusion of Blake’s mere theory of things--we have come, -I think, very close to the true principle to be pursued in estimating -his madness or his sanity. Blake the mere poet, would have been decent -and respectable. It was Blake the logician who was forced to be almost -blackguardly. In other words, Blake was not mad; for such part of him -as was mad was not Blake. It was an alien influence, and in a sense -even an accidental one; in an extreme sense it might even be called -antagonist. Properly to appreciate what this influence was, we must see -the man’s artistic character as a whole and notice what are its biggest -forces and its biggest defects when taken in the bulk--in the whole -mass of his poetry, his pictures, his criticism and his conversation. -Blake’s position can be summed up as a sufficiently simple problem. -Blake could do so many things. Why is it that he could do none of them -quite right? - -Blake was not a frail or fairy-like sort of person; he had not the -light unity, the capering completeness of the entirely irresponsible -man. He had not the independence, one might almost say the omnipotence, -that comes from being hopelessly weak. There was nothing in him of Mr -Skimpole; he was not a puff of silver thistledown. He was not a reed -shaken in the wind in Jordan. He was rather an oak rooted in England, -but an oak half killed by the ivy. The interesting question of -spiritual botany is--What was the ivy that half killed him? Originally -his intellect was not only strong but strongly rational--one might -almost say strongly sceptical. There never was a man of whom it was -less true to say (as has been said) that he was a light sensitive -lyrist, a mere piper of pretty songs for children. His mind was like -a ruined Roman arch; it has been broken by barbarians; but what there -is of it is Roman. So it was with William Blake’s reason; it had -been broken (or cracked) by something; but what there was of it was -reasonable. In his art criticism he never said anything that was not -strictly consistent with his first principles. In his controversies, -in the many matters in which he argued angrily or venomously, he never -lost the thread of the argument. Like every great mystic he was also a -great rationalist. Read Blake’s attack upon Stothard’s picture of the -_Canterbury Pilgrims_, and you will see that he could not only write -a quite sensible piece of criticism, but even a quite slashing piece -of journalism. By nature one almost feels that he might have done -anything; have conducted campaigns like Napoleon or studied the stars -like Newton. But something, when all is said and done, had eaten away -whole parts of that powerful brain, leaving parts of it standing like -great Greek pillars in a desert. What was this thing? - -[Illustration: A FEMALE DREAM (1793)] - - * * * * * - -MADNESS is not an anarchy. Madness is a bondage: a -contraction. I will not call Blake mad because of anything he would -say. But I will call him mad in so far as there was anything he _must_ -say. Now, there are notes of this tyranny in Blake. It was not like the -actual disease of the mind that makes a man believe he is a cat or a -dog; it was more like the disease of the nerves, which makes a man say -“dog” when he means “cat.” One mental jump or jerk of this nature may -be especially remarked in Blake. He had in his poetry one very peculiar -habit, a habit which cannot be considered quite sane. It was the habit -of being haunted, one may say hag-ridden by a fixed phrase, which gets -itself written in ten separate poems on quite different subjects, when -it had no apparent connection with any of them. The amusing thing is -that the omnipresent piece of poetry is generally the one piece that is -quite incomprehensible. The verse that Blake’s readers can understand -least seems always to be the verse that Blake likes best. I give an -ordinary instance, if anything connected with Blake can be called -ordinary. - -The harmless Hayley, who was a fool, but a gentleman and a poet (a -country gentleman and a very minor poet), provoked Blake’s indignation -by giving him commissions for miniatures when he wanted to do something -else, probably frescoes as big as the house. Blake wrote the epigram-- - - “If Hayley knows the thing you cannot do, - That is the very thing he’ll set you to.” - -And then, feeling that there was a lack of colour and warmth in the -portrait, he lightly added, for no reason in particular, the lines-- - - “And when he could not act upon my wife, - Hired a villain to bereave my life.” - -There is, apparently, no trace here of any allusion to fact. Hayley -never tried to bereave anybody’s life. He lacked even the adequate -energy. Nevertheless I should not say for a moment that this startling -fiction proved Blake to be mad. It proved him to be violent and -recklessly suspicious; but there was never the least doubt that he -was that. But now turn to another poem of Blake’s, a merely romantic -and narrative poem called “Fair Eleanor,” which is all about somebody -acting on somebody else’s wife. Here we find the same line repeated -word for word in quite another connection-- - - “Hired a villain to bereave my life.” - -It is not a musical line; it does not resemble English grammar to -any great extent. Yet Blake is somehow forced to put it into a poem -about a real person exactly as he had put it into an utterly different -poem about a fictitious person. There seems no particular reason for -writing it even once; but he has to write it again and again. This is -what I do call a mad spot on the mind. I should not call Blake mad for -hating Hayley or for boiling Hayley (though he had done him nothing -but kindness), or for making up any statements however monstrous or -mystical about Hayley. I should not in the least degree think that -Blake was mad if he had said that he saw Hayley’s soul in hell, that -it had green hair, one eye, and a serpent for a nose. A man may have a -wild vision without being insane; a man may have a lying vision without -being insane. But I should smell insanity if in turning over Blake’s -books I found that this one pictorial image obsessed him apart from -its spiritual meaning; if I found that the arms of the Black Prince -in “King Edward III.” were a cyclops vert rampant, nosed serpentine; -if I found that Flaxman was praised for his kindness to a one-eyed -animal with green bristles and a snaky snout; if Albion or Ezekiel had -appeared to Blake and commanded him to write a history of the men in -the moon, who are one-eyed, green-haired, with long curling noses; if -any flimsy sketch or fine decorative pattern that came from Blake’s -pencil might reproduce ceaselessly and meaninglessly the writhing -proboscis and the cyclopean eye. I should call _that_ morbidity or even -madness; for it would be the triumph of the palpable image over its own -intellectual meaning. And there is something of that madness in the -dark obstinacy or weakness that makes Blake introduce again and again -these senseless scraps of rhyme, as if they were spells to keep off the -devil. - -In four or five different poems, without any apparent connection with -those poems, occur these two extraordinary lines-- - - “The caterpillar on the leaf - Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.” - -In the abstract this might perhaps mean something, though it would, -I think, take most people some time to see what it could mean. In -the abstract it may perhaps involve some allusion to a universal law -of sacrifice in nature. In the concrete--that is, in the context--it -involves no allusion to anything in heaven or earth. Here is another -couplet that constantly recurs-- - - “The red blood ran from the grey monk’s side, - His hands and his feet were wounded wide.” - -This is worse still; for this cannot be merely abstract. The ordinary -rational reader will naturally exclaim at last, with a not unnatural -explosion, “Who the devil is the grey monk? and why should he be always -bleeding in places where he has no business?” Now to say that this sort -of thing is not insanity of some kind is simply to play the fool -with the words. A madman who writes this may be higher than ordinary -humanity; so may any madman in Hanwell. But he is a madman in every -sense that the word has among men. I have taken this case of actual and -abrupt irrelevance as the strongest form of the thing; but it has other -forms almost equally decisive. For instance, Blake had a strong sense -of humour, but it was not under control; it could be eclipsed and could -completely disappear. There was certainly a spouting fountain of fierce -laughter in the man who could write in an epigram-- - - “A dirty sneaking knave I knew ... - Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do you do?” - -[Illustration: THE TYGER (1794)] - -Yet the laughter was as fitful as it was fierce; and it can suddenly -fail. Blake’s sense of humour can sometimes completely desert him. He -writes a string of verses against cruelty to the smallest creature as a -sort of mystical insult to the universe. It contains such really fine -couplets as these-- - - “Each outcry of the hunted hare - A fibre from the brain can tear.” - - “A skylark wounded in the wing, - A cherubim does cease to sing.” - -Or again, in a more fanciful but genuinely weird way-- - - “He who torments the chafer’s sprite - Weaves a bower in endless night.” - -And then, after all this excellent and quite serious poetry, Blake can -calmly write down the following two lines-- - - “He who the ox to wrath has moved - Shall never be by woman loved.” - -One could hardly find a more Gilbertian absurdity in the conjunction of -ideas in the whole of the “Bab Ballads” than the idea that the success -of some gentleman in the society of ladies depends upon whether he has -previously at some time or other slightly irritated an ox. Such sudden -inaccesibility to laughter must be called a morbid symptom. It must -mean a blind spot on the brain. The whole thing, of course, would prove -nothing if Blake were a common ranter incapable of writing well, or a -common dunce incapable of seeing a joke. Such a man might easily be -sane enough: he might be as sane as he was stupid. If Blake had always -written badly he might be sane. But a man who could write so well and -did write so badly must be mad. - -What was it that was eating away a part of Blake’s brain? I venture -to offer an answer which in the eyes of many people will have nothing -to recommend it except the accident of its personal sincerity. I -firmly believe that what did hurt Blake’s brain was the reality of his -spiritual communications. In the case of all poets, and especially in -the case of Blake, the phrase “an inspired poet” commonly means a good -poet. About Blake it is specially instinctive. And about Blake, I am -quite convinced, it is specially untrue. His inspired poems were not -his good poems. His inspired poems were very often his particularly bad -ones; they were bad by inspiration. If a ploughman says that he saw a -ghost, it is not quite sufficient to answer merely that he is a madman. -It may have been seeing the ghost that drove him mad. His lunacy may -not prove the falsehood of his tale, but rather its terrible truth. So -in the same way I differ from the common or sceptical critics of a man -like Blake. Such critics say that his visions were false because he was -mad. I say he was mad because his visions were true. It was exactly -because he was unnaturally exposed to a hail of forces that were more -than natural that some breaches were made in his mental continuity, -some damage was done to his mind. He was, in a far more awful sense -than Goldsmith, “an inspired idiot.” He was an idiot because he was -inspired. - -When he said of “Jerusalem” that its authors were in eternity, one can -only say that nobody is likely to go there to get any more of their -work. He did not say that the author of “The Tyger” was in eternity; -the author of that glorious thing was in Carnaby Market. It will -generally be found, I think, with some important exceptions, that -whenever Blake talked most about inspiration he was actually least -inspired. That is, he was least inspired by whatever spirit presides -over good poetry and good thinking. He was abundantly inspired by -whatever spirit presides over bad poetry or bad thinking. Whatever -god specialises in unreadable and almost unpronounceable verse -was certainly present when he invented the extraordinary history of -“William Bond” or the maddening metre of the lines “To Mr Butts.” -Whatever archangel rules over utter intellectual error had certainly -spread his wings of darkness over Blake when he came to the conclusion -that a man ought to be bad in order to be pardoned. But these -unthinkable thoughts are mostly to be found in his most unliterary -productions; notably in the Prophetic Books. To put my meaning broadly, -the opinions which nobody can agree with are mostly in the books that -nobody can read. I really believe that this was not from Blake, but -from his spirits. It is all very well for great men, like Mr Rossetti -and Mr Swinburne, to trust utterly to the seraphim of Blake. They may -naturally trust angels--they do not believe in them. But I do believe -in angels, and incidentally in fallen angels. - -[Illustration: HOLY THURSDAY (1794)] - - * * * * * - -THERE is no danger to health in being a mystic; but there -may be some danger to health in being a spiritualist. It would be a -very poor pun to say that a taste for spirits is bad for the health; -nevertheless, oddly enough, though a poor pun it is a perfectly -correct philosophical parallel. The difference between having a -real religion and having a mere curiosity about psychic marvels is -really very like the difference between drinking beer and drinking -brandy, between drinking wine and drinking gin. Beer is a food as -well as a stimulant; so a positive religion is a comfort as well as -an adventure. A man drinks his wine because it is his favourite wine, -the pleasure of his palate or the vintage of his valley. A man drinks -alcohol merely because it is alcoholic. So a man calls upon his gods -because they are good or at any rate good to him, because they are -the idols that protect his tribe or the saints that have blessed his -birthday. But spiritualists call upon spirits merely because they -are spirits; they ask for ghosts merely because they are ghosts. I -have often been haunted with a fancy that the creeds of men might be -paralleled and represented in their beverages. Wine might stand for -genuine Catholicism and ale for genuine Protestantism; for these at -least are real religions with comfort and strength in them. Clean -cold Agnosticism would be clean cold water, an excellent thing, if -you can get it. Most modern ethical and idealistic movements might -be well represented by soda-water--which is a fuss about nothing. Mr -Bernard Shaw’s philosophy is exactly like black coffee--it awakens -but it does not really inspire. Modern hygienic materialism is very -like cocoa; it would be impossible to express one’s contempt for it in -stronger terms than that. Sometimes, very rarely, one may come across -something that may honestly be compared to milk, an ancient and heathen -mildness, an earthly yet sustaining mercy--the milk of human kindness. -You can find it in a few pagan poets and a few old fables; but it is -everywhere dying out. Now if we adopt this analogy for the sake of -argument, we shall really come back to the bad pun; we shall conclude -that a taste for spiritualism is very like a taste for spirits. The -man who drinks gin or methylated spirit does it only because it makes -him super-normal; so the man who with tables or planchettes invokes -supernatural beings invokes them only because they are supernatural. -He does not know that they are good or wise or helpful. He knows that -he desires the deity, but he does not even know that he likes him. He -attempts to invoke the god without adoring him. He is interested in -whatever he can find out touching supernatural existence; but he is not -really filled with joy as by the face of a divine friend, any more than -anyone actually likes the taste of methylated spirit. In such psychic -investigations, in a word, there is excitement, but not affectional -satisfaction; there is brandy, but no food. - -Now Blake was in the most reckless, and sometimes even in the most -vulgar, sense a spiritualist. He threw the doors of his mind open to -what the late George Macdonald called in a fine phrase “the canaille -of the other world.” I think it is impossible to look at some of the -pictures which Blake drew, under what he considered direct spiritual -dictation, without feeling that he was from time to time under -influences that were not only evil but even foolishly evil. I give -one case out of numberless cases. Blake drew, from his own vision a -head which he called _The Man who built the Pyramids_. Anyone can -appreciate the size and mystery of the idea; and most people would form -some sort of fancy of how a great poetical painter, such as Michael -Angelo or Watts, would have rendered the idea; they can conceive a face -swarthy and secret, or ponderous and lowering, or staring and tropical, -or Appolonian and pure. Whatever was the man who built the pyramids, -one feels that he must (to put it mildly) have been a clever man. We -look at Blake’s picture of the man, and with a start behold the face -of an idiot. Nay, we behold even the face of an evil idiot, a leering, -half-witted face with no chin and the protuberant nose of a pig. Blake -declared that he drew this face from a real spirit, and I see no reason -to doubt that he did. But if he did, it was not really the man who -built the pyramids; it was not any spirit with whom a gentleman ought -to wish to be on intimate terms. That vision of swinish silliness was -really a bad vision to have, it left a smell of demoniac silliness -behind it. I am very sure that it left Blake sillier than it found him. - -In this way, rightly or wrongly, I explain the chaos and occasional -weakness which perplexes Blake’s critics and often perplexed Blake -himself. I think he suffered from the great modern loneliness and -scepticism which is the root of the sorrows of the mere spiritualist. -The tragedy of the spiritualist simply is that he has to know his gods -before he loves them. But a man ought to love his gods before he is -sure that there are any. The sublime words of St John’s Gospel permit -of a sympathetic parody; if a man love not God whom he has not seen, -how shall he love God whom he has seen? If we do not delight in Santa -Claus even as a fancy, how can we expect to be happy even if we find -that he is a fact? But a mystic like Blake simply puts up a placard for -the whole universe, like an old woman letting lodgings. The mansion of -his mind was indeed a magnificent one; but no one must be surprised if -the first man that walked into it was “the man who built the pyramids,” -the man with the face of a moon-calf. And whether or no he built the -pyramids, he unbuilt the house. - -But this conclusion touching Blake’s original sanity but incidental -madness brings us abruptly in contact with the larger question of -how far his soul and creed gained or suffered from his whole position; -his heterodoxy, his orthodoxy, his attitude towards his age. Properly -to do all this we must do now at the end of this book what ought (but -the form of the book forbade) more strictly to have been done at the -beginning; we must speak as shortly as possible about the actual age -in which Blake lived. And we cannot do it without saying something, -which we will say as briefly as possible, of that whole great western -society and tradition to which he belonged and we belong equally; that -Christendom or continent of Europe which is at once too big for us to -measure and too close for us to understand. - -[Illustration: ARIEL] - -What was the eighteenth century? Or rather (to speak less mechanically -and with more intelligence), what was that mighty and unmistakable -phase or mood through which western society was passing about the time -that William Blake became its living child? What was that persistent -trend or spirit which all through the eighteenth century lifted itself -like a very slow and very smooth wave to the deafening breaker of the -French Revolution? Of course it meant something slightly different to -all its different children. Let us here ask ourselves what it meant to -Blake, the poet, the painter, and the dreamer. Let us try to state the -thing as nearly as possible in terms of his spirit and in relation to -his unique work in this world. - -Every man of us to-day is three men. There is in every modern European -three powers so distinct as to be almost personal, the trinity of our -earthly destiny. The three may be rudely summarised thus. First and -nearest to us is the Christian, the man of the historic church, of the -creed that must have coloured our minds incurably whether we regard it -(as I do) as the crown and combination of the other two, or whether -we regard it as an accidental superstition which has remained for two -thousand years. First, then, comes the Christian; behind him comes -the Roman, the citizen of that great cosmopolitan realm of reason and -order in the level and equality of which Christianity arose. He is the -stoic who is so much sterner than the anchorites. He is the republican -who is so much prouder than kings. He it is that makes straight roads -and clear laws, and for whom good sense is good enough. And the third -man--he is harder to speak of. He has no name, and all true tales of -him are blotted out; yet he walks behind us in every forest path and -wakes within us when the wind wakes at night. He is the origins--he -is the man in the forest. It is no part of our subject to elaborate -the point; but it may be said in passing that the chief claim of -Christianity is exactly this--that it revived the pre-Roman madness, -yet brought into it the Roman order. The gods had really died long -before Christ was born. What had taken their place was simply the god -of government--Divus Cæsar. The pagans of the real Roman Empire were -nothing if not respectable. It is said that when Christ was born the -cry went through the world that Pan was dead. The truth is that when -Christ was born Pan for the first time began to stir in his grave. The -pagan gods had become pure fables when Christianity gave them a new -lease of life as devils. I venture to wager that if you found one man -in such a society who seriously believed in the personal existence of -Apollo, he was probably a Christian. Christianity called to a kind -of clamorous resurrection all the old supernatural instincts of the -forests and the hill. But it put upon this occult chaos the Roman idea -of balance and sanity. Thus, marriage was a sacrament, but mere sex -was not a sacrament as it was in many of the frenzies of the forest. -Thus wine was a sacrament with Christ; but drunkenness was not a -sacrament as with Dionysus. In short, Christianity (merely historically -seen) can best be understood as an attempt to combine the reason of -the market-place with the mysticism of the forest. It was an attempt -to accept all the superstitions that are necessary to man and to be -philosophic at the end of them. Pagan Rome has sought to bring order or -reason among men. Christian Rome sought to bring order and reason among -gods. - - * * * * * - -GIVEN these three principles, the epoch we discuss can be -defined. The eighteenth century was primarily the return of reason--and -of Rome. It was the coming to the top of the stoic and civic element in -that triple mixture. It was full, like the Roman world, of a respect -for law. Note that the priest still wears, in the main, the popular -garb of the Middle Ages: but the lawyer still wears the head-dress of -the eighteenth century. Yet while the Roman world was full of rule it -was also full of revolution. But indeed the two things necessarily -go together. The English used to boast that they had achieved a -constitutional revolution; but every revolution must necessarily be a -constitutional revolution, in so far that it must have reference to -some antecedent theory of justice. A man must have rights before he -can have wrongs. So it may be constantly remarked that the countries -which have done most to spread legal generalisations and judicial -decisions are those most filled with political fury and potential -rebellion--Rome, for instance, and France. Rome planted in every tribe -and village the root of the Roman law at the very time when her own -town was torn with faction and bloody with partisan butcheries. France -forced intellectually on nearly all Europe an excellent code of law, -and she did it when her own streets were hardly cleared of corpses, -when she was in a panting pause between two pulverising civil wars. -And, on the other hand, you may remark that the countries where there -is no revolution are the countries where there is no law; where mental -chaos has clouded every intelligible legal principle--such countries as -Morocco and modern England. - -[Illustration: PRELUDIUM TO URIZEN (1794)] - -The eighteenth century, then, ended in revolution because it began in -law. It was the age of reason, and therefore the age of revolt. It is -needless to say how systematically it revived all the marks and motives -of that ancient pagan society in which Christianity first arose. Its -greatest art was oratory, its favourite affectation was severity. Its -pet virtue was public spirit, its pet sin political assassination. It -endured the pompous, but hated the fantastic; it had pure contempt for -anything that could be called obscure. To a virile mind of that epoch, -such as Dr Johnson or Fox, a poem or picture that did not at once -explain itself was simply like a gun that did not go off or a clock -that stopped suddenly: it was simply a failure, fit for indifference or -for a fleeting satire. In spite of their solid convictions (for which -they died) the men of that time always used the word “enthusiast” -as a term of scorn. All that we call mysticism they called madness. -Such was the eighteenth century civilisation; such was the strict and -undecorated frame from which look at us the blazing eyes of William -Blake. - -So far Blake and his century are a mere contrast. But here we must -remember that the three elements of Europe are not the strata of a -rock, but the strands of a rope; since all three have existed not -one of them has ever appeared entirely unmixed. You may call the -Renascence pagan, but Michael Angelo cannot be imagined as anything -but a Christian. You may call Thomas Aquinas Christian, but you cannot -say exactly what he would have been without Aristotle the pagan. You -may, even in calling Virgil the poet of Roman dignity and good sense, -still ask whether he did not remember something older than Rome when -he spoke of the good luck of him who knew the field gods and the old -man of the forest. In the same way there was even in the eighteenth -century an element of the purely Christian and an element of the -purely primitive. And, as it happens, both these non-rational (or -non-Roman) strains in the eighteenth century are particularly important -in considering the mental make-up of William Blake. For the first alien -strain in this century practically represents all that is effective -and fine in this great genius, the second strain represents without -question all that is doubtful, all that is irritating, and all that is -ineffective in him. - - * * * * * - -IN the eighteenth century there were two elements not taken -from the Roman stoic or the Roman citizen. The first was what our -century calls humanitarianism--what that century called “the tear of -sensibility.” The old pagan commonwealths were democratic, but they -were not in the least humanitarian. They had no tears to spare for a -man at the mercy of the community; they reserved all their anger and -sympathy for the community at the mercy of a man. That individual -compassion for an individual case was a pure product of Christianity; -and when Voltaire flung himself with fury into the special case of -Calas, he was drawing all his energies from the religion that he -denied. A Roman would have rebelled for Rome, but not for Calas. -This personal humanitarianism is the relic of Christianity--perhaps -(if I may say so) the dregs of Christianity. Of this humanitarianism -or sentimentalism, or whatever it can best be called, Blake was the -enthusiastic inheritor. Being the great man that he was, he naturally -anticipated lesser men than himself; and among the men less than -himself I should count Shelley, for instance, and Tolstoy. He carried -his instinct of personal kindness to the point of denouncing war as -such-- - - “Naught can deform the human race - Like the Armourer’s iron brace.” - -Or, again-- - - “The strongest poison ever known - Came from Cæsar’s iron crown.” - -[Illustration: HAR AND HEVA (1795)] - -No pagan republican, such as those on whom the eighteenth century ethic -was founded, could have made head or tail of this mere humanitarian -horror. He could not even have comprehended this idea--that war is -immoral when it is not unjust. You cannot find this sentiment in -the pagans of antiquity, but you can find it in the pagans of the -eighteenth century; you can find it in the speeches of Fox, the -soliloquies of Rousseau and even in the sniggering of Gibbon. Here -is an element of the eighteenth century which is derived darkly but -indubitably from Christianity, and in which Blake strongly shares. -Regulus has returned to be tortured and pagan Rome is saved; but -Christianity thinks a little of Regulus. A man must be pitied even when -he must be killed. That individual compassion provoked Blake to violent -and splendid lines-- - - “And the slaughtered soldier’s cry - Runs in blood down palace walls.” - -The eighteenth century did not find that pity where it found its pagan -liberty and its pagan law. It took this out of the very churches -that it violated and from the desperate faith that it denied. This -irrational individual pity is the purely Christian element in the -eighteenth century. This irrational individual pity is the purely -Christian element in William Blake. - -And second, there was another eighteenth century element that was -neither of Christian nor of pagan Rome. It was from the origins; -it had been in the world through the whole history of paganism and -Christianity; it had been in the world, but not of it. This element -appeared popularly in the eighteenth century in an extravagant -but unmistakable shape; the element can be summed up in one -word--Cagliostro. No other name is quite so adequate; but if anyone -desires a nobler name (a very noble one), we may say--Swedenborg. -There was in the eighteenth century, despite its obvious good sense, -this strain of a somewhat theatrical thaumaturgy. The history of -that element is, in the most literal sense of the word, horribly -interesting. For it all works back to the mere bogey feeling of the -beginnings. It is amusing to remark that in the eighteenth century for -the first time start up a number of societies which calmly announce -that they have existed almost from the beginning of the world. Of -these, of course, the best known instance is the Freemasons; according -to their own account they began with the Pyramids; but according to -everyone else’s account that can be effectively collected, they began -with the eighteenth century. Nevertheless the Freemasons are right in -the spirit even if they are wrong in the letter. There is a tradition -of things analogous to mystical masonry throughout all the historic -generations of Paganism and Christianity. There is a definite tradition -outside Christianity, not of rationalism, but of paganism, paganism in -the original and frightful forest sense--pagan magic. Christianity, -rightly or wrongly, always discouraged it on the ground that it was, -or tended to be, black magic. That is not here our concern. The point -is that this non-Christian supernaturalism, whether it was good or -bad, was continuous in spite of Christianity. Its signs and traces -can be seen in every age: it hung like a huge fume, in many monstrous -forms, over the dying Roman Empire: it was the energy in the Gnostics -who so nearly captured Christianity, and who were persecuted for their -pessimism; in the full sunlight of the living Church it dared to carve -its symbols upon the tombs of the Templars; and when the first sects -raised their heads at the Reformation, its ancient and awful voice was -heard. - -[Illustration: PHILANDER’S DUST (1796)] - -Now the eighteenth century was primarily the release (as its leaders -held) of reason and nature from the control of the Church. But when -the Church was once really weakened, it was the release of many -other things. It was not the release of reason only, but of a more -ancient unreason. It was not the release of the natural, but also -of the supernatural, and also, alas! of the unnatural. The heathen -mystics hidden for two thousand years came out of their caverns--and -Freemasonry was founded. It was entirely innocent in the manner of its -foundation; but so were all the other resurrections of this ancestral -occultism. I give but one obvious instance out of many. The idea of -enslaving another human soul, without lifting a finger or making a -gesture of force, of enslaving a soul simply by willing its slavery, is -an idea which all healthy human societies would regard and did regard -as hideous and detestable, if true. Throughout all the Christian ages -the witches and warlocks claimed this abominable power and boasted -of it. They were (somewhat excusably) killed for their boasting. The -eighteenth century rationalist movement came, intent, thank God, upon -much cleaner things, upon common justice and right reason in the state. -Nevertheless it did weaken Christianity, and in weakening Christianity -it uplifted and protected the wizard. Mesmer stepped forward, and -for the first time safely affirmed this infamous power to exist: for -the first time a warlock could threaten spiritual tyranny and not be -lynched. Nevertheless, if a mesmerist really had the powers which some -mesmerists have claimed, and which most novels give to him, there is (I -hope) no doubt at all that any decent mob would drown him like a witch. - -The revolt of the eighteenth century, then, did not merely release -naturalism, but a certain kind of supernaturalism also. And of this -particular kind of supernaturalism, Blake is particularly the heir. Its -coarse embodiment is Cagliostro. Its noble embodiment is Swedenborg. -But in both cases it can be remarked that the mysticism marks an -effort to escape from or even to forget the historic Christian, and -especially the Catholic Church. Cagliostro, being a man of mean -spirituality, separated himself from Catholicism by rearing against it -a blazing pageant of mystical paganism, of triangles, secret seals, -Eleusinian initiation, and all the vulgar refinements of a secret -society. Swedenborg, being a man of large and noble spirituality, -marked his separation from Catholicism by inventing out of his own -innocence and genius nearly all the old Catholic doctrines, sincerely -believing them to be his own discoveries. It is startling to note how -near Swedenborg was to Catholicism--in his insistence on free will, for -instance, on the humanity of the incarnate God, and on the relative -and mystical view of the Old Testament. There was in Blake a great -deal of Swedenborg (as he would have been the first to admit), and -there was, occasionally, a little of Cagliostro. Blake did not belong -to a secret society: for, to tell the truth, he had some difficulty -in belonging to any society. But Blake did talk a secret language. He -had something of that haughty and oligarchic element in his mysticism -which marked the old pagan secret societies and which marks the -Theosophists and oriental initiates to this day. There was in him, -besides the beneficent wealth of Swedenborg, some touch of Cagliostro -and the Freemasons. These things Blake did inherit from that break up -of belief that can be called the eighteenth century: we will debit him -with these as an inheritance. And when we have said this we have said -everything that can be said of any debt he owed. His debts are cleared -here. His estate is cleared with this payment. All that follows is -himself. - -If a man has some fierce or unfamiliar point of view, he must, even -when he is talking about his cat, begin with the origin of the cosmos; -for his cosmos is as private as his cat. Horace could tell his pupils -to plunge into the middle of the thing, because he and they were -agreed about the particular kind of thing; the author and his readers -substantially sympathised about the beauty of Helen or the duties of -Hector. But Blake really had to begin at the beginning, because it -was a different beginning. This explains the extraordinary air of -digression and irrelevancy which can be observed in some of the most -direct and sincere minds. It explains the bewildering allusiveness of -Dante; the galloping parentheses of Rabelais; the gigantic prefaces of -Mr Bernard Shaw. The brilliant man seems more lumbering and elaborate -than anyone else, because he has something to say about everything. -The very quickness of his mind makes the slowness of his narrative. For -he finds sermons in stones, in all the paving-stones of the street he -plods along. Every fact or phrase that occurs in the immediate question -carries back his mind to the ages and the initial power. Because he is -original he is always going back to the origins. - -[Illustration: A GROUP (1804)] - -Take, for instance, Blake’s verse rather than his pictorial art. When -the average sensible person reads Blake’s verse, he simply comes to -the conclusion that he cannot understand it. But in truth he has a -much better right to offer this objection to Blake than to most of the -slightly elusive or eccentric writers to whom he also offers it. Blake -is obscure in a much more positive and practical sense than Browning -is obscure--or, in another manner, Mr Henry James is obscure. Browning -is generally obscure through an almost brutal eagerness to get to big -truths, which leads him to smash a sentence and leave only bits of it. -Mr Henry James is obscure because he wishes to trace tiny truths by a -dissection for which human language (even in his exquisite hands) is -hardly equal. In short, Browning wishes almost unscrupulously to get to -the point. Mr James refuses to admit (on the mere authority of Euclid) -that the point is indivisible. But Blake’s obscurity is startlingly -different to both, it is at once more simple and more impenetrable. It -is not a different diction but a different language. It is not that we -cannot understand the sentences; it is that we often misunderstand the -words. The obscurity of Blake commonly consists in the fact that the -actual words used mean one thing in Blake and quite another thing in -the dictionary. Mr Henry James wants to split hairs; Browning wants to -tear them up by the roots. But in Blake the enigma is at once plainer -and more perplexing; it is simply this, that if Blake says “hairs” he -may not mean hairs, but something else--perhaps peacocks’ feathers. -To quote but one example out of a thousand; when Blake uses the word -“devils” he generally means some particularly exalted order of angels -such as preside over energy and imagination. - - * * * * * - -A VERBAL accident has confused the mystical with the -mysterious. Mysticism is generally felt vaguely to be itself vague--a -thing of clouds and curtains, of darkness or concealing vapours, of -bewildering conspiracies or impenetrable symbols. Some quacks have -indeed dealt in such things: but no true mystic ever loved darkness -rather than light. No pure mystic ever loved mere mystery. The mystic -does not bring doubts or riddles: the doubts and riddles exist -already. We all feel the riddle of the earth without anyone to point -it out. The mystery of life is the plainest part of it. The clouds and -curtains of darkness, the confounding vapours, these are the daily -weather of this world. Whatever else we have grown accustomed to, we -have grown accustomed to the unaccountable. Every stone or flower is -a hieroglyphic of which we have lost the key; with every step of our -lives we enter into the middle of some story which we are certain to -misunderstand. The mystic is not the man who makes mysteries but the -man who destroys them. The mystic is one who offers an explanation -which may be true or false, but which is _always_ comprehensible--by -which I mean, not that it is always comprehended, but that it always -can be comprehended, because there is always something to comprehend. -The man whose meaning remains mysterious fails, I think, as a mystic: -and Blake, as we shall see, did, for certain peculiar reasons of his -own, often fail in this way. But even when he was himself hard to -be understood, it was never through himself not understanding: it -was never because he was vague or mystified or groping, that he was -unintelligible. While his utterance was not only dim but dense, his -opinion was not only clear, but even cocksure. You and I may be a -little vague about the relations of Albion to Jerusalem, but Blake -is as certain about them as Mr Chamberlain about the relations of -Birmingham to the British Empire. And this can be said for his singular -literary style even at his worst, that we always feel that he is saying -something very plain and emphatic, even when we have not the wildest -notion of what it is. - -There is one element always to be remarked in the true mystic, however -disputed his symbolism, and that is its brightness of colour -and clearness of shape. I mean that we may be doubtful about the -significance of a triangle or the precise lesson conveyed by a -crimson cow. But in the work of a real mystic the triangle is a hard -mathematical triangle not to be mistaken for a cone or a polygon. The -cow is in colour a rich incurable crimson, and in shape unquestionably -a cow, not to be mistaken for any of its evolutionary relatives, -such as the buffalo or the bison. This can be seen very clearly, for -instance, in the Christian art of illumination as practised at its best -in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. The Christian decorators, -being true mystics, were chiefly concerned to maintain the reality -of objects. For the highest dogma of the spiritual is to affirm the -material. By plain outline and positive colour those pious artists -strove chiefly to assert that a cat was truly in the eyes of God a cat -and that a dog was preeminently doggish. This decision of tint and -outline belongs not only to Blake’s pictures, but even to his poetry. -Even in his descriptions there is no darkness, and practically, in -the modern sense, no distance. All his animals are as absolute as the -animals on a shield of heraldry. His lambs are of unsullied silver, -his lions are of flaming gold. His lion may lie down with his lamb, but -he will never really mix with him. - -[Illustration: THE WATERS OF LIFE (1804)] - -Really to make this point clear one would have to go back to the -twelfth century, or perhaps to Plato. Metaphysics must be avoided; they -are too exciting. But the root of the matter can be pretty well made -plain by one word. The whole difference is between the old meaning and -the new meaning of the word “Realist.” In modern fiction and science -a Realist means a man who begins at the outside of a thing: sometimes -merely at the end of a thing, knowing the monkey only by its tail or -the motor by its smell. In the twelfth century a Realist meant exactly -the opposite; it meant a man who began at the inside of a thing. The -mediæval philosopher would only have been interested in a motor because -it moved. He would have been interested (that is) only in the central -and original idea of a motor--in its ultimate motorishness. He would -have been concerned with a monkey only because of its monkeyhood; -not because it was like man but because it was unlike. If he saw an -elephant he would not say in the modern style, “I see before me a -combination of the tusks of a wild boar in unnatural development, of -the long nose of the tapir needlessly elongated, of the tail of the -cow unusually insufficient,” and so on. He would merely see an essence -of elephant. He would believe that this light and fugitive elephant -of an instant, as dancing and fleeting as the May-fly in May, was -nevertheless the shadow of an eternal elephant, conceived and created -by God. When you have quite realised this ancient sense in the reality -of an elephant, go back and read William Blake’s poems about animals, -as, for instance, about the lamb and about the tiger. You will see -quite clearly that he is talking of an eternal tiger, who rages and -rejoices for ever in the sight of God. You will see that he is talking -of an eternal and supernatural lamb, who can only feed happily in the -fields of Heaven. - -It is exactly here that we find the full opposition to that modern -tendency that can fairly be called “Impressionism.” Impressionism is -scepticism. It means believing one’s immediate impressions at the -expense of one’s more permanent and positive generalisations. It puts -what one notices above what one knows. It means the monstrous heresy -that seeing is believing. A white cow at one particular instant of the -evening light may be gold on one side and violet on the other. The -whole point of Impressionism is to say that she really is a gold and -violet cow. The whole point of Impressionism is to say that there is -no white cow at all. What can we tell, it cries, beyond what we can -see? But the essence of Mysticism is to insist that there is a white -cow, however veiled with shadow or painted with sunset gold. Blessed -are they who have seen the violet cow and who yet believe in the white -one. To the mystic a white cow has a sort of solid whiteness, as if -the cow were made out of frozen milk. To him a white horse has a -solid whiteness as if he were cut out of the firm English chalk, like -the White Horse in the valley of King Alfred. The cow’s whiteness is -more important than anything except her cowishness. If Blake had ever -introduced a white cow into one of his pictures, there would at least -have been no doubt about either of those two elements. Similarly -there would have been no doubt about them in any old Christian -illumination. On this point he is at one with all the mystics and with -all the saints. - -[Illustration: PLOUGHING THE EARTH (1804)] - -This explanation is really essential to the understanding of Blake, -because to the modern mind it is so easy to understand him in the -opposite sense. In the ordinary modern meaning Blake’s symbols are -not symbols at all. They are not allegories. An allegory nowadays -means taking something that does not exist as a symbol of something -that does exist. We believe, at least most of us do, that sin does -exist. We believe (on highly insufficient grounds) that a dragon does -not exist. So we make the unreal dragon an allegory of the real sin. -But that is not what Blake meant when he made the lamb the symbol -of innocence. He meant that there really is behind the universe an -eternal image called the Lamb, of which all living lambs are merely -the copies or the approximation. He held that eternal innocence to be -an actual and even an awful thing. He would not have seen anything -comic, any more than the Christian Evangelist saw anything comic, in -talking about the Wrath of the Lamb. If there were a lamb in one of -Æsop’s fables, Æsop would never be so silly as to represent him as -angry. But Christianity is more daring than Æsop, and the wrath of the -Lamb is its great paradox. If there is an immortal lamb, a being whose -simplicity and freshness are for ever renewed, then it is truly and -really a more creepy idea to horrify that being into hostility than to -defy the flaming dragon or challenge darkness or the sea. No old wolf -or world-worn lion is so awful as a creature that is always young--a -creature that is always newly born. But the main point here is simpler. -It is merely that Blake did not mean that meekness was true and the -lamb only a pretty fable. If anything he meant that meekness was a -mere shadow of the everlasting lamb. The distinction is essential to -anyone at all concerned for this rooted spirituality which is the only -enduring sanity of mankind. The personal is not a mere figure for the -impersonal; rather the impersonal is a clumsy term for something more -personal than common personality. God is not a symbol of goodness. -Goodness is a symbol of God. - -Some very odd passages in Blake become clear if we keep this in mind. -I do not wish in this book to dwell unduly on the other side of Blake, -the literary side. But there are queer facts worth remarking, and this -is one of them. Blake was sincere; if he was insane he was insane with -the very solidity and completeness of his sincerity. And the quaintest -mark of his sincerity is this, that in his poetry he constantly writes -things that look like mere mistakes. He writes one of his most colossal -convictions and the average reader thinks it is a misprint. To give -only one example not connected with the matter in hand, the fine though -somewhat frantic poem called “The Everlasting Gospel” begins exactly as -the modern humanitarian and essential Christian would like it to begin-- - - “The vision of Christ that thou dost see - Is my vision’s greatest enemy.” - -It goes on (to the modern Christian’s complete satisfaction) with -denunciations of priests and praise of the pure Gospel Jesus; and then -comes a couplet like this-- - - “Thine is the friend of all mankind, - Mine speaks in parables to the blind.” - -And the modern humanitarian Christian finds the orthodox Christ calmly -rebuked because he is the friend of all mankind. The modern Christian -simply blames the printer. He can only suppose that the words “Thine” -and “Mine” have been put in each other’s places by accident. Blake, -however, as it happens, meant exactly what he said. His private vision -of Christ was the vision of a violent and mysterious being, often -indignant and occasionally disdainful. - - “He acts with honest disdainful pride, - And that is the cause that Jesus died; - Had he been Antichrist, creeping Jesus, - He would have done anything to please us, - Gone sneaking into their synagogues, - And not use the elders and priests like dogs.” - -When the reader has fully realised this idea of a fierce and mysterious -Jesus, he may then see the sense in the statement that this Jesus -speaks in parables to the blind while the lower and meaner Jesus -pretends to be the friend of all men. But you have to know Blake’s -doctrine before you can understand two lines of his poetry. - -Now in the point which is here prominently before us there is a -quotation (indeed there is more than one) which follows this same -fantastic line. Let the ordinary modern man, who is, generally -speaking, not a materialist and not a mystic, read first these two -lines from the poem falsely called “The Auguries of Innocence”-- - - “God appears and God is light - To those poor souls that dwell in night.” - -[Illustration: THE EAGLE (1804)] - -He will not find anything objectionable in that, at any rate; probably -he will bow his head slightly to a truism, as if he were in church. -Then he will read the next two lines-- - - “But does a human form display - To those that dwell in realms of day.” - -And there the modern man will sit down suddenly on the sofa and come -finally to the conclusion that William Blake was mad and nothing else. - -But those last two lines express all that is best in Blake and all -that is best in all the tradition of the mystics. Those two lines -explain perfectly all that I have just pointed out concerning the -palpable visions and the ponderous cherubim. This is the point about -Blake that must be understood if nothing else is understood. God for -him was not more and more vague and diaphanous as one came near to -Him. God was more and more solid as one came near. When one was far -off one might fancy Him to be impersonal. When one came into personal -relation one knew that He was a person. The personal God was the fact. -The impersonal God of the Pantheists was a kind of condescending -symbol. According to Blake (and there is more in the mental attitude -than most modern people will willingly admit) this vague cosmic view is -a mere merciful preparation for the old practical and personal view. -God is merely light to the merely unenlightened. God is a man to the -enlightened. We are permitted to remain for a time evolutionary or -pantheist until the time comes when we are worthy to be anthropomorphic. - -Understand this Blake conception that the Divine is most bodily and -definite when we really know it, and the severe lines and sensational -literalism of his other and more pictorial work will be easily -understood. Naturally his divinities are definite, because he thought -that the more they were definite, the more they were divine. Naturally -God was not to him a hazy light breaking through the tangle of the -evolutionary undergrowth, nor a blinding brilliancy in the highest -place of the heavens. God was to him the magnificent old man depicted -in his dark and extraordinary illustrations of “Job,” the old man -with the monstrous muscles, the mild stern eyebrows, the long smooth -silver hair and beard. In the dialogues between Jehovah and Job there -is little difference between the two ponderous and palpable old men, -except that the vision of Deity is a little more solid than the human -being. But then Blake held that Deity is more solid than humanity. He -held that what we call the ideal is not only more beautiful but more -actual than the real. The ordinary educated modern person staring -at these “Job” designs can only say that God is a mere elderly twin -brother of Job. Blake would have at once retorted that Job was an image -of God. - - * * * * * - -ON consideration I incline to think that the best way to -summarise the art of Blake from its most superficial to its most -subtle phase would be simply to take one quick characteristic picture -and discuss it fully; first its title and subject, then its look and -shape, then its main principles and implications. Let us take as a good -working example the weird picture which is reproduced on one of the -pages of Gilchrist’s “Life of Blake.” - -Now the obvious, prompt, and popular view of Blake is very well -represented by the mere title of the picture. The first thing any -ordinary person will notice about it is that it is called “The Ghost -of a Flea”; and the ordinary person will be very justifiably amused. -This is the first fact about William Blake--that he is a joke; and it -is a fact by no means to be despised. Simply considered as a puzzle -or parlour game, Blake is extraordinarily entertaining. I have known -many cultivated families made happy on winter evenings by trying to -understand the poem called “The Mental Traveller,” or wondering what -can be the significance of the stanza that runs: - - “Little Mary Bell had a fairy in a nut, - Long John Brown had the devil in his gut; - Long John Brown loved little Mary Bell, - And the fairy drew the devil into the nutshell.” - -[Illustration: “ALBION! AROUSE THYSELF!” (1804)] - -The first fact is that we are puzzled and also honestly amused. It is -as if we had a highly eccentric neighbour in the next garden. Long -before we like him we like gossiping about him. And the mere title, -“The Ghost of a Flea,” represents all that makes Blake a centre of -literary gossip. - -And now, having enjoyed the oddity of the title, let us look at the -picture. Let us attempt to describe, so far as it can be done in words -instead of lines, what Blake thought that the ghost of a flea would -be like. The scene suggests a high and cheerless corridor, as in some -silent castle of giants. Through this a figure, naked and gigantic, is -walking with a high-shouldered and somewhat stealthy stride. In one -hand the creature has a peculiar curved knife of a cruel shape; in -the other he has a sort of stone basin. The most striking line in the -composition is the hard long curve of the spine, which goes up without -a single flicker to the back of the brutal head, as if the whole back -view were built like a tower of stone. The face is in no sense human. -It has something that is aquiline and also something that is swinish; -its eyes are alive with a moony glitter that is entirely akin to -madness. The thing seems to be passing a curtain and entering a room. - -With this we may mark the second fact about Blake--that if his only -object is to make our flesh creep, he does it well. His bogeys are -good reliable bogeys. There is really something that appeals to the -imagination about this notion of the ghost of a flea being a tall -vampire stalking through tall corridors at night. We have found Blake -an amusing madman and now an interesting madman; let us go on with the -process. - -The third thing to note about this picture is that for Blake the ghost -of a flea means the idea or principle of a flea. The principle of a -flea (so far as we can see it) is bloodthirstiness, the feeding on the -life of another, the fury of the parasite. Fleas may have other nobler -sentiments and meditations, but we know nothing about them. The vision -of a flea is a vision of blood; and that is what Blake has made of -it. This is the next point, then, to be remarked in his make-up as a -mystic; he is interested in the ideas for which such things stand. For -him the tiger means an awful elegance; for him the tree means a silent -strength. - -If it be granted that Blake was interested, not in the flea, but -in the idea of the flea, we can proceed to the next step, which is -a particularly important one. Every great mystic goes about with a -magnifying glass. He sees every flea as a giant--perhaps rather as an -ogre. I have spoken of the tall castle in which these giants dwell; -but, indeed, that tall tower is the microscope. It will not be denied -that Blake shows the best part of a mystic’s attitude in seeing that -the soul of a flea is ten thousand times larger than a flea. But the -really interesting point is much more striking. It is the essential -point upon which all primary understanding of the art of Blake really -turns. The point is this: that the ghost of a flea is not only larger -than a flea, the ghost of a flea is actually more solid than a flea. -The flea himself is hazy and fantastic compared to the hard and -massive actuality of his ghost. When we have understood this, we have -understood the second of the great ideas in Blake--the idea of ideas. - -To sum up Blake’s philosophy in any phrase sufficiently simple and -popular for our purpose is not at all easy. For Blake’s philosophy was -not simple. Those who imagine that because he was always talking about -lambs and daisies, about Jesus and little children, that therefore he -held a simple gospel of goodwill, entirely misunderstand the whole -nature of his mind. No man had harder dogmas; no one insisted more -that religion must have theology. The Everlasting Gospel was far from -being a simple gospel. Blake had succeeded in inventing in the course -of about ten years as tangled and interdependent a system of theology -as the Catholic Church has accumulated in two thousand. Much of it, -indeed, he inherited from ancient heretics who were much more doctrinal -than the orthodoxy which they opposed. Notable among these were the -Gnostics, and in some degree the mad Franciscans who followed Joachim -de Flor. Very few modern people would know an Akamoth or an Æon if they -saw him. Yet one would really have to be on rather intimate terms -with these old mystical gods and demons before one could move quite -easily in the Cosmos which was familiar to Blake. - -[Illustration: THE CRUCIFIXION (1804)] - -Let us, however, attempt to find a short and popular statement of the -position of Blake and all such mystics. The plainest way of putting -it, I think, is this: this school especially denied the authority -of Nature. Some went the extreme length of the mad Manichæans, and -declared the material universe evil in itself. Some, like Blake, and -most of the poets considered it as a shadow or illusion, a sort of -joke of the Almighty. But whatever else Nature was, Nature was not our -mother. Blake applies to her the strange words used by Christ to Mary, -and says to Mother-Earth in many poems: “What have I to do with thee?” -It is common to connect Blake and Wordsworth because of their ballads -about babies and sheep. They were utterly opposite. If Wordsworth -was the Poet of Nature, Blake was specially the Poet of Anti-Nature. -Against Nature he set a certain entity which he called Imagination; but -the word as commonly used conveys very little of what he meant by it. -He did not mean something shadowy or fantastic, but rather something -clear-cut, definite, and unalterable. By Imagination, that is, he meant -images; the eternal images of things. You might shoot all the lions on -the earth; but you could not destroy the Lion of Judah, the Lion of the -Imagination. You might kill all the lambs of the world and eat them; -but you could not kill the Lamb of the Imagination, which was the Lamb -of God, that taketh away the sins of the world. Blake’s philosophy, in -brief, was primarily the assertion that the ideal is more actual than -the real: just as in Euclid the good triangle in the mind is a more -actual (and more practical) than the bad triangle on the blackboard. - -Many of Blake’s pictures become intelligible (or as intelligible as -they can become) if we keep this principle in mind. For instance, there -is a fine design representing a naked and heroic youth of great beauty -tracing something on the sand. The reader, when he looks at the title -of it, is interested to discover that this is a portrait of Sir Isaac -Newton. It was not so much of an affectation as it seems. Blake from -his own point of view really did think that the Eternal Isaac Newton as -God beheld him was more of an actuality than the terrestrial gentleman -who happened to be elderly or happened by some sublunary accident to -wear clothes. Therefore, when he calls it a “portrait” he is not, from -his own point of view, talking nonsense. It is the form and feature of -someone who exists and who is different from everyone else, just as if -it were the ordinary oil-painting of an alderman. - -The most important conception can be found in one sentence which he let -fall as if by accident, “Nature has no outline, but imagination has.” -If a clear black line when looked at through a microscope was seen to -be a ragged and confused edge like a mop or a doormat, then Blake would -say, “So much the worse for the microscope.” If pure lines existed -only in the human mind, then Blake would say, “So much the better for -the human mind.” If the real earth grew damp and dubious when it met -and mixed itself with the sea, so much the worse for the real earth. -If the idea of clean-cut truth existed only in the intellect, that was -the most actual place in which anything could exist. In short, Blake -really insisted that man as the image of God had a right to impose form -upon nature. He would have laughed to scorn the notion of the modern -evolutionist--that Nature is to be permitted to impose formlessness -upon man. For him the lines in a landscape were boundaries which he -drew like frontiers, by his authority as the plenipotentiary ambassador -of heaven. When he drew his line round Leviathan he was drawing the -divine net around him; he tamed his bulls and lions even by creating -them. And when he made in some picture a line between sea and land that -does not exist in Nature, he was saying by supernatural right, “Thus -far shalt thou come, and no farther, and here shall thy proud waves be -stayed.” - - * * * * * - -I SELECT the symbol of the sea partly because Blake was -himself fond of such elemental images, and partly because it is an -image especially appropriate to Blake’s great conception of the outline -in the eternal imagination. Nearly all phrases about the sea are -specially and spiritually false. People talk of the sea as vast and -vague, drifting and indefinite; as if the magic of it lay in having -no lines or boundaries. But the spell of the sea upon the eye and the -soul is exactly this: that it is the one straight line in nature. They -talk of the infinite sea. Artistically it would be far truer to talk -of an infinite haystalk; for the haystalk does slightly fade into a -kind of fringe against the sky. But the horizon line is not only hard -but _tight_, like a fiddle-string. I have always a nervous fear that -the sea-line will snap suddenly. And it is exactly this mathematical -decision in the sea that makes it so romantic a background for fighting -and human figures. England was called in Catholic days the garden of -Mary. The garden is all the more beautiful because it is enclosed in -four hard angular walls of sapphire or emerald. Any mere tuft or twig -can curve with a curve that is incalculable. Any scrap of moss can -contain in itself an irregularity that is infinite. The sea is the one -thing that is really exciting because the sea is the one thing that is -flat. - -[Illustration: THE JUDGMENT DAY (1806)] - -Whether, however, these conclusions can be accepted by the reader as -true, they can at least be accepted as typifying the kind of thing -which William Blake believed to be true. He would have felt the sea not -as a waste but as a wall. Nature had no outline, but imagination had. -And it was imagination that was trustworthy. - -This definition explains other things. Blake was enthusiastically in -favour of the French Revolution; yet he enthusiastically hated that -school of sceptics which, in the opinion of many, made the Revolution -possible. He did not mind Marat; but he detested Voltaire. The reason -is obvious in the light of his views on Nature and Imagination. The -Republican Idealists he liked because they were Idealists, because -their abstract doctrines about justice and human equality were abstract -doctrines. But the school of Voltaire was naturalistic; it loved to -remind man of his earthly origin and even of his earthly degradation. -The war, which Blake loved, was a war of the invisible against the -visible. Valmy and Arcola were part of such a war; it was a war between -the visible kings and the invisible Republic. But Voltaire’s war was -exactly the opposite; it was a discrediting of the invisible Church by -the indecent exhibition of the real Church, with its fat friars or its -foolish old women. Blake had no sympathy with this mere flinging of -facts at a great conception. In a really powerful and exact metaphor he -describes the powerlessness of this earthly and fragmentary sceptical -attack. - - Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau, - Mock on, mock on, ’tis all in vain, - You throw the sand against the wind - And the wind blows it back again. - -An excellent image for a mere attack by masses of detail. - -There were some of Blake’s intellectual conceptions which I have not -professed either to admire or to defend. Some of his views were really -what the old mediæval world called heresies and what the modern world -(with an equally healthy instinct but with less scientific clarity) -calls fads. In either case the definition of the fad or heresy is not -so very difficult. A fad or heresy is the exaltation of something -which, even if true, is secondary or temporary in its nature against -those things which are essential and eternal, those things which always -prove themselves true in the long run. In short, it is the setting up -of the mood against the mind. For instance: it is a mood, a beautiful -and lawful mood, to wonder how oysters really feel. But it is a fad, -an ugly and unlawful fad, to starve human beings because you will -not let them eat oysters. It is a beautiful mood to feel impelled to -assassinate Mr Carnegie; but it is a fad to maintain seriously that -any private person has a right to do it. We all have emotional moments -in which we should like to be indecent in a drawing-room; but it is -faddist to turn all drawing-rooms into places in which one is indecent. -We all have at times an almost holy temptation suddenly to scream out -very loud; but it is heretical and pedantic really to go on screaming -for the remainder of your natural life. If you throw one bomb you are -only a murderer; but if you keep on persistently throwing bombs you are -in awful danger of at last becoming a prig. It has been this trouble -that has partly poisoned the people from which William Blake inherited, -if not his blood, at least his civilization. The real trouble with -Puritanism was not that it was a senseless prejudice nor yet altogether -(as would seem superficially obvious) that it was a mere form of -devil-worship. It was none of these things in its first and freshest -motive. - -[Illustration: THE TOMB (1806)] - -Puritanism was an honourable mood; it was a noble fad. In other words, -it was a highly creditable mistake. We have all felt the frame of mind -in which one wishes to smash golden croziers and mitres merely because -they are golden. We all know how natural it is at certain moments -to feel a profound thirst to kick clergymen simply because they are -clergymen. But if we seriously ask ourselves whether in the long run -humanity is not happier with gold in its religion rather than mere -drab, then we come to the conclusion that the gold on cross or cope -does give more pleasure to most men than it gives pain, for a moment, -to us. If we really ask ourselves if religions do not work better with -a definite priesthood to do the drudgery of religion, we come to the -conclusion that they do work better. Anti-clericalism is a generous and -ideal mood; clericalism is a permanent and practical necessity. To put -the matter in an easier and more everyday metaphor, it is natural for -any poor Londoner to feel at times an abstract aspiration to beat the -Lord Mayor of London. But it does not follow that it would really have -been a kindness to poor Londoners to abolish the Lord Mayor’s Show. - -Now it is in this sense that we may truly say that Blake (upon one side -of his mind) was something worse than a maniac--he was a faddist. He -did permit aspirations or prejudices which are accidental or one-sided -to capture and control him at the expense of things really more human -and enduring: things which he shared with all the children of men. I -do not allude to his supernaturalism; for on that he is in no sense -alone, nor even specially eccentric. I do not refer to his love of the -gorgeous, the terrible or even the secretive of temples, initiations, -and hieroglyphic religion. For that sort of mystery is really quite -popular and even democratic. That sort of secrecy is a very open secret. - -It is usual to hear a man say in modern England that he has too much -common sense to believe in ghosts. But common sense is in favour of -a belief in ghosts, the common sense of mankind. It is usual to hear -a man say that he likes common sense and does not like the mummeries -and flummeries of church ritual. But common sense is in favour of -mummery and ritualism, the common sense of mankind. The man who -attempts to do without symbols is a prophet so austere and isolated -as to be dangerously near to a madman. The man who does not believe -in ghosts is a solitary fanatic and lonely dreamer among the sons of -men. Therefore I do not in any sense count even his craziest visions -or wildest symbols among the real fads or eccentricities of Blake. But -he had mental attitudes which were really fads and eccentricities, in -this essential sense, that they were not exaggerations of a general -human feeling but definite denials of it. He did not lead humanity, -but attacked or even obstructed it. Many instances might be given -of the kind of thing I mean; there was something of it in Blake’s -persistent and even pedantic insistence that war as war is evil. There -was something of Tolstoy in Blake; and that means something that is -inhuman as well as something that is heroic. But his allusions to this -were occasional and perhaps even accidental, and better cases could -certainly be found. The essential of all the cases is, however, that -when he went wrong it was as an intellectual and not as a poet. - -Take, for example, his notion of going naked. Here I think Blake is -merely a sort of hard theorist. Here, in spite of his imagination -and his laughter, there was even a touch of the prig about him. He -was obscene on principle. So to a great extent was Walt Whitman. A -dictionary is supposed to contain all words, so it has to contain -coarse words. “Leaves of Grass” was planned to praise all things, so -it had to praise gross things. There was something of this pedantic -perfection in Blake’s escapades. As the hygienist insists on wearing -Jäger clothes, he insisted on wearing no clothes. As the æsthete must -wear sandals, he must wear nothing. He is not really lawless at all; he -is bowing to the law of his own outlawed logic. - -There is nothing at all poetical in this revolt. William Blake was a -great and real poet; but in this point he was simply unpoetical. Walt -Whitman was a great and real poet; but on this point he was prosaic and -priggish. Two extraordinary men are not poets because they tear away -the veil from sex. On the contrary it is because all men are poets -that they all hang a veil over sex. The ploughman does not plough by -night, because he does not feel specially romantic about ploughing. He -does love by night, because he does feel specially romantic about sex. -In this matter Blake was not only unpoetical, but far less poetical -than the mass of ordinary men. Decorum is not an over-civilised -convention. Decorum is not tame, decorum is wild, as wild as the wind -at night. - - “Mysterious as the moons that rise - At midnight in the pines of Var.” - -[Illustration: THE SELFHOOD OF DECEIT (1807)] - -Modesty is too fierce and elemental a thing for the modern pedants to -understand; I had almost said too savage a thing. It has in it the joy -of escape and the ancient shyness of freedom. In this matter Blake and -Whitman are merely among the modern pedants. In not admiring sexual -reticence these two great poets simply did not understand one of the -greatest poems of humanity. - -I have given as an instance his disregard of the idea of mystery and -modesty as involved in dress; it was an unpoetical thought that there -should be no curtains of gold or scarlet round the shrine of the Holy -Spirit. But there is stronger instances in his theology and philosophy. -Thus he imbibed the idea common among early Gnostics and not unknown to -Christian Science speculators of our day, that it was a confession of -weakness in Christ to be crucified at all. If he had really attained -divine life (so ran the argument) he ought to have attained immortal -life; he ought to have lived for ever upon the earth. With an excess -of what can only be called impudence, he even turned Gethsemane into a -sort of moral breakdown; the sudden weakness which accepted death. The -general claim that vices are poetical is largely unfounded; and this -is an excellent example of how unpoetical is the vice of profanity. -Blasphemy is not wild; blasphemy is in its nature prosaic. It consists -in regarding in a commonplace manner something which other and happier -people regard in a rapturous and imaginative manner. This is well -exemplified in poor Blake and his Gnostic heresy about Jesus. In -holding that Christ was weakened by being crucified he is certainly a -pedant, and certainly not a poet. If there is one point on which the -spirit of the poets and the poetic soul in all peoples is on the side -of Christianity, it is exactly this one point on which Blake is against -Christianity--“was crucified, dead and buried.” The spectacle of a God -dying is much more grandiose than the spectacle of a man living for -ever. The former suggests that awful changes have really entered the -alchemy of the universe; the latter is only vaguely reminiscent of -hygienic octogenarians and Eno’s Fruit Salts. Moreover, to the poet -as to the child, death must be dreadful even if it is desirable. To -talk (as some modern theosophists do) about death being nothing, the -mere walking into another room, to talk like this is not only prosaic -and profoundly un-Christian; it is decidedly vulgar. It is against the -whole trend of the secret emotions of humanity. It is indecent, like -persuading a decent peasant to go without clothes. There is more of -the song and music of mankind in a clerk putting on his Sunday clothes -than in a fanatic running naked down Cheapside. And there is more real -mysticism in nailing down a coffin lid than in pretending, in mere -rhetoric, to throw open the doors of death. - -I have given two cases of the presence in Blake of these anti-human -creeds which I call fads--the case of clothes and the case of the -crucifixion. I could give a much larger number of them, but I think -their nature is here sufficiently indicated. They are all cases in -which Blake ceased to be a poet, through becoming entirely, instead -of only partially, separated from the people. And this, I think, is -certainly connected with that quality in him to which I referred in -analysing the eighteenth century; I mean the element of oligarchy and -fastidiousness in the mystics and masonries of that epoch. They were -all founded in an atmosphere of degrees and initiations. The chief -difference between Christianity and the thousand transcendental schools -of to-day is substantially the same as the difference nearly two -thousand years ago between Christianity and the thousand sacred rites -and secret societies of the Pagan Empire. The deepest difference is -this: that all the heathen mysteries are so far aristocratic, that they -are understood by some, and not understood by others. The Christian -mysteries are so far democratic that nobody understands them at all. - -[Illustration: THE SHEPHERDS (1821)] - -When we have fairly stated this doubtful and even false element in -Blake’s philosophy, we can go on with greater ease and thoroughness -to state where the solid and genuine value of that philosophy lay. It -consisted in its placid and positive defiance of materialism, a work -upon which all the mystics, Pagan and Christian, have been employed -from the beginning. It is not unnatural that they should have fallen -into many errors, employed dangerous fallacies, and even ruined the -earth for the sake of the cloudland. But the war in which they were -engaged has been none the less the noblest and most important effort -of human history, and in their whole army there was no greater warrior -than Blake. - -One of the strange and rooted contradictions of the eighteenth -century is a combination between profound revolution and superficial -conventionality. It might almost be said that the men of that time had -altered morals long before they thought of altering manners. The French -Revolution was especially French in this respect, that it was above -all things a respectable revolution. Violence was excused; madness -was excused; but eccentricity was inexcusable. These men had taken a -king’s head off his shoulders long before they had thought of taking -the powder off their own heads. Danton could understand the Massacres -of September, but he could not understand the worship of the Goddess -of Reason or all the antics of the German madman Clootz. Robespierre -grew tired of the Terror, but he never grew tired of shaving every -morning. It is impossible to avoid the impression that this is rather -a characteristic of the revolutions which really make a difference and -defy the world. The same is true of that fallacious but most powerful -and genuine English monument which was covered by the words Darwin and -Evolution. If there was one striking thing about the fine old English -agnostics, it was that they were entirely indifferent to alterations -in the externals of pose or fashion, that they seem to have supposed -that the huge intellectual overturn of agnosticism would leave the -obvious respectability of life exactly as it was. They thought that -one might entirely alter a man’s head without in the least altering -his hat. They thought that one might shatter the twin wings of an -archangel without throwing the least doubt upon the twin whiskers of -a mid-Victorian professor. And though there was undoubtedly a certain -solemn humour about such a position, yet, on the whole, I think the -mid-Victorian agnostics were employing the right kind of revolution. -It is broadly a characteristic of all valuable new-fashioned opinions -that they are brought in by old-fashioned men. For the sincerity of -such men is proved by both facts--the fact that they do care about -their new truth and the fact that they do not care about their old -clothes. Herbert Spencer’s philosophy is all the more serious because -his appearance (to judge by his photographs) was quite startlingly -absurd. And while the Tory caricatures were deriding Gladstone because -he introduced very new-fangled legislation, they were also deriding him -because he wore very antiquated collars. - -But though this strange combination of convention in small things with -revolt in big ones is not uncommon in hearty and human reformers, -there is a quite special emphasis on this combination in the case of -the eighteenth century. The very men who did deeds which were more -dreadful and daring than we can dream to achieve, were the very men -who spoke and wrote with a mincing propriety and almost effeminate -fastidious distinction such as we should scarcely condescend to employ. -The eighteenth century man called the eighteenth century woman “an -elegant female”; but he was quite capable of saving her from a mad -bull. He described his ideal republic as a place containing all the -refined sensibilities of virtue with all the voluptuous seductions of -pleasure. But he would be hacked with an axe and blown out of a gun to -get it. He could pursue new notions with a certain solid and virile -constancy, as if they were old ones. And the explanation is partly -this: that however revolutionary, they were old ones--in this sense -at least, that they involved the pursuit of some primary human hope -to its original home. They powdered their hair because they really -thought that a civilized man should be civilized--or, if you will, -artificial. They spoke of “an elegant female” because they really -thought, with their whole souls, that a female ought to be elegant. The -old rebels preserved the old fashions--and among others the old fashion -of rebelling. The new rebels, the revolutionists of our time, are -intent upon introducing new fashions in boots, beds, food or furniture; -so they have no time to rebel. But if we have once grasped this -eighteenth century element of the insistence upon the elegant female -because she is elegant, we have got hold of a fundamental fact in the -relation of that century to Blake. - -[Illustration: THE MORNING STARS (1821)] - -It is instinctive to describe Blake as a fantastic artist; and yet -there is a very real sense in which Blake is conventional. If any -reader thinks the phrase paradoxical, he can easily discover that it -is true; he can discover it simply by comparing Blake even in his most -wild and arbitrary work with any merely modern artist who has the -name of being wild; with Aubrey Beardsley or even with Rossetti. All -Blake’s heroes are conventional heroes made unconventionally heroic. -All Blake’s heroines are elegant females without their clothes. But -in both cases they exaggerate and insist upon the traditional ideal -of the sexes--the broad shoulders of the god and the broad hips of -the goddess. Blake detested the sensuality of Rubens. But if he had -been obliged to choose between the women of Rubens and the women of -Rossetti, he would have flung himself on the neck of Rubens. For we -have a false conception of what constitutes exaggeration. The end of -the eighteenth century (being a dogmatic period) believed in certain -things and exaggerated them. The end of the nineteenth century simply -did not know what things to exaggerate; so it fell back upon merely -underrating them. Blake tried to make Wallace look even bolder -and fiercer than Wallace can possibly have looked. That was his -exaggeration of Wallace. But Burne-Jones’ exaggeration of Perseus is -not an exaggeration at all. It is an under-statement; for the whole -fascination of Burne-Jones’ Perseus is that he looks frightened. -Blake’s figure of a woman is aggressively and monstrously womanly. That -is its fascination, if it has any. But the fascination of a Beardsley -woman (if she has any) is exactly that she is not quite a woman. So -much of what we have meant by exaggeration is really diminution; so -much of what we have meant by fancy is simply falling short of fact. -The Burne-Jones’ man is interesting because he is not quite brave -enough to be a man. The Beardsley woman is interesting because she -is not quite pretty enough to be a woman. But Blake’s men are brave -beyond all decency: and Blake’s women are so swaggeringly bent on -being beautiful that they become quite ugly in the process. If anyone -wishes to know exactly what I mean, I recommend him to look at one of -those extraordinary designs of nymphs in which a woman (or, as Blake -loved to call it, the Female Form) is made to perform an impossible -feat of acrobatics. It is impossible, but it is quite female; perhaps -the words are not wholly inconsistent. A living serpent might perform -such a piece of athletics; but even then only a female living serpent. -But nobody would ask a Burne-Jones or Beardsley female to perform any -athletics at all. - -Blake in pictorial art was not a mere master of the moonstruck or the -grotesque. On the contrary, he was, as artists go, exceptionally a -champion of the smooth and sensible. In so far as being “modern” means -being against the great conventions of mankind, indifferent to the -difference of the sexes, or inclined to despise doctrinal outline, then -there was never any man who was so little of a modern as Blake. He -may have been mad; but there are varieties even in madness. There are -madmen, like Blake, who go mad on health, and there are madmen who go -mad on sickness. - -The distinction is a solid one. You may think the queerly and partially -clothed women of Aubrey Beardsley ugly. You may think the naked -women of William Blake ugly. But you must perceive this peculiar and -extraordinary effect about the women of William Blake, that they are -women. They are exaggerated in the direction of the female form; they -swing upon big hips; they let out and loosen long and luxuriant hair. -Now the queer females of Aubrey Beardsley are queerest of all in this, -that they are not even female. They are narrow where women have a curve -and cropped where women have a head of hair. Blake’s women are often -anatomically impossible. But they are so far women that they could -not possibly be anything else. - -[Illustration: THE WHIRLWIND (1825)] - -This comparison between Blake’s art and such art as Aubrey Beardsley’s -is not an invidious impertinence, it is really an important -distinction. Blake’s work may be fantastic; but it is a fantasia on -an old and recognisable air. It exaggerates characteristics. Blake’s -women are too womanish, his young men are too athletic, his old men -are too preposterously old. But Aubrey Beardsley does not really -exaggerate; he understates. His young men have less than the energy of -youth. His women fascinate by the weakness of sex rather than by its -strength. In short, if one is really to exaggerate the truth, one must -have some truth to exaggerate. The decadent mystic produces an effect -not by exaggerating but by distorting. True exaggeration is a thing -both subtle and austere. Caricature is a serious thing; it is almost -blasphemously serious. Caricature really means making a pig more like -a pig than even God has made him. But anyone can make him not like a -pig at all; anyone can create a weird impression by giving him the -beard of a goat. In Aubrey Beardsley the artistic thrill (and there is -an artistic thrill) consists in the fact that the women are not quite -women nor the men quite men. Blake had absolutely no trace of this -morbidity of deficiency. He never asks us to consider a tree magical -because it is a stunted tree; or a man a magician merely because he -has one eye. His form of fantasy would rather be to give a tree more -branches than it could carry and to give a man bigger eyes than he -could keep in his head. There is really a great deal of difference -between the fantastic and the exaggerative. One may be fantastic by -merely leaving something out. One might call it a fantasy if the -official portrait of Wellington represented him without a nose. But one -could hardly call it an exaggeration. - -There is an everlasting battle in which Blake is on the side of the -angels, and what is much more difficult and dangerous, on the side of -all the sensible men. The question is so enormous and so important, -that it is difficult to state even by reason of its reality. For in -this world of ours we do not so much go on and discover small things; -rather we go on and discover big things. It is the details that we see -first; it is the design that we only see very slowly; and some men -die never having seen it at all. We all wake up on a battle-field. -We see certain squadrons in certain uniforms gallop past; we take an -arbitrary fancy to this or that colour, to this or that plume. But -it often takes us a long time to realise what the fight is about or -even who is fighting whom. One may say, to keep up the metaphor, that -many a man has joined the French army from love of the Horse Guards -Blue; many an old-fashioned eighteenth century sailor has gone over -to the Chinese merely because they wore pigtails. It is so easy to -turn against what is really yourself for the sake of some accidental -resemblance to yourself. You may envy the curled hair of Hercules; but -do not envy curly hair until you wish that you were a nigger. You may -regret that you have a short nose; but do not dream of its growing -longer and longer till it is like the trunk of an elephant. Wait until -you know what the battle is broadly about before you rush roaring after -any advancing regiment. For a battle is a complicated thing; each army -contains coats of different colour; each section of each army advances -at a different angle. You may fancy that the Greens are charging the -Blues exactly at the moment when both are combining to effect a fine -military manœuvre. You may conceive that two similar-looking columns -are supporting each other at the very instant when they are about to -blaze at each other with cannon, rifle, and revolver. So in the modern -intellectual world we can see flags of many colours, deeds of manifold -interest; the one thing we cannot see is the map. We cannot see the -simplified statement which tells us what is the origin of all the -trouble. How shall we manage to state in an obvious and alphabetical -manner the ultimate query, the primordial pivot on which the whole -modern problem turns? It cannot be done in long rationalistic words; -they convey by their very sound the suggestion of something subtle. One -must try to think of something in the way of a plain street metaphor or -an obvious analogy. For the thing is not too hard for human speech; it -is actually too obvious for human speech. - -The fundamental fight in which, despite all this heat and headlong -misunderstanding, William Blake is on the right side, is one which -would require a book about the battle and not about William Blake. -By an accident at once convenient and deceptive, it can largely be -described as geographical as well as philosophical. It is crudely true -that there are two types of mysticism, that of Christendom and that -of Orientalism. Now this scheme of east and west is inadequate; but -it does happen to fit in with the working facts. For the odd thing is -this, not only are most of the merely modern movements of idealism -Oriental, but their Orientalism is all that they have in common. They -all come together, and yet their only apparent point of union is that -they all come from the East. Thus a modern vegetarian is generally -also a teetotaller, yet there is certainly no obvious intellectual -connection between consuming vegetables and not consuming fermented -vegetables. A drunkard, when lifted laboriously out of the gutter, -might well be heard huskily to plead that he had fallen there through -excessive devotion to a vegetable diet. On the other hand, a man -might well be a practised and polished cannibal and still be a strict -teetotaller. A subtle parallelism might doubtless be found; but the -only quite obvious parallelism is that vegetarianism is Buddhist and -teetotalism is Mahometan. In the same way, it is the cold truth that -there is no kind of logical connection between being an Agnostic and -being a Socialist. But it is the fact that the Chinese are as agnostic -as oxen; and it is the fact that the Japanese are as socialistic as -rats. These appalling ideas, that a man has no divine individual -destiny, that making a minute item in the tribe or hive, is his only -earthly destiny, these ideas do come all together out of the same -quarter; they do in practise blow upon us out of the East, as cold and -inhuman as the east wind. - -[Illustration: THE JUST UPRIGHT MAN (1825)] - -Nevertheless, I do not accept this dull definition by locality; I think -it is a spirit in Asia, and even a spirit that can be named. It is -approximately described as an insane simplicity. In all these cases we -find people attempting to perfect a thing solely by simplification; -by obliterating special features: this cosmos is full of wingless -birds, of hornless cattle, of hairless women, and colourless wine, all -fading into a formless background. There is a Christian simplicity, -of course, opposed to this pessimist simplicity. Both the western and -eastern mystic may be called children; but the eastern child treads -the sand-castle back into sand, and enjoys seeing the silver snow man -melt back into muddy water. This return to chaos and a comfortless -simplicity is the only intelligent meaning of the words reaction and -reactionary. In this sense much of modern science is reaction, and -most modern scientists are reactionaries. But where this reversion to -the void can be seen most clearly is in all the semi-oriental sects to -which I have referred. Teetotalism is a simplification; its objection -to beer is not really that beer makes a man like a beast. On the -contrary, its real objection is that beer most unmistakably separates -a man from a beast. Vegetarianism is a simplification; the herb-eating -Hindoo saint does not really dislike the carnivorous habit because -it destroys an animal. Rather, he dislikes it because it creates an -animal; renews the special aims and appetites of the separate animal, -man. Agnosticism, the ancient creed of Confucius, is a simplification; -it is a shutting out of all the shadowy splendours and terrors; -an Arcadian exclusiveness; _il faut cultiver son jardin_. Japanese -patriotism, the blind collectivism of the tribe, is a simplification; -it is an attempt to turn our turbulent and varied humanity into one -enormous animal, with twenty million legs, but only one head. There is -an utterly opposite kind of simplicity that springs from joy; but this -kind of simplicity certainly is rooted in despair. - -Now, for practical purposes, there is an antagonistic order of -mysticism; that which celebrates personality, positive variety, and -special emphasis: just as in broad fact the mystery of dissolution -is emphasized and typified in the East, so in practice the mystery -of concentration and identity is manifest in the historic churches -of Christendom. Even the foes of Christianity would readily agree -that Christianity is “personal” in the sense that a vulgar joke is -“personal”: that is corporeal, vivid, perhaps ugly. This being so, it -has been broadly true that any mystic who broke with the Christian -tradition tended to drift towards the eastern and pessimist tradition. -In the Albigensian and other heresies the East crawled in with its -serpentine combination of glitter and abasement, of pessimism and -pleasure. Every dreamer who strayed outside the Christian order strayed -towards the Hindu order, and every such dreamer found his dream turning -to a nightmare. If a man wandered far from Christ he was drawn into -the orbit of Buddha, the other great magnet of mankind--the negative -magnet. The thing is true down to the latest and the most lovable -visionaries of our own time; if they do not climb up into Christendom, -they slide down into Thibet. The greatest poet now writing in the -English language (and it is surely unnecessary to say that I mean Mr -Yeats) has written a whole play round the statement, “Where there is -nothing there is God.” In this he sharply and purposely cuts himself -off from the real Christian position, that where there is anything -there is God. - -[Illustration: FOR HIS EYES ARE UPON THE WAYS OF MAN (1825)] - -But though, by an almost political accident, Oriental pessimism -has been the practical alternative to the Christian type of -transcendentalism, there is, and always has been, a third thing that -was neither Christian in an orthodox sense nor Buddhistic in any -sense. Before Christianity existed there was a European school of -optimist mystics; among whom the great name is Plato. And ever since -there have been movements and appearances in Europe of this healthier -heathen mysticism, which did not shrink from the shapes of things or -the emphatic colours of existence. Something of the sort was in the -Nature worship of Renaissance philosophers; something of the sort may -even have been behind the strange mixture of ecstacy and animality -in the isolated episode of Luther. This solid and joyful occultism -appears at its best in Swedenborg; but perhaps at its boldest and most -brilliant in William Blake. - -The present writer will not, in so important a matter, pretend to the -absurd thing called impartiality; he is personally quite convinced -that if every human being lived a thousand years, every human being -would end up either in utter pessimistic scepticism or in the Catholic -creed. William Blake, in his rationalist and highly Protestant age, -was frequently reproached for his tenderness towards Catholicism; but -it would have surprised him very much to be told that he would join -it. But he would have joined it--if he had lived a thousand years, or -even perhaps a hundred. He was on the side of historic Christianity -on the fundamental question on which it confronts the East; the idea -that personality is the glory of the universe and not its shame; that -creation is higher than evolution, because it is more personal; that -pardon is higher than Nemesis, because it is more personal; that the -forgiveness of sins is essential to the communion of saints; and the -resurrection of the body to the life everlasting. It was a mark of the -old eastern initiations, it is still a mark of the grades and planes -of our theosophical thinkers, that as a man climbs higher and higher, -God becomes to him more and more formless, ethereal, and even thin. And -in many of these temples, both ancient and modern, the final reward of -serving the god through vigils and purifications, is that one is at -last worthy to be told that the god doesn’t exist. - -Against all this emasculate mysticism Blake like a Titan rears his -colossal figure and his earthquake voice. Through all the cloud and -chaos of his stubborn symbolism and his perverse theories, through -the tempest of exaggeration and the full midnight of madness, he -reiterates with passionate precision that only that which is lovable -can be adorable, that deity is either a person or a puff of wind, that -the more we know of higher things the more palpable and incarnate we -shall find them; that the form filling the heavens is the likeness -of the appearance of a man. Much of what Blake thus wildly thundered -has been put quietly and quaintly by Coventry Patmore, especially in -that delicate and daring passage in which he speaks of the bonds, the -simpleness and even the narrowness of God. The wise man will follow a -star, low and large and fierce in the heavens; but the nearer he comes -to it the smaller and smaller it will grow, till he finds it the humble -lantern over some little inn or stable. Not till we know the high -things shall we know how lowly they are. Meanwhile, the modern superior -transcendentalist will find the facts of eternity incredible because -they are so solid; he will not recognise heaven because it is so like -the earth. - - - - -THE POPULAR LIBRARY OF ART - - _Planned expressly for the general public. The Publishers do not - hesitate in putting forward volumes on subjects which, even if handled - most convincingly before, are worth repeated handling from new points - of view, and they trust each volume will prove a fresh and stimulating - appreciation of the subject it treats._ - - - Each Volume about 200 pp. - Average Number of Illustrations, 45. - - - =ALBRECHT DÜRER.= By LINA ECKENSTEIN. - =ROSSETTI.= By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - =REMBRANDT.= By AUGUSTE BRÉAL. - =FREDERICK WALKER.= By CLEMENTINA BLACK. - =MILLET.= By ROMAIN ROLLAND. - =LEONARDO DA VINCI.= By DR GEORG GRONAU. - =GAINSBOROUGH.= By ARTHUR B. CHAMBERLAIN. - =THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS.= By CAMILLE MAUCLAIR. - =BOTTICELLI.= By JULIA CARTWRIGHT (Mrs ADY). - =G. F. WATTS.= By G. K. CHESTERTON. - =VELAZQUEZ.= By AUGUSTE BRÉAL. - =RAPHAEL.= By JULIA CARTWRIGHT (Mrs ADY). - =HOLBEIN.= By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - =THE ENGLISH WATER-COLOUR PAINTERS.= By A. J. FINBERG. - =WATTEAU.= By CAMILLE MAUCLAIR. - =PERUGINO.= By EDWARD HUTTON. - =THE PRE-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD.= By FORD MADOX HUEFFER. - =CRUIKSHANK.= By W. H. CHESSON. - =WHISTLER.= By BERNHARD SICKERT. - =BLAKE.= By G. K. CHESTERTON. - =HOGARTH.= By EDWARD GARNETT. - -“A charming series. The pictures serve admirably the best purpose of -book-illustration, and help the reader the better to understand the -letterpress. Instructive and attractive. They deserve to be widely -popular.” - - * * * * * - -“Of all the little Libraries of Art brought out at popular prices, this -promises to be the best. The illustrations are extremely well chosen. -The printing throughout is exceptional, and the binding is simple and -appropriate.” - - * * * * * - -“Conducted on other lines than those of the many series of small -books on art which the times bring forward so plentifully. In each -case a critical essay which contains real criticism. Interesting and -stimulating.” - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - - -In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores, and text -in =bold= is indicated by equals signs. - -The following corrections were made to the text by the transcriber: - -Page 30, “Mary Woolstonecroft” corrected to “Mary Wollstonecraft”. - -Page 46, “Erywhon” corrected to “Erewhon”. - -Page 60, “Leonardo de Vinci” corrected to “Leonardo da Vinci”. - -Page 70, “rheindeer” corrected to “reindeer”. - -Page 88, “four of five different poems” corrected to “four or five -different poems”. - -Page 91, “Oh, Mr Cromek, how do you do?” corrected to “Oh, Mr. Cromek, -how do you do?” - -Page 161, “If pure lines existed only on the human mind” corrected to -“If pure lines existed only in the human mind”. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM BLAKE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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K. Chesterton</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: William Blake</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: G. K. Chesterton</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 16, 2022 [eBook #67639]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Thomas Frost, 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.)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM BLAKE ***</div> - - - - - -<p class="center p150"><b>The Popular Library of Art</b></p> - - -<p>ALBRECHT DÜRER (37 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Lina Eckenstein</span>.</p> - -<p>ROSSETTI (53 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>.</p> - -<p>REMBRANDT (61 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Auguste Bréal</span>.</p> - -<p>FRED. WALKER (32 Illustrations and Photogravure).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Clementina Black</span>.</p> - -<p>MILLET (32 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Romain Rolland</span>.</p> - -<p>LEONARDO DA VINCI (44 Illustrations).<br/> - By Dr <span class="smcap">Georg Gronau</span>.</p> - -<p>GAINSBOROUGH (55 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Arthur B. Chamberlain</span>.</p> - -<p>THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS (50 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Camille Mauclair</span>.</p> - -<p>BOTTICELLI (37 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Julia Cartwright</span> (Mrs <span class="smcap">Ady</span>).</p> - -<p>VELAZQUEZ (51 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Auguste Bréal</span>.</p> - -<p>WATTS (33 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">G. K. 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Chesson</span>.</p> - -<p>WHISTLER (26 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Bernhard Sickert</span>.</p> - -<p>HOGARTH (48 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>.</p> - -<p>WILLIAM BLAKE (33 Illustrations).<br/> - By <span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>.</p> - -<hr class="full chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_lamb" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_lamb.jpg" alt="" title="The Lamb" /> - <div class="caption"><p class="center">FROM “SONGS OF INNOCENCE”</p> - -<p class="center">1789</p></div> -</div> - -<hr class="full chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chap"> -<h1 style="color:#ff9766">WILLIAM BLAKE</h1> -</div> - -<p class="center p6 p110">BY</p> - -<p class="center p130"><b>G. K. CHESTERTON</b></p> - -<p class="center">AUTHOR OF “ROBERT BROWNING,” ETC.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp5" id="title" style="max-width: 1.5em;"> -<p class="center p6"> -<img class="w100" src="images/title.jpg" alt="" /> -</p> -</div> - - -<p class="center p6 p130"><b>LONDON</b>: <span style="color:#ff9766">DUCKWORTH & CO.</span><br/> -<span style="color:#ff9766">NEW YORK</span> <b>E. P. DUTTON & CO.</b></p> - - -<hr class="full chap x-ebookmaker-drop"/> - -<p class="center">PRINTED BY<br/> -TURNBULL AND SPEARS,<br/> -EDINBURGH -</p> - - -<hr class="full chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - - -<table class="autotable" summary=""> -<tr> -<td></td> -<td class="tdr">PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Lamb</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_lamb"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Lilly</span> (1789)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_lilly">13</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Divine Image</span> (1789)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_divine_image">21</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Little Black Boy</span> (1789)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_little_black_boy">27</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Swan</span> (1789)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_swan">35</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Space</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#space">43</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Oothoon</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#oothoon">49</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Spells of Law</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#spells_of_law">55</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Frontispiece to “America”</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#america">63</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Preludium</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#preludium">69</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Prophecy</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#a_prophecy">77</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Female Dream</span> (1793)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#a_female_dream">84</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Tyger</span> (1794)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_tyger">91</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Holy Thursday</span> (1794)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#holy_thursday">97</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ariel</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#ariel">105</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Preludium to Urizen</span> (1794)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#preludium_to_urizen">112</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Har and Heva</span> (1795)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#har_and_heva">117</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Philander’s Dust</span> (1796)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#philanders_dust">121</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">A Group</span> (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#a_group">129</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Waters of Life</span> (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_waters_of_life">136</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Ploughing the Earth</span> (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#ploughing_the_earth">141</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Eagle</span> (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_eagle">147</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl">“<span class="smcap">Albion! Arouse Thyself!</span>” (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#albion_arouse_thyself">153</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Crucifixion</span> (1804)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_crucifixion">159</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Judgment Day</span> (1806)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_judgement_day">165</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Tomb</span> (1806)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_tomb">171</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Selfhood of Deceit</span> (1807)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_selfhood_of_deceit">177</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Shepherds</span> (1821)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_shepherds">183</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Morning Stars</span> (1821)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_morning_stars">189</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Whirlwind</span> (1825)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_whirlwind">195</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Just Upright Man</span> (1825)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#the_just_upright_man">202</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">For His Eyes are upon the Ways of Man</span> (1825)</td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#for_his_eyes">207</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full chap x-ebookmaker-drop"/> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> - - -<p><span class="smcap">William Blake</span> would have been the first to -understand that the biography of anybody -ought really to begin with the words, “In the -beginning God created heaven and earth.” -If we were telling the story of Mr Jones of -Kentish Town, we should need all the centuries -to explain it. We cannot comprehend even -the name “Jones,” until we have realised that -its commonness is not the commonness of -vulgar but of divine things; for its very commonness -is an echo of the adoration of St -John the Divine. The adjective “Kentish” -is rather a mystery in that geographical connection; -but the word Kentish is not so mysterious -as the awful and impenetrable word -“town.” We shall have rent up the roots of -prehistoric mankind and seen the last revolutions -of modern society before we really know -the meaning of the word “town.” So every -word we use comes to us coloured from all its -adventures in history, every phase of which -has made at least a faint alteration. The<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span> -only right way of telling a story is to begin -at the beginning—at the beginning of the -world. Therefore all books have to be begun -in the wrong way, for the sake of brevity. If -Blake wrote the life of Blake it would not -begin with any business about his birth or -parentage.</p> - -<p>Blake was born in 1757, in Carnaby Market—but -Blake’s life of Blake would not have -begun like that. It would have begun with -a great deal about the giant Albion, about the -many disagreements between the spirit and -the spectre of that gentleman, about the -golden pillars that covered the earth at its -beginning and the lions that walked in their -golden innocence before God. It would have -been full of symbolic wild beasts and naked -women, of monstrous clouds and colossal -temples; and it would all have been highly -incomprehensible, but none of it would have -been irrelevant. All the biggest events of -Blake’s life would have happened before he -was born. But, on consideration, I think it -will be better to tell the tale of Blake’s life -first and go back to his century afterwards. -It is not, indeed, easy to resist temptation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span> -here, for there was much to be said about -Blake before he existed. But I will resist -the temptation and begin with the facts.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">William Blake</span> was born on the 28th of -November 1757 in Broad Street, Carnaby -Market. Like so many other great English -artists and poets, he was born in London. -Like so many other starry philosophers and -flaming mystics, he came out of a shop. His -father was James Blake, a fairly prosperous -hosier; and it is certainly remarkable to note -how many imaginative men in our island have -arisen in such an environment. Napoleon -said that we English were a nation of shopkeepers; -if he had pursued the problem a -little further he might have discovered why -we are a nation of poets. Our recent slackness -in poetry and in everything else is due -to the fact that we are no longer a nation of -shopkeepers, but merely a nation of shop-owners. -In any case there seems to be -no doubt that William Blake was brought -up in the ordinary atmosphere of the smaller -English bourgeoisie. His manners and morals<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -were trained in the old obvious way; nobody -ever thought of training his imagination, -which perhaps was all the better for the -neglect. There are few tales of his actual -infancy. Once he lingered too long in the -fields and came back to tell his mother that -he had seen the prophet Ezekiel sitting -under a tree. His mother smacked him. -Thus ended the first adventure of William -Blake in that wonderland of which he was -a citizen.</p> - -<p>His father, James Blake, was almost certainly -an Irishman; his mother was probably -English. Some have found in his Irish origin -an explanation of his imaginative energy; the -idea may be admitted, but under strong reservations. -It is probably true that Ireland, if -she were free from oppression, would produce -more pure mystics than England. And for -the same reason she would still produce fewer -poets. A poet may be vague, and a mystic -hates vagueness. A poet is a man who mixes -up heaven and earth unconsciously. A mystic -is a man who separates heaven and earth even -if he enjoys them both. Broadly the English -type is he who sees the elves entangled in the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -forests of Arcady, like Shakespeare and Keats: -the Irish type is he who sees the fairies quite -distinct from the forest, like Blake and Mr -W. B. Yeats. If Blake inherited anything -from his Irish blood it was his strong Irish -logic. The Irish are as logical as the English -are illogical. The Irish excel at the trades -for which mere logic is wanted, such as law -or military strategy. This element of elaborate -and severe reason there certainly was in Blake. -There was nothing in the least formless or -drifting about him. He had a most comprehensive -scheme of the universe, only that no -one could comprehend it.</p> - -<p>If Blake, then, inherited anything from -Ireland it was his logic. There was perhaps -in his lucid tracing of a tangled scheme of -mysticism something of that faculty which -enables Mr Tim Healy to understand the rules -of the House of Commons. There was perhaps -in the prompt pugnacity with which he kicked -the impudent dragoon out of his front garden -something of the success of the Irish soldier. -But all such speculations are futile. For we -do not know what James Blake really was, -whether an Irishman by accident or by true<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -tradition. We do not know what heredity is; -the most recent investigators incline to the -view that it is nothing at all. And we do -not know what Ireland is; and we shall never -know until Ireland is free, like any other -Christian nation, to create her own institutions.</p> - -<p>Let us pass to more positive and certain -things. William Blake grew up slight and -small, but with a big and very broad head, and -with shoulders more broad than were natural -to his stature. There exists a fine portrait of -him which gives the impression of a certain -squareness in the mere plan of his face and -figure. He has something in common, so to -speak, with the typically square men of the -eighteenth century; he seems a little like -Danton, without the height; like Napoleon, without -the mask of Roman beauty; or like Mirabeau, -without the dissipation and the disease. He -had abnormally big dark eyes; but to judge -by this plainly sincere portrait, the great eyes -were rather bright than dark. If he suddenly -entered the room (and he was likely to have -entered it suddenly) I think we should have -felt first a broad Bonaparte head and broad -Bonaparte shoulders, and then afterwards<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> -realised that the figure under them was frail -and slight.</p> - -<p>His spiritual structure was somewhat similar, -as it slowly built itself up. His character was -queer but quite solid. You might call him a -solid maniac or a solid liar; but you could not -possibly call him a wavering hysteric or a weak -dabbler in doubtful things. With his big owlish -head and small fantastic figure he must have -seemed more like an actual elf than any human -traveller in Elfland; he was a sober native of -that unnatural plain. There was nothing of -the obviously fervid and futile about Blake’s -supernaturalism. It was not his frenzy but his -coolness that was startling. From his first -meeting with Ezekiel under the tree he always -talked of such spirits in an everyday intonation. -There was plenty of pompous supernaturalism -in the eighteenth century; but Blake’s was -the only natural supernaturalism. Many reputable -persons reported miracles; he only -mentioned them. He spoke of having met -Isaiah or Queen Elizabeth, not so much even as -if the fact were indisputable, but rather as if -so simple a thing were not worth disputing. -Kings and prophets came from heaven or hell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -to sit to him, and he complained of them quite -casually, as if they were rather troublesome -professional models. He was angry because -King Edward I. would blunder in between him -and Sir William Wallace. There have been -other witnesses to the supernatural even more -convincing, but I think there was never any -other quite so calm. His private life, as he -laid its foundations in his youth, had the same -indescribable element; it was a sort of abrupt -innocence. Everything that he was destined -to do, especially in these early years, had a -placid and prosaic oddity. He went through -the ordinary fights and flirtations of boyhood; -and one day he happened to be talking about -the unreasonable ways of some girl to another -girl. The other girl (her name was Katherine -Boucher) listened with apparent patience until -Blake used some phrase or mentioned some -incident which (she said) she really thought -was pathetic or, popularly speaking, “hard on -him.” “Do you?” said William Blake with -great suddenness. “Then I love you.” After a -long pause the girl said in a leisurely manner, -“I love you too.” In this brief and extraordinary -manner was decided a marriage of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -which the unbroken tenderness was tried by -a long life of wild experiments and wilder -opinions, and which was never truly darkened -until the day when Blake, dying in an astonishing -ecstasy, named her only after God.</p> - -<p>To the same primary period of his life, boyish, -romantic, and untouched, belongs the publication -of his first and most famous books, “Songs -of Innocence and Experience.” These poems -are the most natural and juvenile things Blake -ever wrote. Yet they are startlingly old and -unnatural poems for so young and natural a -man. They have the quality already described—a -matured and massive supernaturalism. If -there is anything in the book extraordinary to -the reader it is clearly quite ordinary to the -writer. It is characteristic of him that he -could write quite perfect poetry, a lyric entirely -classic. No Elizabethan or Augustan could -have moved with a lighter precision than—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“O sunflower, weary of time,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That countest the steps of the sun.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>But it is also characteristic of him that he -could and would put into an otherwise good -poem lines like—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“And modest Dame Lurch, who is always at church,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Would not have bandy children, nor fasting nor birch”;</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>lines that have no sense at all and no connection -with the poem whatever. There is a -stronger and simpler case of contrast. There -is the quiet and beautiful stanza in which -Blake first described the emotions of the nurse, -the spiritual mother of many children.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“When the voices of children are heard in the vale,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And laughter is heard on the hill,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">My heart is at rest within my breast</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And everything else is still.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And here is the equally quiet verse which -William Blake afterwards wrote down, equally -calmly—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“When the laughter of children is heard on the hill,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And whisperings are in the dale,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The days of my youth rise fresh in my mind,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">My face turns green and pale.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>That last monstrous line is typical. He would -mention with as easy an emphasis that a -woman’s face turned green as that the fields -were green when she looked at them. That is -the quality of Blake which is most personal<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span> -and interesting in the fixed psychology of his -youth. He came out into the world a mystic -in this very practical sense, that he came out -to teach rather than to learn. Even as a boy -he was bursting with occult information. And -all through his life he had the deficiencies of -one who is always giving out and has no time -to take in. He was deaf with his own cataract -of speech. Hence it followed that he was -devoid of patience while he was by no means -devoid of charity: but impatience produced -every evil effect that could practically have -come from uncharitableness: impatience tripped -him up and sent him sprawling twenty times -in his life. The result was the unlucky -paradox, that he who was always preaching -perfect forgiveness seemed not to forgive even -imperfectly the feeblest slights. He himself -wrote in a strong epigram—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“To forgive enemies Hayley does pretend,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who never in his life forgave a friend.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_lilly" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_lilly.jpg" alt="" title="The Lilly" /> - <div class="caption"><p class="caption">THE LILLY (1789)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But the effect of the epigram is a little lost -through its considerable truth if applied to the -epigrammatist. The wretched Hayley had -himself been a friend to Blake—and Blake<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -could not forgive him. But this was not really -lack of love or pity. It was strictly lack of -patience, which in its turn was due to that -bursting and almost brutal mass of convictions -with which he plunged into the world like a -red-hot cannon ball, just as we have already -imagined him plunging into a room with his -big bullet head. His head was indeed a bullet; -it was an explosive bullet.</p> - -<p>Of his other early relations we know little. -The parents who are often mentioned in his -poems, both for praise and blame, are the -abstract and eternal father and mother and -have no individual touches. It might be -inferred, perhaps, that he had a special -emotional tie with his elder brother Robert, -for Robert constantly appeared to him in -visions and even explained to him a new -method of engraving. But even this inference -is doubtful, for Blake saw the oddest people -in his visions, people with whom neither he -nor any one else has anything particular to do; -and the method of engraving might just as -well have been revealed by Bubb Doddington -or Prester John or the oldest baker in Brighton. -That is one of the facts that makes one fancy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -that Blake’s visions were genuine. But whoever -taught him his own style of engraving, an -ordinary mortal engraver taught him the -ordinary mortal style, and he seems to have -learnt it very well. When apprenticed by his -father to a London engraving business he was -diligent and capable. All his life he was a -good workman, and his failures, which were -many, never arose from that common idleness -or looseness of life attributed to the artistic -temperament. He was of a bitter and intolerant -temper, but not otherwise unbusiness-like; and -he was prone to insult his patrons, but not, as -a rule, to fail them. But with this part of his -character we shall probably have to deal -afterwards. His technical skill was very -great. This and a certain original touch also -attracted to the young artist the attention and -interest of the sculptor Flaxman.</p> - -<p>The influence of this great man on Blake’s -life and work has been gravely underrated. -The mistake has arisen from causes too complex -to be considered, at any rate at this stage; but -they resolve themselves into a misunderstanding -of the nature of classicism and of the nature -of mysticism. But this can be said decisively:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span> -Blake remained a Flaxmanite to the day of his -death. Flaxman as a sculptor and draughtsman -stood, as everybody knows, for classicism -at its clearest and coldest. He would admit -no line into a modern picture that might not -have been on a Greek bas-relief. Even foreshortening -and perspective he avoided as if -there were something grotesque about them—as, -indeed, there is. Nothing can be funnier, -properly considered, than the fact that one’s -own father is a pigmy if he stands far enough -off. Perspective really is the comic element -in things. Flaxman vaguely felt this; -Flaxman shrank from the almost insolent foreshortenings -of Rubens or Veronese as he would -have shrank from the gigantic boots in the -foreground of an amateur photograph. For him -high art was flat art in painting or drawing, -everything could be done by pure line upon a -single plane. Flaxman is probably best known -to the existing public by his illustrations in line -to Pope’s “Homer,”—which have certainly -copied most exquisitely the austere limitations -of Greek vases and reliefs. Anger may be -uttered by the lifted arm or sorrow by the -sunken head, but the faces of all those gods<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -and heroes are, as you may think them, -beautiful or foolish, like the faces of the dead. -Above all, the line must never falter and come -to nothing; Flaxman would regard a line fading -away in such a picture as we should regard a -railway line fading away upon a map.</p> - -<p>This was the principle of Flaxman; and this -remained to the day of his death one of the -firmest principles of William Blake. I will not -say that Blake took it from the great sculptor, -for it formed an integral part of Blake’s individual -artistic philosophy; but he must have -been encouraged to find it in Flaxman and -strengthened in it by the influence of an older -and more famous man. No one can understand -Blake’s pictures, no one can understand -a hundred allusions in his epigrams, satires, -and art criticism who does not first of all -realise that William Blake was a fanatic on -the subject of the firm line. The thing he -loved most in art was that lucidity and decision -of outline which can be seen best in the -cartoons of Raphael, in the Elgin Marbles, and -in the simpler designs of Michael Angelo. -The thing he hated most in art was the -thing which we now call Impressionism—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -substitution of atmosphere for shape, the -sacrifice of form to tint, the cloudland of the -mere colourist. With that cyclopean impudence -which was the most stunning sign of his -sincerity, he treated the greatest names not -only as if they were despicable, but as if they -were actually despised. He reasons mildly with -the artistic authorities, saying—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“You must admit that Rubens was a fool,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And yet you make him master in your school,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And give more money for his slobberings</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Than you will give for Raphael’s finest things.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And then, with one of those sudden lunges -of sense which made him a swordsman after all, -he really gets home upon Rubens—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“I understood Christ was a carpenter</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And not a brewer’s drayman, my good sir.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>In another satire he retells the fable of the -dog, the bone, and the river, and permits (with -admirable humour) the dog to expatiate upon -the vast pictorial superiority of the bone’s -reflection in the river over the bone itself; the -shadow so delicate, suggestive, rich in tone, the -real bone so hard and academic in outline. He -was the sharpest satirist of the Impressionists<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> -who ever wrote, only he satirised the Impressionists -before they were born.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_divine_image" style="max-width: 63.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_divine_image.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p class="center">THE DIVINE IMAGE (1789)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>The ordinary history of Blake would obviously -be that he was a man who began as a good -engraver and became a great artist. The inner -truth of Blake could hardly be better put than -this: that he was a good artist whose idea of -greatness was to be a great engraver. For -him it was no mere technical accident that the -art of reproduction had to cut into wood or -bite into stone. He loved to think that even -in being a draughtsman he was also a sculptor. -When he put his lines on a decorative page -he would have much preferred to carve them -out of marble or cut them into rock. Like -every true romantic, he loved the irrevocable. -Like every true artist, he detested india-rubber. -Take, for the sake of example, all the designs -to the Book of Job. When he gets the thing -right he gets it suddenly and perfectly right, -as in the picture of all the sons of God shouting -for joy. We feel that the sons of God -might really shout for joy at the excellence -of their own portrait. When he gets it wrong -he gets it completely and incurably wrong, as -in the preposterous picture of Satan dancing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -among paving-stones. But both are equally -final and fixed. If one picture is incurably -bad, the other picture is incurably good. -Courage (which is, with kindness, the only -fundamental virtue in man), is present and -prodigious in both. No coward could have -drawn such pictures.</p> - -<p>The chief movement of Blake either in art or -literature was the first publication of the batch of -his own allegorical works. “The Gates of Paradise” -came first, and was followed by “Urizen” -and the “Book of Thel.” With these he introduced -his own mode of engraving and began -his own style of decorative illustration. That -style was steeped in the Blake and Flaxman -feeling for the hard line and the harsh and -heroic treatment. There were, of course, many -other personalities besides that of Flaxman -which were destined to influence the art -of William Blake. Among others, the personality -of William Blake influences it not -inconsiderably. But no influence ever disturbed -the love of the absolute academic line. If the -reader will look at any of the designs of Blake, -many of which are reproduced in this book, -he will see the main fact which I mention<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -here. Many of them are hideous, some of -them are outrageous, but none of them are -shapeless; none of them are what would now -be called “suggestive”; none of them (in a -word) are timid. The figure of man may be a -monster, but he is a solid monster. The figure -of God may be a mistake, but it is an unmistakable -mistake. About this same time Blake -began to illustrate books, decorating Blair’s -“Grave” and the Book of Job with his dark -but very definite designs. In these plates -it is quite plain that the artist, when he -errs, errs not by vagueness but by hardness of -treatment. The beauty of the angel upside -down who blows the trumpet in the face of -Blair’s skeleton is the beauty of a perfect -Greek athlete. And if the beauty is the -beauty of an athlete, so the ugliness is the -ugliness of an athlete—or perhaps of an acrobat. -The contortions and clumsy attitudes of some -of Blake’s figures do not arise from his ignorance -of the human anatomy. They arise from -a sort of wild knowledge of it. He is straining -muscles and cracking joints like a sportsman -racing for a cup.</p> - -<p>These book illustrations by Blake are among<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -the simplest and strongest designs of his pencil, -which at its best (to do him justice) tended to -the simple and the strong. Nothing (for instance) -could well be more comic or more tragic -than the fact that Blake should illustrate Blair’s -elephantine epic called “The Grave.” It was -as well that Blake and Blair should meet over -the grave. It was about all they had in -common. The poet was full of the most -crushing platitudes of eighteenth century -rationalism. The artist was full of a poetry -that would have seemed frightful to the poet, -a poetry inherited from the mystics of all ages -and handed on to the mystics of to-day. -Blake was the child of the Rosy Cross and the -Eleusinian Mysteries; he was the father of -the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and even -of the “Yellow Book.” But of all this the -excellent Mr Blair was innocent, and so, -indeed, in all probability was the excellent -Mr Blake. But the really interesting point -is this: that the illustrations were efficient -and satisfactory, from the Blair as well as the -Blake point of view. The cut, for instance, -with the figure of the old man bowing his -head to enter the black grotto of the grave<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -is a fine piece of drawing, apart from its -meaning, and is all the finer for its simplicity. -But wherever he errs it is always in being too -hard and harsh, not too faint or fanciful. -Blake was a greater man than Flaxman, though -a less perfectly poised man. He was harder -than his master, because he was madder. The -figure upside down blowing the trumpet is as -perfect as a Flaxman figure: only it is upside -down. Flaxman upside down is almost a -definition of Blake.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_little_black_boy" style="max-width: 62.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_little_black_boy.jpg" alt="The Little Black Boy" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE LITTLE BLACK BOY (1789)</p></div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Such</span> an elementary statement of Blake’s idea -of art is not out of place at this stage; for his -convictions had formed and hardened unusually -early, and his career is almost unintelligible -apart from his opinions. It is fairly eccentric -even with them. Flaxman had introduced -him to literary society, especially to the evening -parties of a Blue-stocking named Mrs -Matthews. Here his force of mind was -admitted; but he was not personally very -popular. Most of his biographers attribute -this to his “unbending deportment,” and a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span> -certain almost babyish candour which certainly -belonged to him. But I cannot help thinking -that the fact that he was in the habit of singing -his own poems to tunes invented by -himself may perhaps have had something to -do with it. His opinions on all subjects were -not only positive but aggressive. He was a -fierce republican and denouncer of kings. -But Mrs Matthews was probably accustomed -to fierce republicans who denounced kings. -She may have been less accustomed to a -gentleman who insisted on wearing a red cap -of liberty in ordinary society. It is due to -Blake to say that his politics showed nevertheless -that eccentric practicality which was -mixed up with his unworldliness; it was certainly -through his presence of mind that Tom -Paine did not perish on the scaffold.</p> - -<p>But Blake had none of the marks of the -poetical weakling, of the mere moon-calf of -mysticism. If he was a madman, one can -emphasise the word man as well as the word -mad. For instance, in spite of his sedentary -trade and his pacific theories, he had extraordinary -physical courage. Not that reasonable -minimum of physical courage which is guaranteed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span> -by certain conventional sports, but -intrinsic contempt of danger, a readiness to -put himself into unknown perils. He would -suddenly attack men much bigger and stronger -than himself, and that with such violence that -they were often defeated by their own amazement. -He attacked a huge drayman who was -harsh to some women and beat him in the most -excited manner. He leapt upon a Lifeguardsman -who came into his front garden, and ran -that astonished warrior into the road by the -elbows. The vivacity and violence of these -physical outbreaks must be remembered and -allowed for when we are judging some of his -mental outbreaks. The most serious blot -(indeed, the only serious blot) on the moral -character of Blake was his habit of letting his -rage get the better not only of decency but -of gratitude and truth. He would abuse his -benefactors as virulently as his enemies. He -left epigrams lying about in which he called -Flaxman a blockhead and Hayley (as far as the -words can be understood) a seducer and an -assassin. But the curious thing is that he -often did justice to the same people both -before and after such eruptions. The truth<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -is, I fancy, that such writings were like sudden -attitudes or bodily movements. We talk of a -word and a blow; with Blake a word had the -same momentary character as a blow. It was -not a judgment, but a gesture. He had little -or no feeling of the idea that “litera scripta -manet.” He did not see any particular reason -why he should not be fond of a man merely -because he had called the man a murderer a few -days before. And he was innocently surprised -if the man was not fond of him. In this he -was perhaps rather feminine than masculine.</p> - -<p>He had many friends and acquaintances of -distinction besides Flaxman. Among them was -the great Priestley, whose speculations were the -life of early Unitarianism and whose Jacobin -sympathies led to something not far from -martyrdom; other friends were the wild optimist -Godwin and his daughter Mary Wollstonecraft. -But although he gained many new acquaintances -he gained only one new helper. This -was a Mr Thomas Butts, who lived in Fitzroy -Square, and ought to have a statue there, for -he is an eternal model and monument for all -patrons of art. While in all other respects -apparently a sane and rational British merchant,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -he conceived an affection for Blake’s allegorical -designs. But he gave no commissions for -pictures; he simply gave Blake money for -pictures as fast as Blake chose to paint them. -The subject and size and medium were left -entirely to the artist. One day Blake might -leave at Fitzroy Square a little water-colour of -the “Soul of a Porcupine”; the next day a -gorgeous and intricate illumination in gold of -the obstetrics and birth of Cain; the next day -an enormous mural painting of Hector capturing -the arms of Patroclus; the following day a -simple pen and ink drawing of the prophet -Habbakuk taken from life. All these Mr -Thomas Butts of Fitzroy Square received with -solid benevolence and paid for in solid coin. -Many modern writers and painters may think of -such a patron somewhat dreamily. He had his -reward, though it was unique rather than particularly -practical. Blake regarded him with a -serene affection which was never ruffled by the -flying storms that were too frequent in his -friendships. No allusions can be found in his -poetry to the effect that Thomas Butts was a -Spectre from Satan’s Loins. No epigram was -discovered among Blake’s papers accusing Mr<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> -Butts of bereaving anybody’s life. If to have -kept one’s own temper with Blake was a large -achievement (and it was not a small one), it -was certainly a truly noble achievement to -have kept Blake’s temper for him. And this -Mr Butts and Mrs Blake can alone really claim -to have done. For Blake was to pass under -a patron who showed him how different is -kindness from sympathy.</p> - -<p>In the year 1800 he effected a change of -residence which was in many ways an epoch -in his life. He was a Londoner, though -doubtless a Londoner of the time when -London was small enough to feel itself on -every side to be on the edge of the country. -Still Blake had never in any true sense been -in the heart of the country. In his earliest -poems we read of seraphs stirring in the -trees; but we have somehow a feeling that -they were garden trees. We read of saints -and sages walking in the fields, and we -almost have the feeling that they were brickfields. -The perfect landscape is pastoral to -the point of conventionality; it has not in any -sense the actual smell of England. The sights -of the town are evidently as native (one might<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span> -say vital) with him as any of the sights of the -country. The black chimney-sweep is as -obvious as the white lamb. What is worse -still, the white lamb of England is no more -natural or native than the alien golden lion of -Africa. He was, in fact, a Cockney, like Keats; -and Cockneys as a class tend to have too -poetical and luxuriantly imaginative a view of -life. Blake was about as little affected by -environment as any man that ever lived in this -world. Still he did change his environment, -and it did change him.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp32" id="the_swan" style="max-width: 41.0625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_swan.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE SWAN (1789)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>There lived about this time near the little -village of Eartham, in Sussex, a simple, kind-hearted -but somewhat consequential squire of -the name of Hayley. He was a landlord and -an aristocrat; but he was not one of those whose -vanity can be wholly fulfilled by such functions. -He considered himself a patron of poetry; and -indeed he was one; but, alas! he had a yet -more alarming idea. He also considered himself -a poet. Whether any one agreed with that -opinion while he still ruled the estates and -hunted the country it is difficult now to -discover. It is sufficiently certain that nobody -agrees with it now. “The Triumphs of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -Temper,” the only poem by Hayley that any -modern person can remember, is probably -only remembered because it was used to round -off scornfully one of the ringing sentences in -Macaulay’s Essays. Nevertheless in his own -time Hayley was a powerful and important -man, quite unshaken as yet as a poet, quite -unshakeable as a landed proprietor. But like -almost all quite indefensible English oligarchs, -he had a sort of unreasonable good nature -which somehow balanced or protected his -obvious unfitness and ineptitude. His heart -was in the right place, though he was in the -wrong one. To this blameless and beaming -lord of creation, too self-satisfied to be arrogant, -too solemnly childish to be cynical, too much at -his ease to doubt either others or himself, to him -Flaxman introduced, at him rather Flaxman -threw, the red-hot cannon-ball called Blake. -I wonder whether Flaxman laughed. But -laughter convulses and crumples up the pure -outline of the Greek profile.</p> - -<p>Hayley, who was in his way as munificent -as Mæcenas (and I suspect that Mæcenas was -quite as stupid as Hayley), gave Blake a cottage -in Felpham, a few miles from his own house,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span> -a cottage with which Blake almost literally -fell in love. He writes as if he had never -seen an English country cottage before; and -perhaps he never had. “Nothing,” he cries -in a kind of ecstasy, “can ever be more grand -than its simplicity and usefulness. Simple -and without intricacy, it seems to be the -spontaneous expression of humanity, congenial -to the wants of man. No other formed house -can ever please me so well.” It is probably -true that none ever did. All that was purest -and most chivalrous in his poetry and philosophy -flowered in the great winds that pass and -repass between the noble Sussex hills and the -sea. He was always a happy man, since he -had a God. But here he was almost a contented -man.</p> - -<p>By this time had passed over Blake’s head -first the beginning and then the growing -blackness of the great French terror. Blake -was now in a world in which even he could -not venture to walk about in a red cap. -Moreover, like most of the men of genius of -that age and school, like Coleridge and like -Shelley, he seems to have been slightly sickened -with the full sensational actuality of the French<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span> -tragedy; and somewhat unreasonably having -urged the rebels to fight, complained because -they killed people. If sincere revolutionists -like Blake and Coleridge were disappointed at -the Revolution, the English Government and -governing class were against it with a solidity -of desperation. People talk about the reign -of terror in France; but allowing for the -difference of national temperament and -national peril, the two things were twin; -there was a reign of terror in England. A -gentleman was sent to penal servitude (which -some gentlemen find worse than the guillotine) -if he said that the Prince Regent was fat. -Our terror was as cruel as Robespierre’s, but -more cowardly, just as our press-gang was as -cruel as conscription, only more cowardly. -Everywhere that the Government could knock -down an enemy as if by accident, could brain -a Jacobin with some brutal club of legal coincidence, -the thing was done. Many such -blows were struck in that time, and one of -them was struck at Blake.</p> - -<p>On a certain morning in the August of 1803 -Blake walked out into his garden and found -standing there a trooper of the 1st Dragoons<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -in a scarlet coat, surveying the landscape with -a satisfied air of possession. Blake expressed -a desire that the dragoon should leave the -garden. The dragoon expressed a desire to -knock out Blake’s eyes, “with many abominable -imprecations.” Blake sprang upon the -man with startling activity, and catching him -from behind by both elbows ran him out of -the garden as if he were a perambulator. -The man, who was probably drunk and must -certainly have been surprised, went off with -many verbal accusations, but none of a political -nature. A little while afterwards, however, -he turned up with a grave legal statement to -the effect that Blake had taken the opportunity -to utter these somewhat improbable words: -“Damn the king, damn all his subjects, damn -his soldiers, they are all slaves: when -Bonaparte comes it will be cut-throat for cut-throat. -I will help him.” The impartial -critic will be inclined to say that few persons -would have even the breath to utter such -political generalisations while at the same -time running one of the Dragoon Guards -bodily out of the gate; and it was not alleged -that the incident took more than half a minute.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span> -Blake may possibly or even probably have -said “damn,” but the rest of the sentence -originated, I imagine, in the mind of someone -else. But although most of Blake’s -biography treats the case as a mere clumsy -accident, I can hardly think that it was so. -It involves too much of a coincidence. Why -did not the dragoon wander into some other -garden? Why did not some other poet have -to deal with the dragoon? It seems odd that -the man of the red cap should be the one -man to wrestle with the man of the red -coat. It was a time of tyranny, and tyranny -is always full of small intrigues. It is not -at all impossible that the police, as we should -now put it, really tried to entrap Blake. -But there entered upon the scene something -which in England is stronger even than the -police. Hayley, not the small Hayley who -was the author of the “Triumphs of Temper,” -but the colossal Hayley, who was the squire of -Eartham and Bognor, entered the court with -the extra aristocratic charm of an accident in -the hunting-field. He defended Blake with -generosity and good sense, such as seldom fail -his class on such occasions; and Blake was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -acquitted. It was said that the evidence was -incomplete; but I fancy that if Hayley had not -come the evidence would have been complete -enough.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="space" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/space.jpg" alt="" title="Space" /> - <div class="caption"><p>SPACE (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>It is unfortunate that this excellent attitude -of Hayley nevertheless coincides to a great -extent with the solution of the bonds that -bound him to Blake. “The Visions were -angry with me at Felpham,” said the poet, -which was his way of stating that he was -somewhat bored with the benevolence of the -English gentry. “Voices of celestial inhabitants -were <i>not</i> more distinctly heard, nor -their forms more distinctly seen,” in the -neighbourhood of the Squire of Eartham than -in that of Mr Butts of Fitzroy Square; and -Blake abruptly returned to London, taking -lodgings just off Oxford Street. He started -at once on a work with the promising title, -“Jerusalem, the Emanation of the Giant -Albion.” I say there is a certain pathos in -this parting from Hayley, for he was now to -fall into the power of a much more unpleasant -kind of capitalist. Poor Blake fell indeed -from bad to worse in the matter of patrons. -Butts was sensible and sympathetic, Hayley<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -was honest and silly. And his last protector -seems to have been something very like a -swindler.</p> - -<p>The name of this benevolent being was -Richard Hartley Cromek, a Yorkshireman, and -a publisher. He found Blake in bitter poverty -after his breach with Hayley (he and his wife -lived on 10s. a week), and his method of -sweating was of the simplest and most artistic -character. He used to go to Blake, tell him -that he would give him the engraving of a -number of designs; he would easily make -Blake talk enthusiastically, show his sketches -and so on; then having got the sketches he -would go away and give the engraving to -somebody else. This annoyed Blake. It is -pleasant to reflect that it was about Cromek -that the best of his epigrams was written—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“A petty sneaking knave I knew ...</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do you do?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Blake’s irritation broke out, as was common -with him, not over the clearest but over the -most confused case of Cromek’s misconduct. -The publisher had seen a design by Blake of -Chaucer’s “Canterbury Pilgrims,” and commissioned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span> -Blake to complete it. A few days -afterwards Cromek found himself in the studio -of the popular painter Stothard, and suggested -the subject to him. Stothard finished his -picture first and it appeared before Blake’s. -Blake went into one of his worst rages and -wrote one of his best pieces of prose.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">A brother</span> artist said of Blake, with beautiful -simplicity, “He is a good man to steal from.” -The remark is as philosophical as it is practical. -Blake had the great mark of real intellectual -wealth; anything that fell from him might be -worth picking up. What he dropped in the -street might as easily be half-a-sovereign as a -halfpenny. Moreover, he invited theft in this -further sense, that his mental wealth existed, -so to speak, in the most concentrated form. It -is easier to steal half-a-sovereign in gold than -in halfpence. He was literally packed with -ideas—with ideas which required unpacking. -In him and his works they were too compressed -to be intelligible; they were too brief to be -even witty. And as a thief might steal a -diamond and turn it into twenty farms, so the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -plagiarist of Blake might steal a sentence and -turn it into twenty volumes. It was profitable -to steal an epigram from Blake for three -reasons—first, that the original phrase was -small and would not leave a large gap; second, -that it was cosmic and synthetic and could be -applied to things in general; third, that it was -unintelligible and no one would know it again. -I could give innumerable instances of what I -mean; I will let one instance stand for the -rest. In the middle of that long poem which -is so disconnected that it may reasonably be -doubted whether it is a long poem at all (I -mean that commonly bearing the title “The -Auguries of Innocence”), he introduces these -two lines:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“When gold and gems adorn the plough</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To peaceful arts shall envy bow.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>A careless and honest man would read these -lines and make nothing of them. A careful -thief might make out of them a whole entertaining -and symbolic romance, like “Gulliver’s -Travels” or “Erewhon.” The idea obviously -is this;—that we still for some reason admit the -tools of destruction to be nobler than the tools<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span> -of production, because decorative art is expended -on the one and not on the other. The -sword has a golden hilt; but no plough has -golden handles. There is such a thing as a -sword of state; there is no such thing as a -scythe of state. Men come to court wearing -imitation swords; few men come to court -wearing imitation flails. It is fascinating to -reflect how fantastic a story might be written -upon this hint by Blake. But Blake does not -write the story; he only gives the hint, and -that so hurriedly that even as a hint it may -hardly be understood.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="oothoon" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/oothoon.jpg" alt="" title="Oothoon" /> - <div class="caption"><p>OOTHOON (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Most of Blake’s quarrels were trivial, and -some were little short of discreditable. But -in his quarrel with Cromek and Stothard he -does really stand as the champion of all that -is heroic and ideal, as against all that -is worldly and insincere. The celebrated -Stothard was at this time in the height of -his earlier success; he occupied somewhat the -same relation to art and society that has been -occupied within our own time by Frederic -Leighton. He was, like Leighton, an accomplished -draughtsman, a man of slight but -genuine poetic feeling, an artist who thoroughly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> -realised that the aim of art was to -please. Ruskin said of him very truly (I -forget the exact words) that there were no -thorns to his roses. At the same time, his -smoothness was a smoothness of innocence -rather than a smoothness of self-indulgence; -his work has a girlish timidity rather than any -real conventional cowardice; he was a true -artist in a somewhat effeminate style of art. -Nor is there any reason to doubt that his -personal character was as clean and good-natured -as his pictures. It may be that he began -his <i>Canterbury Pilgrims</i> without any commission -from Cromek, or it may be that he took the -commission from Cromek without the least -idea that the conception had been borrowed -from Blake. That Cromek treated Blake badly -is beyond dispute; that Stothard treated him -badly is unproved; but Blake was not much in -the habit of waiting for proof in such cases. -Stothard, I say, may not have been morally in -the wrong at all. But he was intellectually -and critically very much in the wrong; -and Blake pointed this out in a pamphlet -which, though defaced here and there with -his fantastic malice, is a solid and powerful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -contribution to artistic and literary -criticism.</p> - -<p>Stothard, the elegant gentleman, the man -of sensibility, the eighteenth century æsthete, -cast his condescending eye upon the Middle -Ages. He was of that age and school that -only saw the Middle Ages by moonlight. -Chaucer’s Pilgrims were to him a quaint -masquerade of hypocrisy or superstition, now -only interesting from its comic or antiquated -costume. The monk was amusing because he -was fat, the wife of Bath because she was gay, -the Squire because he was dandified, and so -on. Blake knew as little about the Middle -Ages as Stothard did; but Blake knew about -eternity and about man; he saw the image of -God under all garments. And in a rage which -may really be called noble he tore in pieces -Stothard’s antiquarian frivolity, and asked him -to look with a more decent reverence at the -great creations of a great poet. Stothard -called the young Squire of Chaucer “a fop.” -Blake points out forcibly and with fine critical -truth that the daintiness of the Squire’s dress -is the mere last touch to his youth, gaiety, and -completeness; but that he was no fop at all, but<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span> -a serious, chivalrous, and many-sided gentleman -who enjoyed books, understood music, and was -hardy and prompt in battle. Moreover, he is -definitely described as humble, reverent, and -full of filial respect. That such a man should -be called a fop because of a frill or a feather -Blake rightly regarded as a sign of the mean -superficiality of his rival’s ideas. Stothard -spoke of “the fair young wife of Bath”; -Blake placidly points out that she had had -four husbands, and was, as in Blake’s picture, a -loud, lewd, brazen woman of quite advanced -age, but of enormous vitality and humour. -Stothard makes the monk the mere comic -monk of commonplace pictures, shaped like a -wine barrel and as full of wine. Blake points -out that Chaucer’s monk was a man, and an -influential man; not without sensual faults, -but also not without dignity and authority. -Everywhere, in fact, he reminds his opponent -that in entering the world of Chaucer he is -not entering a fancy-dress ball, but a temple -carved with colossal and eternal images of the -gods of good and evil. Stothard was only -interested in Chaucer’s types because they -were dead; Blake was interested in them<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -because they cannot die. In many of Blake’s -pictures may be found one figure quite monotonously -recurrent—the figure of a monstrously -muscular old man, with hair and beard like a -snowstorm, but with limbs like young trees. -That is Blake’s root conception; the Ancient -of Days; the thing which is old with all the -awfulness of its past, but young with all the -energies of its future.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="spells_of_law" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/spells_of_law.jpg" alt="" title="Spells of Law" /> - <div class="caption"><p>SPELLS OF LAW (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>I make no excuse for dwelling at length on -this in a life of Blake; it is the most important -event. It is worth while to describe this -quarrel between Blake and Stothard, because -it is really a symbolic quarrel, interesting to -the whole world of artists and important to -the whole destiny of art. It is the quarrel -between the artist who is a poet and the artist -who is only a painter. In many of his merely -technical designs Blake was a better and bolder -artist than Stothard; still, I should admit, and -most people who saw the two pictures would -be ready to admit, that Stothard’s <i>Canterbury -Pilgrims</i> as a mere piece of drawing and painting -is better than Blake’s. But this if anything -only makes the whole argument more -certain. It is the duel between the artist who<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -wishes only to be an artist and the artist who -has the higher and harder ambition to be a -man—that is, an archangel. Or, again, it might -be put thus: whether an artist ought to be a universalist -or whether he is better as a specialist. -Now against the specialist, against the man -who studies only art or electricity, or the -violin, or the thumbscrew or what not, there -is only one really important argument, and -that, for some reason or other, is never offered. -People say that specialists are inhuman; but -that is unjust. People say an expert is not a -man; but that is unkind and untrue. The -real difficulty about the specialist or expert -is much more singular and fascinating. The -trouble with the expert is never that he is not -a man; it is always that wherever he is not -an expert he is too much of an ordinary man. -Wherever he is not exceptionally learned he -is quite casually ignorant. This is the great -fallacy in the case of what is called the -impartiality of men of science. If scientific -men had no idea beyond their scientific work -it might be all very well—that is to say, all -very well for everybody except them. But the -truth is that, beyond their scientific ideas, they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -have not the absence of ideas but the presence -of the most vulgar and sentimental ideas that -happen to be common to their social clique. If -a biologist had no views on art and morals it -might be all very well. The truth is that a -biologist has all the wrong views of art and -morals that happen to be going about in the -smart set in his time. If Professor Tyndall -had held no views about politics, he could have -done no harm with his views about evolution. -Unfortunately, however, he held a very low -order of political ideas from his sectarian and -Orange ancestry; and those ideas have -poisoned evolution to this day. In short, the -danger of the mere technical artist or expert is -that of becoming a snob or average silly man -in all things not affecting his peculiar topic of -study; wherever he is not an extraordinary -man he is a particularly stupid ordinary man. -The very fact that he has studied machine -guns to fight the French proves that he has -not studied the French. Therefore he will -probably say that they eat frogs. The very -fact that he has learnt to paint the light on -medieval armour proves that he has not studied -the medieval philosophy. Therefore he will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span> -probably suppose that medieval barons did -nothing but order vassals into the dungeons -beneath the castle moat. Now all through the -eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries art, -that is, the art of painting, suffered terribly from -this conventional and uncultured quality in the -working artist. People talk about something -pedantic in the knowledge of the expert; but -what ruins mankind is the ignorance of the -expert. In the period of which we speak the -experts in painting were bursting with this -ignorance. The early essays of Thackeray are -full of the complaint, that the whole trouble -with painters was that they only knew how to -paint. If they had painted unimportant or -contemptible subjects, all would have been -well; if they had painted the nearest donkey -or lamp-post no one would have complained. -But exactly because they were experts they -fell into the mere snobbish sentimentalism of -their times; they insisted on painting all the -things they had read about in the cheapest -history books and the most maudlin novels. -As Thackeray has immortally described in the -case of Mr Gandish, they painted Boadishia -and declared that they had discovered “in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -their researches into ’istry” the story of King -Alfred and the Cakes. In other words, the -expert does not escape his age; he only lays -himself open to the meanest and most obvious -of the influences of his age. The specialist -does not avoid having prejudices; he only -succeeds in specialising in the most passing -and illiterate prejudices.</p> - -<p>Of all this type of technical ignorance -Stothard is absolutely typical. He was an -admirable instance of the highly cultivated -and utterly ignorant man. He had spent his -life in making lines swerve smoothly and -shadows creep exactly into their right place; -he had never had any time to understand the -things that he was drawing except by their -basest and most conventional connotation. -Somebody suggested that he should draw -some medieval pilgrims—that is, some vigorous -types in the heyday of European civilisation -in the act of accepting the European religion. -But he who alone could draw them right was -especially likely to see them wrong. He had -learnt, like a modern, the truth from newspapers, -because he had no time to read even -encyclopedias. He had learnt how to paint<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -armour and armorial bearings; it was too -much to expect him to understand them. He -had learnt to draw a horse; it was too late to -ask him to ride one. His whole business was -somehow or other to make pictures; and -therefore when he looked at Chaucer, he could -see nothing but the picturesque.</p> - -<p>Against this sort of sound technical artist, -another type of artist has been eternally -offered; this was the type of Blake. It was -also the type of Michael Angelo; it was the -type of Leonardo da Vinci; it was the type of -several French mystics, and in our own country -and recent period, of Rossetti. Blake, as a -painter among other things, belongs to that -small group of painters who did something -else besides paint. But this is indeed a very -inadequate way of stating the matter. The -fuller and fairer way is this: that Blake was -one of those few painters who understood his -subject as well as his picture. I have already -said that I think Stothard’s picture of the -<i>Canterbury Pilgrims</i> in a purely technical sense -better than his. Indeed, there is nothing to -be said against Stothard’s picture of the <i>Canterbury -Pilgrims</i>, except that it is not a picture<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -of the <i>Canterbury Pilgrims</i>. Blake (to summarise -the whole matter as simply as it -can be summarised) was in the tradition of -the best and most educated ideas about -Chaucer; Stothard was the inheritor of the -most fashionable ideas and the worst. The -whole incident cannot be without its moral -and effect for all discussions about the morality -or unmorality of art. If art could be unmoral -it might be all very well. But the truth is -that unless art is moral, art is not only immoral, -but immoral in the most commonplace, -slangy, and prosaic way. In the future, the -fastidious artists who refuse to be anything -but artists will go down to history as the embodiment -of all the vulgarities and banalities -of their time. People will point to a picture -by Mr Sargent or Mr Shannon and say, “See, -that man had caught all the most middle class -cant of the early twentieth century.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="america" style="max-width: 68.1875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/america.jpg" alt="" title="Frontispiece to "America"" /> - <div class="caption"><p>FRONTISPIECE TO “AMERICA”</p></div> -</div> - -<p>We can now recur, however, to the general -relations of Blake with his later patron. In a -phrase of singular unconscious humour Mr -Cromek accused Blake of “a want of common -politeness.” Common politeness certainly can -hardly be said to have been Blake’s strong<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span> -point. But Cromek’s politeness was certainly -an uncommon sort of politeness. One is -tempted to be thankful that it is not a common -sort. Cromek’s notion of common politeness -was to give the artist a guinea a drawing on -the understanding that he should get some -more for engraving them, and then give the -engraving to somebody else who cost him next -to nothing. Blake, as we have said, resented -this startling simplicity of swindling. Blake -was in such matters a singular mixture of -madness and shrewdness in the judgment of -such things. He was the kind of man whom -a publisher found at one moment more vague -and viewless than any poet, and at the next -moment more prompt and rapacious than any -literary agent. He was sometimes above his -commercial enemy, sometimes below him; but -he never was on his level; one never knew -where he was. Cromek’s letter is a human -document of extraordinary sincerity and -interest. The Yorkshire publisher positively -breaks for once in his life into a kind of poetry. -He describes Blake as being “a combination -of the serpent and the dove.” He did not quite -realise, perhaps, that according to the New<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -Testament he was paying Blake a compliment. -But the truth is, I fancy, that the painter and -poet had been one too many for the publisher. -I think that on any occasion Cromek would -have willingly forgiven Blake for showing the -harmlessness of the dove. I fancy that on -one occasion Blake must have shown the -wisdom of the serpent.</p> - -<p>From the mere slavery of this sweater Blake -was probably delivered by the help of the -last and most human of his patrons, a young -man named John Linnell, a landscape painter -and a friend of the great Mulready. It is -extraordinary to think that he was young -enough to die in 1882; and that a man -who had read in the Prophetic Books the -last crusades of Blake may have lived to -read in the newspapers some of the last -crusades of Gladstone. This man Linnell -covers the last years of Blake as with an -ambulance tent in the wilderness. Blake -never had any ugly relations with Linnell, -just as he had never had any with Butts. -His quarrels had wearied many friends; but -by this time I think he was too weary even to -quarrel. On Linnell’s commission he began<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -a system of illustrations to Dante; but I think -that no one expected him to live to finish it.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">His</span> last sickness fell upon him very slowly, -and he does not seem to have taken much -notice of it. He continued perpetually his -pictorial designs; and as long as they were -growing stronger he seems to have cared very -little for the fact that he was growing weaker -himself. One of the last designs he made was -one of the strongest he ever made—the tremendous -image of the Almighty bending -forward, foreshortened in a colossal perspective, -to trace out the heavens with a compass. -Nowhere else has he so well expressed his -primary theistic ideas—that God, though -infinitely gigantic, should be as solid as a -giant. He had often drawn men from the -life; not unfrequently he had drawn his dead -men from the life. Here, according to his -own conceptions, he may be said to have -drawn God from the life. When he had -finished the portrait (which he made sitting -up in his sick-bed) he called out cheerfully, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>“What shall I draw after that?” Doubtless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span> -he racked his brain for some superlative spirit -or archangel which would not be a mere bathos -after the other. His rolling eyes (those round -lustrous eyes which one can always see roll in -his painted portraits) fell on the old frail and -somewhat ugly woman who had been his -companion so long, and he called out, -“Catherine, you have been an angel to me; -I will draw you next.” Throwing aside the -sketch of God measuring the universe, he -began industriously to draw a portrait of his -wife, a portrait which is unfortunately lost, but -which must have substantially resembled the -remarkable sketch which a friend drew some -months afterwards; the portrait of a woman at -once plain and distinguished, with a face that -is supremely humorous and at once harsh and -kind. Long before that portrait was drawn, -long before those months had elapsed, William -Blake was dead.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp43" id="preludium" style="max-width: 68.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/preludium.jpg" alt="" title="Preludium" /> - <div class="caption"><p>PRELUDIUM (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Whatever be the explanation, it is quite -certain that Blake had more positive joy on -his death-bed than any other of the sons of -Adam. One has heard of men singing hymns -on their death-beds, in low plaintive voices. -Blake was not at all like that on his death-bed:<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -the room shook with his singing. All his songs -were in praise of God, and apparently new: all -his songs were songs of innocence. Every now -and then he would stop and cry out to his wife, -“Not mine! Not mine!” in a sort of ecstatic -explanation. He truly seemed to wait for the -opening of the door of death as a child waits -for the opening of the cupboard on his birthday. -He genuinely and solemnly seemed to hear -the hoofs of the horses of death as a baby -hears on Christmas eve the reindeer-hooves -of Santa Claus. He was in his last moments -in that wonderful world of whiteness in which -white is still a colour. He would have clapped -his hands at a white snowflake and sung as at -the white wings of an angel at the moment -when he himself turned suddenly white with -death.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">And</span> now, after a due pause, someone will ask -and we must answer a popular question which, -like many popular questions, is really a somewhat -deep and subtle one. To put the matter -quite simply, as the popular instinct would put -it, “Was William Blake mad?” It is easy<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span> -enough to say, of course, in the non-committal -modern manner that it all depends on how you -define madness. If you mean it in its practical -or legal sense (which is perhaps the most really -useful sense of all), if you mean was William -Blake unfit to look after himself, unable to -exercise civic functions or to administer property, -then certainly the answer is “No.” -Blake was a citizen, and capable of being a very -good citizen. Blake, so far from being incapable -of managing property, was capable (in so -far as he chose) of collecting a great deal of it. -His conduct was generally business-like; and -when it was unbusiness-like it was not through -any subhuman imbecility or superhuman abstraction, -but generally through an unmixed -exhibition of very human bad temper. Again, -if when we say “Was Blake mad?” we mean -was he fundamentally morbid, was his soul -cut off from the universe and merely feeding -on itself, then again the answer is emphatically -“No.” There was nothing defective about -Blake; he was in contact with all the songs -and smells of the universe, and he was entirely -guiltless of that one evil element which is -almost universal in the character of the morbidly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -insane—I mean secrecy. Yet again, if we mean -by madness anything inconsistent or unreasonable, -then Blake was not mad. Blake was one -of the most consistent men that ever lived, both -in theory and practice. Blake may have been -quite wrong, but he was not in the least unreasonable. -He was quite as calm and scientific -as Herbert Spencer on the basis of his own -theory of things. He was vain to the last -degree; but it was the gay and gusty vanity -of a child, not the imprisoned pride of a maniac. -In all these aspects we can say with confidence -that the man was not at least obviously mad -or completely mad. But if we ask whether -there was not some madness about him, whether -his naturally just mind was not subject to some -kind of disturbing influence which was not -essential to itself, then we ask a very different -question, and require, unless I am mistaken, a -very different answer.</p> - -<p>When all Philistine mistakes are set aside, -when all mystical ideas are appreciated, there -is a real sense in which Blake was mad. It is -a practical and certain sense, exactly like the -sense in which he was not mad. In fact, in -almost every case of his character and extraordinary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -career we can safely offer this proposition, -that if there was something wrong with it, -it was wrong even from his own best standpoint. -People talk of appealing from Philip drunk to -Philip sober; it is easy to appeal from Blake -mad to Blake sane.</p> - -<p>When Blake lived at Felpham angels appear -to have been as native to the Sussex trees as -birds. Hebrew patriarchs walked on the -Sussex Downs as easily as if they were in the -desert. Some people will be quite satisfied -with saying that the mere solemn attestation -of such miracles marks a man as a madman or -a liar. But that is a short cut of sceptical dogmatism -which is not far removed from impudence. -Surely we cannot take an open question -like the supernatural and shut it with a bang, -turning the key of the mad-house on all the -mystics of history. To call a man mad because -he has seen ghosts is in a literal sense religious -persecution. It is denying him his full dignity -as a citizen because he cannot be fitted into -your theory of the cosmos. It is disfranchising -him because of his religion. It is just as intolerant -to tell an old woman that she cannot -be a witch as to tell her that she must be a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span> -witch. In both cases you are setting your own -theory of things inexorably against the sincerity -or sanity of human testimony. Such dogmatism -at least must be quite as impossible to anyone -calling himself an agnostic as to anyone calling -himself a spiritualist. You cannot take the -region called the unknown and calmly say that -though you know nothing about it, you know -that all its gates are locked. You cannot say, -“This island is not discovered yet; but I am -sure that it has a wall of cliffs all round it and -no harbour.” That was the whole fallacy of -Herbert Spencer and Huxley when they talked -about the unknowable instead of about the -unknown. An agnostic like Huxley must -concede the possibility of a gnostic like Blake. -We do not know enough about the unknown to -know that it is unknowable.</p> - -<p>If, then, people call Blake mad merely for -seeing ghosts and angels, we shall venture to -dismiss them as highly respectable but very -bigoted people. But then, again, there is -another line along which the same swift -assumption can be made. While he was at -Felpham Blake’s eccentricity broke out on -another side. A quality that can frankly be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -called indecency appeared in his pictures, -his opinions, and to some extent in his -conduct. But it was an idealistic indecency. -Blake’s mistake was not so much that he -aimed at sin as that he aimed at an impossible -and inhuman sinlessness. It is said that he -proposed to his wife that they should live -naked in their back garden like Adam and -Eve. If the husband ever really proposed -this, the wife succeeded in averting it. But -in his verse and prose, particularly in some of -the Prophetic Books, he began to talk very -wildly. However far he really meant to go -against common morality, he certainly meant -(like Walt Whitman) to go the whole way -against common decency. He professed to -regard the veiling of the most central of -human relations as the unnatural cloaking of a -natural work. He was never at a loss for an -effective phrase; and in one of his poems on -this topic he says finely if fallaciously—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Does the sower sow by night</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Or the ploughman in darkness plough?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="a_prophecy" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/a_prophecy.jpg" alt="" title="A Prophecy" /> - <div class="caption"><p>A PROPHECY (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But his speculations went past decorum and -at least touched the idea of primary law. In<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span> -some parts of the Prophetic Books (written -in the period which may fairly be called a -paroxysm) he really seems to be preaching the -idea that sin is sometimes a good thing -because it leads to forgiveness. I cannot -think this idea does much credit to Blake’s -power of logic, which was generally good. -The very fact of forgiveness implies that what -led up to it was evil. But though the position -is hardly rational, it is quite unfair to say that -it is insane. It is no sillier or more untenable -than a hundred sophistries that one may hear -at every tea-table or read in every magazine. -A little while ago the family of a young lady -attempted to shut her up in an asylum because -she believed in Free Love. This atrocious -injustice was stopped; but many people wrote -to the papers to say that marriage was a very -fine thing—as indeed it is. Of course the -answer was simple: that if everyone with silly -opinions were locked up in an asylum, the -asylums of the twentieth century would have -to be somewhat unduly enlarged. The same -common-sense applies to the case of Blake. -That he did maintain some monstrous propositions -proves that he was not always right,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -that he had even a fine faculty for being -exceedingly wrong. But it does not prove -that he was a madman or anything remotely -resembling one. Nor is there any reason to -suppose that he was carried into any practice -inconsistent with his strong domestic affections. -Indeed, I think that much of Blake’s anarchy -is connected with his innocence. I have -noticed the combination more than once, -especially in men of Irish blood like Blake. -Heavy, full-blooded men feel the need of -bonds and are glad to bind themselves. But -the chaste are often lawless. They are -theoretically reckless, because they are practically -pure. Thus Ireland, while it is the -island of rebels is also the island of saints, -and might be called the island of virgins.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">But</span> when we have reached this point—that -this ugly element in Blake was an intrusion of -Blake’s mere theory of things—we have come, -I think, very close to the true principle to be -pursued in estimating his madness or his sanity. -Blake the mere poet, would have been decent -and respectable. It was Blake the logician<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span> -who was forced to be almost blackguardly. -In other words, Blake was not mad; for such -part of him as was mad was not Blake. It was -an alien influence, and in a sense even an -accidental one; in an extreme sense it might -even be called antagonist. Properly to -appreciate what this influence was, we must -see the man’s artistic character as a whole and -notice what are its biggest forces and its -biggest defects when taken in the bulk—in -the whole mass of his poetry, his pictures, his -criticism and his conversation. Blake’s position -can be summed up as a sufficiently simple -problem. Blake could do so many things. Why -is it that he could do none of them quite right?</p> - -<p>Blake was not a frail or fairy-like sort of -person; he had not the light unity, the capering -completeness of the entirely irresponsible -man. He had not the independence, one -might almost say the omnipotence, that comes -from being hopelessly weak. There was -nothing in him of Mr Skimpole; he was not -a puff of silver thistledown. He was not a -reed shaken in the wind in Jordan. He was -rather an oak rooted in England, but an oak -half killed by the ivy. The interesting<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -question of spiritual botany is—What was the -ivy that half killed him? Originally his intellect -was not only strong but strongly rational—one -might almost say strongly sceptical. -There never was a man of whom it was less -true to say (as has been said) that he was a -light sensitive lyrist, a mere piper of pretty -songs for children. His mind was like a -ruined Roman arch; it has been broken by -barbarians; but what there is of it is Roman. -So it was with William Blake’s reason; it had -been broken (or cracked) by something; but -what there was of it was reasonable. In his -art criticism he never said anything that was -not strictly consistent with his first principles. -In his controversies, in the many matters in -which he argued angrily or venomously, he -never lost the thread of the argument. Like -every great mystic he was also a great -rationalist. Read Blake’s attack upon Stothard’s -picture of the <i>Canterbury Pilgrims</i>, and you -will see that he could not only write a quite -sensible piece of criticism, but even a quite -slashing piece of journalism. By nature one -almost feels that he might have done anything; -have conducted campaigns like Napoleon or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -studied the stars like Newton. But something, -when all is said and done, had eaten away -whole parts of that powerful brain, leaving -parts of it standing like great Greek pillars in -a desert. What was this thing?</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="a_female_dream" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/a_female_dream.jpg" alt="" title="A Female Dream" /> - <div class="caption"><p>A FEMALE DREAM (1793)</p></div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Madness</span> is not an anarchy. Madness is a -bondage: a contraction. I will not call Blake -mad because of anything he would say. But -I will call him mad in so far as there was -anything he <i>must</i> say. Now, there are notes -of this tyranny in Blake. It was not like -the actual disease of the mind that makes -a man believe he is a cat or a dog; it was -more like the disease of the nerves, which -makes a man say “dog” when he means “cat.” -One mental jump or jerk of this nature may -be especially remarked in Blake. He had in -his poetry one very peculiar habit, a habit -which cannot be considered quite sane. It -was the habit of being haunted, one may say -hag-ridden by a fixed phrase, which gets -itself written in ten separate poems on quite -different subjects, when it had no apparent -connection with any of them. The amusing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -thing is that the omnipresent piece of poetry -is generally the one piece that is quite incomprehensible. -The verse that Blake’s readers -can understand least seems always to be the -verse that Blake likes best. I give an ordinary -instance, if anything connected with Blake -can be called ordinary.</p> - -<p>The harmless Hayley, who was a fool, but a -gentleman and a poet (a country gentleman -and a very minor poet), provoked Blake’s -indignation by giving him commissions for -miniatures when he wanted to do something -else, probably frescoes as big as the house. -Blake wrote the epigram—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“If Hayley knows the thing you cannot do,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That is the very thing he’ll set you to.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And then, feeling that there was a lack of -colour and warmth in the portrait, he lightly -added, for no reason in particular, the lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“And when he could not act upon my wife,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hired a villain to bereave my life.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>There is, apparently, no trace here of any -allusion to fact. Hayley never tried to bereave -anybody’s life. He lacked even the adequate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> -energy. Nevertheless I should not say for a -moment that this startling fiction proved Blake -to be mad. It proved him to be violent and -recklessly suspicious; but there was never the -least doubt that he was that. But now turn to -another poem of Blake’s, a merely romantic and -narrative poem called “Fair Eleanor,” which -is all about somebody acting on somebody else’s -wife. Here we find the same line repeated -word for word in quite another connection—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Hired a villain to bereave my life.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It is not a musical line; it does not resemble -English grammar to any great extent. Yet -Blake is somehow forced to put it into a poem -about a real person exactly as he had put it -into an utterly different poem about a fictitious -person. There seems no particular reason for -writing it even once; but he has to write it -again and again. This is what I do call a mad -spot on the mind. I should not call Blake -mad for hating Hayley or for boiling Hayley -(though he had done him nothing but kindness), -or for making up any statements however -monstrous or mystical about Hayley. I should -not in the least degree think that Blake was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> -mad if he had said that he saw Hayley’s soul -in hell, that it had green hair, one eye, and a -serpent for a nose. A man may have a wild -vision without being insane; a man may have -a lying vision without being insane. But I -should smell insanity if in turning over Blake’s -books I found that this one pictorial image -obsessed him apart from its spiritual meaning; -if I found that the arms of the Black Prince -in “King Edward III.” were a cyclops vert -rampant, nosed serpentine; if I found that -Flaxman was praised for his kindness to a one-eyed -animal with green bristles and a snaky -snout; if Albion or Ezekiel had appeared to -Blake and commanded him to write a history -of the men in the moon, who are one-eyed, -green-haired, with long curling noses; if any -flimsy sketch or fine decorative pattern that -came from Blake’s pencil might reproduce -ceaselessly and meaninglessly the writhing -proboscis and the cyclopean eye. I should call -<i>that</i> morbidity or even madness; for it would -be the triumph of the palpable image over -its own intellectual meaning. And there is -something of that madness in the dark obstinacy -or weakness that makes Blake introduce again<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -and again these senseless scraps of rhyme, as -if they were spells to keep off the devil.</p> - -<p>In four or five different poems, without any -apparent connection with those poems, occur -these two extraordinary lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“The caterpillar on the leaf</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>In the abstract this might perhaps mean -something, though it would, I think, take most -people some time to see what it could mean. -In the abstract it may perhaps involve some -allusion to a universal law of sacrifice in -nature. In the concrete—that is, in the -context—it involves no allusion to anything in -heaven or earth. Here is another couplet -that constantly recurs—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“The red blood ran from the grey monk’s side,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His hands and his feet were wounded wide.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>This is worse still; for this cannot be merely -abstract. The ordinary rational reader will -naturally exclaim at last, with a not unnatural -explosion, “Who the devil is the grey monk? -and why should he be always bleeding in places -where he has no business?” Now to say that -this sort of thing is not insanity of some kind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -is simply to play the fool with the words. A -madman who writes this may be higher than -ordinary humanity; so may any madman in -Hanwell. But he is a madman in every sense -that the word has among men. I have taken -this case of actual and abrupt irrelevance as -the strongest form of the thing; but it has -other forms almost equally decisive. For -instance, Blake had a strong sense of humour, -but it was not under control; it could be -eclipsed and could completely disappear. -There was certainly a spouting fountain of -fierce laughter in the man who could write in -an epigram—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“A dirty sneaking knave I knew ...</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do you do?”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_tyger" style="max-width: 57.9375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_tyger.jpg" alt="" title="The Tyger" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE TYGER (1794)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Yet the laughter was as fitful as it was -fierce; and it can suddenly fail. Blake’s -sense of humour can sometimes completely -desert him. He writes a string of verses -against cruelty to the smallest creature as a -sort of mystical insult to the universe. It -contains such really fine couplets as these—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Each outcry of the hunted hare</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A fibre from the brain can tear.”</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“A skylark wounded in the wing,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A cherubim does cease to sing.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Or again, in a more fanciful but genuinely -weird way—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“He who torments the chafer’s sprite</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Weaves a bower in endless night.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And then, after all this excellent and quite -serious poetry, Blake can calmly write down -the following two lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“He who the ox to wrath has moved</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Shall never be by woman loved.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>One could hardly find a more Gilbertian -absurdity in the conjunction of ideas in the -whole of the “Bab Ballads” than the idea -that the success of some gentleman in the -society of ladies depends upon whether he -has previously at some time or other slightly -irritated an ox. Such sudden inaccesibility to -laughter must be called a morbid symptom. -It must mean a blind spot on the brain. The -whole thing, of course, would prove nothing -if Blake were a common ranter incapable of -writing well, or a common dunce incapable of -seeing a joke. Such a man might easily be<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -sane enough: he might be as sane as he was -stupid. If Blake had always written badly -he might be sane. But a man who could -write so well and did write so badly must be -mad.</p> - -<p>What was it that was eating away a part of -Blake’s brain? I venture to offer an answer -which in the eyes of many people will have -nothing to recommend it except the accident -of its personal sincerity. I firmly believe that -what did hurt Blake’s brain was the reality of -his spiritual communications. In the case of -all poets, and especially in the case of Blake, -the phrase “an inspired poet” commonly -means a good poet. About Blake it is -specially instinctive. And about Blake, I am -quite convinced, it is specially untrue. His -inspired poems were not his good poems. His -inspired poems were very often his particularly -bad ones; they were bad by inspiration. If a -ploughman says that he saw a ghost, it is not -quite sufficient to answer merely that he is a -madman. It may have been seeing the ghost -that drove him mad. His lunacy may not -prove the falsehood of his tale, but rather its -terrible truth. So in the same way I differ<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -from the common or sceptical critics of a man -like Blake. Such critics say that his visions -were false because he was mad. I say he was -mad because his visions were true. It was -exactly because he was unnaturally exposed to -a hail of forces that were more than natural -that some breaches were made in his mental -continuity, some damage was done to his -mind. He was, in a far more awful sense -than Goldsmith, “an inspired idiot.” He was -an idiot because he was inspired.</p> - -<p>When he said of “Jerusalem” that its -authors were in eternity, one can only say that -nobody is likely to go there to get any more -of their work. He did not say that the author -of “The Tyger” was in eternity; the author -of that glorious thing was in Carnaby Market. -It will generally be found, I think, with some -important exceptions, that whenever Blake -talked most about inspiration he was actually -least inspired. That is, he was least inspired -by whatever spirit presides over good poetry -and good thinking. He was abundantly -inspired by whatever spirit presides over bad -poetry or bad thinking. Whatever god -specialises in unreadable and almost unpronounceable<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -verse was certainly present when -he invented the extraordinary history of -“William Bond” or the maddening metre of -the lines “To Mr Butts.” Whatever archangel -rules over utter intellectual error had certainly -spread his wings of darkness over Blake when -he came to the conclusion that a man ought to -be bad in order to be pardoned. But these -unthinkable thoughts are mostly to be found -in his most unliterary productions; notably in -the Prophetic Books. To put my meaning -broadly, the opinions which nobody can agree -with are mostly in the books that nobody can -read. I really believe that this was not from -Blake, but from his spirits. It is all very -well for great men, like Mr Rossetti and Mr -Swinburne, to trust utterly to the seraphim of -Blake. They may naturally trust angels—they -do not believe in them. But I do believe -in angels, and incidentally in fallen -angels.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="holy_thursday" style="max-width: 65.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/holy_thursday.jpg" alt="" title="Holy Thursday" /> - <div class="caption"><p>HOLY THURSDAY (1794)</p></div> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> is no danger to health in being a mystic; -but there may be some danger to health in -being a spiritualist. It would be a very poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span> -pun to say that a taste for spirits is bad for the -health; nevertheless, oddly enough, though a -poor pun it is a perfectly correct philosophical -parallel. The difference between having a real -religion and having a mere curiosity about -psychic marvels is really very like the difference -between drinking beer and drinking brandy, -between drinking wine and drinking gin. -Beer is a food as well as a stimulant; so a -positive religion is a comfort as well as an -adventure. A man drinks his wine because it -is his favourite wine, the pleasure of his palate -or the vintage of his valley. A man drinks -alcohol merely because it is alcoholic. So a -man calls upon his gods because they are good -or at any rate good to him, because they are -the idols that protect his tribe or the saints -that have blessed his birthday. But spiritualists -call upon spirits merely because they are spirits; -they ask for ghosts merely because they are -ghosts. I have often been haunted with a fancy -that the creeds of men might be paralleled -and represented in their beverages. Wine -might stand for genuine Catholicism and ale -for genuine Protestantism; for these at least -are real religions with comfort and strength in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -them. Clean cold Agnosticism would be clean -cold water, an excellent thing, if you can get it. -Most modern ethical and idealistic movements -might be well represented by soda-water—which -is a fuss about nothing. Mr Bernard -Shaw’s philosophy is exactly like black coffee—it -awakens but it does not really inspire. -Modern hygienic materialism is very like -cocoa; it would be impossible to express one’s -contempt for it in stronger terms than that. -Sometimes, very rarely, one may come across -something that may honestly be compared to -milk, an ancient and heathen mildness, an -earthly yet sustaining mercy—the milk of -human kindness. You can find it in a few -pagan poets and a few old fables; but it is -everywhere dying out. Now if we adopt this -analogy for the sake of argument, we shall really -come back to the bad pun; we shall conclude -that a taste for spiritualism is very like a taste -for spirits. The man who drinks gin or -methylated spirit does it only because it -makes him super-normal; so the man who -with tables or planchettes invokes supernatural -beings invokes them only because they -are supernatural. He does not know that they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -are good or wise or helpful. He knows that -he desires the deity, but he does not even know -that he likes him. He attempts to invoke the -god without adoring him. He is interested in -whatever he can find out touching supernatural -existence; but he is not really filled -with joy as by the face of a divine friend, any -more than anyone actually likes the taste of -methylated spirit. In such psychic investigations, -in a word, there is excitement, but not -affectional satisfaction; there is brandy, but no -food.</p> - -<p>Now Blake was in the most reckless, and -sometimes even in the most vulgar, sense a -spiritualist. He threw the doors of his mind -open to what the late George Macdonald -called in a fine phrase “the canaille of the -other world.” I think it is impossible to look -at some of the pictures which Blake drew, -under what he considered direct spiritual -dictation, without feeling that he was from -time to time under influences that were not -only evil but even foolishly evil. I give one -case out of numberless cases. Blake drew, -from his own vision a head which he called -<i>The Man who built the Pyramids</i>. Anyone can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> -appreciate the size and mystery of the idea; -and most people would form some sort of -fancy of how a great poetical painter, such as -Michael Angelo or Watts, would have rendered -the idea; they can conceive a face swarthy -and secret, or ponderous and lowering, or staring -and tropical, or Appolonian and pure. -Whatever was the man who built the pyramids, -one feels that he must (to put it mildly) have -been a clever man. We look at Blake’s picture -of the man, and with a start behold the face of -an idiot. Nay, we behold even the face of an -evil idiot, a leering, half-witted face with no -chin and the protuberant nose of a pig. Blake -declared that he drew this face from a real -spirit, and I see no reason to doubt that he -did. But if he did, it was not really the man -who built the pyramids; it was not any spirit -with whom a gentleman ought to wish to be -on intimate terms. That vision of swinish -silliness was really a bad vision to have, it -left a smell of demoniac silliness behind it. -I am very sure that it left Blake sillier than -it found him.</p> - -<p>In this way, rightly or wrongly, I explain the -chaos and occasional weakness which perplexes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span> -Blake’s critics and often perplexed Blake -himself. I think he suffered from the great -modern loneliness and scepticism which is the -root of the sorrows of the mere spiritualist. -The tragedy of the spiritualist simply is that -he has to know his gods before he loves them. -But a man ought to love his gods before he -is sure that there are any. The sublime words -of St John’s Gospel permit of a sympathetic -parody; if a man love not God whom he has -not seen, how shall he love God whom he has -seen? If we do not delight in Santa Claus -even as a fancy, how can we expect to be -happy even if we find that he is a fact? But -a mystic like Blake simply puts up a placard -for the whole universe, like an old woman -letting lodgings. The mansion of his mind -was indeed a magnificent one; but no one -must be surprised if the first man that walked -into it was “the man who built the pyramids,” -the man with the face of a moon-calf. And -whether or no he built the pyramids, he -unbuilt the house.</p> - -<p>But this conclusion touching Blake’s original -sanity but incidental madness brings us -abruptly in contact with the larger question<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -of how far his soul and creed gained or suffered -from his whole position; his heterodoxy, his -orthodoxy, his attitude towards his age. -Properly to do all this we must do now at the -end of this book what ought (but the form -of the book forbade) more strictly to have -been done at the beginning; we must speak -as shortly as possible about the actual age in -which Blake lived. And we cannot do it -without saying something, which we will say -as briefly as possible, of that whole great -western society and tradition to which he -belonged and we belong equally; that -Christendom or continent of Europe which -is at once too big for us to measure and too -close for us to understand.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="ariel" style="max-width: 71.9375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ariel.jpg" alt="" title="Ariel" /> - <div class="caption"><p>ARIEL</p></div> -</div> - -<p>What was the eighteenth century? Or -rather (to speak less mechanically and with -more intelligence), what was that mighty -and unmistakable phase or mood through -which western society was passing about the -time that William Blake became its living -child? What was that persistent trend or -spirit which all through the eighteenth century -lifted itself like a very slow and very -smooth wave to the deafening breaker of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -French Revolution? Of course it meant something -slightly different to all its different -children. Let us here ask ourselves what it -meant to Blake, the poet, the painter, and the -dreamer. Let us try to state the thing as -nearly as possible in terms of his spirit and in -relation to his unique work in this world.</p> - -<p>Every man of us to-day is three men. There -is in every modern European three powers so -distinct as to be almost personal, the trinity -of our earthly destiny. The three may be -rudely summarised thus. First and nearest -to us is the Christian, the man of the historic -church, of the creed that must have coloured -our minds incurably whether we regard it (as -I do) as the crown and combination of the -other two, or whether we regard it as an -accidental superstition which has remained for -two thousand years. First, then, comes the -Christian; behind him comes the Roman, the -citizen of that great cosmopolitan realm of -reason and order in the level and equality of -which Christianity arose. He is the stoic who -is so much sterner than the anchorites. He is -the republican who is so much prouder than -kings. He it is that makes straight roads and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -clear laws, and for whom good sense is good -enough. And the third man—he is harder to -speak of. He has no name, and all true tales -of him are blotted out; yet he walks behind -us in every forest path and wakes within us -when the wind wakes at night. He is the -origins—he is the man in the forest. It -is no part of our subject to elaborate the -point; but it may be said in passing that the -chief claim of Christianity is exactly this—that -it revived the pre-Roman madness, yet brought -into it the Roman order. The gods had really -died long before Christ was born. What had -taken their place was simply the god of -government—Divus Cæsar. The pagans of -the real Roman Empire were nothing if not -respectable. It is said that when Christ was -born the cry went through the world that Pan -was dead. The truth is that when Christ was -born Pan for the first time began to stir in his -grave. The pagan gods had become pure -fables when Christianity gave them a new lease -of life as devils. I venture to wager that if -you found one man in such a society who -seriously believed in the personal existence of -Apollo, he was probably a Christian. Christianity<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -called to a kind of clamorous resurrection -all the old supernatural instincts of the forests -and the hill. But it put upon this occult -chaos the Roman idea of balance and sanity. -Thus, marriage was a sacrament, but mere sex -was not a sacrament as it was in many of the -frenzies of the forest. Thus wine was a sacrament -with Christ; but drunkenness was not a -sacrament as with Dionysus. In short, Christianity -(merely historically seen) can best be -understood as an attempt to combine the -reason of the market-place with the mysticism -of the forest. It was an attempt to accept all -the superstitions that are necessary to man and -to be philosophic at the end of them. Pagan -Rome has sought to bring order or reason -among men. Christian Rome sought to bring -order and reason among gods.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">Given</span> these three principles, the epoch we -discuss can be defined. The eighteenth -century was primarily the return of reason—and -of Rome. It was the coming to the top -of the stoic and civic element in that triple -mixture. It was full, like the Roman world,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span> -of a respect for law. Note that the priest -still wears, in the main, the popular garb of -the Middle Ages: but the lawyer still wears -the head-dress of the eighteenth century. -Yet while the Roman world was full of rule -it was also full of revolution. But indeed the -two things necessarily go together. The -English used to boast that they had achieved -a constitutional revolution; but every revolution -must necessarily be a constitutional -revolution, in so far that it must have reference -to some antecedent theory of justice. A man -must have rights before he can have wrongs. -So it may be constantly remarked that the -countries which have done most to spread -legal generalisations and judicial decisions are -those most filled with political fury and -potential rebellion—Rome, for instance, and -France. Rome planted in every tribe and -village the root of the Roman law at the very -time when her own town was torn with faction -and bloody with partisan butcheries. France -forced intellectually on nearly all Europe an -excellent code of law, and she did it when her -own streets were hardly cleared of corpses, -when she was in a panting pause between two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -pulverising civil wars. And, on the other -hand, you may remark that the countries -where there is no revolution are the countries -where there is no law; where mental chaos -has clouded every intelligible legal principle—such -countries as Morocco and modern -England.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="preludium_to_urizen" style="max-width: 59.6875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/preludium_to_urizen.jpg" alt="" title="Preludium to Urizen" /> - <div class="caption"><p>PRELUDIUM TO URIZEN (1794)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>The eighteenth century, then, ended in -revolution because it began in law. It was -the age of reason, and therefore the age of -revolt. It is needless to say how systematically -it revived all the marks and motives of -that ancient pagan society in which Christianity -first arose. Its greatest art was -oratory, its favourite affectation was severity. -Its pet virtue was public spirit, its pet sin -political assassination. It endured the -pompous, but hated the fantastic; it had pure -contempt for anything that could be called -obscure. To a virile mind of that epoch, such -as Dr Johnson or Fox, a poem or picture that -did not at once explain itself was simply -like a gun that did not go off or a clock that -stopped suddenly: it was simply a failure, fit -for indifference or for a fleeting satire. In -spite of their solid convictions (for which they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -died) the men of that time always used the -word “enthusiast” as a term of scorn. All -that we call mysticism they called madness. -Such was the eighteenth century civilisation; -such was the strict and undecorated frame -from which look at us the blazing eyes of -William Blake.</p> - -<p>So far Blake and his century are a mere -contrast. But here we must remember that -the three elements of Europe are not the -strata of a rock, but the strands of a rope; -since all three have existed not one of them -has ever appeared entirely unmixed. You -may call the Renascence pagan, but Michael -Angelo cannot be imagined as anything but -a Christian. You may call Thomas Aquinas -Christian, but you cannot say exactly what he -would have been without Aristotle the pagan. -You may, even in calling Virgil the poet of -Roman dignity and good sense, still ask -whether he did not remember something -older than Rome when he spoke of the good -luck of him who knew the field gods and the -old man of the forest. In the same way there -was even in the eighteenth century an element -of the purely Christian and an element of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -purely primitive. And, as it happens, both -these non-rational (or non-Roman) strains -in the eighteenth century are particularly -important in considering the mental make-up -of William Blake. For the first alien strain in -this century practically represents all that is -effective and fine in this great genius, the -second strain represents without question all -that is doubtful, all that is irritating, and all -that is ineffective in him.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">In</span> the eighteenth century there were two -elements not taken from the Roman stoic or -the Roman citizen. The first was what our -century calls humanitarianism—what that -century called “the tear of sensibility.” The -old pagan commonwealths were democratic, -but they were not in the least humanitarian. -They had no tears to spare for a man at the -mercy of the community; they reserved all -their anger and sympathy for the community -at the mercy of a man. That individual compassion -for an individual case was a pure product -of Christianity; and when Voltaire flung -himself with fury into the special case of Calas,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -he was drawing all his energies from the religion -that he denied. A Roman would have -rebelled for Rome, but not for Calas. This -personal humanitarianism is the relic of -Christianity—perhaps (if I may say so) the -dregs of Christianity. Of this humanitarianism -or sentimentalism, or whatever it can best be -called, Blake was the enthusiastic inheritor. -Being the great man that he was, he naturally -anticipated lesser men than himself; and -among the men less than himself I should -count Shelley, for instance, and Tolstoy. He -carried his instinct of personal kindness to the -point of denouncing war as such—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Naught can deform the human race</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Like the Armourer’s iron brace.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Or, again—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“The strongest poison ever known</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Came from Cæsar’s iron crown.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="har_and_heva" style="max-width: 62.875em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/har_and_heva.jpg" alt="" title="Har and Heva" /> - <div class="caption"><p>HAR AND HEVA (1795)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>No pagan republican, such as those on whom -the eighteenth century ethic was founded, -could have made head or tail of this mere -humanitarian horror. He could not even have -comprehended this idea—that war is immoral<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -when it is not unjust. You cannot find this -sentiment in the pagans of antiquity, but you -can find it in the pagans of the eighteenth -century; you can find it in the speeches of -Fox, the soliloquies of Rousseau and even in -the sniggering of Gibbon. Here is an element -of the eighteenth century which is derived -darkly but indubitably from Christianity, and -in which Blake strongly shares. Regulus -has returned to be tortured and pagan Rome -is saved; but Christianity thinks a little of -Regulus. A man must be pitied even when -he must be killed. That individual compassion -provoked Blake to violent and splendid lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“And the slaughtered soldier’s cry</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Runs in blood down palace walls.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The eighteenth century did not find that pity -where it found its pagan liberty and its pagan -law. It took this out of the very churches -that it violated and from the desperate faith -that it denied. This irrational individual pity -is the purely Christian element in the eighteenth -century. This irrational individual pity -is the purely Christian element in William -Blake.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - -<p>And second, there was another eighteenth -century element that was neither of Christian -nor of pagan Rome. It was from the origins; -it had been in the world through the whole -history of paganism and Christianity; it had -been in the world, but not of it. This element -appeared popularly in the eighteenth century -in an extravagant but unmistakable shape; -the element can be summed up in one word—Cagliostro. -No other name is quite so adequate; -but if anyone desires a nobler name (a very -noble one), we may say—Swedenborg. There -was in the eighteenth century, despite its obvious -good sense, this strain of a somewhat theatrical -thaumaturgy. The history of that element -is, in the most literal sense of the word, horribly -interesting. For it all works back to the mere -bogey feeling of the beginnings. It is amusing -to remark that in the eighteenth century for -the first time start up a number of societies -which calmly announce that they have existed -almost from the beginning of the world. Of -these, of course, the best known instance is the -Freemasons; according to their own account -they began with the Pyramids; but according -to everyone else’s account that can be effectively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -collected, they began with the eighteenth -century. Nevertheless the Freemasons are -right in the spirit even if they are wrong -in the letter. There is a tradition of things -analogous to mystical masonry throughout all -the historic generations of Paganism and -Christianity. There is a definite tradition -outside Christianity, not of rationalism, but -of paganism, paganism in the original and -frightful forest sense—pagan magic. Christianity, -rightly or wrongly, always discouraged -it on the ground that it was, or tended to be, -black magic. That is not here our concern. -The point is that this non-Christian supernaturalism, -whether it was good or bad, was -continuous in spite of Christianity. Its signs -and traces can be seen in every age: it hung -like a huge fume, in many monstrous forms, -over the dying Roman Empire: it was the -energy in the Gnostics who so nearly captured -Christianity, and who were persecuted for their -pessimism; in the full sunlight of the living -Church it dared to carve its symbols upon the -tombs of the Templars; and when the first -sects raised their heads at the Reformation, its -ancient and awful voice was heard.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="philanders_dust" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/philanders_dust.jpg" alt="" title="Philander's Dust" /> - <div class="caption"><p>PHILANDER’S DUST (1796)</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> - -<p>Now the eighteenth century was primarily -the release (as its leaders held) of reason and -nature from the control of the Church. But -when the Church was once really weakened, it -was the release of many other things. It was -not the release of reason only, but of a more -ancient unreason. It was not the release of -the natural, but also of the supernatural, and -also, alas! of the unnatural. The heathen -mystics hidden for two thousand years came -out of their caverns—and Freemasonry was -founded. It was entirely innocent in the -manner of its foundation; but so were all the -other resurrections of this ancestral occultism. -I give but one obvious instance out of many. -The idea of enslaving another human soul, -without lifting a finger or making a gesture of -force, of enslaving a soul simply by willing its -slavery, is an idea which all healthy human -societies would regard and did regard as -hideous and detestable, if true. Throughout -all the Christian ages the witches and warlocks -claimed this abominable power and boasted of -it. They were (somewhat excusably) killed -for their boasting. The eighteenth century -rationalist movement came, intent, thank God,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -upon much cleaner things, upon common -justice and right reason in the state. Nevertheless -it did weaken Christianity, and in weakening -Christianity it uplifted and protected -the wizard. Mesmer stepped forward, and for -the first time safely affirmed this infamous -power to exist: for the first time a warlock -could threaten spiritual tyranny and not be -lynched. Nevertheless, if a mesmerist really -had the powers which some mesmerists have -claimed, and which most novels give to him, -there is (I hope) no doubt at all that any -decent mob would drown him like a witch.</p> - -<p>The revolt of the eighteenth century, then, -did not merely release naturalism, but a certain -kind of supernaturalism also. And of this -particular kind of supernaturalism, Blake is -particularly the heir. Its coarse embodiment -is Cagliostro. Its noble embodiment is -Swedenborg. But in both cases it can be -remarked that the mysticism marks an effort -to escape from or even to forget the historic -Christian, and especially the Catholic Church. -Cagliostro, being a man of mean spirituality, -separated himself from Catholicism by rearing -against it a blazing pageant of mystical<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -paganism, of triangles, secret seals, Eleusinian -initiation, and all the vulgar refinements of a -secret society. Swedenborg, being a man of -large and noble spirituality, marked his separation -from Catholicism by inventing out of his -own innocence and genius nearly all the old -Catholic doctrines, sincerely believing them to -be his own discoveries. It is startling to note -how near Swedenborg was to Catholicism—in -his insistence on free will, for instance, on the -humanity of the incarnate God, and on the -relative and mystical view of the Old Testament. -There was in Blake a great deal of -Swedenborg (as he would have been the first -to admit), and there was, occasionally, a little -of Cagliostro. Blake did not belong to a secret -society: for, to tell the truth, he had some -difficulty in belonging to any society. But -Blake did talk a secret language. He had -something of that haughty and oligarchic -element in his mysticism which marked the -old pagan secret societies and which marks -the Theosophists and oriental initiates to this -day. There was in him, besides the beneficent -wealth of Swedenborg, some touch of Cagliostro -and the Freemasons. These things Blake did<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -inherit from that break up of belief that can -be called the eighteenth century: we will -debit him with these as an inheritance. And -when we have said this we have said everything -that can be said of any debt he owed. His -debts are cleared here. His estate is cleared -with this payment. All that follows is himself.</p> - -<p>If a man has some fierce or unfamiliar -point of view, he must, even when he is -talking about his cat, begin with the origin -of the cosmos; for his cosmos is as private -as his cat. Horace could tell his pupils -to plunge into the middle of the thing, -because he and they were agreed about the -particular kind of thing; the author and his -readers substantially sympathised about the -beauty of Helen or the duties of Hector. But -Blake really had to begin at the beginning, -because it was a different beginning. This explains -the extraordinary air of digression and -irrelevancy which can be observed in some of -the most direct and sincere minds. It explains -the bewildering allusiveness of Dante; the -galloping parentheses of Rabelais; the gigantic -prefaces of Mr Bernard Shaw. The brilliant -man seems more lumbering and elaborate than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -anyone else, because he has something to say -about everything. The very quickness of his -mind makes the slowness of his narrative. For -he finds sermons in stones, in all the paving-stones -of the street he plods along. Every -fact or phrase that occurs in the immediate -question carries back his mind to the ages and -the initial power. Because he is original he -is always going back to the origins.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="a_group" style="max-width: 100.8125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/a_group.jpg" alt="" title="A Group" /> - <div class="caption"><p>A GROUP (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Take, for instance, Blake’s verse rather than -his pictorial art. When the average sensible -person reads Blake’s verse, he simply comes -to the conclusion that he cannot understand -it. But in truth he has a much better right -to offer this objection to Blake than to most -of the slightly elusive or eccentric writers to -whom he also offers it. Blake is obscure in -a much more positive and practical sense than -Browning is obscure—or, in another manner, -Mr Henry James is obscure. Browning is -generally obscure through an almost brutal -eagerness to get to big truths, which leads -him to smash a sentence and leave only bits -of it. Mr Henry James is obscure because -he wishes to trace tiny truths by a dissection -for which human language (even in his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> -exquisite hands) is hardly equal. In short, -Browning wishes almost unscrupulously to -get to the point. Mr James refuses to admit -(on the mere authority of Euclid) that the -point is indivisible. But Blake’s obscurity is -startlingly different to both, it is at once more -simple and more impenetrable. It is not a -different diction but a different language. It is -not that we cannot understand the sentences; -it is that we often misunderstand the words. -The obscurity of Blake commonly consists in -the fact that the actual words used mean one -thing in Blake and quite another thing in the -dictionary. Mr Henry James wants to split -hairs; Browning wants to tear them up by -the roots. But in Blake the enigma is at once -plainer and more perplexing; it is simply this, -that if Blake says “hairs” he may not mean -hairs, but something else—perhaps peacocks’ -feathers. To quote but one example out of a -thousand; when Blake uses the word “devils” -he generally means some particularly exalted -order of angels such as preside over energy -and imagination.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb"/> - -<p><span class="allsmcap">A VERBAL</span> accident has confused the mystical -with the mysterious. Mysticism is generally -felt vaguely to be itself vague—a thing of -clouds and curtains, of darkness or concealing -vapours, of bewildering conspiracies or impenetrable -symbols. Some quacks have indeed -dealt in such things: but no true mystic ever -loved darkness rather than light. No pure -mystic ever loved mere mystery. The mystic -does not bring doubts or riddles: the doubts -and riddles exist already. We all feel the -riddle of the earth without anyone to -point it out. The mystery of life is the -plainest part of it. The clouds and curtains -of darkness, the confounding vapours, -these are the daily weather of this world. -Whatever else we have grown accustomed to, -we have grown accustomed to the unaccountable. -Every stone or flower is a hieroglyphic -of which we have lost the key; with every -step of our lives we enter into the middle of -some story which we are certain to misunderstand. -The mystic is not the man who makes -mysteries but the man who destroys them. -The mystic is one who offers an explanation -which may be true or false, but which is <i>always</i><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -comprehensible—by which I mean, not that -it is always comprehended, but that it always -can be comprehended, because there is -always something to comprehend. The man -whose meaning remains mysterious fails, -I think, as a mystic: and Blake, as we shall -see, did, for certain peculiar reasons of his own, -often fail in this way. But even when he was -himself hard to be understood, it was never -through himself not understanding: it was -never because he was vague or mystified or -groping, that he was unintelligible. While his -utterance was not only dim but dense, his -opinion was not only clear, but even cocksure. -You and I may be a little vague about the -relations of Albion to Jerusalem, but Blake is as -certain about them as Mr Chamberlain about the -relations of Birmingham to the British Empire. -And this can be said for his singular literary -style even at his worst, that we always feel -that he is saying something very plain and -emphatic, even when we have not the wildest -notion of what it is.</p> - -<p>There is one element always to be remarked -in the true mystic, however disputed his -symbolism, and that is its brightness of colour<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -and clearness of shape. I mean that we may -be doubtful about the significance of a triangle -or the precise lesson conveyed by a crimson -cow. But in the work of a real mystic the -triangle is a hard mathematical triangle not -to be mistaken for a cone or a polygon. The -cow is in colour a rich incurable crimson, and -in shape unquestionably a cow, not to be -mistaken for any of its evolutionary relatives, -such as the buffalo or the bison. This can be -seen very clearly, for instance, in the Christian -art of illumination as practised at its best -in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. -The Christian decorators, being true mystics, -were chiefly concerned to maintain the reality -of objects. For the highest dogma of the -spiritual is to affirm the material. By plain -outline and positive colour those pious artists -strove chiefly to assert that a cat was truly in -the eyes of God a cat and that a dog was preeminently -doggish. This decision of tint and -outline belongs not only to Blake’s pictures, -but even to his poetry. Even in his descriptions -there is no darkness, and practically, in the -modern sense, no distance. All his animals -are as absolute as the animals on a shield of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span> -heraldry. His lambs are of unsullied silver, -his lions are of flaming gold. His lion may -lie down with his lamb, but he will never -really mix with him.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_waters_of_life" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_waters_of_life.jpg" alt="" title="The Waters of Life" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE WATERS OF LIFE (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Really to make this point clear one would -have to go back to the twelfth century, or -perhaps to Plato. Metaphysics must be -avoided; they are too exciting. But the -root of the matter can be pretty well made -plain by one word. The whole difference is -between the old meaning and the new -meaning of the word “Realist.” In modern -fiction and science a Realist means a man who -begins at the outside of a thing: sometimes -merely at the end of a thing, knowing the -monkey only by its tail or the motor by its -smell. In the twelfth century a Realist meant -exactly the opposite; it meant a man who -began at the inside of a thing. The mediæval -philosopher would only have been interested -in a motor because it moved. He would have -been interested (that is) only in the central -and original idea of a motor—in its ultimate -motorishness. He would have been concerned -with a monkey only because of its monkeyhood; -not because it was like man but because it was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> -unlike. If he saw an elephant he would not -say in the modern style, “I see before me a -combination of the tusks of a wild boar in -unnatural development, of the long nose of -the tapir needlessly elongated, of the tail -of the cow unusually insufficient,” and so -on. He would merely see an essence of -elephant. He would believe that this light -and fugitive elephant of an instant, as dancing -and fleeting as the May-fly in May, was nevertheless -the shadow of an eternal elephant, -conceived and created by God. When you -have quite realised this ancient sense in the -reality of an elephant, go back and read -William Blake’s poems about animals, as, for -instance, about the lamb and about the tiger. -You will see quite clearly that he is talking of -an eternal tiger, who rages and rejoices for ever -in the sight of God. You will see that he is -talking of an eternal and supernatural lamb, who -can only feed happily in the fields of Heaven.</p> - -<p>It is exactly here that we find the full -opposition to that modern tendency that can -fairly be called “Impressionism.” Impressionism -is scepticism. It means believing -one’s immediate impressions at the expense of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span> -one’s more permanent and positive generalisations. -It puts what one notices above what -one knows. It means the monstrous heresy -that seeing is believing. A white cow at one -particular instant of the evening light may -be gold on one side and violet on the other. -The whole point of Impressionism is to -say that she really is a gold and violet cow. -The whole point of Impressionism is to say -that there is no white cow at all. What can -we tell, it cries, beyond what we can see? -But the essence of Mysticism is to insist that -there is a white cow, however veiled with -shadow or painted with sunset gold. Blessed -are they who have seen the violet cow and -who yet believe in the white one. To the -mystic a white cow has a sort of solid whiteness, -as if the cow were made out of frozen -milk. To him a white horse has a solid whiteness -as if he were cut out of the firm English -chalk, like the White Horse in the valley of -King Alfred. The cow’s whiteness is more -important than anything except her cowishness. -If Blake had ever introduced a white cow into -one of his pictures, there would at least have -been no doubt about either of those two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -elements. Similarly there would have been -no doubt about them in any old Christian -illumination. On this point he is at one with -all the mystics and with all the saints.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="ploughing_the_earth" style="max-width: 64.625em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/ploughing_the_earth.jpg" alt="" title="Ploughing the Earth" /> - <div class="caption"><p>PLOUGHING THE EARTH (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>This explanation is really essential to the -understanding of Blake, because to the modern -mind it is so easy to understand him in the -opposite sense. In the ordinary modern -meaning Blake’s symbols are not symbols at -all. They are not allegories. An allegory -nowadays means taking something that does -not exist as a symbol of something that does -exist. We believe, at least most of us do, -that sin does exist. We believe (on highly -insufficient grounds) that a dragon does not -exist. So we make the unreal dragon an -allegory of the real sin. But that is not what -Blake meant when he made the lamb the -symbol of innocence. He meant that there -really is behind the universe an eternal image -called the Lamb, of which all living lambs are -merely the copies or the approximation. He -held that eternal innocence to be an actual -and even an awful thing. He would not have -seen anything comic, any more than the -Christian Evangelist saw anything comic, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -talking about the Wrath of the Lamb. If -there were a lamb in one of Æsop’s fables, -Æsop would never be so silly as to represent -him as angry. But Christianity is more daring -than Æsop, and the wrath of the Lamb is its -great paradox. If there is an immortal lamb, -a being whose simplicity and freshness are for -ever renewed, then it is truly and really a -more creepy idea to horrify that being into -hostility than to defy the flaming dragon or -challenge darkness or the sea. No old wolf -or world-worn lion is so awful as a creature -that is always young—a creature that is always -newly born. But the main point here is -simpler. It is merely that Blake did not -mean that meekness was true and the lamb -only a pretty fable. If anything he meant -that meekness was a mere shadow of the everlasting -lamb. The distinction is essential to -anyone at all concerned for this rooted spirituality -which is the only enduring sanity of -mankind. The personal is not a mere figure -for the impersonal; rather the impersonal is a -clumsy term for something more personal than -common personality. God is not a symbol of -goodness. Goodness is a symbol of God.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> - -<p>Some very odd passages in Blake become -clear if we keep this in mind. I do not wish -in this book to dwell unduly on the other side -of Blake, the literary side. But there are -queer facts worth remarking, and this is -one of them. Blake was sincere; if he was -insane he was insane with the very solidity -and completeness of his sincerity. And the -quaintest mark of his sincerity is this, that in -his poetry he constantly writes things that -look like mere mistakes. He writes one of -his most colossal convictions and the average -reader thinks it is a misprint. To give only -one example not connected with the matter -in hand, the fine though somewhat frantic -poem called “The Everlasting Gospel” begins -exactly as the modern humanitarian and -essential Christian would like it to begin—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“The vision of Christ that thou dost see</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is my vision’s greatest enemy.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It goes on (to the modern Christian’s complete -satisfaction) with denunciations of priests and -praise of the pure Gospel Jesus; and then -comes a couplet like this—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Thine is the friend of all mankind,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mine speaks in parables to the blind.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> -<p>And the modern humanitarian Christian finds -the orthodox Christ calmly rebuked because -he is the friend of all mankind. The -modern Christian simply blames the printer. -He can only suppose that the words “Thine” -and “Mine” have been put in each other’s -places by accident. Blake, however, as it -happens, meant exactly what he said. His -private vision of Christ was the vision of a -violent and mysterious being, often indignant -and occasionally disdainful.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“He acts with honest disdainful pride,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And that is the cause that Jesus died;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Had he been Antichrist, creeping Jesus,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He would have done anything to please us,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Gone sneaking into their synagogues,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And not use the elders and priests like dogs.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When the reader has fully realised this idea of -a fierce and mysterious Jesus, he may then see -the sense in the statement that this Jesus -speaks in parables to the blind while the lower -and meaner Jesus pretends to be the friend of -all men. But you have to know Blake’s -doctrine before you can understand two lines -of his poetry.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span></p> - -<p>Now in the point which is here prominently -before us there is a quotation (indeed there is -more than one) which follows this same fantastic -line. Let the ordinary modern man, -who is, generally speaking, not a materialist -and not a mystic, read first these two lines -from the poem falsely called “The Auguries -of Innocence”—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“God appears and God is light</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To those poor souls that dwell in night.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_eagle" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_eagle.jpg" alt="" title="The Eagle" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE EAGLE (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>He will not find anything objectionable in -that, at any rate; probably he will bow his head -slightly to a truism, as if he were in church. -Then he will read the next two lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“But does a human form display</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To those that dwell in realms of day.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>And there the modern man will sit down -suddenly on the sofa and come finally to the -conclusion that William Blake was mad and -nothing else.</p> - -<p>But those last two lines express all that is -best in Blake and all that is best in all the -tradition of the mystics. Those two lines<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span> -explain perfectly all that I have just pointed -out concerning the palpable visions and the -ponderous cherubim. This is the point about -Blake that must be understood if nothing else -is understood. God for him was not more and -more vague and diaphanous as one came near -to Him. God was more and more solid as one -came near. When one was far off one might -fancy Him to be impersonal. When one came -into personal relation one knew that He was a -person. The personal God was the fact. The -impersonal God of the Pantheists was a -kind of condescending symbol. According -to Blake (and there is more in the mental -attitude than most modern people will willingly -admit) this vague cosmic view is a mere merciful -preparation for the old practical and -personal view. God is merely light to the -merely unenlightened. God is a man to the -enlightened. We are permitted to remain for -a time evolutionary or pantheist until the time -comes when we are worthy to be anthropomorphic.</p> - -<p>Understand this Blake conception that the -Divine is most bodily and definite when we -really know it, and the severe lines and sensational<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span> -literalism of his other and more pictorial -work will be easily understood. Naturally his -divinities are definite, because he thought that -the more they were definite, the more they -were divine. Naturally God was not to him -a hazy light breaking through the tangle of -the evolutionary undergrowth, nor a blinding -brilliancy in the highest place of the heavens. -God was to him the magnificent old man depicted -in his dark and extraordinary illustrations -of “Job,” the old man with the monstrous -muscles, the mild stern eyebrows, the long -smooth silver hair and beard. In the dialogues -between Jehovah and Job there is little difference -between the two ponderous and palpable -old men, except that the vision of Deity is a -little more solid than the human being. But -then Blake held that Deity is more solid than -humanity. He held that what we call the -ideal is not only more beautiful but more -actual than the real. The ordinary educated -modern person staring at these “Job” designs -can only say that God is a mere elderly twin -brother of Job. Blake would have at once -retorted that Job was an image of God.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> - -<hr class="tb"/> - -<p><span class="smcap">On</span> consideration I incline to think that the -best way to summarise the art of Blake -from its most superficial to its most subtle -phase would be simply to take one quick -characteristic picture and discuss it fully; -first its title and subject, then its look and -shape, then its main principles and implications. -Let us take as a good working -example the weird picture which is reproduced -on one of the pages of Gilchrist’s “Life -of Blake.”</p> - -<p>Now the obvious, prompt, and popular view -of Blake is very well represented by the mere -title of the picture. The first thing any -ordinary person will notice about it is that it -is called “The Ghost of a Flea”; and the -ordinary person will be very justifiably amused. -This is the first fact about William Blake—that -he is a joke; and it is a fact by no means -to be despised. Simply considered as a puzzle -or parlour game, Blake is extraordinarily -entertaining. I have known many cultivated -families made happy on winter evenings by -trying to understand the poem called “The -Mental Traveller,” or wondering what can be -the significance of the stanza that runs:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Little Mary Bell had a fairy in a nut,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Long John Brown had the devil in his gut;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Long John Brown loved little Mary Bell,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the fairy drew the devil into the nutshell.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="albion_arouse_thyself" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/albion_arouse_thyself.jpg" alt="" title="Albion! Arouse Thyself!" /> - <div class="caption"><p>“ALBION! AROUSE THYSELF!” (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>The first fact is that we are puzzled and also -honestly amused. It is as if we had a highly -eccentric neighbour in the next garden. -Long before we like him we like gossiping -about him. And the mere title, “The Ghost -of a Flea,” represents all that makes Blake a -centre of literary gossip.</p> - -<p>And now, having enjoyed the oddity of the -title, let us look at the picture. Let us -attempt to describe, so far as it can be done -in words instead of lines, what Blake thought -that the ghost of a flea would be like. The -scene suggests a high and cheerless corridor, -as in some silent castle of giants. Through -this a figure, naked and gigantic, is walking -with a high-shouldered and somewhat stealthy -stride. In one hand the creature has a -peculiar curved knife of a cruel shape; in -the other he has a sort of stone basin. The -most striking line in the composition is the -hard long curve of the spine, which goes up -without a single flicker to the back of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span> -brutal head, as if the whole back view were -built like a tower of stone. The face is in -no sense human. It has something that is -aquiline and also something that is swinish; -its eyes are alive with a moony glitter that is -entirely akin to madness. The thing seems -to be passing a curtain and entering a room.</p> - -<p>With this we may mark the second fact -about Blake—that if his only object is to -make our flesh creep, he does it well. His -bogeys are good reliable bogeys. There is -really something that appeals to the imagination -about this notion of the ghost of a flea -being a tall vampire stalking through tall -corridors at night. We have found Blake an -amusing madman and now an interesting -madman; let us go on with the process.</p> - -<p>The third thing to note about this picture -is that for Blake the ghost of a flea means -the idea or principle of a flea. The principle -of a flea (so far as we can see it) is bloodthirstiness, -the feeding on the life of another, -the fury of the parasite. Fleas may have -other nobler sentiments and meditations, -but we know nothing about them. The -vision of a flea is a vision of blood; and that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span> -is what Blake has made of it. This is the -next point, then, to be remarked in his make-up -as a mystic; he is interested in the ideas -for which such things stand. For him the -tiger means an awful elegance; for him the -tree means a silent strength.</p> - -<p>If it be granted that Blake was interested, -not in the flea, but in the idea of the flea, we -can proceed to the next step, which is a particularly -important one. Every great mystic -goes about with a magnifying glass. He sees -every flea as a giant—perhaps rather as an -ogre. I have spoken of the tall castle in which -these giants dwell; but, indeed, that tall tower -is the microscope. It will not be denied that -Blake shows the best part of a mystic’s attitude -in seeing that the soul of a flea is ten thousand -times larger than a flea. But the really interesting -point is much more striking. It is -the essential point upon which all primary -understanding of the art of Blake really turns. -The point is this: that the ghost of a flea is -not only larger than a flea, the ghost of a flea -is actually more solid than a flea. The flea -himself is hazy and fantastic compared to -the hard and massive actuality of his ghost.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span> -When we have understood this, we have understood -the second of the great ideas in Blake—the -idea of ideas.</p> - -<p>To sum up Blake’s philosophy in any phrase -sufficiently simple and popular for our purpose -is not at all easy. For Blake’s philosophy was -not simple. Those who imagine that because -he was always talking about lambs and daisies, -about Jesus and little children, that therefore -he held a simple gospel of goodwill, entirely -misunderstand the whole nature of his mind. -No man had harder dogmas; no one insisted -more that religion must have theology. The -Everlasting Gospel was far from being a simple -gospel. Blake had succeeded in inventing in -the course of about ten years as tangled and -interdependent a system of theology as the -Catholic Church has accumulated in two -thousand. Much of it, indeed, he inherited -from ancient heretics who were much more -doctrinal than the orthodoxy which they -opposed. Notable among these were the -Gnostics, and in some degree the mad Franciscans -who followed Joachim de Flor. Very -few modern people would know an Akamoth -or an Æon if they saw him. Yet one would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span> -really have to be on rather intimate terms -with these old mystical gods and demons -before one could move quite easily in the -Cosmos which was familiar to Blake.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_crucifixion" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_crucifixion.jpg" alt="" title="The Crucifixion" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE CRUCIFIXION (1804)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Let us, however, attempt to find a short and -popular statement of the position of Blake -and all such mystics. The plainest way of -putting it, I think, is this: this school especially -denied the authority of Nature. Some -went the extreme length of the mad Manichæans, -and declared the material universe -evil in itself. Some, like Blake, and most -of the poets considered it as a shadow or -illusion, a sort of joke of the Almighty. But -whatever else Nature was, Nature was not our -mother. Blake applies to her the strange -words used by Christ to Mary, and says to -Mother-Earth in many poems: “What have I -to do with thee?” It is common to connect -Blake and Wordsworth because of their ballads -about babies and sheep. They were utterly -opposite. If Wordsworth was the Poet of -Nature, Blake was specially the Poet of Anti-Nature. -Against Nature he set a certain entity -which he called Imagination; but the word as -commonly used conveys very little of what he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span> -meant by it. He did not mean something -shadowy or fantastic, but rather something -clear-cut, definite, and unalterable. By Imagination, -that is, he meant images; the -eternal images of things. You might shoot -all the lions on the earth; but you could not -destroy the Lion of Judah, the Lion of the -Imagination. You might kill all the lambs -of the world and eat them; but you could not -kill the Lamb of the Imagination, which was -the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins -of the world. Blake’s philosophy, in brief, -was primarily the assertion that the ideal is -more actual than the real: just as in Euclid -the good triangle in the mind is a more actual -(and more practical) than the bad triangle on -the blackboard.</p> - -<p>Many of Blake’s pictures become intelligible -(or as intelligible as they can become) if we -keep this principle in mind. For instance, -there is a fine design representing a naked and -heroic youth of great beauty tracing something -on the sand. The reader, when he looks at the -title of it, is interested to discover that this is -a portrait of Sir Isaac Newton. It was not so -much of an affectation as it seems. Blake from<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -his own point of view really did think that -the Eternal Isaac Newton as God beheld him -was more of an actuality than the terrestrial -gentleman who happened to be elderly or -happened by some sublunary accident to wear -clothes. Therefore, when he calls it a -“portrait” he is not, from his own point of -view, talking nonsense. It is the form and -feature of someone who exists and who is -different from everyone else, just as if it were -the ordinary oil-painting of an alderman.</p> - -<p>The most important conception can be found -in one sentence which he let fall as if by accident, -“Nature has no outline, but imagination -has.” If a clear black line when looked -at through a microscope was seen to be a ragged -and confused edge like a mop or a doormat, -then Blake would say, “So much the worse for -the microscope.” If pure lines existed only -in the human mind, then Blake would say, -“So much the better for the human mind.” -If the real earth grew damp and dubious when -it met and mixed itself with the sea, so much -the worse for the real earth. If the idea of -clean-cut truth existed only in the intellect, that -was the most actual place in which anything<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span> -could exist. In short, Blake really insisted that -man as the image of God had a right to impose -form upon nature. He would have laughed to -scorn the notion of the modern evolutionist—that -Nature is to be permitted to impose formlessness -upon man. For him the lines in a -landscape were boundaries which he drew like -frontiers, by his authority as the plenipotentiary -ambassador of heaven. When he drew his -line round Leviathan he was drawing the -divine net around him; he tamed his bulls and -lions even by creating them. And when he -made in some picture a line between sea and -land that does not exist in Nature, he was -saying by supernatural right, “Thus far shalt -thou come, and no farther, and here shall thy -proud waves be stayed.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="smcap">I select</span> the symbol of the sea partly because -Blake was himself fond of such elemental -images, and partly because it is an image -especially appropriate to Blake’s great conception -of the outline in the eternal imagination. -Nearly all phrases about the sea are specially -and spiritually false. People talk of the sea<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -as vast and vague, drifting and indefinite; as -if the magic of it lay in having no lines or -boundaries. But the spell of the sea upon the -eye and the soul is exactly this: that it is the -one straight line in nature. They talk of the -infinite sea. Artistically it would be far truer -to talk of an infinite haystalk; for the haystalk -does slightly fade into a kind of fringe against -the sky. But the horizon line is not only hard -but <i>tight</i>, like a fiddle-string. I have always -a nervous fear that the sea-line will snap -suddenly. And it is exactly this mathematical -decision in the sea that makes it so romantic -a background for fighting and human figures. -England was called in Catholic days the garden -of Mary. The garden is all the more beautiful -because it is enclosed in four hard angular -walls of sapphire or emerald. Any mere tuft -or twig can curve with a curve that is incalculable. -Any scrap of moss can contain in itself -an irregularity that is infinite. The sea is the -one thing that is really exciting because the -sea is the one thing that is flat.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_judgement_day" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_judgement_day.jpg" alt="" title="The Judgment Day" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE JUDGMENT DAY (1806)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Whether, however, these conclusions can be -accepted by the reader as true, they can at -least be accepted as typifying the kind of thing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -which William Blake believed to be true. He -would have felt the sea not as a waste but as -a wall. Nature had no outline, but imagination -had. And it was imagination that was -trustworthy.</p> - -<p>This definition explains other things. Blake -was enthusiastically in favour of the French -Revolution; yet he enthusiastically hated that -school of sceptics which, in the opinion of -many, made the Revolution possible. He did -not mind Marat; but he detested Voltaire. -The reason is obvious in the light of his views -on Nature and Imagination. The Republican -Idealists he liked because they were Idealists, -because their abstract doctrines about justice -and human equality were abstract doctrines. -But the school of Voltaire was naturalistic; it -loved to remind man of his earthly origin and -even of his earthly degradation. The war, which -Blake loved, was a war of the invisible against -the visible. Valmy and Arcola were part of such -a war; it was a war between the visible kings -and the invisible Republic. But Voltaire’s war -was exactly the opposite; it was a discrediting -of the invisible Church by the indecent exhibition -of the real Church, with its fat friars or its<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span> -foolish old women. Blake had no sympathy -with this mere flinging of facts at a great -conception. In a really powerful and exact -metaphor he describes the powerlessness of -this earthly and fragmentary sceptical attack.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Mock on, mock on, Voltaire, Rousseau,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mock on, mock on, ’tis all in vain,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">You throw the sand against the wind</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the wind blows it back again.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>An excellent image for a mere attack by -masses of detail.</p> - -<p>There were some of Blake’s intellectual -conceptions which I have not professed either -to admire or to defend. Some of his views -were really what the old mediæval world called -heresies and what the modern world (with an -equally healthy instinct but with less scientific -clarity) calls fads. In either case the definition -of the fad or heresy is not so very difficult. A -fad or heresy is the exaltation of something -which, even if true, is secondary or temporary -in its nature against those things which are -essential and eternal, those things which always -prove themselves true in the long run. In -short, it is the setting up of the mood against<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span> -the mind. For instance: it is a mood, a -beautiful and lawful mood, to wonder how -oysters really feel. But it is a fad, an ugly -and unlawful fad, to starve human beings -because you will not let them eat oysters. It -is a beautiful mood to feel impelled to assassinate -Mr Carnegie; but it is a fad to maintain -seriously that any private person has a right -to do it. We all have emotional moments in -which we should like to be indecent in a -drawing-room; but it is faddist to turn all -drawing-rooms into places in which one is -indecent. We all have at times an almost -holy temptation suddenly to scream out very -loud; but it is heretical and pedantic really to -go on screaming for the remainder of your -natural life. If you throw one bomb you -are only a murderer; but if you keep on -persistently throwing bombs you are in awful -danger of at last becoming a prig. It has been -this trouble that has partly poisoned the people -from which William Blake inherited, if not his -blood, at least his civilization. The real trouble -with Puritanism was not that it was a senseless -prejudice nor yet altogether (as would seem -superficially obvious) that it was a mere form<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span> -of devil-worship. It was none of these things -in its first and freshest motive.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp60" id="the_tomb" style="max-width: 87.8125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_tomb.jpg" alt="" title="The Tomb" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE TOMB (1806)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Puritanism was an honourable mood; it was -a noble fad. In other words, it was a highly -creditable mistake. We have all felt the -frame of mind in which one wishes to smash -golden croziers and mitres merely because -they are golden. We all know how natural it -is at certain moments to feel a profound thirst -to kick clergymen simply because they are -clergymen. But if we seriously ask ourselves -whether in the long run humanity is not -happier with gold in its religion rather than -mere drab, then we come to the conclusion -that the gold on cross or cope does give more -pleasure to most men than it gives pain, for a -moment, to us. If we really ask ourselves if -religions do not work better with a definite -priesthood to do the drudgery of religion, we -come to the conclusion that they do work -better. Anti-clericalism is a generous and -ideal mood; clericalism is a permanent and -practical necessity. To put the matter in an -easier and more everyday metaphor, it is -natural for any poor Londoner to feel at times -an abstract aspiration to beat the Lord Mayor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span> -of London. But it does not follow that it -would really have been a kindness to poor -Londoners to abolish the Lord Mayor’s Show.</p> - -<p>Now it is in this sense that we may truly -say that Blake (upon one side of his mind) -was something worse than a maniac—he was a -faddist. He did permit aspirations or prejudices -which are accidental or one-sided to capture -and control him at the expense of things really -more human and enduring: things which he -shared with all the children of men. I do -not allude to his supernaturalism; for on that -he is in no sense alone, nor even specially -eccentric. I do not refer to his love of the -gorgeous, the terrible or even the secretive -of temples, initiations, and hieroglyphic religion. -For that sort of mystery is really quite popular -and even democratic. That sort of secrecy -is a very open secret.</p> - -<p>It is usual to hear a man say in modern -England that he has too much common sense -to believe in ghosts. But common sense is in -favour of a belief in ghosts, the common sense -of mankind. It is usual to hear a man say -that he likes common sense and does not like -the mummeries and flummeries of church<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span> -ritual. But common sense is in favour of -mummery and ritualism, the common sense -of mankind. The man who attempts to do -without symbols is a prophet so austere and -isolated as to be dangerously near to a -madman. The man who does not believe in -ghosts is a solitary fanatic and lonely dreamer -among the sons of men. Therefore I do not -in any sense count even his craziest visions or -wildest symbols among the real fads or -eccentricities of Blake. But he had mental -attitudes which were really fads and eccentricities, -in this essential sense, that they were -not exaggerations of a general human feeling -but definite denials of it. He did not lead -humanity, but attacked or even obstructed it. -Many instances might be given of the kind of -thing I mean; there was something of it in -Blake’s persistent and even pedantic insistence -that war as war is evil. There was something -of Tolstoy in Blake; and that means something -that is inhuman as well as something -that is heroic. But his allusions to this were -occasional and perhaps even accidental, and -better cases could certainly be found. The -essential of all the cases is, however, that when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span> -he went wrong it was as an intellectual and -not as a poet.</p> - -<p>Take, for example, his notion of going naked. -Here I think Blake is merely a sort of hard -theorist. Here, in spite of his imagination -and his laughter, there was even a touch of -the prig about him. He was obscene on -principle. So to a great extent was Walt -Whitman. A dictionary is supposed to contain -all words, so it has to contain coarse words. -“Leaves of Grass” was planned to praise all -things, so it had to praise gross things. There -was something of this pedantic perfection in -Blake’s escapades. As the hygienist insists -on wearing Jäger clothes, he insisted on wearing -no clothes. As the æsthete must wear -sandals, he must wear nothing. He is not -really lawless at all; he is bowing to the law -of his own outlawed logic.</p> - -<p>There is nothing at all poetical in this revolt. -William Blake was a great and real poet; but -in this point he was simply unpoetical. Walt -Whitman was a great and real poet; but on -this point he was prosaic and priggish. Two -extraordinary men are not poets because they -tear away the veil from sex. On the contrary<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> -it is because all men are poets that they all -hang a veil over sex. The ploughman does -not plough by night, because he does not -feel specially romantic about ploughing. He -does love by night, because he does feel -specially romantic about sex. In this matter -Blake was not only unpoetical, but far less -poetical than the mass of ordinary men. -Decorum is not an over-civilised convention. -Decorum is not tame, decorum is wild, as wild -as the wind at night.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“Mysterious as the moons that rise</div> - <div class="verse indent0">At midnight in the pines of Var.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_selfhood_of_deceit" style="max-width: 64.9375em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_selfhood_of_deceit.jpg" alt="" title="The Selfhood of Deceit" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE SELFHOOD OF DECEIT (1807)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Modesty is too fierce and elemental a thing -for the modern pedants to understand; I had -almost said too savage a thing. It has in it -the joy of escape and the ancient shyness of -freedom. In this matter Blake and Whitman -are merely among the modern pedants. In -not admiring sexual reticence these two great -poets simply did not understand one of the -greatest poems of humanity.</p> - -<p>I have given as an instance his disregard of -the idea of mystery and modesty as involved -in dress; it was an unpoetical thought that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span> -there should be no curtains of gold or scarlet -round the shrine of the Holy Spirit. But -there is stronger instances in his theology -and philosophy. Thus he imbibed the idea -common among early Gnostics and not unknown -to Christian Science speculators of -our day, that it was a confession of weakness -in Christ to be crucified at all. If he had -really attained divine life (so ran the argument) -he ought to have attained immortal life; he -ought to have lived for ever upon the earth. -With an excess of what can only be called -impudence, he even turned Gethsemane into -a sort of moral breakdown; the sudden weakness -which accepted death. The general -claim that vices are poetical is largely unfounded; -and this is an excellent example of -how unpoetical is the vice of profanity. Blasphemy -is not wild; blasphemy is in its nature -prosaic. It consists in regarding in a commonplace -manner something which other and -happier people regard in a rapturous and -imaginative manner. This is well exemplified -in poor Blake and his Gnostic heresy about -Jesus. In holding that Christ was weakened -by being crucified he is certainly a pedant,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> -and certainly not a poet. If there is one point -on which the spirit of the poets and the poetic -soul in all peoples is on the side of Christianity, -it is exactly this one point on which Blake is -against Christianity—“was crucified, dead and -buried.” The spectacle of a God dying is -much more grandiose than the spectacle of -a man living for ever. The former suggests -that awful changes have really entered the -alchemy of the universe; the latter is only -vaguely reminiscent of hygienic octogenarians -and Eno’s Fruit Salts. Moreover, to the poet -as to the child, death must be dreadful even -if it is desirable. To talk (as some modern -theosophists do) about death being nothing, -the mere walking into another room, to talk -like this is not only prosaic and profoundly -un-Christian; it is decidedly vulgar. It is -against the whole trend of the secret emotions -of humanity. It is indecent, like persuading -a decent peasant to go without clothes. There -is more of the song and music of mankind in -a clerk putting on his Sunday clothes than -in a fanatic running naked down Cheapside. -And there is more real mysticism in nailing -down a coffin lid than in pretending, in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -mere rhetoric, to throw open the doors of -death.</p> - -<p>I have given two cases of the presence in -Blake of these anti-human creeds which I call -fads—the case of clothes and the case of the -crucifixion. I could give a much larger -number of them, but I think their nature is -here sufficiently indicated. They are all cases -in which Blake ceased to be a poet, through -becoming entirely, instead of only partially, -separated from the people. And this, I think, -is certainly connected with that quality in him -to which I referred in analysing the eighteenth -century; I mean the element of oligarchy and -fastidiousness in the mystics and masonries of -that epoch. They were all founded in an -atmosphere of degrees and initiations. The -chief difference between Christianity and the -thousand transcendental schools of to-day is -substantially the same as the difference nearly -two thousand years ago between Christianity -and the thousand sacred rites and secret -societies of the Pagan Empire. The deepest -difference is this: that all the heathen -mysteries are so far aristocratic, that they are -understood by some, and not understood by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span> -others. The Christian mysteries are so far democratic -that nobody understands them at all.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_shepherds" style="max-width: 77.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_shepherds_1.jpg" alt="" title="The Shepherds" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_shepherds_2" style="max-width: 77.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_shepherds_2.jpg" alt="" title="The Shepherds" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE SHEPHERDS (1821)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>When we have fairly stated this doubtful -and even false element in Blake’s philosophy, -we can go on with greater ease and thoroughness -to state where the solid and genuine -value of that philosophy lay. It consisted in -its placid and positive defiance of materialism, -a work upon which all the mystics, Pagan and -Christian, have been employed from the beginning. -It is not unnatural that they should -have fallen into many errors, employed -dangerous fallacies, and even ruined the earth -for the sake of the cloudland. But the war -in which they were engaged has been none -the less the noblest and most important effort -of human history, and in their whole army -there was no greater warrior than Blake.</p> - -<p>One of the strange and rooted contradictions -of the eighteenth century is a combination -between profound revolution and superficial -conventionality. It might almost be said that -the men of that time had altered morals long -before they thought of altering manners. The -French Revolution was especially French in -this respect, that it was above all things a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -respectable revolution. Violence was excused; -madness was excused; but eccentricity was -inexcusable. These men had taken a king’s -head off his shoulders long before they -had thought of taking the powder off their -own heads. Danton could understand the -Massacres of September, but he could not -understand the worship of the Goddess of -Reason or all the antics of the German madman -Clootz. Robespierre grew tired of the -Terror, but he never grew tired of shaving -every morning. It is impossible to avoid the -impression that this is rather a characteristic -of the revolutions which really make a difference -and defy the world. The same is true -of that fallacious but most powerful and -genuine English monument which was -covered by the words Darwin and Evolution. -If there was one striking thing about the -fine old English agnostics, it was that they -were entirely indifferent to alterations in the -externals of pose or fashion, that they seem -to have supposed that the huge intellectual -overturn of agnosticism would leave the -obvious respectability of life exactly as it was. -They thought that one might entirely alter a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -man’s head without in the least altering his -hat. They thought that one might shatter -the twin wings of an archangel without throwing -the least doubt upon the twin whiskers -of a mid-Victorian professor. And though -there was undoubtedly a certain solemn -humour about such a position, yet, on the -whole, I think the mid-Victorian agnostics -were employing the right kind of revolution. -It is broadly a characteristic of all valuable -new-fashioned opinions that they are brought -in by old-fashioned men. For the sincerity of -such men is proved by both facts—the fact -that they do care about their new truth and -the fact that they do not care about their -old clothes. Herbert Spencer’s philosophy is -all the more serious because his appearance -(to judge by his photographs) was quite startlingly -absurd. And while the Tory caricatures -were deriding Gladstone because he introduced -very new-fangled legislation, they were -also deriding him because he wore very antiquated -collars.</p> - -<p>But though this strange combination of -convention in small things with revolt in -big ones is not uncommon in hearty and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span> -human reformers, there is a quite special -emphasis on this combination in the case of the -eighteenth century. The very men who did -deeds which were more dreadful and daring -than we can dream to achieve, were the very -men who spoke and wrote with a mincing -propriety and almost effeminate fastidious -distinction such as we should scarcely condescend -to employ. The eighteenth century -man called the eighteenth century woman “an -elegant female”; but he was quite capable of -saving her from a mad bull. He described his -ideal republic as a place containing all the refined -sensibilities of virtue with all the voluptuous -seductions of pleasure. But he would be -hacked with an axe and blown out of a gun -to get it. He could pursue new notions with -a certain solid and virile constancy, as if they -were old ones. And the explanation is partly -this: that however revolutionary, they were -old ones—in this sense at least, that they involved -the pursuit of some primary human -hope to its original home. They powdered -their hair because they really thought that a -civilized man should be civilized—or, if you -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>will, artificial. They spoke of “an elegant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span> -female” because they really thought, with -their whole souls, that a female ought to be -elegant. The old rebels preserved the old -fashions—and among others the old fashion -of rebelling. The new rebels, the revolutionists -of our time, are intent upon introducing -new fashions in boots, beds, food or furniture; -so they have no time to rebel. But if we -have once grasped this eighteenth century -element of the insistence upon the elegant -female because she is elegant, we have got -hold of a fundamental fact in the relation of -that century to Blake.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_morning_stars" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_morning_stars.jpg" alt="" title="The Morning Stars" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE MORNING STARS (1821)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>It is instinctive to describe Blake as a -fantastic artist; and yet there is a very real -sense in which Blake is conventional. If any -reader thinks the phrase paradoxical, he can -easily discover that it is true; he can discover -it simply by comparing Blake even in his -most wild and arbitrary work with any merely -modern artist who has the name of being -wild; with Aubrey Beardsley or even with -Rossetti. All Blake’s heroes are conventional -heroes made unconventionally heroic. All -Blake’s heroines are elegant females without -their clothes. But in both cases they exaggerate<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span> -and insist upon the traditional ideal -of the sexes—the broad shoulders of the god -and the broad hips of the goddess. Blake detested -the sensuality of Rubens. But if he -had been obliged to choose between the -women of Rubens and the women of Rossetti, -he would have flung himself on the neck of -Rubens. For we have a false conception of -what constitutes exaggeration. The end of -the eighteenth century (being a dogmatic -period) believed in certain things and exaggerated -them. The end of the nineteenth -century simply did not know what things to -exaggerate; so it fell back upon merely underrating -them. Blake tried to make Wallace -look even bolder and fiercer than Wallace can -possibly have looked. That was his exaggeration -of Wallace. But Burne-Jones’ exaggeration -of Perseus is not an exaggeration at all. -It is an under-statement; for the whole -fascination of Burne-Jones’ Perseus is that he -looks frightened. Blake’s figure of a woman -is aggressively and monstrously womanly. -That is its fascination, if it has any. But the -fascination of a Beardsley woman (if she has -any) is exactly that she is not quite a woman.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span> -So much of what we have meant by exaggeration -is really diminution; so much of what -we have meant by fancy is simply falling short -of fact. The Burne-Jones’ man is interesting -because he is not quite brave enough to be a -man. The Beardsley woman is interesting -because she is not quite pretty enough to be -a woman. But Blake’s men are brave beyond -all decency: and Blake’s women are so -swaggeringly bent on being beautiful that -they become quite ugly in the process. If -anyone wishes to know exactly what I mean, -I recommend him to look at one of those -extraordinary designs of nymphs in which a -woman (or, as Blake loved to call it, the -Female Form) is made to perform an impossible -feat of acrobatics. It is impossible, but it is -quite female; perhaps the words are not wholly -inconsistent. A living serpent might perform -such a piece of athletics; but even then only -a female living serpent. But nobody would -ask a Burne-Jones or Beardsley female to -perform any athletics at all.</p> - -<p>Blake in pictorial art was not a mere master -of the moonstruck or the grotesque. On the -contrary, he was, as artists go, exceptionally a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span> -champion of the smooth and sensible. In so -far as being “modern” means being against -the great conventions of mankind, indifferent -to the difference of the sexes, or inclined to -despise doctrinal outline, then there was -never any man who was so little of a modern -as Blake. He may have been mad; but there -are varieties even in madness. There are -madmen, like Blake, who go mad on health, -and there are madmen who go mad on -sickness.</p> - -<p>The distinction is a solid one. You may -think the queerly and partially clothed women -of Aubrey Beardsley ugly. You may think the -naked women of William Blake ugly. But you -must perceive this peculiar and extraordinary -effect about the women of William Blake, that -they are women. They are exaggerated in the -direction of the female form; they swing upon -big hips; they let out and loosen long and -luxuriant hair. Now the queer females of -Aubrey Beardsley are queerest of all in this, -that they are not even female. They are -narrow where women have a curve and cropped -where women have a head of hair. Blake’s -women are often anatomically impossible.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span> -But they are so far women that they could -not possibly be anything else.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_whirlwind" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_whirlwind.jpg" alt="" title="The Whirlwind" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE WHIRLWIND (1825)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>This comparison between Blake’s art and -such art as Aubrey Beardsley’s is not an invidious -impertinence, it is really an important -distinction. Blake’s work may be fantastic; -but it is a fantasia on an old and recognisable -air. It exaggerates characteristics. Blake’s -women are too womanish, his young men are -too athletic, his old men are too preposterously -old. But Aubrey Beardsley does not really -exaggerate; he understates. His young men -have less than the energy of youth. His -women fascinate by the weakness of sex rather -than by its strength. In short, if one is really -to exaggerate the truth, one must have some -truth to exaggerate. The decadent mystic -produces an effect not by exaggerating but by -distorting. True exaggeration is a thing both -subtle and austere. Caricature is a serious -thing; it is almost blasphemously serious. -Caricature really means making a pig more like -a pig than even God has made him. But anyone -can make him not like a pig at all; anyone -can create a weird impression by giving him -the beard of a goat. In Aubrey Beardsley the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -artistic thrill (and there is an artistic thrill) -consists in the fact that the women are not -quite women nor the men quite men. Blake -had absolutely no trace of this morbidity of -deficiency. He never asks us to consider a -tree magical because it is a stunted tree; or a -man a magician merely because he has one eye. -His form of fantasy would rather be to give -a tree more branches than it could carry and -to give a man bigger eyes than he could keep -in his head. There is really a great deal of -difference between the fantastic and the exaggerative. -One may be fantastic by merely -leaving something out. One might call it a -fantasy if the official portrait of Wellington -represented him without a nose. But one -could hardly call it an exaggeration.</p> - -<p>There is an everlasting battle in which Blake -is on the side of the angels, and what is much -more difficult and dangerous, on the side of all -the sensible men. The question is so enormous -and so important, that it is difficult to state -even by reason of its reality. For in this world -of ours we do not so much go on and discover -small things; rather we go on and discover -big things. It is the details that we see first;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -it is the design that we only see very slowly; -and some men die never having seen it at all. -We all wake up on a battle-field. We see -certain squadrons in certain uniforms gallop -past; we take an arbitrary fancy to this or -that colour, to this or that plume. But it -often takes us a long time to realise what the -fight is about or even who is fighting whom. -One may say, to keep up the metaphor, that -many a man has joined the French army from -love of the Horse Guards Blue; many an old-fashioned -eighteenth century sailor has gone -over to the Chinese merely because they wore -pigtails. It is so easy to turn against what is -really yourself for the sake of some accidental -resemblance to yourself. You may envy the -curled hair of Hercules; but do not envy -curly hair until you wish that you were a nigger. -You may regret that you have a short nose; -but do not dream of its growing longer and -longer till it is like the trunk of an elephant. -Wait until you know what the battle is -broadly about before you rush roaring after -any advancing regiment. For a battle is a -complicated thing; each army contains coats -of different colour; each section of each army<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -advances at a different angle. You may fancy -that the Greens are charging the Blues exactly -at the moment when both are combining to -effect a fine military manœuvre. You may conceive -that two similar-looking columns are -supporting each other at the very instant -when they are about to blaze at each other -with cannon, rifle, and revolver. So in the -modern intellectual world we can see flags of -many colours, deeds of manifold interest; the -one thing we cannot see is the map. We -cannot see the simplified statement which tells -us what is the origin of all the trouble. How -shall we manage to state in an obvious and -alphabetical manner the ultimate query, the -primordial pivot on which the whole modern -problem turns? It cannot be done in long -rationalistic words; they convey by their very -sound the suggestion of something subtle. -One must try to think of something in the way -of a plain street metaphor or an obvious analogy. -For the thing is not too hard for human -speech; it is actually too obvious for human -speech.</p> - -<p>The fundamental fight in which, despite -all this heat and headlong misunderstanding,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span> -William Blake is on the right side, is one -which would require a book about the battle -and not about William Blake. By an accident -at once convenient and deceptive, it can largely -be described as geographical as well as philosophical. -It is crudely true that there are two -types of mysticism, that of Christendom and -that of Orientalism. Now this scheme of east -and west is inadequate; but it does happen to -fit in with the working facts. For the odd -thing is this, not only are most of the merely -modern movements of idealism Oriental, but -their Orientalism is all that they have in -common. They all come together, and yet -their only apparent point of union is that they -all come from the East. Thus a modern vegetarian -is generally also a teetotaller, yet there -is certainly no obvious intellectual connection -between consuming vegetables and not consuming -fermented vegetables. A drunkard, -when lifted laboriously out of the gutter, -might well be heard huskily to plead that -he had fallen there through excessive devotion -to a vegetable diet. On the other hand, a -man might well be a practised and polished -cannibal and still be a strict teetotaller. A<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -subtle parallelism might doubtless be found; -but the only quite obvious parallelism is that -vegetarianism is Buddhist and teetotalism is -Mahometan. In the same way, it is the -cold truth that there is no kind of logical -connection between being an Agnostic and -being a Socialist. But it is the fact that the -Chinese are as agnostic as oxen; and it is the -fact that the Japanese are as socialistic as rats. -These appalling ideas, that a man has no divine -individual destiny, that making a minute item -in the tribe or hive, is his only earthly destiny, -these ideas do come all together out of the -same quarter; they do in practise blow upon -us out of the East, as cold and inhuman as the -east wind.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="the_just_upright_man" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/the_just_upright_man.jpg" alt="" title="The Just Upright Man" /> - <div class="caption"><p>THE JUST UPRIGHT MAN (1825)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>Nevertheless, I do not accept this dull -definition by locality; I think it is a spirit -in Asia, and even a spirit that can be named. -It is approximately described as an insane -simplicity. In all these cases we find people -attempting to perfect a thing solely by simplification; -by obliterating special features: this -cosmos is full of wingless birds, of hornless -cattle, of hairless women, and colourless wine, -all fading into a formless background. There<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span> -is a Christian simplicity, of course, opposed to -this pessimist simplicity. Both the western -and eastern mystic may be called children; -but the eastern child treads the sand-castle -back into sand, and enjoys seeing the silver -snow man melt back into muddy water. -This return to chaos and a comfortless simplicity -is the only intelligent meaning of the words -reaction and reactionary. In this sense much -of modern science is reaction, and most modern -scientists are reactionaries. But where this reversion -to the void can be seen most clearly is -in all the semi-oriental sects to which I have -referred. Teetotalism is a simplification; its -objection to beer is not really that beer makes -a man like a beast. On the contrary, its real -objection is that beer most unmistakably -separates a man from a beast. Vegetarianism -is a simplification; the herb-eating Hindoo -saint does not really dislike the carnivorous -habit because it destroys an animal. Rather, -he dislikes it because it creates an animal; -renews the special aims and appetites of the -separate animal, man. Agnosticism, the ancient -creed of Confucius, is a simplification; it is a -shutting out of all the shadowy splendours<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span> -and terrors; an Arcadian exclusiveness; <i>il faut -cultiver son jardin</i>. Japanese patriotism, the -blind collectivism of the tribe, is a simplification; -it is an attempt to turn our turbulent -and varied humanity into one enormous -animal, with twenty million legs, but only -one head. There is an utterly opposite kind -of simplicity that springs from joy; but this -kind of simplicity certainly is rooted in -despair.</p> - -<p>Now, for practical purposes, there is an -antagonistic order of mysticism; that which -celebrates personality, positive variety, and -special emphasis: just as in broad fact the -mystery of dissolution is emphasized and -typified in the East, so in practice the mystery -of concentration and identity is manifest in -the historic churches of Christendom. Even -the foes of Christianity would readily agree -that Christianity is “personal” in the sense -that a vulgar joke is “personal”: that is -corporeal, vivid, perhaps ugly. This being so, -it has been broadly true that any mystic who -broke with the Christian tradition tended to -drift towards the eastern and pessimist tradition. -In the Albigensian and other heresies<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span> -the East crawled in with its serpentine combination -of glitter and abasement, of pessimism -and pleasure. Every dreamer who strayed -outside the Christian order strayed towards -the Hindu order, and every such dreamer -found his dream turning to a nightmare. If -a man wandered far from Christ he was drawn -into the orbit of Buddha, the other great -magnet of mankind—the negative magnet. -The thing is true down to the latest and the -most lovable visionaries of our own time; if -they do not climb up into Christendom, they -slide down into Thibet. The greatest poet -now writing in the English language (and it is -surely unnecessary to say that I mean Mr -Yeats) has written a whole play round the -statement, “Where there is nothing there is -God.” In this he sharply and purposely cuts -himself off from the real Christian position, -that where there is anything there is God.</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp48" id="for_his_eyes" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/for_his_eyes.jpg" alt="" title="For His Eyes are upon the Ways of Men" /> - <div class="caption"><p>FOR HIS EYES ARE UPON THE WAYS -OF MAN (1825)</p></div> -</div> - -<p>But though, by an almost political accident, -Oriental pessimism has been the practical -alternative to the Christian type of transcendentalism, -there is, and always has been, -a third thing that was neither Christian in an -orthodox sense nor Buddhistic in any sense.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -Before Christianity existed there was a European -school of optimist mystics; among whom -the great name is Plato. And ever since there -have been movements and appearances in -Europe of this healthier heathen mysticism, -which did not shrink from the shapes of things -or the emphatic colours of existence. Something -of the sort was in the Nature worship of -Renaissance philosophers; something of the -sort may even have been behind the strange -mixture of ecstacy and animality in the isolated -episode of Luther. This solid and joyful -occultism appears at its best in Swedenborg; -but perhaps at its boldest and most brilliant in -William Blake.</p> - -<p>The present writer will not, in so important -a matter, pretend to the absurd thing called -impartiality; he is personally quite convinced -that if every human being lived a thousand -years, every human being would end up either -in utter pessimistic scepticism or in the Catholic -creed. William Blake, in his rationalist and -highly Protestant age, was frequently reproached -for his tenderness towards Catholicism; -but it would have surprised him very -much to be told that he would join it. But<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -he would have joined it—if he had lived a -thousand years, or even perhaps a hundred. -He was on the side of historic Christianity on -the fundamental question on which it confronts -the East; the idea that personality is the glory -of the universe and not its shame; that creation -is higher than evolution, because it is more -personal; that pardon is higher than Nemesis, -because it is more personal; that the forgiveness -of sins is essential to the communion of -saints; and the resurrection of the body to the -life everlasting. It was a mark of the old -eastern initiations, it is still a mark of the -grades and planes of our theosophical thinkers, -that as a man climbs higher and higher, God -becomes to him more and more formless, -ethereal, and even thin. And in many of -these temples, both ancient and modern, the -final reward of serving the god through vigils -and purifications, is that one is at last worthy -to be told that the god doesn’t exist.</p> - -<p>Against all this emasculate mysticism Blake -like a Titan rears his colossal figure and his -earthquake voice. Through all the cloud and -chaos of his stubborn symbolism and his -perverse theories, through the tempest of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span> -exaggeration and the full midnight of madness, -he reiterates with passionate precision -that only that which is lovable can be adorable, -that deity is either a person or a puff of wind, -that the more we know of higher things the -more palpable and incarnate we shall find -them; that the form filling the heavens is -the likeness of the appearance of a man. Much -of what Blake thus wildly thundered has been -put quietly and quaintly by Coventry Patmore, -especially in that delicate and daring passage -in which he speaks of the bonds, the simpleness -and even the narrowness of God. The -wise man will follow a star, low and large and -fierce in the heavens; but the nearer he comes -to it the smaller and smaller it will grow, till -he finds it the humble lantern over some little -inn or stable. Not till we know the high -things shall we know how lowly they are. -Meanwhile, the modern superior transcendentalist -will find the facts of eternity incredible -because they are so solid; he will not -recognise heaven because it is so like the -earth.</p> - - - - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE">THE<br/> -POPULAR LIBRARY OF ART</h2> -</div> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>Planned expressly for the general public. The Publishers -do not hesitate in putting forward volumes on subjects -which, even if handled most convincingly before, are -worth repeated handling from new points of view, and -they trust each volume will prove a fresh and stimulating -appreciation of the subject it treats.</i></p> -</div> - - -<p class="center p120"> -Each Volume about 200 pp.<br /> -Average Number of Illustrations, 45. -</p> - - -<p class="p130"> -<b>ALBRECHT DÜRER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Lina Eckenstein</span>.<br /> -<b>ROSSETTI.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>.<br /> -<b>REMBRANDT.</b> By <span class="smcap">Auguste Bréal</span>.<br /> -<b>FREDERICK WALKER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Clementina Black</span>.<br /> -<b>MILLET.</b> By <span class="smcap">Romain Rolland</span>.<br /> -<b>LEONARDO DA VINCI.</b> By <span class="smcap">Dr Georg Gronau</span>.<br /> -<b>GAINSBOROUGH.</b> By <span class="smcap">Arthur B. Chamberlain</span>.<br /> -<b>THE FRENCH IMPRESSIONISTS.</b> By <span class="smcap">Camille Mauclair</span>.<br /> -<b>BOTTICELLI.</b> By <span class="smcap">Julia Cartwright</span> (Mrs <span class="smcap">Ady</span>).<br /> -<b>G. F. WATTS.</b> By <span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>.<br /> -<b>VELAZQUEZ.</b> By <span class="smcap">Auguste Bréal</span>.<br /> -<b>RAPHAEL.</b> By <span class="smcap">Julia Cartwright</span> (Mrs <span class="smcap">Ady</span>).<br /> -<b>HOLBEIN.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>.<br /> -<b>THE ENGLISH WATER-COLOUR PAINTERS.</b> By <span class="smcap">A. J. Finberg</span>.<br /> -<b>WATTEAU.</b> By <span class="smcap">Camille Mauclair</span>.<br /> -<b>PERUGINO.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edward Hutton</span>.<br /> -<b>THE PRE-RAPHAELITE BROTHERHOOD.</b> By <span class="smcap">Ford Madox Hueffer</span>.<br /> -<b>CRUIKSHANK.</b> By <span class="smcap">W. H. Chesson</span>.<br /> -<b>WHISTLER.</b> By <span class="smcap">Bernhard Sickert</span>.<br /> -<b>BLAKE.</b> By <span class="smcap">G. K. Chesterton</span>.<br /> -<b>HOGARTH.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>.<br /> -</p> - -<p>“A charming series. The pictures serve admirably the -best purpose of book-illustration, and help the reader the -better to understand the letterpress. Instructive and -attractive. They deserve to be widely popular.”</p> - -<p>“Of all the little Libraries of Art brought out at -popular prices, this promises to be the best. The illustrations -are extremely well chosen. The printing throughout -is exceptional, and the binding is simple and -appropriate.”</p> - -<p>“Conducted on other lines than those of the many -series of small books on art which the times bring forward -so plentifully. In each case a critical essay which contains -real criticism. Interesting and stimulating.”</p> - - -<div class="transnote"> -<div class="chap"> -<p class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p> -</div> - -<p>The following corrections were made to the text by the transcriber:</p> - -<p>Page 30, “Mary Woolstonecroft" corrected to “Mary Wollstonecraft”.</p> - -<p>Page 46, “Erywhon" corrected to “Erewhon”.</p> - -<p>Page 60, “Leonardo de Vinci" corrected to “Leonardo da Vinci”.</p> - -<p>Page 70, “rheindeer" corrected to “reindeer”.</p> - -<p>Page 88, “four of five different poems” corrected to “four or five -different poems”.</p> - -<p>Page 91, “Oh, Mr Cromek, how do you do?” corrected to “Oh, Mr. Cromek, how do you do?”</p> - -<p>Page 161, “If pure lines existed only on the human mind” corrected to -“If pure lines existed only in the human mind”.</p> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WILLIAM BLAKE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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