,riverside ,college ,classics           
,,selections  ,,from ,,the ,,works ,,of 
,,john ,,ruskin    ,,edited ,,with      
,,introduction ,,and ,,notes ,,by       
,,chauncey ,b4 ,,tinker1 ,ph4,d4        
,professor of ,english in ,yale ,college
  ,,boston--,,new                       
,,york--,,chicago--,,san ,,francisco    
,,houghton ,,mifflin ,,company ,the     
,riverside ,press ,cambridge    #aijh   
,,by ,,houghton ,,mifflin ,,company     
,,all ,,rights ,,reserved  ,the         
,riverside ,press                       
,,cambridge--,,massachusetts ,,printed  
,,in ,,the ,u4,s4,a4     ,,preface   ,in
 making the following selections1 ,i    
have tried to avoid the appearance of   
such a volume as used to be entitled    
,elegant ,extracts4 ,wherever           
practicable1 entire chapters or lectures
 are given1 or at least passages of     
sufficient length to insure a correct   
notion of the general complexion of     
,ruskin's work4 ,the text is in all     
cases that of the first editions1 unless

 these were later revised by ,ruskin    
himself4 ,the original spelling and     
punctuation are preserved1 but a few    
minor changes have been made for the    
sake of uniformity among the various    
extracts4 ,for similar reasons1         
,ruskin's numbering of paragraphs is    
dispensed with4  ,i have aimed not to   
multiply notes4 ,practically all        
,ruskin's own annotation is given1 with 
the exception of one or two very long   
and somewhat irrelevant notes from      
,stones of ,venice4 ,it has not been    
deemed necessary to give the dates of   
every painter or to explain every       
geographical reference4 ,on the other   
hand1 the sources of most of the        
quotations are indicated4 ,in the       
preparation of these notes1 the         
magnificent library edition of ,messrs4 
,cook and ,wedderburn has inevitably    
been of considerable assistance2 but all
 their references have been verified1   
many errors have been corrected1 and    
much has of course been added4  ,in     

closing ,i wish to express my obligation
 to my former colleague1 ,dr4 ,lucius   
,h4 ,holt1 without whose assistance this
 volume would never have appeared4 ,he  
wrote a number of the notes1 including  
the short prefaces to the various       
selections1 and prepared the manuscript 
for the printer4  ,c4,b4,t4  ,september1
 #aijh4     ,,contents   ,,introduction 
,the ,life of ,ruskin     ,the ,unity of
 ,ruskin's ,writings     ,ruskin's      
,style  ,,selections ,,from ,,modern    
,,painters     ,the ,earth-,veil        
,the ,mountain ,glory     ,sunrise on   
the ,alps     ,the ,grand ,style     ,of
 ,realization     ,of the ,novelty of   
,landscape     ,of the ,pathetic        
,fallacy     ,of ,classical ,landscape  
,of ,modern ,landscape     ,the ,two    
,boyhoods  ,,selections ,,from ,,the    
,,stones ,,of ,,venice     ,the ,throne 
,st4 ,mark's     ,characteristics of    
,gothic ,architecture  ,,selections     
,,from ,,the ,,seven ,,lamps ,,of       
,,architecture     ,the ,lamp of ,memory

     ,the ,lamp of ,obedience           
,,selections ,,from ,,lectures ,,on     
,,art     ,inaugural     ,the ,relation 
of ,art to ,morals     ,the ,relation of
 ,art to ,use      ,,art ,,and ,,history
      ,,traffic      ,,life ,,and ,,its 
,,arts      ,,bibliographical ,,note    
,,illustrations   ,,john ,,ruskin ,,in  
#aheg ,,turner',s ,,fighting ,,temeraire
 ,,church ,,of ,,st4 ,,mark1 ,,venice   
,,st4 ,,mark',s3 ,,central ,,arch ,,of  
,,facade     ,,introduction   ,sidenote3
 ,two conflicting tendencies in ,ruskin4
  ,it is distinctive of the nineteenth  
century that in its passion for         
criticising everything in heaven and    
earth it by no means spared to criticise
 itself4 ,alike in ,carlyle's           
fulminations against its insincerity1 in
 ,arnold's nice ridicule of             
,philistinism1 and in ,ruskin's         
repudiation of everything modern1 we    
detect that fine dissatisfaction with   
the age which is perhaps only proof of  
its idealistic trend4 ,for the various  

ills of society1 each of these men had  
his panacea4 ,what ,carlyle had found in
 hero-worship and ,arnold in ,hellenic  
culture1 ,ruskin sought in the study of 
art2 and it is of the last importance to
 remember that throughout his work he   
regarded himself not merely as a writer 
on painting or buildings or myths or    
landscape1 but as the appointed critic  
of the age4 ,for there existed in him1  
side by side with his consuming love of 
the beautiful1 a rigorous ,puritanism   
which was constantly correcting any     
tendency toward a mere cult of the      
aesthetic4 ,it is with the interaction  
of these two forces that any study of   
the life and writings of ,ruskin should 
be primarily concerned4     ,i  ,,the   
,,life ,,of ,,ruskin   ,sidenote3       
,ancestry4  ,it is easy to trace in the 
life of ,ruskin these two forces tending
 respectively toward the love of beauty 
and toward the contempt of mere beauty4 
,they are1 indeed1 present from the     
beginning4 ,he inherited from his       

,scotch parents that upright            
fearlessness which has always           
characterized the race4 ,his stern      
mother devoted him to ,god before he was
 born1#a and she guarded her gift with  
unremitting but perhaps misguided       
caution4 ,the child was early taught to 
find most of his entertainment within   
himself1 and when he did not1 he was    
whipped4 ,he had no playmates and few   
toys4 ,his chief story-book was the     
,bible1 which he read many times from   
cover to cover at his mother's knee4    
,his father1 the perfectly honest       
wine-merchant1 seems to have been the   
one to foster the boy's aesthetic sense2
 he was in the habit of reading aloud to
 his little family1 and his son's       
apparently genuine appreciation of      
,scott1 ,pope1 and ,homer dates from the
 incredibly early age of five4 ,it was  
his father1 also1 to whom he owed his   
early acquaintance with the finest      
landscape1 for the boy was his companion
 in yearly business trips about         

,britain1 and later visited1 in his     
parents' company1 ,belgium1 western     
,germany1 and the ,alps4  ,sidenote3    
,early education4  ,all this of course  
developed the child's precocity4 ,he was
 early suffered and even encouraged to  
compose verses2#b by ten he had written 
a play1 which has unfortunately been    
preserved4 ,the hot-house rearing which 
his parents believed in1 and his        
facility in teaching himself1 tended to 
make a regular course of schooling a    
mere annoyance2 such schooling as he had
 did not begin till he was fifteen1 and 
lasted less than two years1 and was     
broken by illness4 ,but the chief effect
 of the sheltered life and advanced     
education to which he was subjected was 
to endow him with depth at the expense  
of breadth1 and to deprive him of a     
possibly vulgar1 but certainly healthy1 
contact with his kind1 which1 one must  
believe1 would have checked a certain   
disposition in him to egotism1          
sentimentality1 and dogmatic vehemence4 

,the bridle and blinkers were never     
taken off me1 he writes4#c  ,sidenote3  
,student at ,oxford4  ,sidenote3        
,traveling in ,europe4  ,at             
,oxford--whither his cautious mother    
pursued him--,ruskin seems to have been 
impressed in no very essential manner by
 curriculum or college mates4 ,with     
learning per se he was always           
dissatisfied and never had much to do2  
his course was distinguished not so much
 by erudition as by culture4 ,he easily 
won the ,newdigate prize in poetry2 his 
rooms in ,christ ,church were hung with 
excellent examples of ,turner's         
landscapes1--the gift of his art-loving 
father1--of which he had been an        
intimate student ever since the age of  
thirteen4 ,but his course was           
interrupted by an illness1 apparently of
 a tuberculous nature1 which            
necessitated total relaxation and       
various trips in ,italy and             
,switzerland1 where he seems to have    
been healed by walking among his beloved

 ,alps4 ,for many years thereafter he   
passed months of his time in these two  
countries1 accompanied sometimes by his 
parents and sometimes rather            
luxuriously1 it seems1 by valet and     
guide4  ,sidenote3 ,career as an author 
begins4  ,meanwhile he had commenced his
 career as author with the first volume 
of ,modern ,painters1 begun1 the world  
knows1 as a short defense of ,turner1   
originally intended for nothing more    
than a magazine article4 ,but the role  
of art-critic and law-giver pleased the 
youth1--he was only twenty-four when the
 volume appeared1--and having no desire 
to realize the ambition of his parents  
and become a bishop1 and even less to   
duplicate his father's career as        
vintner1 he gladly seized the           
opportunity thus offered him to develop 
his aesthetic vein and to redeem the    
public mind from its vulgar apathy      
thereby4 ,he continued his work on      
,modern ,painters1 with some            
intermissions1 for eighteen years1 and  

supplemented it with the equally famous 
,seven ,lamps of ,architecture in #ahdi1
 and ,the ,stones of ,venice in #ahec4  
,sidenote3 ,domestic troubles4  ,this   
life of zealous work and brilliant      
recognition was interrupted in #ahdh by 
,ruskin's amazing marriage to ,miss     
,euphemia ,gray1 a union into which he  
entered at the desire of his parents    
with a docility as stupid as it was     
stupendous4 ,five years later the couple
 were quietly divorced1 that ,mrs4      
,ruskin might marry ,millais4 ,all the  
author's biographers maintain an        
indiscreet reserve in discussing the    
affair1 but there can be no concealment 
of the fact that its effect upon ,ruskin
 was profound in its depression4        
,experiences like this and his later sad
 passion for ,miss ,la ,touche at once  
presage and indicate his mental         
disorder1 and no doubt had their        
share--a large one--in causing ,ruskin's
 dissatisfaction with everything1 and   
above all with his own life and work4   

,be this as it may1 it is at this time  
in the life of ,ruskin that we must     
begin to reckon with the decline of his 
aesthetic and the rise of his ethical   
impulse2 his interest passes from art to
 conduct4 ,it is also the period in     
which he began his career as lecturer1  
his chief interest being the social life
 of his age4  ,sidenote3 ,ruskin's      
increasing interest in social questions4
  ,by #ahfj1 he was publishing the      
papers on political economy1 later      
called ,unto this ,last1 which roused so
 great a storm of protest when they     
appeared in the ,cornhill ,magazine that
 their publication had to be suspended4 
,the attitude of the public toward such 
works as these1--its alternate          
excitement and apathy1--the death of his
 parents1 combined with the distressing 
events mentioned above1 darkened        
,ruskin's life and spoiled his interest 
in everything that did not tend to make 
the national life more thoughtfully     
solemn4      ,it seems to me that now   

444 the thoughts of the true nature of  
our life1 and of its powers and         
responsibilities should present         
themselves with absolute sadness and    
sternness4#d  ,his lectures as ,slade   
,professor of ,art at ,oxford1 a post   
which he held at various times from     
#ahgj to #ahhc1 failed to re-establish  
his undistracted interest in things     
beautiful4  ,sidenote3 ,triumph of the  
reformer over the art-critic4  ,the     
complete triumph of the reformer over   
the art-critic is marked by ,fors       
,clavigera1 a series of letters to      
workingmen1 begun ,new ,year's ,day1    
#ahga1 in which it was proposed to      
establish a model colony of peasants1   
whose lives should be made simple1      
honest1 happy1 and even cultured1 by a  
return to more primitive methods of     
tilling the soil and of making useful   
and beautiful objects4 ,the ,guild of   
,st4 ,george1 established to slay the   
dragon of industrialism1 to dispose of  
machinery1 slums1 and discontent1       

consumed a large part of ,ruskin's time 
and money4 ,he had inherited a fortune  
of approximately a million dollars1 and 
he now began to dispose of it in various
 charitable schemes1--establishing      
tea-shops1 supporting young painters1   
planning model tenements1 but1 above    
all1 in elaborating his ideas for the   
,guild4 ,the result of it all--whatever 
particular reforms were effected or     
manual industries established--was1 to  
,ruskin's view1 failure1 and his mind1  
weakening under the strain of its       
profound disappointments1 at last       
crashed in ruin4  ,sidenote3 ,death in  
#aijj4  ,it is needless to follow the   
broken author through the desolation of 
his closing years to his death in #aijj4
 ,save for his charming reminiscences1  
,praeterita1 his work was done2 the long
 struggle was over1 the struggle of one 
man to reduce the complexities of a     
national life to an apostolic           
simplicity1 to make it beautiful and    
good1      ,till the high ,god behold it

 from beyond1     ,and enter it4     #a 
,praeterita4 ,he was born ,february #h1 
#ahai4    #b ,ruskin himself quotes a   
not very brilliant specimen in ,modern  
,painters1 ,,iii1 in ,moral of          
,landscape4    #c ,praeterita1 ,sec4    
#ec4    #d ,the ,mystery of ,life4      
,,ii  ,,the ,,unity ,,of ,,ruskin',s    
,,writings   ,sidenote3 ,diversity of   
his writings4  ,ruskin is often         
described as an author of bewildering   
variety1 whose mind drifted waywardly   
from topic to topic--from painting to   
political economy1 from architecture to 
agriculture--with a license as illogical
 as it was indiscriminating4 ,to this   
impression1 ,ruskin himself sometimes   
gave currency4 ,he was1 for             
illustration1 once announced to lecture 
on crystallography1 but1 as we are      
informed by one present1#e he opened by 
asserting that he was really about to   
lecture on ,cistercian architecture2 nor
 did it greatly matter what the title   
was2 for1 said he1 if ,i had begun to   

speak about ,cistercian abbeys1 ,i      
should have been sure to get on crystals
 presently2 and if ,i had begun upon    
crystals1 ,i should soon have drifted   
into architecture4 ,those who conceive  
of ,ruskin as being thus a kind of      
literary ,proteus like to point to the  
year #ahfj1 that of the publication of  
his tracts on economics1 as witnessing  
the greatest and suddenest of his       
changes1 that from reforming art to     
reforming society2 and it is true that  
this year affords a simple dividing-line
 between ,ruskin's earlier work1 which  
is sufficiently described by the three  
titles1 ,modern ,painters1 ,the ,seven  
,lamps of ,architecture1 and ,the       
,stones of ,venice1 and his later work1 
chiefly on social subjects such as are  
discussed in ,unto ,this ,last1 ,the    
,crown of ,wild ,olive1 and ,fors       
,clavigera4 ,and yet we cannot insist   
too often on the essential unity of this
 work1 for1 viewed in the large1 it     
betrays one continuous development4 ,the

 seeds of ,fors are in ,the ,stones of  
,venice4  ,sidenote3 ,underlying idea in
 all his works4  ,the governing idea of 
,ruskin's first published work1 ,modern 
,painters1 ,volume ,i1 was a moral idea4
 ,the book was dedicated to the         
principle that that art is greatest     
which deals with the greatest number of 
greatest ideas1--those1 we learn        
presently1 which reveal divine truth2   
the office of the painter1 we are       
told1#f is the same as that of the      
preacher1 for the duty of both is to    
take for each discourse one essential   
truth4 ,as if recalling this argument   
that the painter is a preacher1 ,carlyle
 described ,the ,stones of ,venice as a 
sermon in stones4 ,in the idea that all 
art1 when we have taken due account of  
technique and training1 springs from a  
moral character1 we find the unifying   
principle of ,ruskin's strangely        
diversified work4 ,the very title ,the  
,seven ,lamps of ,architecture1 with its
 chapters headed ,sacrifice1 ,obedience1

 etc41 is a sufficient illustration of  
,ruskin's identification of moral       
principles with aesthetic principles4 ,a
 glance at the following pages of this  
book will show how ,ruskin is for ever  
halting himself to demand the moral     
significance of some fair landscape1    
gorgeous painting1 heaven-aspiring      
cathedral4 ,in ,mountain ,glory1 for    
example1 he refers to the mountains as  
kindly in simple lessons to the workman1
 and inquires later at what times       
mankind has offered worship in these    
mountain churches2 of the ,english      
cathedral he says1 ,weigh the influence 
of those dark towers on all who have    
passed through the lonely square at     
their feet for centuries2#g of ,st4     
,mark's1 ,and what effect has this      
splendour on those who pass beneath     
it8--and it will be noticed on referring
 to ,the ,two ,boyhoods1 that1 in       
seeking to define the difference between
 ,giorgione and ,turner1 the author     
instinctively has recourse to           

distinguishing the religious influences 
exerted on the two in youth4  ,sidenote3
 ,underlying idea a moral one4  ,now it 
is clear that a student of the relation 
of art to life1 of work to the character
 of the workman and of his nation1 may1 
and in fact inevitably must1 be led in  
time to attend to the producer rather   
than to the product1 to the cause rather
 than to the effect2 and if we grant1   
with ,ruskin1 that the sources of art1  
namely1 the national life1 are denied1  
it will obviously be the part1 not only 
of humanity but of common sense1 for    
such a student to set about purifying   
the social life of the nation4 ,whether 
the reformation proposed by ,ruskin be  
the proper method of attack is not the  
question we are here concerned with2 our
 only object at present being to call   
attention to the fact that such a       
lecture as that on ,traffic in ,the     
,crown of ,wild ,olive is the logical   
outgrowth of such a chapter as ,ideas of
 ,beauty in the first volume of ,modern 

,painters4 ,between the author who wrote
 in #ahdb1 of the necessity of revealing
 new truths in painting1 ,this1 if it be
 an honest work of art1 it must have    
done1 for no man ever yet worked        
honestly without giving some such help  
to his race4 ,god appoints to every one 
of his creatures a separate mission1 and
 if they discharge it honourably 444    
there will assuredly come of it such    
burning as1 in its appointed mode and   
measure1 shall shine before men1 and be 
of service constant and holy1#h and the 
author who wrote1 ,that country is the  
richest which nourishes the greatest    
number of noble and happy human         
beings1#i or1 ,the beginning of art is  
in getting our country clean1 and our   
people beautiful1#aj--;between these    
two1 ,i say1 there is no essential      
difference4 ,they are not contradictory 
but consistent4  ,sidenote3 ,art        
dependent upon personal and national    
greatness4  ,amidst the maze of         
subjects1 then1 which ,ruskin1 with     

kaleidoscopic suddenness and variety1   
brings before the astonished gaze of his
 readers1 let them confidently hold this
 guiding clue4 ,they will find that     
,ruskin's facts are often not facts at  
all2 they will discover that many of    
,ruskin's choicest theories have been   
dismissed to the limbo of exploded      
hypotheses2 but they will seek long     
before they find a more eloquent and    
convincing plea for the proposition that
 all great art reposes upon a foundation
 of personal and national greatness4    
,critics of ,ruskin will show you that  
he began ,modern ,painters while he was 
yet ignorant of the classic ,italians2  
that he wrote ,the ,stones of ,venice   
without realizing the full indebtedness 
of the ,venetian to the ,byzantine      
architecture2 that he proposed to unify 
the various religious sects although he 
had no knowledge of theology2 that he   
attempted a reconstruction of society   
though he had had no scientific training
 in political economy2 but in all this  

neglect of mere fact the sympathetic    
reader will discover that contempt for  
the letter of the law which was         
characteristic of the nineteenth-century
 prophet1--of ,carlyle1 of ,arnold1 and 
of ,emerson1--and which1 if it be       
blindness1 is that produced by an excess
 of light4     #e ,see ,harrison's      
,life1 p4 #aaa4 ,cf4 the opening of ,the
 ,mystery   of ,life4    #f ,part #b1   
sec4 #a1 chap4 #d4    #g ,see p4 #aei4  
#h ,modern ,painters1 vol4 #a1 part #b1 
sec4 #a1 chap4 #g4    #i ,unto ,this    
,last4    #aj ,see p4 #bfb4     ,,iii   
,,ruskin',s ,,style   ,sidenote3        
,sensuousness of his style4  ,many      
people regard the style of ,ruskin as   
his chief claim to greatness4 ,if the   
time ever come when men no longer study 
him for sermons in stones1 they will    
nevertheless turn to his pages to enjoy 
one of the most gorgeous prose styles of
 the nineteenth century4 ,for a parallel
 to the sensuous beauties of ,ruskin's  
essays on art1 one turns instinctively  

to poetry2 and of all the poets ,ruskin 
is perhaps likest ,keats4 ,his          
sentences1 like the poet's1 are         
thick-set with jeweled phrases2 they are
 full of subtle harmonies that respond1 
like a ,stradivarius1 to the player's   
every mood4 ,in its ornateness ,ruskin's
 style is like his favorite cathedral of
 ,amiens1 in the large stately1 in      
detail exquisite1 profuse1 and not      
without a touch of the grotesque4 ,it is
 the style of an artist4  ,sidenote3    
,ruskin's method of construction in     
description4  ,a critical fancy may even
 discover in the construction of his    
finest descriptions a method not unlike 
that of a painter at work upon his      
canvas4 ,he blocks them out in large    
masses1 then sketches and colors rapidly
 for general effects1 treating detail at
 first more or less vaguely and         
collectively1 but passing in the end to 
the elaboration of detail in the        
concrete1 touching the whole with an    
imaginative gleam that lends a momentary

 semblance of life to the thing         
described1 after the manner of the      
pathetic fallacy4 ,thus it is in the    
famous description of ,st4 ,mark's3#aa  
we are given first the largest general  
impression1 the long1 low pyramid of    
coloured light1 which the artist        
proceeds to hollow beneath into five    
great vaulted porches1 whence he leads  
the eye slowly upwards amidst a mass of 
bewildering detail--a confusion of      
delight--from which there slowly emerge 
those concrete details with which the   
author particularly wishes to impress   
us1 the breasts of the ,greek horses    
blazing in their breadth of golden      
strength and ,st4 ,mark's lion lifted on
 a blue field covered with stars4 ,in   
lesser compass we are shown the environs
 of ,venice1#ab the general impression  
of the long1 low1 sad-coloured line1    
being presently broken by the           
enumeration of unanalyzed detail1 tufted
 irregularly with brushwood and willows1
 and passing to concrete detail in the  

hills of ,arqua1 a dark cluster of      
purple pyramids4 ,in the still more     
miniature description of the original   
site of ,venice#ac we have the same     
method3      ,the black desert of their 
shore lies in its nakedness beneath     
the night1 pathless1 comfortless1       
infirm1 lost in dark languor     and    
fearful silence1 except where the salt  
runlets plash into the     tideless     
pools and the sea-birds flit from their 
margins with a     questioning cry4     
,sidenote3 ,his love of color4  ,equally
 characteristic of the painter is the   
ever-present use of color4 ,it is       
interesting merely to count the number  
and variety of colors used in the       
descriptions4 ,it will serve at least to
 call the reader's attention to the     
felicitous choice of words used in      
describing the opalescence of ,st4      
,mark's or the skillful combination of  
the colors characteristic of the great  
,venetians in such a sentence as1 the   
low bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armor

 shot angrily under their blood-red     
mantle-folds#ad--;a glimpse of a        
,giorgione4  ,sidenote3 ,his love of    
prose rhythm4  ,he is even more         
attentive to the ear than to the eye4   
,he loves the sentence of stately       
rhythms and long-drawn harmonies1 and he
 omits no poetic device that can        
heighten the charm of                   
sound1--alliteration1 as in the famous  
description of the streets of ,venice1  
,far as the eye could reach1 still the  
soft moving of stainless     waters     
proudly pure2 as not the flower1 so     
neither the thorn nor     the thistle   
could grow in those glancing fields2#ae 
the balanced close for some long period1
      to write her history on the white 
scrolls of the sea-surges and     to    
word it in their thunder1 and to gather 
and give forth1 in the     world-wide   
pulsation1 the glory of the ,west and of
 the ,east1 from     the burning heart  
of her ,fortitude and splendour2#af  and
 the tendency1 almost a mannerism1 to   

add to the music of his own rhythm1 the 
deep organ-notes of ,biblical text and  
paraphrase4 ,but if we wish to see how  
aptly ,ruskin's style responds to the   
tone of his subject1 we need but remark 
the rich liquid sentence descriptive of 
,giorgione's home1      brightness out  
of the north and balm from the south1   
and the stars     of evening and morning
 clear in the limitless light of arched 
heaven and circling sea1#ag  which he   
has set over against the harsh          
explosiveness of      ,near the         
south-west corner of ,covent ,garden1 a 
square brick pit     or wall is formed  
by a close-set block of house to the    
back     windows of which it admits a   
few rays of light--  the birthplace of  
,turner4  ,sidenote3 ,his beauty of     
style often distracts from the thought4 
,but none knew better than ,ruskin that 
a style so stiff with ornament was      
likely to produce all manner of faults4 
,in overloading his sentences with      
jewelry he frequently obscures the      

sense2 his beauties often degenerate    
into mere prettiness2 his sweetness     
cloys4 ,his free indulgence of the      
emotions1 often at the expense of the   
intellect1 leads to a riotous           
extravagance of superlative4 ,but1 above
 all1 his richness distracts attention  
from matter to manner4 ,in the case of  
an author so profoundly in earnest1 this
 could not but be unfortunate2 nothing  
enraged him more than to have people    
look upon the beauties of his style     
rather than ponder the substance of his 
book4 ,in a passage of complacent       
self-scourging he says3      ,for ,i    
have had what1 in many respects1 ,i     
boldly call the     misfortune1 to set  
my words sometimes prettily together2   
not     without a foolish vanity in the 
poor knack that ,i had of doing     so1 
until ,i was heavily punished for this  
pride by finding that     many people   
thought of the words only1 and cared    
nothing for their     meaning4 ,happily1
 therefore1 the power of using such     

language--if     indeed it ever were    
mine--is passing away from me2 and      
whatever ,i     am now able to say at   
all ,i find myself forced to say with   
great     plainness4#ah  ,sidenote3 ,his
 picturesque extravagance of style4     
,but ,ruskin's decision to speak with   
great plainness by no means made the    
people of ,england attend to what he    
said rather than the way he said it4 ,he
 could be1 and in his later work he     
usually was1 strong and clear2 but the  
old picturesqueness and exuberance of   
passion were with him still4 ,the public
 discovered that it enjoyed ,ruskin's   
denunciations of machinery much as it   
had enjoyed his descriptions of         
mountains1 and1 without obviously       
mending its ways1 called loudly for     
more4 ,lecture-rooms were crowded and   
editions exhausted by the ladies and    
gentlemen of ,england1 whose nerves were
 pleasantly thrilled with a gentle      
surprise on being told that they had    
despised literature1 art1 science1      

nature1 and compassion1 and that what   
they thought upon any subject was a     
matter of no serious importance2 that   
they could not be said to have any      
thoughts at all--indeed1 no right to    
think4#ai ,the fiercer his anathemas1   
the greater the applause2 the louder he 
shouted1 the better he pleased4 ,let him
 split the ears of the groundlings1 let 
him out-,herod ,herod1--the judicious   
might grieve1 but all would be excitedly
 attentive4 ,their ,jeremiah seemed at  
times like to become a jester1--there   
was a suggestion of the ludicrous in the
 sudden passage from birds to ,greek    
coins1 to mills1 to ,walter ,scott1 to  
millionaire malefactors1--a suggestion  
of acrobatic tumbling and somersault2   
but he always got a hearing4 ,in        
lecturing to the students of a military 
academy he had the pleasing audacity to 
begin3      ,young soldiers1 ,i do not  
doubt but that many of you came         
unwillingly to-night1 and many of you in
 merely contemptuous     curiosity1 to  

hear what a writer on painting could    
possibly say1     or would venture to   
say1 respecting your great art of       
war2#bj  after which stinging challenge1
 one has no doubt1 any feeling of       
offense was swallowed up in admiration  
of the speaker's physical courage4      
,sidenote3 ,influence of ,carlyle upon  
,ruskin4  ,sidenote3 ,the unity of      
,ruskin's style4  ,there can be little  
doubt that this later manner in which   
,ruskin allowed his ,puritan instincts  
to defeat his aestheticism1 and indulged
 to an alarming degree his gift of      
vituperation1 was profoundly influenced 
by his master1 ,carlyle1 who had long   
since passed into his later and raucous 
manner4 ,carlyle's delight in the       
disciple's diatribes probably encouraged
 the younger man in a vehemence of      
invective to which his love of dogmatic 
assertion already rendered him too      
prone4 ,at his best1 ,ruskin1 like      
,carlyle1 reminds us of a major prophet2
 at his worst he shrieks and heats the  

air4 ,his high indignations lead him    
into all manner of absurdity and        
self-contradiction4 ,an amusing instance
 of this may be given from ,sesame and  
,lilies4 ,in the first lecture1 which1  
it will be recalled1 was given in aid of
 a library fund1 we find#ba the remark1 
,we are filthy and foolish enough to    
thumb one another's books out of        
circulating libraries4 ,his friends and 
his enemies1 the clergy 7who teach a    
false gospel for hire7 and the          
scientists1 the merchants and the       
universities1 ,darwin and ,dante1 all   
had their share in the indignant        
lecturer's indiscriminate abuse4 ,and   
yet in all the tropical luxuriance of   
his inconsistency1 one can never doubt  
the man's sincerity4 ,he never wrote for
 effect4 ,he may dazzle us1 but his fire
 is never pyrotechnical2 it always      
springs from the deep volcanic heart of 
him4 ,his was a fervor too easily       
stirred and often ill-directed1 but its 
wild brilliance cannot long be mistaken 

for the sky-rocket's2 it flares madly in
 all directions1 now beautifying1 now   
appalling1 the night1 the fine ardor of 
the painter passing into the fierce     
invective of the prophet4 ,but in the   
end it is seen that ,ruskin's style1    
like his subject-matter1 is a unity1--an
 emanation from a divine enthusiasm     
making for whatsoever things are lovely1
 whatsoever things are pure1 whatsoever 
things are of good report4     #aa ,see 
p4 #afb4    #ab ,see p4 #aci4    #ac    
,see p4 #adg4    #ad ,see p4 #aba4      
#ae ,see p4 #abb4    #af ,see p4 #adi4  
#ag ,see p4 #abb4    #ah ,the ,mystery  
of ,life4    #ai ,sesame and ,lilies1   
,kings' ,treasuries1 ,sec4,sec4 #be1    
#ca4    #bj ,the ,crown of ,wild ,olive1
 ,war4    #ba ,kings' ,treasuries1 ,sec4
 #cb4     ,,selections ,,from ,,modern  
,,painters   ,the five volumes of       
,modern ,painters appeared at various   
intervals between #ahdc and #ahfj1 from 
the time ,ruskin was twenty-four until  
he was forty4 ,the first volume was     

published in ,may1 #ahdc2 the second1 in
 ,april1 #ahdf2 the third1 ,january #ae1
 #ahef2 the fourth1 ,april #ad1 #ahef2  
the last1 in ,june1 #ahfj4 ,as his      
knowledge of his subject broadened and  
deepened1 we find the later volumes     
differing greatly in viewpoint and style
 from the earlier2 but1 as stated in the
 preface to the last volume1 in the main
 aim and principle of the book there is 
no variation1 from its first syllable to
 its last4 ,ruskin himself maintained   
that the most important influence upon  
his thought in preparation for his work 
in ,modern ,painters was not from his   
love of art1 but of mountains and seas2 
and all the power of judgment he had    
obtained in art1 he ascribed to his     
steady habit of always looking for the  
subject principally1 and for the art    
only as the means of expressing it4 ,the
 first volume was published as the work 
of a graduate of ,oxford1 ,ruskin       
fearing that ,i might not obtain fair   
hearing if the reader knew my youth4    

,the author's proud father did not allow
 the secret to be kept long4 ,the title 
,ruskin originally chose for the volume 
was ,turner and the ,ancients4 ,to this 
,smith1 ,elder  ,co41 his publishers1   
objected1 and the substitution of       
,modern ,painters was their suggestion  
,the following is the title-page of the 
first volume in the original edition3   
,,modern ,,painters3                    
,their ,superiority           ,in the   
,art of ,landscape ,painting            
,to all                  ,the ,ancient  
,masters                  proved by     
examples of      ,the ,true1 the        
,beautiful1 and the ,intellectual1      
,from the           ,works of ,modern   
,artists1 especially         ,from those
 of ,j4,m4,w4 ,turner1 ,esq41 ,r4,a4    
,by a ,graduate of ,oxford              
7,quotation from ,wordsworth7           
,london3 ,smith1 ,elder  ,co41 #fe      
,cornhill4                              
#ahdc4     ,,the ,,earth-,,veil         
,,volume ,v1 ,,chapter ,i   ,to dress it

 and to keep it4#bb  ,that1 then1 was to
 be our work4 ,alas6 what work have we  
set ourselves upon instead6 ,how have we
 ravaged the garden instead of kept     
it--feeding our war-horses with its     
flowers1 and splintering its trees into 
spear-shafts6  ,and at the ,east a      
flaming sword4#bb  ,is its flame        
quenchless8 and are those gates that    
keep the way indeed passable no more8 or
 is it not rather that we no more desire
 to enter8 ,for what can we conceive of 
that first ,eden which we might not yet 
win back1 if we chose8 ,it was a place  
full of flowers1 we say4 ,well3 the     
flowers are always striving to grow     
wherever we suffer them2 and the fairer1
 the closer4 ,there may1 indeed1 have   
been a ,fall of ,flowers1 as a ,fall of 
,man2 but assuredly creatures such as we
 are can now fancy nothing lovelier than
 roses and lilies1 which would grow for 
us side by side1 leaf overlapping leaf1 
till the ,earth was white and red with  
them1 if we cared to have it so4 ,and   

,paradise was full of pleasant shades   
and fruitful avenues4 ,well3 what       
hinders us from covering as much of the 
world as we like with pleasant shade1   
and pure blossom1 and goodly fruit8 ,who
 forbids its valleys to be covered over 
with corn till they laugh and sing8 ,who
 prevents its dark forests1 ghostly and 
uninhabitable1 from being changed into  
infinite orchards1 wreathing the hills  
with frail-floreted snow1 far away to   
the half-lighted horizon of ,april1 and 
flushing the face of all the autumnal   
earth with glow of clustered food8 ,but 
,paradise was a place of peace1 we say1 
and all the animals were gentle servants
 to us4 ,well3 the world would yet be a 
place of peace if we were all           
peacemakers1 and gentle service should  
we have of its creatures if we gave them
 gentle mastery4 ,but so long as we make
 sport of slaying bird and beast1 so    
long as we choose to contend rather with
 our fellows than with our faults1 and  
make battlefield of our meadows instead 

of pasture--so long1 truly1 the ,flaming
 ,sword will still turn every way1 and  
the gates of ,eden remain barred close  
enough1 till we have sheathed the       
sharper flame of our own passions1 and  
broken down the closer gates of our own 
hearts4  ,i have been led to see and    
feel this more and more1 as ,i consider 
the service which the flowers and trees1
 which man was at first appointed to    
keep1 were intended to render to him in 
return for his care2 and the services   
they still render to him1 as far as he  
allows their influence1 or fulfils his  
own task towards them4 ,for what        
infinite wonderfulness there is in this 
vegetation1 considered1 as indeed it is1
 as the means by which the earth becomes
 the companion of man--his friend and   
his teacher6 ,in the conditions which we
 have traced in its rocks1 there could  
only be seen preparation for his        
existence2--the characters which enable 
him to live on it safely1 and to work   
with it easily--in all these it has been

 inanimate and passive2 but vegetation  
is to it as an imperfect soul1 given to 
meet the soul of man4 ,the earth in its 
depths must remain dead and cold1       
incapable except of slow crystalline    
change2 but at its surface1 which human 
beings look upon and deal with1 it      
ministers to them through a veil of     
strange intermediate being3 which       
breathes1 but has no voice2 moves1 but  
cannot leave its appointed place2 passes
 through life without consciousness1 to 
death without bitterness2 wears the     
beauty of youth1 without its passion2   
and declines to the weakness of age1    
without its regret4  ,and in this       
mystery of intermediate being1 entirely 
subordinate to us1 with which we can    
deal as we choose1 having just the      
greater power as we have the less       
responsibility for our treatment of the 
unsuffering creature1 most of the       
pleasures which we need from the        
external world are gathered1 and most of
 the lessons we need are written1 all   

kinds of precious grace and teaching    
being united in this link between the   
,earth and ,man2 wonderful in universal 
adaptation to his need1 desire1 and     
discipline2 ,god's daily preparation of 
the earth for him1 with beautiful means 
of life4 ,first1 a carpet to make it    
soft for him2 then1 a coloured fantasy  
of embroidery thereon2 then1 tall       
spreading of foliage to shade him from  
sun heat1 and shade also the fallen     
rain2 that it may not dry quickly back  
into the clouds1 but stay to nourish the
 springs among the moss4 ,stout wood to 
bear this leafage3 easily to be cut1 yet
 tough and light1 to make houses for    
him1 or instruments 7lance-shaft1 or    
plough-handle1 according to his temper72
 useless1 it had been1 if harder2       
useless1 if less fibrous2 useless1 if   
less elastic4 ,winter comes1 and the    
shade of leafage falls away1 to let the 
sun warm the earth2 the strong boughs   
remain1 breaking the strength of winter 
winds4 ,the seeds which are to prolong  

the race1 innumerable according to the  
need1 are made beautiful and palatable1 
varied into infinitude of appeal to the 
fancy of man1 or provision for his      
service3 cold juice1 or glowing spice1  
or balm1 or incense1 softening oil1     
preserving resin1 medicine of styptic1  
febrifuge1 or lulling charm3 and all    
these presented in forms of endless     
change4 ,fragility or force1 softness   
and strength1 in all degrees and        
aspects2 unerring uprightness1 as of    
temple pillars1 or unguided wandering of
 feeble tendrils on the ground2 mighty  
resistances of rigid arm and limb to the
 storms of ages1 or wavings to and fro  
with faintest pulse of summer streamlet4
 ,roots cleaving the strength of rock1  
or binding the transience of the sand2  
crests basking in sunshine of the       
desert1 or hiding by dripping spring and
 lightless cave2 foliage far tossing in 
entangled fields beneath every wave of  
ocean--clothing1 with variegated1       
everlasting films1 the peaks of the     

trackless mountains1 or ministering at  
cottage doors to every gentlest passion 
and simplest joy of humanity4  ,being   
thus prepared for us in all ways1 and   
made beautiful1 and good for food1 and  
for building1 and for instruments in our
 hands1 this race of plants1 deserving  
boundless affection and admiration from 
us1 becomes1 in proportion to their     
obtaining it1 a nearly perfect test of  
our being in right temper of mind and   
way of life2 so that no one can be far  
wrong in either who loves the trees     
enough1 and every one is assuredly wrong
 in both who does not love them1 if his 
life has brought them in his way4 ,it is
 clearly possible to do without them1   
for the great companionship of the sea  
and sky are all that sailors need2 and  
many a noble heart has been taught the  
best it had to learn between dark stone 
walls4 ,still if human life be cast     
among trees at all1 the love borne to   
them is a sure test of its purity4 ,and 
it is a sorrowful proof of the mistaken 

ways of the world that the country1 in  
the simple sense of a place of fields   
and trees1 has hitherto been the source 
of reproach to its inhabitants1 and that
 the words countryman1 rustic1 clown1   
paysan1 villager1 still signify a rude  
and untaught person1 as opposed to the  
words townsman and citizen4 ,we accept  
this usage of words1 or the evil which  
it signifies1 somewhat too quietly2 as  
if it were quite necessary and natural  
that country-people should be rude1 and 
townspeople gentle4 ,whereas ,i believe 
that the result of each mode of life    
may1 in some stages of the world's      
progress1 be the exact reverse2 and that
 another use of words may be forced upon
 us by a new aspect of facts1 so that we
 may find ourselves saying3 ,such and   
such a person is very gentle and        
kind--he is quite rustic2 and such and  
such another person is very rude and    
ill-taught--he is quite urbane4  ,at all
 events1 cities have hitherto gained the
 better part of their good report       

through our evil ways of going on in the
 world generally2 chiefly and eminently 
through our bad habit of fighting with  
each other4 ,no field1 in the ,middle   
,ages1 being safe from devastation1 and 
every country lane yielding easier      
passage to the marauders1               
peacefully-minded men necessarily       
congregated in cities1 and walled       
themselves in1 making as few            
cross-country roads as possible3 while  
the men who sowed and reaped the        
harvests of ,europe were only the       
servants or slaves of the barons4 ,the  
disdain of all agricultural pursuits by 
the nobility1 and of all plain facts by 
the monks1 kept educated ,europe in a   
state of mind over which natural        
phenomena could have no power2 body and 
intellect being lost in the practice of 
war without purpose1 and the meditation 
of words without meaning4 ,men learned  
the dexterity with sword and syllogism1 
which they mistook for education1 within
 cloister and tilt-yard2 and looked on  

all the broad space of the world of ,god
 mainly as a place for exercise of      
horses1 or for growth of food4  ,there  
is a beautiful type of this neglect of  
the perfectness of the ,earth's beauty1 
by reason of the passions of men1 in    
that picture of ,paul ,uccello's of the 
battle of ,sant' ,egidio1#bc in which   
the armies meet on a country road beside
 a hedge of wild roses2 the tender red  
flowers tossing above the helmets1 and  
glowing beneath the lowered lances4 ,for
 in like manner the whole of ,nature    
only shone hitherto for man between the 
tossing of helmet-crests2 and sometimes 
,i cannot but think of the trees of the 
earth as capable of a kind of sorrow1 in
 that imperfect life of theirs1 as they 
opened their innocent leaves in the warm
 springtime1 in vain for men2 and all   
along the dells of ,england her beeches 
cast their dappled shade only where the 
outlaw drew his bow1 and the king rode  
his careless chase2 and by the sweet    
,french rivers their long ranks of      

poplar waved in the twilight1 only to   
show the flames of burning cities on the
 horizon1 through the tracery of their  
stems2 amidst the fair defiles of the   
,apennines1 the twisted olive-trunks hid
 the ambushes of treachery2 and on their
 valley meadows1 day by day1 the lilies 
which were white at the dawn were washed
 with crimson at sunset4  ,and indeed ,i
 had once purposed1 in this work1 to    
show what kind of evidence existed      
respecting the possible influence of    
country life on men2 it seeming to me1  
then1 likely that here and there a      
reader would perceive this to be a grave
 question1 more than most which we      
contend about1 political or social1 and 
might care to follow it out with me     
earnestly4  ,the day will assuredly come
 when men will see that it is a grave   
question2 at which period1 also1 ,i     
doubt not1 there will arise persons able
 to investigate it4 ,for the present1   
the movements of the world seem little  
likely to be influenced by botanical    

law2 or by any other considerations     
respecting trees1 than the probable     
price of timber4 ,i shall limit myself1 
therefore1 to my own simple woodman's   
work1 and try to hew this book into its 
final shape1 with the limited and humble
 aim that ,i had in beginning it1       
namely1 to prove how far the idle and   
peaceable persons1 who have hitherto    
cared about leaves and clouds1 have     
rightly seen1 or faithfully reported of 
them4     #bb ,genesis ii1 #ae2 iii #bd4
    #bc ,in our own ,national ,gallery4 
,it is quaint and imperfect1 but   of   
great interest4 ,ruskin4 ,paolo ,uccello
 7c4 #acig-adge71 a   ,florentine       
painter of the ,renaissance1 the first  
of the naturalists4   ,his real name was
 ,paolo di ,dono1 but he was called     
,uccello from his   fondness for birds4 
,,the ,,mountain ,,glory  ,,volume ,,iv1
 ,,chapter #bj   ,i have dwelt1 in the  
foregoing chapter1 on the sadness of the
 hills with the greater insistence that 
,i feared my own excessive love for them

 might lead me into too favourable      
interpretation of their influences over 
the human heart2 or1 at least1 that the 
reader might accuse me of fond          
prejudice1 in the conclusions to which1 
finally1 ,i desire to lead him          
concerning them4 ,for1 to myself1       
mountains are the beginning and the end 
of all natural scenery2 in them1 and in 
the forms of inferior landscape that    
lead to them1 my affections are wholly  
bound up2 and though ,i can look with   
happy admiration at the lowland flowers1
 and woods1 and open skies1 the         
happiness is tranquil and cold1 like    
that of examining detached flowers in a 
conservatory1 or reading a pleasant     
book2 and if the scenery be resolutely  
level1 insisting upon the declaration of
 its own flatness in all the detail of  
it1 as in ,holland1 or ,lincolnshire1 or
 ,central ,lombardy1 it appears to me   
like a prison1 and ,i cannot long endure
 it4 ,but the slightest rise and fall in
 the road1--a mossy bank at the side of 

a crag of chalk1 with brambles at its   
brow1 overhanging it1--a ripple over    
three or four stones in the stream by   
the bridge1--above all1 a wild bit of   
ferny ground under a fir or two1 looking
 as if1 possibly1 one might see a hill  
if one got to the other side of the     
trees1 will instantly give me intense   
delight1 because the shadow1 or the     
hope1 of the hills is in them4  ,and    
thus1 although there are few districts  
of ,northern ,europe1 however apparently
 dull or tame1 in which ,i cannot find  
pleasure1 though the whole of ,northern 
,france 7except ,champagne71 dull as it 
seems to most travellers1 is to me a    
perpetual ,paradise2 and1 putting       
,lincolnshire1 ,leicestershire1 and one 
or two such other perfectly flat        
districts aside1 there is not an        
,english county which ,i should not find
 entertainment in exploring the         
cross-roads of1 foot by foot2 yet all my
 best enjoyment would be owing to the   
imagination of the hills1 colouring1    

with their far-away memories1 every     
lowland stone and herb4 ,the pleasant   
,french coteau1 green in the sunshine1  
delights me1 either by what real        
mountain character it has in itself 7for
 in extent and succession of promontory 
the flanks of the ,french valleys have  
quite the sublimity of true mountain    
distances71 or by its broken ground and 
rugged steps among the vines1 and rise  
of the leafage above1 against the blue  
sky1 as it might rise at ,vevay or      
,como4 ,there is not a wave of the      
,seine but is associated in my mind with
 the first rise of the sandstones and   
forest pines of ,fontaine-bleau2 and    
with the hope of the ,alps1 as one      
leaves ,paris with the horses' heads to 
the south-west1 the morning sun flashing
 on the bright waves at ,charenton4 ,if 
there be no hope or association of this 
kind1 and if ,i cannot deceive myself   
into fancying that perhaps at the next  
rise of the road there may be seen the  
film of a blue hill in the gleam of sky 

at the horizon1 the landscape1 however  
beautiful1 produces in me even a kind of
 sickness and pain2 and the whole view  
from ,richmond ,hill or ,windsor        
,terrace1--nay1 the gardens of          
,alcinous1 with their perpetual         
summer1--or of the ,hesperides 7if they 
were flat1 and not close to ,atlas71    
golden apples and all1--,i would give   
away in an instant1 for one mossy       
granite stone a foot broad1 and two     
leaves of lady-fern4#bd  ,i know that   
this is in great part idiosyncrasy2 and 
that ,i must not trust to my own        
feelings1 in this respect1 as           
representative of the modern landscape  
instinct3 yet ,i know it is not         
idiosyncrasy1 in so far as there may be 
proved to be indeed an increase of the  
absolute beauty of all scenery in exact 
proportion to its mountainous character1
 providing that character be healthily  
mountainous4 ,i do not mean to take the 
,col de ,bonhomme as representative of  
hills1 any more than ,i would take      

,romney ,marsh as representative of     
plains2 but putting ,leicestershire or  
,staffordshire fairly beside            
,westmoreland1 and ,lombardy or         
,champagne fairly beside the ,pays de   
,vaud or the ,canton ,berne1 ,i find the
 increase in the calculable sum of      
elements of beauty to be steadily in    
proportion to the increase of           
mountainous character2 and that the best
 image which the world can give of      
,paradise is in the slope of the        
meadows1 orchards1 and corn-fields on   
the sides of a great ,alp1 with its     
purple rocks and eternal snows above2   
this excellence not being in any wise a 
matter referable to feeling1 or         
individual preferences1 but demonstrable
 by calm enumeration of the number of   
lovely colours on the rocks1 the varied 
grouping of the trees1 and quantity of  
noble incidents in stream1 crag1 or     
cloud1 presented to the eye at any given
 moment4  ,for consider1 first1 the     
difference produced in the whole tone of

 landscape colour by the introductions  
of purple1 violet1 and deep ultramarine 
blue1 which we owe to mountains4 ,in an 
ordinary lowland landscape we have the  
blue of the sky2 the green of grass1    
which ,i will suppose 7and this is an   
unnecessary concession to the lowlands7 
entirely fresh and bright2 the green of 
trees2 and certain elements of purple1  
far more rich and beautiful than we     
generally should think1 in their bark   
and shadows 7bare hedges and thickets1  
or tops of trees1 in subdued afternoon  
sunshine1 are nearly perfect purple1 and
 of an exquisite tone71 as well as in   
ploughed fields1 and dark ground in     
general4 ,but among mountains1 in       
addition to all this1 large unbroken    
spaces of pure violet and purple are    
introduced in their distances2 and even 
near1 by films of cloud passing over the
 darkness of ravines or forests1 blues  
are produced of the most subtle         
tenderness2 these azures and purples#be 
passing into rose-colour of otherwise   

wholly unattainable delicacy among the  
upper summits1 the blue of the sky being
 at the same time purer and deeper than 
in the plains4 ,nay1 in some sense1 a   
person who has never seen the           
rose-colour of the rays of dawn crossing
 a blue mountain twelve or fifteen miles
 away1 can hardly be said to know what  
tenderness in colour means at all2      
bright tenderness he may1 indeed1 see in
 the sky or in a flower1 but this grave 
tenderness of the far-away hill-purples 
he cannot conceive4  ,together with this
 great source of pre-eminence in mass of
 colour1 we have to estimate the        
influence of the finished inlaying and  
enamel-work of the colour-jewellery on  
every stone2 and that of the continual  
variety in species of flower2 most of   
the mountain flowers being1 besides1    
separately lovelier than the lowland    
ones4 ,the wood hyacinth and wild rose  
are1 indeed1 the only supreme flowers   
that the lowlands can generally show2   
and the wild rose is also a mountaineer1

 and more fragrant in the hills1 while  
the wood hyacinth1 or grape hyacinth1 at
 its best cannot match even the dark    
bell-gentian1 leaving the light-blue    
star-gentian in its uncontested         
queenliness1 and the ,alpine rose and   
,highland heather wholly without        
similitude4 ,the violet1 lily of the    
valley1 crocus1 and wood anemone are1 ,i
 suppose1 claimable partly by the plains
 as well as the hills2 but the large    
orange lily and narcissus ,i have never 
seen but on hill pastures1 and the      
exquisite oxalisis pre-eminently a      
mountaineer4#bf  ,to this supremacy in  
mosses and flowers we have next to add  
an inestimable gain in the continual    
presence and power of water4 ,neither in
 its clearness1 its colour1 its fantasy 
of motion1 its calmness of space1 depth1
 and reflection1 or its wrath1 can water
 be conceived by a lowlander1 out of    
sight of sea4 ,a sea wave is far grander
 than any torrent--but of the sea and   
its influences we are not now speaking2 

and the sea itself1 though it can be    
clear1 is never calm1 among our shores1 
in the sense that a mountain lake can be
 calm4 ,the sea seems only to pause2 the
 mountain lake to sleep1 and to dream4  
,out of sight of the ocean a lowlander  
cannot be considered ever to have seen  
water at all4 ,the mantling of the pools
 in the rock shadows1 with the golden   
flakes of light sinking down through    
them like falling leaves1 the ringing of
 the thin currents among the shallows1  
the flash and the cloud of the cascade1 
the earthquake and foam-fire of the     
cataract1 the long lines of alternate   
mirror and mist that lull the imagery of
 the hills reversed in the blue of      
morning1--all these things belong to    
those hills as their undivided          
inheritance4  ,to this supremacy in wave
 and stream is joined a no less manifest
 pre-eminence in the character of trees4
 ,it is possible among plains1 in the   
species of trees which properly belong  
to them1 the poplars of ,amiens1 for    

instance1 to obtain a serene simplicity 
of grace1 which1 as ,i said1 is a better
 help to the study of gracefulness1 as  
such1 than any of the wilder groupings  
of the hills2 so1 also1 there are       
certain conditions of symmetrical       
luxuriance developed in the park and    
avenue1 rarely rivalled in their way    
among mountains2 and yet the mountain   
superiority in foliage is1 on the whole1
 nearly as complete as it is in water3  
for exactly as there are some           
expressions in the broad reaches of a   
navigable lowland river1 such as the    
,loire or ,thames1 not1 in their way1 to
 be matched among the rock rivers1 and  
yet for all that a lowlander cannot be  
said to have truly seen the element of  
water at all2 so even in the richest    
parks and avenues he cannot be said to  
have truly seen trees4 ,for the         
resources of trees are not developed    
until they have difficulty to contend   
with2 neither their tenderness of       
brotherly love and harmony1 till they   

are forced to choose their ways of      
various life where there is contracted  
room for them1 talking to each other    
with their restrained branches4 ,the    
various action of trees rooting         
themselves in inhospitable rocks1       
stooping to look into ravines1 hiding   
from the search of glacier winds1       
reaching forth to the rays of rare      
sunshine1 crowding down together to     
drink at sweetest streams1 climbing hand
 in hand among the difficult slopes1    
opening in sudden dances round the mossy
 knolls1 gathering into companies at    
rest among the fragrant fields1 gliding 
in grave procession over the heavenward 
ridges--nothing of this can be conceived
 among the unvexed and unvaried         
felicities of the lowland forest3 while 
to all these direct sources of greater  
beauty are added1 first the power of    
redundance1--the mere quantity of       
foliage visible in the folds and on the 
promontories of a single ,alp being     
greater than that of an entire lowland  

landscape 7unless a view from some      
cathedral tower72 and to this charm of  
redundance1 that of clearer             
visibility1--tree after tree being      
constantly shown in successive height1  
one behind another1 instead of the mere 
tops and flanks of masses1 as in the    
plains2 and the forms of multitudes of  
them continually defined against the    
clear sky1 near and above1 or against   
white clouds entangled among their      
branches1 instead of being confused in  
dimness of distance4  ,finally1 to this 
supremacy in foliage we have to add the 
still less questionable supremacy in    
clouds4 ,there is no effect of sky      
possible in the lowlands which may not  
in equal perfection be seen among the   
hills2 but there are effects by tens of 
thousands1 for ever invisible and       
inconceivable to the inhabitant of the  
plains1 manifested among the hills in   
the course of one day4 ,the mere power  
of familiarity with the clouds1 of      
walking with them and above them1 alters

 and renders clear our whole conception 
of the baseless architecture of the sky2
 and for the beauty of it1 there is more
 in a single wreath of early cloud1     
pacing its way up an avenue of pines1 or
 pausing among the points of their      
fringes1 than in all the white heaps    
that fill the arched sky of the plains  
from one horizon to the other4 ,and of  
the nobler cloud manifestations1--the   
breaking of their troublous seas against
 the crags1 their black spray sparkling 
with lightning2 or the going forth of   
the morning#bg along their pavements of 
moving marble1 level-laid between dome  
and dome of snow2--of these things there
 can be as little imagination or        
understanding in an inhabitant of the   
plains as of the scenery of another     
planet than his own4  ,and1 observe1 all
 these superiorities are matters plainly
 measurable and calculable1 not in any  
wise to be referred to estimate of      
sensation4 ,of the grandeur or          
expression of the hills ,i have not     

spoken2 how far they are great1 or      
strong1 or terrible1 ,i do not for the  
moment consider1 because vastness1 and  
strength1 and terror1 are not to all    
minds subjects of desired contemplation4
 ,it may make no difference to some men 
whether a natural object be large or    
small1 whether it be strong or feeble4  
,but loveliness of colour1 perfectness  
of form1 endlessness of change1         
wonderfulness of structure1 are precious
 to all undiseased human minds2 and the 
superiority of the mountains in all     
these things to the lowland is1 ,i      
repeat1 as measurable as the richness of
 a painted window matched with a white  
one1 or the wealth of a museum compared 
with that of a simply furnished chamber4
 ,they seem to have been built for the  
human race1 as at once their schools and
 cathedrals2 full of treasures of       
illuminated manuscript for the scholar1 
kindly in simple lessons to the worker1 
quiet in pale cloisters for the thinker1
 glorious in holiness for the           

worshipper4 ,and of these great         
cathedrals of the earth1 with their     
gates of rock1 pavements of cloud1      
choirs of stream and stone1 altars of   
snow1 and vaults of purple traversed by 
the continual stars1--of these1 as we   
have seen1#bh it was written1 nor long  
ago1 by one of the best of the poor     
human race for whom they were built1    
wondering in himself for whom their     
,creator could have made them1 and      
thinking to have entirely discerned the 
,divine intent in them--,they are       
inhabited by the ,beasts4#bi  ,was it   
then indeed thus with us1 and so lately8
 ,had mankind offered no worship in     
their mountain churches8 ,was all that  
granite sculpture and floral painting   
done by the angels in vain8  ,not so4   
,it will need no prolonged thought to   
convince us that in the hills the       
purposes of their ,maker have indeed    
been accomplished in such measure as1   
through the sin or folly of men1 ,he    
ever permits them to be accomplished4   

,it may not seem1 from the general      
language held concerning them1 or from  
any directly traceable results1 that    
mountains have had serious influence on 
human intellect2 but it will not1 ,i    
think1 be difficult to show that their  
occult influence has been both constant 
and essential to the progress of the    
race4     #bd ,in tracing the whole of  
the deep enjoyment to mountain          
association1 ,i of course except        
whatever feelings are connected with    
the observance of rural life1 or with   
that of architecture4 ,none of   these  
feelings arise out of the landscape     
properly so called3 the   pleasure with 
which we see a peasant's garden fairly  
kept1 or a   ploughman doing his work   
well1 or a group of children playing at 
a   cottage door1 being wholly separate 
from that which we find in the   fields 
or commons around them2 and the beauty  
of architecture1 or the   associations  
connected with it1 in like manner often 
ennobling the   most tame scenery2--yet 

not so but that we may always           
distinguish   between the abstract      
character of the unassisted landscape1  
and the   charm which it derives from   
the architecture4 ,much of the majesty  
of   ,french landscape consists in its  
grand and grey village churches and     
turreted farmhouses1 not to speak of its
 cathedrals1 castles1 and   beautifully 
placed cities4 ,ruskin4    #be ,one of  
the principal reasons for the false     
supposition that   ,switzerland is not  
picturesque1 is the error of most       
sketchers and   painters in representing
 pine forest in middle distance as dark 
green1   or grey green1 whereas its true
 colour is always purple1 at distances  
of even two or three miles4 ,let any    
traveller coming down the   ,montanvert 
look for an aperture1 three or four     
inches wide1 between   the near pine    
branches1 through which1 standing eight 
or ten feet   from it1 he can see the   
opposite forests on the ,breven or      
,flegere4   ,those forests are not above

 two or two and a half miles from him2  
but he will find the aperture is filled 
by a tint of nearly pure   azure or     
purple1 not by green4 ,ruskin4    #bf   
,the ,savoyard's name for its flower1   
,pain du ,bon ,dieu1 is very            
beautiful2 from1 ,i believe1 the        
supposed resemblance of its white   and 
scattered blossom to the fallen manna1  
,ruskin4    #bg ,ezekiel vii1 #aj2      
,hosea vi1 #c4    #bh ,in ,the ,mountain
 ,gloom1 the chapter immediately        
preceding4    #bi ,ruskin refers to ,the
 ,fulfilling of the ,scripture1 a book  
by   ,robert ,fleming #afcj-id4         
,,sunrise ,,on ,,the ,,alps#cj  ,,volume
 ,i1 ,,section #c1 ,,part #b1 ,,chapter 
#d   ,stand upon the peak of some       
isolated mountain at daybreak1 when the 
night mists first rise from off the     
plains1 and watch their white and       
lake-like fields1 as they float in level
 bays and winding gulfs about the       
islanded summits of the lower hills1    
untouched yet by more than dawn1 colder 

and more quiet than a windless sea under
 the moon of midnight2 watch when the   
first sunbeam is sent upon the silver   
channels1 how the foam of their         
undulating surface parts and passes     
away1 and down under their depths the   
glittering city and green pasture lie   
like ,atlantis1#ca between the white    
paths of winding rivers2 the flakes of  
light falling every moment faster and   
broader among the starry spires1 as the 
wreathed surges break and vanish above  
them1 and the confused crests and ridges
 of the dark hills shorten their grey   
shadows upon the plain4444 ,wait a      
little longer1 and you shall see those  
scattered mists rallying in the ravines1
 and floating up towards you1 along the 
winding valleys1 till they crouch in    
quiet masses1 iridescent with the       
morning light1#cb upon the broad breasts
 of the higher hills1 whose leagues of  
massy undulation will melt back and back
 into that robe of material light1 until
 they fade away1 lost in its lustre1 to 

appear again above1 in the serene       
heaven1 like a wild1 bright1 impossible 
dream1 foundationless and inaccessible1 
their very bases vanishing in the       
unsubstantial and mocking blue of the   
deep lake below4#cc444 ,wait yet a      
little longer1 and you shall see those  
mists gather themselves into white      
towers1 and stand like fortresses along 
the promontories1 massy and motionless1 
only piled with every instant higher and
 higher into the sky1 and casting longer
 shadows athwart the rocks2 and out of  
the pale blue of the horizon you will   
see forming and advancing a troop of    
narrow1 dark1 pointed vapours1 which    
will cover the sky1 inch by inch1 with  
their grey network1 and take the light  
off the landscape with an eclipse which 
will stop the singing of the birds and  
the motion of the leaves1 together2 and 
then you will see horizontal bars of    
black shadow forming under them1 and    
lurid wreaths create themselves1 you    
know not how1 along the shoulders of the

 hills2 you never see them form1 but    
when you look back to a place which was 
clear an instant ago1 there is a cloud  
on it1 hanging by the precipices1 as a  
hawk pauses over his prey4444 ,and then 
you will hear the sudden rush of the    
awakened wind1 and you will see those   
watch-towers of vapour swept away from  
their foundations1 and waving curtains  
of opaque rain let down to the valleys1 
swinging from the burdened clouds in    
black bending fringes1 or pacing in pale
 columns along the lake level1 grazing  
its surface into foam as they go4 ,and  
then1 as the sun sinks1 you shall see   
the storm drift for an instant1 from off
 the hills1 leaving their broad sides   
smoking1 and loaded yet with snow-white1
 torn1 steam-like rags of capricious    
vapour1 now gone1 now gathered again2   
while the smouldering sun1 seeming not  
far away1 but burning like a red-hot    
ball beside you1 and as if you could    
reach it1 plunges through the rushing   
wind and rolling cloud with headlong    

fall1 as if it meant to rise no more1   
dyeing all the air about it with        
blood4444 ,and then you shall hear the  
fainting tempest die in the hollow of   
the night1 and you shall see a green    
halo kindling on the summit of the      
eastern hills1 brighter--brighter yet1  
till the large white circle of the slow 
moon is lifted up among the barred      
clouds1 step by step1 line by line2 star
 after star she quenches with her       
kindling light1 setting in their stead  
an army of pale1 penetrable1 fleecy     
wreaths in the heaven1 to give light    
upon the earth1 which move together1    
hand in hand1 company by company1 troop 
by troop1 so measured in their unity of 
motion1 that the whole heaven seems to  
roll with them1 and the earth to reel   
under them4444 ,and then wait yet for   
one hour1 until the east again becomes  
purple1 and the heaving mountains1      
rolling against it in darkness1 like    
waves of a wild sea1 are drowned one by 
one in the glory of its burning3 watch  

the white glaciers blaze in their       
winding paths about the mountains1 like 
mighty serpents with scales of fire3    
watch the columnar peaks of solitary    
snow1 kindling downwards1 chasm by      
chasm1 each in itself a new morning2    
their long avalanches cast down in keen 
streams brighter than the lightning1    
sending each his tribute of driven snow1
 like altar-smoke1 up to the heaven2 the
 rose-light of their silent domes       
flushing that heaven about them and     
above them1 piercing with purer light   
through its purple lines of lifted      
cloud1 casting a new glory on every     
wreath as it passes by1 until the whole 
heaven1 one scarlet canopy1 is          
interwoven with a roof of waving flame1 
and tossing1 vault beyond vault1 as with
 the drifted wings of many companies of 
angels3 and then1 when you can look no  
more for gladness1 and when you are     
bowed down with fear and love of the    
,maker and ,doer of this1 tell me who   
has best delivered this ,his message    

unto men6#cd     #cj ,some sentences of 
an argumentative nature have been       
omitted from   this selection4    #ca ,a
 mythical island in the ,atlantic4      
#cb ,i have often seen the white1 thin1 
morning cloud1 edged with   the seven   
colours of the prism4 ,i am not aware of
 the cause of this   phenomenon1 for it 
takes place not when we stand with our  
backs to   the sun1 but in clouds near  
the sun itself1 irregularly and over    
indefinite spaces1 sometimes taking     
place in the body of the cloud4   ,the  
colours are distinct and vivid1 but have
 a kind of metallic    lustre upon them4
 ,ruskin4    #cc ,lake ,lucerne4        
,ruskin4    #cd ,the implication is that
 ,turner has best delivered it4         
,,the ,,grand ,,style#ce  ,,volume      
,,iii1 ,,chapter ,i   ,in taking up the 
clue of an inquiry1 now intermitted for 
nearly ten years1 it may be well to do  
as a traveller would1 who had to        
recommence an interrupted journey in a  
guideless country2 and1 ascending1 as it

 were1 some little hill beside our road1
 note how far we have already advanced1 
and what pleasantest ways we may choose 
for farther progress4  ,i endeavoured1  
in the beginning of the first volume1 to
 divide the sources of pleasure open to 
us in ,art into certain groups1 which   
might conveniently be studied in        
succession4 ,after some preliminary     
discussion1 it was concluded that these 
groups were1 in the main1 three2        
consisting1 first1 of the pleasures     
taken in perceiving simple resemblance  
to ,nature 7,ideas of ,truth72 secondly1
 of the pleasures taken in the beauty of
 the things chosen to be painted 7,ideas
 of ,beauty72 and1 lastly1 of pleasures 
taken in the meanings and relations of  
these things 7,ideas of ,relation74     
,the first volume1 treating of the ideas
 of ,truth1 was chiefly occupied with an
 inquiry into the various success with  
which different artists had represented 
the facts of ,nature1--an inquiry       
necessarily conducted very imperfectly1 

owing to the want of pictorial          
illustration4  ,the second volume merely
 opened the inquiry into the nature of  
ideas of ,beauty and ,relation1 by      
analysing 7as far as ,i was able to do  
so7 the two faculties of the human mind 
which mainly seized such ideas2 namely1 
the contemplative and imaginative       
faculties4  ,it remains for us to       
examine the various success of artists1 
especially of the great                 
landscape-painter whose works have been 
throughout our principal subject1 in    
addressing these faculties of the human 
mind1 and to consider who among them has
 conveyed the noblest ideas of beauty1  
and touched the deepest sources of      
thought4  ,i do not intend1 however1 now
 to pursue the inquiry in a method so   
laboriously systematic2 for the subject 
may1 it seems to me1 be more usefully   
treated by pursuing the different       
questions which rise out of it just as  
they occur to us1 without too great     
scrupulousness in marking connections1  

or insisting on sequences4 ,much time is
 wasted by human beings1 in general1 on 
establishment of systems2 and it often  
takes more labour to master the         
intricacies of an artificial connection1
 than to remember the separate facts    
which are so carefully connected4 ,i    
suspect that system-makers1 in general1 
are not of much more use1 each in his   
own domain1 than1 in that of ,pomona1   
the old women who tie cherries upon     
sticks1 for the more convenient         
portableness of the same4 ,to cultivate 
well1 and choose well1 your cherries1 is
 of some importance2 but if they can be 
had in their own wild way of clustering 
about their crabbed stalk1 it is a      
better connection for them than any     
other2 and1 if they cannot1 then1 so    
that they be not bruised1 it makes to a 
boy of a practical disposition not much 
difference whether he gets them by      
handfuls1 or in beaded symmetry on the  
exalting stick4 ,i purpose1 therefore1  
henceforward to trouble myself little   

with sticks or twine1 but to arrange my 
chapters with a view to convenient      
reference1 rather than to any careful   
division of subjects1 and to follow out1
 in any by-ways that may open1 on right 
hand or left1 whatever question it seems
 useful at any moment to settle4  ,and1 
in the outset1 ,i find myself met by one
 which ,i ought to have touched upon    
before--one of especial interest in the 
present state of the ,arts4 ,i have said
 that the art is greatest which includes
 the greatest ideas2 but ,i have not    
endeavoured to define the nature of this
 greatness in the ideas themselves4 ,we 
speak of great truths1 of great         
beauties1 great thoughts4 ,what is it   
which makes one truth greater than      
another1 one thought greater than       
another8 ,this question is1 ,i repeat1  
of peculiar importance at the present   
time2 for1 during a period now of some  
hundred and fifty years1 all writers on 
,art who have pretended to eminence1    
have insisted much on a supposed        

distinction between what they call the  
,great and the ,low ,schools2 using the 
terms ,high ,art1 ,great or ,ideal      
,style1 and other such1 as descriptive  
of a certain noble manner of painting1  
which it was desirable that all students
 of ,art should be early led to         
reverence and adopt2 and characterizing 
as vulgar1 or low1 or realist1 another  
manner of painting and conceiving1 which
 it was equally necessary that all      
students should be taught to avoid4     
,but lately this established teaching1  
never very intelligible1 has been       
gravely called in question4 ,the        
advocates and self-supposed practisers  
of ,high ,art are beginning to be looked
 upon with doubt1 and their peculiar    
phraseology to be treated with even a   
certain degree of ridicule4 ,and other  
forms of ,art are partly developed among
 us1 which do not pretend to be high1   
but rather to be strong1 healthy1 and   
humble4 ,this matter of highness in     
,art1 therefore1 deserves our most      

careful consideration4 ,has it been1 or 
is it1 a true highness1 a true          
princeliness1 or only a show of it1     
consisting in courtly manners and robes 
of state8 ,is it rocky height or cloudy 
height1 adamant or vapour1 on which the 
sun of praise so long has risen and set8
 ,it will be well at once to consider   
this4  ,and first1 let us get1 as       
quickly as may be1 at the exact meaning 
with which the advocates of ,high ,art  
use that somewhat obscure and figurative
 term4  ,i do not know that the         
principles in question are anywhere more
 distinctly expressed than in two papers
 in the ,idler1 written by ,sir ,joshua 
,reynolds1 of course under the immediate
 sanction of ,johnson2 and which may    
thus be considered as the utterance of  
the views then held upon the subject by 
the artists of chief skill1 and critics 
of most sense1 arranged in a form so    
brief and clear as to admit of their    
being brought before the public for a   
morning's entertainment4 ,i cannot1     

therefore1 it seems to me1 do better    
than quote these two letters1 or at     
least the important parts of them1      
examining the exact meaning of each     
passage as it occurs4 ,there are1 in    
all1 in the ,idler three letters on     
painting1 ,nos4 #gf1 #gi1 and #hb2 of   
these1 the first is directed only       
against the impertinences of pretended  
connoisseurs1 and is as notable for its 
faithfulness as for its wit in the      
description of the several modes of     
criticism in an artificial and ignorant 
state of society3 it is only1 therefore1
 in the two last papers that we find the
 expression of the doctrines which it is
 our business to examine4  ,no4 #gi     
7,saturday1 ,october #bj1 #agei7 begins1
 after a short preamble1 with the       
following passage3--  ,amongst the      
,painters1 and the writers on ,painting1
 there is one maxim universally admitted
 and continually inculcated4 ,imitate   
nature is the invariable rule2 but ,i   
know none who have explained in what    

manner this rule is to be understood2   
the consequence of which is1 that       
everyone takes it in the most obvious   
sense--that objects are represented     
naturally1 when they have such relief   
that they seem real4 ,it may appear     
strange1 perhaps1 to hear this sense of 
the rule disputed2 but it must be       
considered1 that1 if the excellency of a
 ,painter consisted only in this kind of
 imitation1 ,painting must lose its     
rank1 and be no longer considered as a  
liberal art1 and sister to ,poetry3 this
 imitation being merely mechanical1 in  
which the slowest intellect is always   
sure to succeed best2 for the ,painter  
of genius cannot stoop to drudgery1 in  
which the understanding has no part2 and
 what pretence has the ,art to claim    
kindred with ,poetry but by its power   
over the imagination8 ,to this power the
 ,painter of genius directs him2 in this
 sense he studies ,nature1 and often    
arrives at his end1 even by being       
unnatural in the confined sense of the  

word4  ,the grand style of ,painting    
requires this minute attention to be    
carefully avoided1 and must be kept as  
separate from it as the style of ,poetry
 from that of ,history4 7,poetical      
ornaments destroy that air of truth and 
plainness which ought to characterize   
,history2 but the very being of ,poetry 
consists in departing from this plain   
narrative1 and adopting every ornament  
that will warm the imagination47#cf ,to 
desire to see the excellences of each   
style united--to mingle the ,dutch with 
the ,italian school1 is to join         
contrarieties which cannot subsist      
together1 and which destroy the efficacy
 of each other4  ,we find1 first1 from  
this interesting passage1 that the      
writer considers the ,dutch and ,italian
 masters as severally representative of 
the low and high schools2 next1 that he 
considers the ,dutch painters as        
excelling in a mechanical imitation1 in 
which the slowest intellect is always   
sure to succeed best2 and1 thirdly1 that

 he considers the ,italian painters as  
excelling in a style which corresponds  
to that of imaginative poetry in        
literature1 and which has an exclusive  
right to be called the grand style4  ,i 
wish that it were in my power entirely  
to concur with the writer1 and to       
enforce this opinion thus distinctly    
stated4 ,i have never been a zealous    
partisan of the ,dutch ,school1 and     
should rejoice in claiming ,reynolds's  
authority for the assertion1 that their 
manner was one in which the slowest     
intellect is always sure to succeed     
best4 ,but before his authority can be  
so claimed1 we must observe exactly the 
meaning of the assertion itself1 and    
separate it from the company of some    
others not perhaps so admissible4       
,first1 ,i say1 we must observe         
,reynolds's exact meaning1 for 7though  
the assertion may at first appear       
singular7 a man who uses accurate       
language is always more liable to       
misinterpretation than one who is       

careless in his expressions4 ,we may    
assume that the latter means very nearly
 what we at first suppose him to mean1  
for words which have been uttered       
without thought may be received without 
examination4 ,but when a writer or      
speaker may be fairly supposed to have  
considered his expressions carefully1   
and1 after having revolved a number of  
terms in his mind1 to have chosen the   
one which exactly means the thing he    
intends to say1 we may be assured that  
what costs him time to select1 will     
require from us time to understand1 and 
that we shall do him wrong1 unless we   
pause to reflect how the word which he  
has actually employed differs from other
 words which it seems he might have     
employed4 ,it thus constantly happens   
that persons themselves unaccustomed to 
think clearly1 or speak correctly1      
misunderstand a logical and careful     
writer1 and are actually in more danger 
of being misled by language which is    
measured and precise1 than by that which

 is loose and inaccurate4  ,now1 in the 
instance before us1 a person not        
accustomed to good writing might very   
rashly conclude that when ,reynolds     
spoke of the ,dutch ,school as one in   
which the slowest intellect was sure to 
succeed best1 he meant to say that every
 successful ,dutch painter was a fool4  
,we have no right to take his assertion 
in that sense4 ,he says1 the slowest    
intellect4 ,we have no right to assume  
that he meant the weakest4 ,for it is   
true1 that in order to succeed in the   
,dutch style1 a man has need of         
qualities of mind eminently deliberate  
and sustained4 ,he must be possessed of 
patience rather than of power2 and must 
feel no weariness in contemplating the  
expression of a single thought for      
several months together4 ,as opposed to 
the changeful energies of the           
imagination1 these mental characters may
 be properly spoken of as under the     
general term--slowness of intellect4    
,but it by no means follows that they   

are necessarily those of weak or foolish
 men4  ,we observe1 however1 farther1   
that the imitation which ,reynolds      
supposes to be characteristic of the    
,dutch ,school is that which gives to   
objects such relief that they seem real1
 and that he then speaks of this art of 
realistic imitation as corresponding to 
history in literature4  ,reynolds1      
therefore1 seems to class these dull    
works of the ,dutch ,school under a     
general head1 to which they are not     
commonly referred--that of historical   
painting2 while he speaks of the works  
of the ,italian ,school not as          
historical1 but as poetical painting4   
,his next sentence will farther manifest
 his meaning4  ,the ,italian attends    
only to the invariable1 the great and   
general ideas which are fixed and       
inherent in universal ,nature2 the      
,dutch1 on the contrary1 to literal     
truth and a minute exactness in the     
detail1 as ,i may say1 of ,nature       
modified by accident4 ,the attention to 

these petty peculiarities is the very   
cause of this naturalness so much       
admired in the ,dutch pictures1 which1  
if we suppose it to be a beauty1 is     
certainly of a lower order1 which ought 
to give place to a beauty of a superior 
kind1 since one cannot be obtained but  
by departing from the other4  ,if my    
opinion was asked concerning the works  
of ,michael ,angelo1 whether they would 
receive any advantage from possessing   
this mechanical merit1 ,i should not    
scruple to say1 they would not only     
receive no advantage1 but would lose1 in
 a great measure1 the effect which they 
now have on every mind susceptible of   
great and noble ideas4 ,his works may be
 said to be all genius and soul2 and why
 should they be loaded with heavy       
matter1 which can only counteract his   
purpose by retarding the progress of the
 imagination8  ,examining carefully this
 and the preceding passage1 we find the 
author's unmistakable meaning to be1    
that ,dutch painting is history2        

attending to literal truth and minute   
exactness in the details of nature      
modified by accident4 ,that ,italian    
painting is poetry1 attending only to   
the invariable2 and that works which    
attend only to the invariable are full  
of genius and soul2 but that literal    
truth and exact detail are heavy matter 
which retards the progress of the       
imagination4  ,this being then          
indisputably what ,reynolds means to    
tell us1 let us think a little whether  
he is in all respects right4 ,and first1
 as he compares his two kinds of        
painting to history and poetry1 let us  
see how poetry and history themselves   
differ1 in their use of variable and    
invariable details4 ,i am writing at a  
window which commands a view of the head
 of the ,lake of ,geneva2 and as ,i look
 up from my paper1 to consider this     
point1 ,i see1 beyond it1 a blue breadth
 of softly moving water1 and the outline
 of the mountains above ,chillon1 bathed
 in morning mist4 ,the first verses     

which naturally come into my mind are-- 
,a thousand feet in depth below     ,the
 massy waters meet and flow2     ,so far
 the fathom line was sent     ,from     
,chillon's snow-white battlement4#cg    
,let us see in what manner this poetical
 statement is distinguished from a      
historical one4  ,it is distinguished   
from a truly historical statement1      
first1 in being simply false4 ,the water
 under the ,castle of ,chillon is not a 
thousand feet deep1 nor anything like   
it4#ch ,herein1 certainly1 these lines  
fulfil ,reynolds's first requirement in 
poetry1 that it should be inattentive to
 literal truth and minute exactness in  
detail4 ,in order1 however1 to make our 
comparison more closely in other points1
 let us assume that what is stated is   
indeed a fact1 and that it was to be    
recorded1 first historically1 and then  
poetically4  ,historically stating it1  
then1 we should say3 ,the lake was      
sounded from the walls of the ,castle of
 ,chillon1 and found to be a thousand   

feet deep4  ,now1 if ,reynolds be right 
in his idea of the difference between   
history and poetry1 we shall find that  
,byron leaves out of this statement     
certain unnecessary details1 and retains
 only the invariable1--that is to say1  
the points which the ,lake of ,geneva   
and ,castle of ,chillon have in common  
with all other lakes and castles4  ,let 
us hear1 therefore4      ,a thousand    
feet in depth below4  ,below8 ,here is1 
at all events1 a word added 7instead of 
anything being taken away72 invariable1 
certainly in the case of lakes1 but not 
absolutely necessary4      ,the massy   
waters meet and flow4  ,massy6 why      
massy8 ,because deep water is heavy4    
,the word is a good word1 but it is     
assuredly an added detail1 and expresses
 a character1 not which the ,lake of    
,geneva has in common with all other    
lakes1 but which it has in distinction  
from those which are narrow1 or shallow4
  ,meet and flow4 ,why meet and flow8   
,partly to make up a rhyme2 partly to   

tell us that the waters are forceful as 
well as massy1 and changeful as well as 
deep4 ,observe1 a farther addition of   
details1 and of details more or less    
peculiar to the spot1 or1 according to  
,reynolds's definition1 of heavy matter1
 retarding the progress of the          
imagination4      ,so far the fathom    
line was sent4  ,why fathom line8 ,all  
lines for sounding are not fathom lines4
 ,if the lake was ever sounded from     
,chillon1 it was probably sounded in    
metres1 not fathoms4 ,this is an        
addition of another particular detail1  
in which the only compliance with       
,reynolds's requirement is1 that there  
is some chance of its being an          
inaccurate one4      ,from ,chillon's   
snow-white battlement4  ,why snow-white8
 ,because castle battlements are not    
usually snow-white4 ,this is another    
added detail1 and a detail quite        
peculiar to ,chillon1 and therefore     
exactly the most striking word in the   
whole passage4  ,battlement6 ,why       

battlement8 ,because all walls have not 
battlements1 and the addition of the    
term marks the castle to be not merely a
 prison1 but a fortress4  ,this is a    
curious result4 ,instead of finding1 as 
we expected1 the poetry distinguished   
from the history by the omission of     
details1 we find it consist entirely in 
the addition of details2 and instead of 
being characterized by regard only of   
the invariable1 we find its whole power 
to consist in the clear expression of   
what is singular and particular6  ,the  
reader may pursue the investigation for 
himself in other instances4 ,he will    
find in every case that a poetical is   
distinguished from a merely historical  
statement1 not by being more vague1 but 
more specific2 and it might1 therefore1 
at first appear that our author's       
comparison should be simply reversed1   
and that the ,dutch ,school should be   
called poetical1 and the ,italian       
historical4 ,but the term poetical does 
not appear very applicable to the       

generality of ,dutch painting2 and a    
little reflection will show us1 that if 
the ,italians represent only the        
invariable1 they cannot be properly     
compared even to historians4 ,for that  
which is incapable of change has no     
history1 and records which state only   
the invariable need not be written1 and 
could not be read4  ,it is evident1     
therefore1 that our author has entangled
 himself in some grave fallacy1 by      
introducing this idea of invariableness 
as forming a distinction between        
poetical and historical art4 ,what the  
fallacy is1 we shall discover as we     
proceed2 but as an invading army should 
not leave an untaken fortress in its    
rear1 we must not go on with our inquiry
 into the views of ,reynolds until we   
have settled satisfactorily the question
 already suggested to us1 in what the   
essence of poetical treatment really    
consists4 ,for though1 as we have seen1 
it certainly involves the addition of   
specific details1 it cannot be simply   

that addition which turns the history   
into poetry4 ,for it is perfectly       
possible to add any number of details to
 a historical statement1 and to make it 
more prosaic with every added word4 ,as1
 for instance1 ,the lake was sounded out
 of a flat-bottomed boat1 near the      
crab-tree at the corner of the          
kitchen-garden1 and was found to be a   
thousand feet nine inches deep1 with a  
muddy bottom4 ,it thus appears that it  
is not the multiplication of details    
which constitutes poetry2 nor their     
subtraction which constitutes history1  
but that there must be something either 
in the nature of the details themselves1
 or the method of using them1 which     
invests them with poetical power or     
historical propriety4  ,it seems to me1 
and may seem to the reader1 strange that
 we should need to ask the question1    
,what is poetry8 ,here is a word we have
 been using all our lives1 and1 ,i      
suppose1 with a very distinct idea      
attached to it2 and when ,i am now      

called upon to give a definition of this
 idea1 ,i find myself at a pause4 ,what 
is more singular1 ,i do not at present  
recollect hearing the question often    
asked1 though surely it is a very       
natural one2 and ,i never recollect     
hearing it answered1 or even attempted  
to be answered4 ,in general1 people     
shelter themselves under metaphors1 and 
while we hear poetry described as an    
utterance of the soul1 an effusion of   
,divinity1 or voice of nature1 or in    
other terms equally elevated and        
obscure1 we never attain anything like a
 definite explanation of the character  
which actually distinguishes it from    
prose4  ,i come1 after some             
embarrassment1 to the conclusion1 that  
poetry is the suggestion1 by the        
imagination1 of noble grounds for the   
noble emotions4#ci ,i mean1 by the noble
 emotions1 those four principal sacred  
passions--,love1 ,veneration1           
,admiration1 and ,joy 7this latter      
especially1 if unselfish72 and their    

opposites--,hatred1 ,indignation 7or    
,scorn71 ,horror1 and ,grief1--this     
last1 when unselfish1 becoming          
,compassion4 ,these passions in their   
various combinations constitute what is 
called poetical feeling1 when they are  
felt on noble grounds1 that is1 on great
 and true grounds4 ,indignation1 for    
instance1 is a poetical feeling1 if     
excited by serious injury2 but it is not
 a poetical feeling if entertained on   
being cheated out of a small sum of     
money4 ,it is very possible the manner  
of the cheat may have been such as to   
justify considerable indignation2 but   
the feeling is nevertheless not poetical
 unless the grounds of it be large as   
well as just4 ,in like manner1 energetic
 admiration may be excited in certain   
minds by a display of fireworks1 or a   
street of handsome shops2 but the       
feeling is not poetical1 because the    
grounds of it are false1 and therefore  
ignoble4 ,there is in reality nothing to
 deserve admiration either in the firing

 of packets of gunpowder1 or in the     
display of the stocks of warehouses4    
,but admiration excited by the budding  
of a flower is a poetical feeling1      
because it is impossible that this      
manifestation of spiritual power and    
vital beauty can ever be enough admired4
  ,farther1 it is necessary to the      
existence of poetry that the grounds of 
these feelings should be furnished by   
the imagination4 ,poetical feeling1 that
 is to say1 mere noble emotion1 is not  
poetry4 ,it is happily inherent in all  
human nature deserving the name1 and is 
found often to be purest in the least   
sophisticated4 ,but the power of        
assembling1 by the help of the          
imagination1 such images as will excite 
these feelings1 is the power of the poet
 or literally of the ,maker4#dj  ,now   
this power of exciting the emotions     
depends of course on the richness of the
 imagination1 and on its choice of those
 images which1 in combination1 will be  
most effective1 or1 for the particular  

work to be done1 most fit4 ,and it is   
altogether impossible for a writer not  
endowed with invention to conceive what 
tools a true poet will make use of1 or  
in what way he will apply them1 or what 
unexpected results he will bring out by 
them2 so that it is vain to say that the
 details of poetry ought to possess1 or 
ever do possess1 any definite character4
 ,generally speaking1 poetry runs into  
finer and more delicate details than    
prose2 but the details are not poetical 
because they are more delicate1 but     
because they are employed so as to bring
 out an affecting result4 ,for instance1
 no one but a true poet would have      
thought of exciting our pity for a      
bereaved father by describing his way of
 locking the door of his house3         
,perhaps to himself at that moment he   
said1     ,the key ,i must take1 for my 
,ellen is dead2     ,but of this in my  
ears not a word did he speak2     ,and  
he went to the chase with a tear on his 
cheek4#da  ,in like manner1 in painting1

 it is altogether impossible to say     
beforehand what details a great painter 
may make poetical by his use of them to 
excite noble emotions3 and we shall1    
therefore1 find presently that a        
painting is to be classed in the great  
or inferior schools1 not according to   
the kind of details which it represents1
 but according to the uses for which it 
employs them4  ,it is only farther to be
 noticed1 that infinite confusion has   
been introduced into this subject by the
 careless and illogical custom of       
opposing painting to poetry1 instead of 
regarding poetry as consisting in a     
noble use1 whether of colours or words4 
,painting is properly to be opposed to  
speaking or writing1 but not to poetry4 
,both painting and speaking are methods 
of expression4 ,poetry is the employment
 of either for the noblest purposes4    
,this question being thus far           
determined1 we may proceed with our     
paper in the ,idler4  ,it is very       
difficult to determine the exact degree 

of enthusiasm that the arts of ,painting
 and ,poetry may admit4 ,there may1     
perhaps1 be too great indulgence as well
 as too great a restraint of            
imagination2 if the one produces        
incoherent monsters1 the other produces 
what is full as bad1 lifeless           
insipidity4 ,an intimate knowledge of   
the passions1 and good sense1 but not   
common sense1 must at last determine its
 limits4 ,it has been thought1 and ,i   
believe with reason1 that ,michael      
,angelo sometimes transgressed those    
limits2 and1 ,i think1 ,i have seen     
figures of him of which it was very     
difficult to determine whether they were
 in the highest degree sublime or       
extremely ridiculous4 ,such faults may  
be said to be the ebullitions of genius2
 but at least he had this merit1 that he
 never was insipid2 and whatever passion
 his works may excite1 they will always 
escape contempt4  ,what ,i have had     
under consideration is the sublimest    
style1 particularly that of ,michael    

,angelo1 the ,homer of painting4 ,other 
kinds may admit of this naturalness1    
which of the lowest kind is the chief   
merit2 but in painting1 as in poetry1   
the highest style has the least of      
common nature4  ,from this passage we   
gather three important indications of   
the supposed nature of the ,great       
,style4 ,that it is the work of men in a
 state of enthusiasm4 ,that it is like  
the writing of ,homer2 and that it has  
as little as possible of common nature  
in it4  ,first1 it is produced by men in
 a state of enthusiasm4 ,that is1 by men
 who feel strongly and nobly2 for we do 
not call a strong feeling of envy1      
jealousy1 or ambition1 enthusiasm4 ,that
 is1 therefore1 by men who feel         
poetically4 ,this much we may admit1 ,i 
think1 with perfect safety4 ,great art  
is produced by men who feel acutely and 
nobly2 and it is in some sort an        
expression of this personal feeling4 ,we
 can easily conceive that there may be a
 sufficiently marked distinction between

 such art1 and that which is produced by
 men who do not feel at all1 but who    
reproduce1 though ever so accurately1   
yet coldly1 like human mirrors1 the     
scenes which pass before their eyes4    
,secondly1 ,great ,art is like the      
writing of ,homer1 and this chiefly     
because it has little of common nature  
in it4 ,we are not clearly informed what
 is meant by common nature in this      
passage4 ,homer seems to describe a     
great deal of what is common3--cookery1 
for instance1 very carefully in all its 
processes4#db ,i suppose the passage in 
the ,iliad which1 on the whole1 has     
excited most admiration1 is that which  
describes a wife's sorrow at parting    
from her husband1 and a child's fright  
at its father's helmet2#dc and ,i hope1 
at least1 the former feeling may be     
considered common nature4 ,but the true 
greatness of ,homer's style is1         
doubtless1 held by our author to consist
 in his imaginations of things not only 
uncommon but impossible 7such as spirits

 in brazen armour1 or monsters with     
heads of men and bodies of beasts71 and 
in his occasional delineations of the   
human character and form in their       
utmost1 or heroic1 strength and beauty4 
,we gather then on the whole1 that a    
painter in the ,great ,style must be    
enthusiastic1 or full of emotion1 and   
must paint the human form in its utmost 
strength and beauty1 and perhaps certain
 impossible forms besides1 liable by    
persons not in an equally enthusiastic  
state of mind to be looked upon as in   
some degree absurd4 ,this ,i presume to 
be ,reynolds's meaning1 and to be all   
that he intends us to gather from his   
comparison of the ,great ,style with the
 writings of ,homer4 ,but if that       
comparison be a just one in all         
respects1 surely two other corollaries  
ought to be drawn from it1              
namely1--first1 that these ,heroic or   
,impossible images are to be mingled    
with others very unheroic and very      
possible2 and1 secondly1 that in the    

representation of the ,heroic or        
,impossible forms1 the greatest care    
must be taken in finishing the details1 
so that a painter must not be satisfied 
with painting well the countenance and  
the body of his hero1 but ought to spend
 the greatest part of his time 7as      
,homer the greatest number of verses7 in
 elaborating the sculptured pattern on  
his shield4  ,let us1 however1 proceed  
with our paper4  ,one may very safely   
recommend a little more enthusiasm to   
the modern ,painters2 too much is       
certainly not the vice of the present   
age4 ,the ,italians seem to have been   
continually declining in this respect1  
from the time of ,michael ,angelo to    
that of ,carlo ,maratti1#dd and from    
thence to the very bathos of insipidity 
to which they are now sunk2 so that     
there is no need of remarking1 that     
where ,i mentioned the ,italian painters
 in opposition to the ,dutch1 ,i mean   
not the moderns1 but the heads of the   
old ,roman and ,bolognian schools2 nor  

did ,i mean to include1 in my idea of an
 ,italian painter1 the ,venetian school1
 which may be said to be the ,dutch part
 of the ,italian genius4 ,i have only to
 add a word of advice to the            
,painters1--that1 however excellent they
 may be in painting naturally1 they     
would not flatter themselves very much  
upon it2 and to the ,connoisseurs1 that 
when they see a cat or a fiddle painted 
so finely1 that1 as the phrase is1 it   
looks as if you could take it up1 they  
would not for that reason immediately   
compare the ,painter to ,raffaelle and  
,michael ,angelo4  ,in this passage     
there are four points chiefly to be     
remarked4 ,the first1 that in the year  
#agei the ,italian painters were1 in our
 author's opinion1 sunk in the very     
bathos of insipidity4 ,the second1 that 
the ,venetian painters1 i4e4 ,titian1   
,tintoret1 and ,veronese1 are1 in our   
author's opinion1 to be classed with the
 ,dutch2 that is to say1 are painters in
 a style in which the slowest intellect 

is always sure to succeed best4         
,thirdly1 that painting naturally is not
 a difficult thing1 nor one on which a  
painter should pride himself4 ,and1     
finally1 that connoisseurs1 seeing a cat
 or a fiddle successfully painted1 ought
 not therefore immediately to compare   
the painter to ,raphael or ,michael     
,angelo4  ,yet ,raphael painted fiddles 
very carefully in the foreground of his 
,st4 ,cecilia1--so carefully1 that they 
quite look as if they might be taken up4
 ,so carefully1 that ,i never yet looked
 at the picture without wishing that    
somebody would take them up1 and out of 
the way4 ,and ,i am under a very strong 
persuasion that ,raphael did not think  
painting naturally an easy thing4 ,it   
will be well to examine into this point 
a little2 and for the present1 with the 
reader's permission1 we will pass over  
the first two statements in this passage
 7touching the character of ,italian art
 in #agei1 and of ,venetian art in      
general71 and immediately examine some  

of the evidence existing as to the real 
dignity of natural painting--that is to 
say1 of painting carried to the point at
 which it reaches a deceptive appearance
 of reality4     #ce ,the full title of 
this chapter is ,of the ,received       
,opinions   touching the ',grand        
,style4'    #cf ,i have put this        
sentence in a parenthesis1 because it is
   inconsistent with the rest of the    
statement1 and with the general         
teaching of the paper2 since that which 
attends only to the   invariable cannot 
certainly adopt every ornament that will
 warm   the imagination4 ,ruskin4    #cg
 ,stanza #f of ,byron's ,prisoner of    
,chillon1 quoted with a slight          
inaccuracy4    #ch ,messrs4 ,mallet and 
,pictet1 being on the lake1 in front of 
the   ,castle of ,chillon1 on ,august   
#f1 #aggd1 sunk a thermometer to the    
depth of #cab feet4 444 --,,saussure1   
,voyages dans les ,alpes1 chap4   ii1   
,sec4 #cc4 ,it appears from the next    
paragraph1 that the thermometer   was at

 the bottom of the lake4 ,ruskin1       
altered4    #ci ,ruskin later wrote3 ,it
 leaves out rhythm1 which ,i now        
consider   a defect in said definition2 
otherwise good4    #dj ,take1 for       
instance1 the beautiful stanza in the   
,affliction of   ,margaret3      ,i look
 for ghosts1 but none will force        
,their way to me4 ',t is falsely said   
,that ever there was intercourse        
,between the living and the dead2       
,for1 surely1 then1 ,i should have sight
     ,of him ,i wait for1 day and night4
     ,with love and longing infinite4   
,this we call ,poetry1 because it is    
invented or made by the writer1         
entering into the mind of a supposed    
person4 ,next1 take an instance   of the
 actual feeling truly experienced and   
simply expressed by a   real person4    
,nothing surprised me more than a woman 
of ,argentiere1 whose   cottage ,i went 
into to ask for milk1 as ,i came down   
from the   glacier of ,argentiere1 in   
the month of ,march1 #agfd4 ,an epidemic

   dysentery had prevailed in the       
village1 and1 a few months before1   had
 taken away from her1 her father1 her   
husband1 and her   brothers1 so that she
 was left alone1 with three children in 
the   cradle4 ,her face had something   
noble in it1 and its expression   bore  
the seal of a calm and profound sorrow4 
,after having given me   milk1 she asked
 me whence ,i came1 and what ,i came    
there to do1 so   early in the year4    
,when she knew that ,i was of ,geneva1  
she said to   me1 'she could not believe
 that all ,protestants were lost souls2 
that there were many honest people among
 us1 and that ,god was too   good and   
too great to condemn all without        
distinction4' ,then1   after a moment of
 reflection1 she added1 in shaking her  
head1 ',but   that which is very strange
 is that of so many who have gone away1 
none have ever returned4 ,i1' she added1
 with an expression of   grief1 'who    
have so mourned my husband and my       
brothers1 who have   never ceased to    

think of them1 who every night conjure  
them with   beseechings to tell me where
 they are1 and in what state they are6  
,ah1 surely1 if they lived anywhere1    
they would not leave me thus6   ,but1   
perhaps1' she added1 ',i am not worthy  
of this kindness1   perhaps the pure and
 innocent spirits of these children1'   
and she   looked at the cradle1 'may    
have their presence1 and the joy which  
is denied to me4'--,,saussure1 ,voyages 
dans les ,alpes1 chap4   xxiv4    ,this 
we do not call ,poetry1 merely because  
it is not invented1 but   the true      
utterance of a real person4 ,ruskin4    
#da ,the closing lines of ,wordsworth's 
,childless ,father4    #db ,iliad1 #a4  
#dfc ff41 #b4 #dbe ff42 ,odyssey1 #c4   
#dee ff41 etc4    #dc ,iliad1 #f4 #dfh  
ff4    #dd #afbe-agac4 ,known also as   
,carlo delle ,madonne4     ,,of         
,,realization  ,,volume ,,iii1 ,,chapter
 #b   ,in the outset of this inquiry1   
the reader must thoroughly understand   
that we are not now considering what is 

to be painted1 but how far it is to be  
painted4 ,not whether ,raphael does     
right in representing angels playing    
upon violins1 or whether ,veronese does 
right in allowing cats and monkeys to   
join the company of kings3 but whether1 
supposing the subjects rightly chosen1  
they ought on the canvas to look like   
real angels with real violins1 and      
substantial cats looking at veritable   
kings2 or only like imaginary angels    
with soundless violins1 ideal cats1 and 
unsubstantial kings4  ,now1 from the    
first moment when painting began to be a
 subject of literary inquiry and general
 criticism1 ,i cannot remember any      
writer1 not professedly artistical1 who 
has not1 more or less1 in one part of   
his book or another1 countenanced the   
idea that the great end of art is to    
produce a deceptive resemblance of      
reality4 ,it may be1 indeed1 that we    
shall find the writers1 through many    
pages1 explaining principles of ideal   
beauty1 and professing great delight in 

the evidences of imagination4 ,but      
whenever a picture is to be definitely  
described1--whenever the writer desires 
to convey to others some impression of  
an extraordinary excellence1 all praise 
is wound up with some such statements as
 these3 ,it was so exquisitely painted  
that you expected the figures to move   
and speak2 you approached the flowers to
 enjoy their smell1 and stretched your  
hand towards the fruit which had fallen 
from the branches4 ,you shrunk back lest
 the sword of the warrior should indeed 
descend1 and turned away your head that 
you might not witness the agonies of the
 expiring martyr4  ,in a large number of
 instances1 language such as this will  
be found to be merely a clumsy effort to
 convey to others a sense of the        
admiration1 of which the writer does not
 understand the real cause in himself4  
,a person is attracted to a picture by  
the beauty of its colour1 interested by 
the liveliness of its story1 and touched
 by certain countenances or details     

which remind him of friends whom he     
loved1 or scenes in which he delighted4 
,he naturally supposes that what gives  
him so much pleasure must be a notable  
example of the painter's skill2 but he  
is ashamed to confess1 or perhaps does  
not know1 that he is so much a child as 
to be fond of bright colours and amusing
 incidents2 and he is quite unconscious 
of the associations which have so secret
 and inevitable a power over his heart4 
,he casts about for the cause of his    
delight1 and can discover no other than 
that he thought the picture like        
reality4  ,in another1 perhaps1 a still 
larger number of cases1 such language   
will be found to be that of simple      
ignorance--the ignorance of persons     
whose position in life compels them to  
speak of art1 without having any real   
enjoyment of it4 ,it is inexcusably     
required from people of the world1 that 
they should see merit in ,claudes#de and
 ,titians2 and the only merit which many
 persons can either see or conceive in  

them is1 that they must be like nature4 
,in other cases1 the deceptive power of 
the art is really felt to be a source of
 interest and amusement4 ,this is the   
case with a large number of the         
collectors of ,dutch pictures4 ,they    
enjoy seeing what is flat made to look  
round1 exactly as a child enjoys a trick
 of legerdemain3 they rejoice in flies  
which the spectator vainly attempts to  
brush away1#df and in dew which he      
endeavours to dry by putting the picture
 in the sun4 ,they take it for the      
greatest compliment to their treasures  
that they should be mistaken for        
windows2 and think the parting of       
,abraham and ,hagar adequately          
represented if ,hagar seems to be really
 crying4#dg  ,it is against critics and 
connoisseurs of this latter stamp 7of   
whom1 in the year #agei1 the juries of  
art were for the most part composed7    
that the essay of ,reynolds1 which we   
have been examining1 was justly         
directed4 ,but ,reynolds had not        

sufficiently considered that neither the
 men of this class1 nor of the two other
 classes above described1 constitute the
 entire body of those who praise ,art   
for its realization2 and that the       
holding of this apparently shallow and  
vulgar opinion cannot1 in all cases1 be 
attributed to the want either of        
penetration1 sincerity1 or sense4 ,the  
collectors of ,gerard ,dows and         
,hobbimas may be passed by with a smile2
 and the affectations of ,walpole and   
simplicities of ,vasari#dh dismissed    
with contempt or with compassion4 ,but  
very different men from these have held 
precisely the same language2 and1 one   
amongst the rest1 whose authority is    
absolutely1 and in all points1          
overwhelming4  ,there was probably never
 a period in which the influence of art 
over the minds of men seemed to depend  
less on its merely imitative power1 than
 the close of the thirteenth century4   
,no painting or sculpture at that time  
reached more than a rude resemblance of 

reality4 ,its despised perspective1     
imperfect chiaroscuro1 and unrestrained 
flights of fantastic imagination1       
separated the artist's work from nature 
by an interval which there was no       
attempt to disguise1 and little to      
diminish4 ,and yet1 at this very period1
 the greatest poet of that1 or perhaps  
of any other age1 and the attached      
friend of its greatest painter1#di who  
must over and over again have held full 
and free conversation with him          
respecting the objects of his art1      
speaks in the following terms of        
painting1 supposed to be carried to its 
highest perfection3    ,qual di pennel  
fu maestro1 e di stile     ,che         
ritraesse l'ombre1 e i tratti1 chi' ivi 
,mirar farieno uno ingegno sottile8     
,morti li morti1 e i vivi parean vivi3  
,non vide me' di me1 chi vide il vero1  
,quant' io calcai1 fin che chinato givi4
    ,,dante1 ,purgatorio1 canto xii4 #a4
 #fd4    ,what master of the pencil1 or 
the style1   ,had traced the shades and 

lines that might have made   ,the       
subtlest workman wonder8 ,dead1 the     
dead1   ,the living seemed alive2 with  
clearer view   ,his eye beheld not1 who 
beheld the truth1   ,than mine what ,i  
did tread on1 while ,i went   ,low      
bending4    --,,cary4  ,dante has here  
clearly no other idea of the highest art
 than that it should bring back1 as in a
 mirror or vision1 the aspect of things 
passed or absent4 ,the scenes of which  
he speaks are1 on the pavement1 for ever
 represented by angelic power1 so that  
the souls which traverse this circle of 
the rock may see them1 as if the years  
of the world had been rolled back1 and  
they again stood beside the actors in   
the moment of action4 ,nor do ,i think  
that ,dante's authority is absolutely   
necessary to compel us to admit that    
such art as this might1 indeed1 be the  
highest possible4 ,whatever delight we  
may have been in the habit of taking in 
pictures1 if it were but truly offered  
to us1 to remove at our will the canvas 

from the frame1 and in lieu of it to    
behold1 fixed for ever1 the image of    
some of those mighty scenes which it has
 been our way to make mere themes for   
the artist's fancy2 if1 for instance1 we
 could again behold the ,magdalene      
receiving her pardon at ,christ's feet1 
or the disciples sitting with ,him at   
the table of ,emmaus2 and this not      
feebly nor fancifully1 but as if some   
silver mirror that had leaned against   
the wall of the chamber1 had been       
miraculously commanded to retain for    
ever the colours that had flashed upon  
it for an instant1--would we not part   
with our picture--,titian's or          
,veronese's though it might be8  ,yes1  
the reader answers1 in the instance of  
such scenes as these1 but not if the    
scene represented were uninteresting4   
,not1 indeed1 if it were utterly vulgar 
or painful2 but we are not yet certain  
that the art which represents what is   
vulgar or painful is itself of much     
value2 and with respect to the art whose

 aim is beauty1 even of an inferior     
order1 it seems that ,dante's idea of   
its perfection has still much evidence  
in its favour4 ,for among persons of    
native good sense1 and courage enough to
 speak their minds1 we shall often find 
a considerable degree of doubt as to the
 use of art1 in consequence of their    
habitual comparison of it with reality4 
,what is the use1 to me1 of the painted 
landscape8 they will ask3 ,i see more   
beautiful and perfect landscapes every  
day of my life in my forenoon walk4     
,what is the use1 to me1 of the painted 
effigy of hero or beauty8 ,i can see a  
stamp of higher heroism1 and light of   
purer beauty1 on the faces round me1    
utterly inexpressible by the highest    
human skill4 ,now1 it is evident that to
 persons of this temper the only        
valuable picture would1 indeed1 be      
mirrors1 reflecting permanently the     
images of the things in which they took 
delight1 and of the faces that they     
loved4 ,nay1 but the reader interrupts  

7if he is of the ,idealist school71 ,i  
deny that more beautiful things are to  
be seen in nature than in art2 on the   
contrary1 everything in nature is       
faulty1 and art represents nature as    
perfected4 ,be it so4 ,must1 therefore1 
this perfected nature be imperfectly    
represented8 ,is it absolutely required 
of the painter1 who has conceived       
perfection1 that he should so paint it  
as to look only like a picture8 ,or is  
not ,dante's view of the matter right   
even here1 and would it not be well that
 the perfect conception of ,pallas      
should be so given as to look like      
,pallas herself1 rather than merely like
 the picture of ,pallas8#ej  ,it is not 
easy for us to answer this question     
rightly1 owing to the difficulty of     
imagining any art which should reach the
 perfection supposed4 ,our actual powers
 of imitation are so feeble that        
wherever deception is attempted1 a      
subject of a comparatively low or       
confined order must be chosen4 ,i do not

 enter at present into the inquiry how  
far the powers of imitation extend2 but 
assuredly up to the present period they 
have been so limited that it is hardly  
possible for us to conceive a deceptive 
art embracing a high range of subject4  
,but let the reader make the effort1 and
 consider seriously what he would give  
at any moment to have the power of      
arresting the fairest scenes1 those     
which so often rise before him only to  
vanish2 to stay the cloud in its fading1
 the leaf in its trembling1 and the     
shadows in their changing2 to bid the   
fitful foam be fixed upon the river1 and
 the ripples be everlasting upon the    
lake2 and then to bear away with him no 
darkened or feeble sun-stain 7though    
even that is beautiful71 but a          
counterfeit which should seem no        
counterfeit-the true and perfect image  
of life indeed4 ,or rather 7for the full
 majesty of such a power is not thus    
sufficiently expressed7 let him consider
 that it would be in effect nothing else

 than a capacity of transporting himself
 at any moment into any scene--a gift as
 great as can be possessed by a         
disembodied spirit3 and suppose1 also1  
this necromancy embracing not only the  
present but the past1 and enabling us   
seemingly to enter into the very bodily 
presence of men long since gathered to  
the dust2 to behold them in act as they 
lived1 but--with greater privilege than 
ever was granted to the companions of   
those transient acts of life--to see    
them fastened at our will in the gesture
 and expression of an instant1 and      
stayed1 on the eve of some great deed1  
in immortality of burning purpose4      
,conceive1 so far as it is possible1    
such power as this1 and then say whether
 the art which conferred it is to be    
spoken lightly of1 or whether we should 
not rather reverence1 as half divine1 a 
gift which would go so far as to raise  
us into the rank1 and invest us with the
 felicities1 of angels8  ,yet such would
 imitative art be in its perfection4    

,not by any means an easy thing1 as     
,reynolds supposes it4 ,far from being  
easy1 it is so utterly beyond all human 
power that we have difficulty even in   
conceiving its nature or results--the   
best art we as yet possess comes so far 
short of it4  ,but we must not rashly   
come to the conclusion that such art    
would1 indeed1 be the highest possible4 
,there is much to be considered         
hereafter on the other side2 the only   
conclusion we are as yet warranted in   
forming is1 that ,reynolds had no right 
to speak lightly or contemptuously of   
imitative art2 that in fact1 when he did
 so1 he had not conceived its entire    
nature1 but was thinking of some vulgar 
conditions of it1 which were the only   
ones known to him1 and that1 therefore1 
his whole endeavour to explain the      
difference between great and mean art   
has been disappointed2 that he has      
involved himself in a crowd of theories1
 whose issue he had not foreseen1 and   
committed himself to conclusions which1 

he never intended4 ,there is an         
instinctive consciousness in his own    
mind of the difference between high and 
low art2 but he is utterly incapable of 
explaining it1 and every effort which he
 makes to do so involves him in         
unexpected fallacy and absurdity4 ,it is
 not true that ,poetry does not concern 
herself with minute details4 ,it is not 
true that high art seeks only the       
,invariable4 ,it is not true that       
imitative art is an easy thing4 ,it is  
not true that the faithful rendering of 
nature is an employment in which the    
slowest intellect is likely to succeed  
best4 ,all these successive assertions  
are utterly false and untenable1 while  
the plain truth1 a truth lying at the   
very door1 has all the while escaped    
him1--that which was incidentally stated
 in the preceding chapter1--namely1 that
 the difference between great and mean  
art lies1 not in definable methods of   
handling1 or styles of representation1  
or choices of subjects1 but wholly in   

the nobleness of the end to which the   
effort of the painter is addressed4 ,we 
cannot say that a painter is great      
because he paints boldly1 or paints     
delicately2 because he generalizes or   
particularizes2 because he loves detail1
 or because he disdains it4 ,he is great
 if1 by any of these means1 he has laid 
open noble truths1 or aroused noble     
emotions4 ,it does not matter whether he
 paint the petal of a rose1 or the      
chasms of a precipice1 so that ,love and
 ,admiration attend him as he labours1  
and wait for ever upon his work4 ,it    
does not matter whether he toil for     
months upon a few inches of his canvas1 
or cover a palace front with colour in a
 day1 so only that it be with a solemn  
purpose that he has filled his heart    
with patience1 or urged his hand to     
haste4 ,and it does not matter whether  
he seek for his subjects among peasants 
or nobles1 among the heroic or the      
simple1 in courts or in fields1 so only 
that he behold all things with a thirst 

for beauty1 and a hatred of meanness and
 vice4 ,there are1 indeed1 certain      
methods of representation which are     
usually adopted by the most active      
minds1 and certain characters of subject
 usually delighted in by the noblest    
hearts2 but it is quite possible1 quite 
easy1 to adopt the manner of painting   
without sharing the activity of mind1   
and to imitate the choice of subject    
without possessing the nobility of      
spirit2 while1 on the other hand1 it is 
altogether impossible to foretell on    
what strange objects the strength of a  
great man will sometimes be             
concentrated1 or by what strange means  
he will sometimes express himself4 ,so  
that true criticism of art never can    
consist in the mere application of      
rules2 it can be just only when it is   
founded on quick sympathy with the      
innumerable instincts and changeful     
efforts of human nature1 chastened and  
guided by unchanging love of all things 
that ,god has created to be beautiful1  

and pronounced to be good4     #de      
,claude ,gelee #afjj-hb1 usually called 
,claude ,lorrain1 a ,french   landscape 
painter and etcher4    #df ,vasari1 in  
his ,lives of the ,painters1 tells how  
,giotto1   when a student under         
,cimabue1 once painted a fly on the nose
 of a   figure on which the master was  
working1 the fly being so realistic     
that ,cimabue on returning to the       
painting attempted to brush it   away4  
#dg ,guercino's ,hagar in the ,brera    
gallery in ,milan4    #dh ,gerard ,dow  
#afac-ge1 a ,dutch genre painter2       
,hobbima #afch-agji1   a ,dutch         
landscape painter2 ,walpole #agag-ig1 a 
famous ,english   litterateur2 ,vasari  
#aeaa-gd1 an ,italian painter1 now      
considered   full of mannerisms and     
without originality1 mainly famous as   
author   of ,the ,lives of the          
,painters4    #di ,giotto4    #ej       
,purgatorio1 #ab4 #ca4     ,,of ,,the   
,,novelty ,,of ,,landscape  ,,volume    
,,iii1 ,,chapter ,,ii   ,having now     

obtained1 ,i trust1 clear ideas1 up to a
 certain point1 of what is generally    
right and wrong in all art1 both in     
conception and in workmanship1 we have  
to apply these laws of right to the     
particular branch of art which is the   
subject of our present inquiry1 namely1 
landscape-painting4 ,respecting which1  
after the various meditations into which
 we have been led on the high duties and
 ideals of art1 it may not improbably   
occur to us first to ask1--whether it be
 worth inquiring about at all4  ,that   
question1 perhaps the reader thinks1    
should have been asked and answered     
before ,i had written1 or he read1 two  
volumes and a half about it4 ,so ,i had 
answered it1 in my own mind2 but it     
seems time now to give the grounds for  
this answer4 ,if1 indeed1 the reader has
 never suspected that landscape-painting
 was anything but good1 right1 and      
healthy work1 ,i should be sorry to put 
any doubt of its being so into his mind2
 but if1 as seems to me more likely1 he1

 living in this busy and perhaps        
somewhat calamitous age1 has some       
suspicion that landscape-painting is but
 an idle and empty business1 not worth  
all our long talk about it1 then1       
perhaps1 he will be pleased to have such
 suspicion done away1 before troubling  
himself farther with these              
disquisitions4  ,i should rather be     
glad1 than otherwise1 that he had formed
 some suspicion on this matter4 ,if he  
has at all admitted the truth of        
anything hitherto said respecting great 
art1 and its choices of subject1 it     
seems to me he ought1 by this time1 to  
be questioning with himself whether     
road-side weeds1 old cottages1 broken   
stones1 and such other materials1 be    
worthy matters for grave men to busy    
themselves in the imitation of4 ,and ,i 
should like him to probe this doubt to  
the deep of it1 and bring all his       
misgivings out to the broad light1 that 
we may see how we are to deal with them1
 or ascertain if indeed they are too    

well founded to be dealt with4  ,and to 
this end ,i would ask him now to imagine
 himself entering1 for the first time in
 his life1 the room of the ,old         
,water-,colour ,society3#ea and to      
suppose that he has entered it1 not for 
the sake of a quiet examination of the  
paintings one by one1 but in order to   
seize such ideas as it may generally    
suggest respecting the state and meaning
 of modern1 as compared with elder1 art4
 ,i suppose him1 of course1 that he may 
be capable of such a comparison1 to be  
in some degree familiar with the        
different forms in which art has        
developed itself within the periods     
historically known to us2 but never1    
till that moment1 to have seen any      
completely modern work4 ,so prepared1   
and so unprepared1 he would1 as his     
ideas began to arrange themselves1 be   
first struck by the number of paintings 
representing blue mountains1 clear      
lakes1 and ruined castles or cathedrals1
 and he would say to himself3 ,there is 

something strange in the mind of these  
modern people6 ,nobody ever cared about 
blue mountains before1 or tried to paint
 the broken stones of old walls4 ,and   
the more he considered the subject1 the 
more he would feel the peculiarity2 and1
 as he thought over the art of ,greeks  
and ,romans1 he would still repeat1 with
 increasing certainty of conviction3    
,mountains6 ,i remember none4 ,the      
,greeks did not seem1 as artists1 to    
know that such things were in the world4
 ,they carved1 or variously represented1
 men1 and horses1 and beasts1 and birds1
 and all kinds of living                
creatures1--yes1 even down to           
cuttle-fish2 and trees1 in a sort of    
way2 but not so much as the outline of a
 mountain2 and as for lakes1 they merely
 showed they knew the difference between
 salt and fresh water by the fish they  
put into each4 ,then he would pass on to
 mediaeval art2 and still he would be   
obliged to repeat3 ,mountains6 ,i       
remember none4 ,some careless and jagged

 arrangements of blue spires or spikes  
on the horizon1 and1 here and there1 an 
attempt at representing an overhanging  
rock with a hole through it2 but merely 
in order to divide the light behind some
 human figure4 ,lakes6 ,no1 nothing of  
the kind1--only blue bays of sea put in 
to fill up the background when the      
painter could not think of anything     
else4 ,broken-down buildings6 ,no2 for  
the most part very complete and         
well-appointed buildings1 if any2 and   
never buildings at all1 but to give     
place or explanation to some            
circumstance of human conduct4 ,and then
 he would look up again to the modern   
pictures1 observing1 with an increasing 
astonishment1 that here the human       
interest had1 in many cases1 altogether 
disappeared4 ,that mountains1 instead of
 being used only as a blue ground for   
the relief of the heads of saints1 were 
themselves the exclusive subjects of    
reverent contemplation2 that their      
ravines1 and peaks1 and forests1 were   

all painted with an appearance of as    
much enthusiasm as had formerly been    
devoted to the dimple of beauty1 or the 
frowns of asceticism2 and that all the  
living interest which was still supposed
 necessary to the scene1 might be       
supplied by a traveller in a slouched   
hat1 a beggar in a scarlet cloak1 or1 in
 default of these1 even by a heron or a 
wild duck4  ,and if he could entirely   
divest himself of his own modern habits 
of thought1 and regard the subjects in  
question with the feelings of a knight  
or monk of the ,middle ,ages1 it might  
be a question whether those feelings    
would not rapidly verge towards         
contempt4 ,what6 he might perhaps mutter
 to himself1 here are human beings      
spending the whole of their lives in    
making pictures of bits of stone and    
runlets of water1 withered sticks and   
flying fogs1 and actually not a picture 
of the gods or the heroes6 none of the  
saints or the martyrs6 none of the      
angels and demons6 none of councils or  

battles1 or any other single thing worth
 the thought of a man6 ,trees and clouds
 indeed6 as if ,i should not see as many
 trees as ,i cared to see1 and more1 in 
the first half of my day's journey      
to-morrow1 or as if it mattered to any  
man whether the sky were clear or       
cloudy1 so long as his armour did not   
get too hot in the sun6  ,there can be  
no question that this would have been   
somewhat the tone of thought with which 
either a ,lacedaemonian1 a soldier of   
,rome in her strength1 or a knight of   
the thirteenth century1 would have been 
apt to regard these particular forms of 
our present art4 ,nor can there be any  
question that1 in many respects1 their  
judgment would have been just4 ,it is   
true that the indignation of the        
,spartan or ,roman would have been      
equally excited against any appearance  
of luxurious industry2 but the mediaeval
 knight would1 to the full1 have        
admitted the nobleness of art2 only he  
would have had it employed in decorating

 his church or his prayer-book1 not in  
imitating moors and clouds4 ,and the    
feelings of all the three would have    
agreed in this1--that their main ground 
of offence must have been the want of   
seriousness and purpose in what they    
saw4 ,they would all have admitted the  
nobleness of whatever conduced to the   
honour of the gods1 or the power of the 
nation2 but they would not have         
understood how the skill of human life  
could be wisely spent in that which did 
no honour either to ,jupiter or to the  
,virgin2 and which in no wise tended1   
apparently1 either to the accumulation  
of wealth1 the excitement of patriotism1
 or the advancement of morality4  ,and  
exactly so far forth their judgment     
would be just1 as the landscape-painting
 could indeed be shown1 for others as   
well as for them1 to be art of this     
nugatory kind2 and so far forth unjust1 
as that painting could be shown to      
depend upon1 or cultivate1 certain      
sensibilities which neither the ,greek  

nor mediaeval knight possessed1 and     
which have resulted from some           
extraordinary change in human nature    
since their time4 ,we have no right to  
assume1 without very accurate           
examination of it1 that this change has 
been an ennobling one4 ,the simple fact1
 that we are1 in some strange way1      
different from all the great races that 
have existed before us1 cannot at once  
be received as the proof of our own     
greatness2 nor can it be granted1       
without any question1 that we have a    
legitimate subject of complacency in    
being under the influence of feelings1  
with which neither ,miltiades nor the   
,black ,prince1 neither ,homer nor      
,dante1 neither ,socrates nor ,st4      
,francis1 could for an instant have     
sympathized4  ,whether1 however1 this   
fact be one to excite our pride or not1 
it is assuredly one to excite our       
deepest interest4 ,the fact itself is   
certain4 ,for nearly six thousand years 
the energies of man have pursued certain

 beaten paths1 manifesting some         
constancy of feeling throughout all that
 period1 and involving some fellowship  
at heart1 among the various nations who 
by turns succeeded or surpassed each    
other in the several aims of art or     
policy4 ,so that1 for these thousands of
 years1 the whole human race might be to
 some extent described in general terms4
 ,man was a creature separated from all 
others by his instinctive sense of an   
,existence superior to his own1         
invariably manifesting this sense of the
 being of a ,god more strongly in       
proportion to his own perfectness of    
mind and body2 and making enormous and  
self-denying efforts1 in order to obtain
 some persuasion of the immediate       
presence or approval of the ,divinity4  
,so that1 on the whole1 the best things 
he did were done as in the presence1 or 
for the honour1 of his gods2 and1       
whether in statues1 to help him to      
imagine them1 or temples raised to their
 honour1 or acts of self-sacrifice done 

in the hope of their love1 he brought   
whatever was best and skilfullest in him
 into their service1 and lived in a     
perpetual subjection to their unseen    
power4 ,also1 he was always anxious to  
know something definite about them2 and 
his chief books1 songs1 and pictures    
were filled with legends about them1 or 
specially devoted to illustration of    
their lives and nature4  ,next to these 
gods1 he was always anxious to know     
something about his human ancestors2    
fond of exalting the memory1 and telling
 or painting the history of old rulers  
and benefactors2 yet full of an         
enthusiastic confidence in himself1 as  
having in many ways advanced beyond the 
best efforts of past time2 and eager to 
record his own doings for future fame4  
,he was a creature eminently warlike1   
placing his principal pride in dominion2
 eminently beautiful1 and having great  
delight in his own beauty2 setting forth
 this beauty by every species of        
invention in dress1 and rendering his   

arms and accoutrements superbly         
decorative of his form4 ,he took1       
however1 very little interest in        
anything but what belonged to humanity2 
caring in no wise for the external      
world1 except as it influenced his own  
destiny2 honouring the lightning because
 it could strike him1 the sea because it
 could drown him1 the fountains because 
they gave him drink1 and the grass      
because it yielded him seed2 but utterly
 incapable of feeling any special       
happiness in the love of such things1 or
 any earnest emotion about them1        
considered as separate from man2        
therefore giving no time to the study of
 them2--knowing little of herbs1 except 
only which were hurtful and which       
healing2 of stones1 only which would    
glitter brightest in a crown1 or last   
the longest in a wall3 of the wild      
beasts1 which were best for food1 and   
which the stoutest quarry for the       
hunter2--thus spending only on the lower
 creatures and inanimate things his     

waste energy1 his dullest thoughts1 his 
most languid emotions1 and reserving all
 his acuter intellect for researches    
into his own nature and that of the     
gods2 all his strength of will for the  
acquirement of political or moral power2
 all his sense of beauty for things     
immediately connected with his own      
person and life2 and all his deep       
affections for domestic or divine       
companionship4  ,such1 in broad light   
and brief terms1 was man for five       
thousand years4 ,such he is no longer4  
,let us consider what he is now1        
comparing the descriptions clause by    
clause4  ,i4 ,he was invariably sensible
 of the existence of gods1 and went     
about all his speculations or works     
holding this as an acknowledged fact1   
making his best efforts in their        
service4 ,now he is capable of going    
through life with hardly any positive   
idea on this subject1--doubting1        
fearing1 suspecting1 analyzing1--doing  
everything1 in fact1 but believing2     

hardly ever getting quite up to that    
point which hitherto was wont to be the 
starting-point for all generations4 ,and
 human work has accordingly hardly any  
reference to spiritual beings1 but is   
done either from a patriotic or personal
 interest1--either to benefit mankind1  
or reach some selfish end1 not 7,i speak
 of human work in the broad sense7 to   
please the gods4  ,,ii4 ,he was a       
beautiful creature1 setting forth this  
beauty by all means in his power1 and   
depending upon it for much of his       
authority over his fellows4 ,so that the
 ruddy cheek of ,david1 and the ivory   
skin of ,atrides1 and the towering      
presence of ,saul1 and the blue eyes of 
,coeur de ,lion1 were among chief       
reasons why they should be kings2 and it
 was one of the aims of all education1  
and of all dress1 to make the presence  
of the human form stately and lovely4   
,now it has become the task of grave    
philosophy partly to depreciate or      
conceal this bodily beauty2 and even by 

those who esteem it in their hearts1 it 
is not made one of the great ends of    
education2 man has become1 upon the     
whole1 an ugly animal1 and is not       
ashamed of his ugliness4  ,,iii4 ,he was
 eminently warlike4 ,he is now gradually
 becoming more and more ashamed of all  
the arts and aims of battle4 ,so that   
the desire of dominion1 which was once  
frankly confessed or boasted of as a    
heroic passion1 is now sternly          
reprobated or cunningly disclaimed4     
,,iv4 ,he used to take no interest in   
anything but what immediately concerned 
himself4 ,now1 he has deep interest in  
the abstract nature of things1 inquires 
as eagerly into the laws which regulate 
the economy of the material world1 as   
into those of his own being1 and        
manifests a passionate admiration of    
inanimate objects1 closely resembling1  
in its elevation and tenderness1 the    
affection which he bears to those living
 souls with which he is brought into the
 nearest fellowship4  ,it is this last  

change only which is to be the subject  
of our present inquiry2 but it cannot be
 doubted that it is closely connected   
with all the others1 and that we can    
only thoroughly understand its nature by
 considering il in this connection4     
,for1 regarded by itself1 we might      
perhaps1 too rashly assume it to be a   
natural consequence of the progress of  
the race4 ,there appears to be a        
diminution of selfishness in it1 and a  
more extended and heartfelt desire of   
understanding the manner of ,god's      
working2 and this the more1 because one 
of the permanent characters of this     
change is a greater accuracy in the     
statement of external facts4 ,when the  
eyes of men were fixed first upon       
themselves1 and upon nature solely and  
secondarily as bearing upon their       
interests1 it was of less consequence to
 them what the ultimate laws of nature  
were1 than what their immediate effects 
were upon human beings4 ,hence they     
could rest satisfied with phenomena     

instead of principles1 and accepted     
without scrutiny every fable which      
seemed sufficiently or gracefully to    
account for those phenomena4 ,but so far
 as the eyes of men are now withdrawn   
from themselves1 and turned upon the    
inanimate things about them1 the results
 cease to be of importance1 and the laws
 become essential4  ,in these respects1 
it might easily appear to us that this  
change was assuredly one of steady and  
natural advance4 ,but when we           
contemplate the others above noted1 of  
which it is clearly one of the branches 
or consequences1 we may suspect         
ourselves of over-rashness in our       
self-congratulation1 and admit the      
necessity of a scrupulous analysis both 
of the feeling itself and of its        
tendencies4  ,of course a complete      
analysis1 or anything like it1 would    
involve a treatise on the whole history 
of the world4 ,i shall merely endeavour 
to note some of the leading and more    
interesting circumstances bearing on the

 subject1 and to show sufficient        
practical ground for the conclusion1    
that landscape-painting is indeed a     
noble and useful art1 though one not    
long known by man4 ,i shall therefore   
examine1 as best ,i can1 the effect of  
landscape1 #ast1 on the ,classical mind2
 #b;dly1 on the ,mediaeval mind2 and    
lastly1 on the ,modern mind4 ,but there 
is one point of some interest respecting
 the effect of it on any mind1 which    
must be settled first2 and this ,i will 
endeavour to do in the next chapter4    
#ea ,the ,society of ,painters in       
,water-,colours1 often referred to as   
the ,old ,water-,colour ,society4       
,ruskin was elected an honorary member  
in #ahgc4     ,,of ,,the ,,pathetic     
,,fallacy  ,,volume ,,iii1 ,,chapter #ab
   ,now1 therefore1 putting these       
tiresome and absurd words#eb quite out  
of our way1 we may go on at our ease to 
examine the point in question1--namely1 
the difference between the ordinary1    
proper1 and true appearances of things  

to us2 and the extraordinary1 or false  
appearances1 when we are under the      
influence of emotion1 or contemplative  
fancy2 false appearances1 ,i say1 as    
being entirely unconnected with any real
 power or character in the object1 and  
only imputed to it by us4  ,for         
instance--      ,the spendthrift crocus1
 bursting through the mould     ,naked  
and shivering1 with his cup of gold4#ec 
,this is very beautiful1 and yet very   
untrue4 ,the crocus is not a            
spendthrift1 but a hardy plant2 its     
yellow is not gold1 but saffron4 ,how is
 it that we enjoy so much the having it 
put into our heads that it is anything  
else than a plain crocus8  ,it is an    
important question4 ,for1 throughout our
 past reasonings about art1 we have     
always found that nothing could be good 
or useful1 or ultimately pleasurable1   
which was untrue4 ,but here is something
 pleasurable in written poetry which is 
nevertheless untrue4 ,and what is more1 
if we think over our favourite poetry1  

we shall find it full of this kind of   
fallacy1 and that we like it all the    
more for being so4  ,it will appear     
also1 on consideration of the matter1   
that this fallacy is of two principal   
kinds4 ,either1 as in this case of the  
crocus1 it is the fallacy of wilful     
fancy1 which involves no real           
expectation that it will be believed2 or
 else it is a fallacy caused by an      
excited state of the feelings1 making   
us1 for the time1 more or less          
irrational4 ,of the cheating of the     
fancy we shall have to speak presently2 
but1 in this chapter1 ,i want to examine
 the nature of the other error1 that    
which the mind admits when affected     
strongly by emotion4 ,thus1 for         
instance1 in ,alton ,locke1--      ,they
 rowed her in across the rolling foam-- 
,the cruel1 crawling foam4#ed  ,the foam
 is not cruel1 neither does it crawl4   
,the state of mind which attributes to  
it these characters of a living creature
 is one in which the reason is unhinged 

by grief4 ,all violent feelings have the
 same effect4 ,they produce in us a     
falseness in all our impressions of     
external things1 which ,i would         
generally characterize as the pathetic  
fallacy4  ,now we are in the habit of   
considering this fallacy as eminently a 
character of poetical description1 and  
the temper of mind in which we allow it1
 as one eminently poetical1 because     
passionate4 ,but ,i believe1 if we look 
well into the matter1 that we shall find
 the greatest poets do not often admit  
this kind of falseness1--that it is only
 the second order of poets who much     
delight in it4#ee  ,thus1 when ,dante   
describes the spirits falling from the  
bank of ,acheron as dead leaves flutter 
from a bough1#ef he gives the most      
perfect image possible of their utter   
lightness1 feebleness1 passiveness1 and 
scattering agony of despair1 without1   
however1 for an instant losing his own  
clear perception that these are souls1  
and those are leaves2 he makes no       

confusion of one with the other4 ,but   
when ,coleridge speaks of      ,the one 
red leaf1 the last of its clan1         
,that dances as often as dance it       
can1#eg  he has a morbid1 that is to    
say1 a so far false1 idea about the     
leaf2 he fancies a life in it1 and will1
 which there are not2 confuses its      
powerlessness with choice1 its fading   
death with merriment1 and the wind that 
shakes it with music4 ,here1 however1   
there is some beauty1 even in the morbid
 passage2 but take an instance in ,homer
 and ,pope4 ,without the knowledge of   
,ulysses1 ,elpenor1 his youngest        
follower1 has fallen from an upper      
chamber in the ,circean palace1 and has 
been left dead1 unmissed by his leader  
or companions1 in the haste of their    
departure4 ,they cross the sea to the   
,cimmerian land2 and ,ulysses summons   
the shades from ,tartarus4 ,the first   
which appears is that of the lost       
,elpenor4 ,ulysses1 amazed1 and in      
exactly the spirit of bitter and        

terrified lightness which is seen in    
,hamlet1#eh addresses the spirit with   
the simple1 startled words3--  ,elpenor6
 ,how camest thou under the shadowy     
darkness8 ,hast thou come faster on foot
 than ,i in my black ship8#ei  ,which   
,pope renders thus3--      ,o1 say1 what
 angry power ,elpenor led     ,to glide 
in shades1 and wander with the dead8    
,how could thy soul1 by realms and seas 
disjoined1     ,outfly the nimble sail1 
and leave the lagging wind8  ,i         
sincerely hope the reader finds no      
pleasure here1 either in the nimbleness 
of the sail1 or the laziness of the     
wind6 ,and yet how is it that these     
conceits are so painful now1 when they  
have been pleasant to us in the other   
instances8  ,for a very simple reason4  
,they are not a pathetic fallacy at all1
 for they are put into the mouth of the 
wrong passion--a passion which never    
could possibly have spoken              
them--agonized curiosity4 ,ulysses wants
 to know the facts of the matter2 and   

the very last thing his mind could do at
 the moment would be to pause1 or       
suggest in anywise what was not a fact4 
,the delay in the first three lines1 and
 conceit in the last1 jar upon us       
instantly like the most frightful       
discord in music4 ,no poet of true      
imaginative power could possibly have   
written the passage4#fj  ,therefore we  
see that the spirit of truth must guide 
us in some sort1 even in our enjoyment  
of fallacy4 ,coleridge's fallacy has no 
discord in it1 but ,pope's has set our  
teeth on edge4 ,without farther         
questioning1 ,i will endeavour to state 
the main bearings of this matter4  ,the 
temperament which admits the pathetic   
fallacy1 is1 as ,i said above1 that of a
 mind and body in some sort too weak to 
deal fully with what is before them or  
upon them2 borne away1 or over-clouded1 
or over-dazzled by emotion2 and it is a 
more or less noble state1 according to  
the force of the emotion which has      
induced it4 ,for it is no credit to a   

man that he is not morbid or inaccurate 
in his perceptions1 when he has no      
strength of feeling to warp them2 and it
 is in general a sign of higher capacity
 and stand in the ranks of being1 that  
the emotions should be strong enough to 
vanquish1 partly1 the intellect1 and    
make it believe what they choose4 ,but  
it is still a grander condition when the
 intellect also rises1 till it is strong
 enough to assert its rule against1 or  
together with1 the utmost efforts of the
 passions2 and the whole man stands in  
an iron glow1 white hot1 perhaps1 but   
still strong1 and in no wise            
evaporating2 even if he melts1 losing   
none of his weight4  ,so1 then1 we have 
the three ranks3 the man who perceives  
rightly1 because he does not feel1 and  
to whom the primrose is very accurately 
the primrose1#fa because he does not    
love it4 ,then1 secondly1 the man who   
perceives wrongly1 because he feels1 and
 to whom the primrose is anything else  
than a primrose3 a star1 or a sun1 or a 

fairy's shield1 or a forsaken maiden4   
,and then1 lastly1 there is the man who 
perceives rightly in spite of his       
feelings1 and to whom the primrose is   
for ever nothing else than itself--a    
little flower apprehended in the very   
plain and leafy fact of it1 whatever and
 how many soever the associations and   
passions may be that crowd around it4   
,and1 in general1 these three classes   
may be rated in comparative order1 as   
the men who are not poets at all1 and   
the poets of the second order1 and the  
poets of the first2 only however great a
 man may be1 there are always some      
subjects which ought to throw him off   
his balance2 some1 by which his poor    
human capacity of thought should be     
conquered1 and brought into the         
inaccurate and vague state of           
perception1 so that the language of the 
highest inspiration becomes broken1     
obscure1 and wild in metaphor1          
resembling that of the weaker man1      
overborne by weaker things4  ,and thus1 

in full1 there are four classes3 the men
 who feel nothing1 and therefore see    
truly2 the men who feel strongly1 think 
weakly1 and see untruly 7second order of
 poets72 the men who feel strongly1     
think strongly1 and see truly 7first    
order of poets72 and the men who1 strong
 as human creatures can be1 are yet     
submitted to influences stronger than   
they1 and see in a sort untruly1 because
 what they see is inconceivably above   
them4 ,this last is the usual condition 
of prophetic inspiration4  ,i separate  
these classes1 in order that their      
character may be clearly understood2 but
 of course they are united each to the  
other by imperceptible transitions1 and 
the same mind1 according to the         
influences to which it is subjected1    
passes at different times into the      
various states4 ,still1 the difference  
between the great and less man is1 on   
the whole1 chiefly in this point of     
alterability4 ,that is to say1 the one  
knows too much1 and perceives and feels 

too much of the past and future1 and of 
all things beside and around that which 
immediately affects him1 to be in any   
wise shaken by it4 ,his mind is made up2
 his thoughts have an accustomed        
current2 his ways are stedfast2 it is   
not this or that new sight which will at
 once unbalance him4 ,he is tender to   
impression at the surface1 like a rock  
with deep moss upon it2 but there is too
 much mass of him to be moved4 ,the     
smaller man1 with the same degree of    
sensibility1 is at once carried off his 
feet2 he wants to do something he did   
not want to do before2 he views all the 
universe in a new light through his     
tears2 he is gay or enthusiastic1       
melancholy or passionate1 as things come
 and go to him4 ,therefore the high     
creative poet might even be thought1 to 
a great extent1 impassive 7as shallow   
people think ,dante stern71 receiving   
indeed all feelings to the full1 but    
having a great centre of reflection and 
knowledge in which he stands serene1 and

 watches the feeling1 as it were1 from  
far off4  ,dante1 in his most intense   
moods1 has entire command of himself1   
and can look around calmly1 at all      
moments1 for the image or the word that 
will best tell what he sees to the upper
 or lower world4 ,but ,keats and        
,tennyson1 and the poets of the second  
order1 are generally themselves subdued 
by the feelings under which they write1 
or1 at least1 write as choosing to be   
so2 and therefore admit certain         
expressions and modes of thought which  
are in some sort diseased or false4     
,now so long as we see that the feeling 
is true1 we pardon1 or are even pleased 
by1 the confessed fallacy of sight which
 it induces3 we are pleased1 for        
instance1 with those lines of           
,kingsley's above quoted1 not because   
they fallaciously describe foam1 but    
because they faithfully describe sorrow4
 ,but the moment the mind of the speaker
 becomes cold1 that moment every such   
expression becomes untrue1 as being for 

ever untrue in the external facts4 ,and 
there is no greater baseness in         
literature than the habit of using these
 metaphorical expressions in cool blood4
 ,an inspired writer1 in full           
impetuosity of passion1 may speak wisely
 and truly of raging waves of the sea   
foaming out their own shame2#fb but it  
is only the basest writer who cannot    
speak of the sea without talking of     
raging waves1 remorseless floods1       
ravenous billows1 etc42 and it is one of
 the signs of the highest power in a    
writer to check all such habits of      
thought1 and to keep his eyes fixed     
firmly on the pure fact1 out of which if
 any feeling conies to him or his       
reader1 he knows it must be a true one4 
,to keep to the waves1 ,i forget who it 
is who represents a man in despair      
desiring that his body may be cast into 
the sea1      ,whose changing mound1 and
 foam that passed away1     ,might mock 
the eye that questioned where ,i lay4   
,observe1 there is not a single false1  

or even overcharged1 expression4 ,mound 
of the sea wave is perfectly simple and 
true2 changing is as familiar as may be2
 foam that passed away1 strictly        
literal2 and the whole line descriptive 
of the reality with a degree of accuracy
 which ,i know not any other verse1 in  
the range of poetry1 that altogether    
equals4 ,for most people have not a     
distinct idea of the clumsiness and     
massiveness of a large wave4 ,the word  
wave is used too generally of ripples   
and breakers1 and bendings in light     
drapery or grass3 it does not by itself 
convey a perfect image4 ,but the word   
mound is heavy1 large1 dark1 definite2  
there is no mistaking the kind of wave  
meant1 nor missing the sight of it4     
,then the term changing has a peculiar  
force also4 ,most people think of waves 
as rising and falling4 ,but if they look
 at the sea carefully1 they will        
perceive that the waves do not rise and 
fall4 ,they change4 ,change both place  
and form1 but they do not fall2 one wave

 goes on1 and on1 and still on2 now     
lower1 now higher1 now tossing its mane 
like a horse1 now building itself       
together like a wall1 now shaking1 now  
steady1 but still the same wave1 till at
 last it seems struck by something1 and 
changes1 one knows not how1--becomes    
another wave4  ,the close of the line   
insists on this image1 and paints it    
still more perfectly1--foam that passed 
away4 ,not merely melting1 disappearing1
 but passing on1 out of sight1 on the   
career of the wave4 ,then1 having put   
the absolute ocean fact as far as he may
 before our eyes1 the poet leaves us to 
feel about it as we may1 and to trace   
for ourselves the opposite fact1--the   
image of the green mounds that do not   
change1 and the white and written stones
 that do not pass away2 and thence to   
follow out also the associated images of
 the calm life with the quiet grave1 and
 the despairing life with the fading    
foam--      ,let no man move his bones4 
,as for ,samaria1 her king is cut off   

like the foam upon the water4#fc  ,but  
nothing of this is actually told or     
pointed out1 and the expressions1 as    
they stand1 are perfectly severe and    
accurate1 utterly uninfluenced by the   
firmly governed emotion of the writer4  
,even the word mock is hardly an        
exception1 as it may stand merely for   
deceive or defeat1 without implying any 
impersonation of the waves4  ,it may be 
well1 perhaps1 to give one or two more  
instances to show the peculiar dignity  
possessed by all passages1 which thus   
limit their expression to the pure fact1
 and leave the hearer to gather what he 
can from it4 ,here is a notable one from
 the ,iliad4 ,helen1 looking from the   
,scaean gate of ,troy over the ,grecian 
host1 and telling ,priam the names of   
its captains1 says at last3--      ,i   
see all the other dark-eyed ,greeks2 but
 two ,i cannot     see1--,castor and    
,pollux1--whom one mother bore with me4 
,have they     not followed from fair   
,lacedaemon1 or have they indeed come in

     their sea-wandering ships1 but now 
will not enter into the battle     of   
men1 fearing the shame and the scorn    
that is in ,me8  ,then ,homer3--        
,so she spoke4 ,but them1 already1 the  
life-giving earth possessed1     there  
in ,lacedaemon1 in the dear             
fatherland4#fd  ,note1 here1 the high   
poetical truth carried to the extreme4  
,the poet has to speak of the earth in  
sadness1 but he will not let that       
sadness affect or change his thoughts of
 it4 ,no2 though ,castor and ,pollux be 
dead1 yet the earth is our mother still1
 fruitful1 life-giving4 ,these are the  
facts of the thing4 ,i see nothing else 
than these4 ,make what you will of them4
  ,take another very notable instance   
from ,casimir de la ,vigne's terrible   
ballad1 ,la ,toilette de ,constance4 ,i 
must quote a few lines out of it here   
and there1 to enable the reader who has 
not the book by him1 to understand its  
close4          ,vite1 ,anna6 vite2 au  
miroir6            ,plus vite1 ,anna4   

,l'heure s'avance1          ,et je vais 
au bal ce soir            ,chez         
l'ambassadeur de ,france4      ,y       
pensez-vous8 ils sont fanes1 ces noeuds2
       ,ils sont d'hier2 mon ,dieu1     
comme tout passe6     ,que du reseau qui
 retient mes cheveux       ,les glands  
d'azur retombent avec grace4     ,plus  
haut6 ,plus bas6 ,vous ne comprenez     
rien6       ,que sur mon front ce saphir
 etincelle3     ,vous me piquez1        
maladroite4 ,ah1 c'est bien1            
,bien1--chere ,anna6 ,je t'aime1 je suis
 belle4      ,celui qu'en vain je       
voudrais oublier 444       7,anna1 ma   
robe7 il y sera1 j'espere4     7,ah1 fi6
 profane1 est-ce la mon collier8        
,quoi6 ces grains d'or benits par le    
,saint-,pere67     ,,ii y sera2 ,dieu1  
s'il pressait ma main1       ,en y      
pensant a peine je respire3     ,frere  
,anselmo doit m'entendre demain1        
,comment ferai-je1 ,anna1 pour tout lui 
dire8444          ,vite6 un coup d'oeil 
au miroir1            ,le               

dernier4--,j'ai l'assurance             
,qu'on va m'adorer ce soir              
,chez l'ambassadeur de ,france4         
,pres du foyer1 ,constance s'admirait4  
,dieu6 sur sa robe il vole une          
etincelle6     ,au feu6 ,courez6 ,quand 
l'espoir l'enivrait1       ,tout perdre 
ainsi6 ,quoi6 ,mourir1--et si belle6    
,l'horrible feu ronge avec volupte      
,ses bras1 son sein1 et l'entoure1 et   
s'eleve1     ,et sans pitie devore sa   
beaute1       ,ses dix-huit ans1 helas1 
et son doux reve6          ,adieu1 bal1 
plaisir1 amour6            ,on disait1  
,pauvre ,constance6         ,et l'on    
dansa1 jusqu'au jour1            ,chez  
l'ambassadeur de ,france4#fe  ,yes1 that
 is the fact of it4 ,right or wrong1 the
 poet does not say4 ,what you may think 
about it1 he does not know4 ,he has     
nothing to do with that4 ,there lie the 
ashes of the dead girl in her chamber4  
,there they danced1 till the morning1 at
 the ,ambassador's of ,france4 ,make    
what you will of it4  ,if the reader    

will look through the ballad1 of which  
,i have quoted only about the third     
part1 he will find that there is not1   
from beginning to end of it1 a single   
poetical 7so called7 expression1 except 
in one stanza4 ,the girl speaks as      
simple prose as may be2 there is not a  
word she would not have actually used as
 she was dressing4 ,the poet stands by1 
impassive as a statue1 recording her    
words just as they come4 ,at last the   
doom seizes her1 and in the very        
presence of death1 for an instant1 his  
own emotions conquer him4 ,he records no
 longer the facts only1 but the facts as
 they seem to him4 ,the fire gnaws with 
voluptuousness--without pity4 ,it is    
soon past4 ,the fate is fixed for ever2 
and he retires into his pale and        
crystalline atmosphere of truth4 ,he    
closes all with the calm veracity1      
,they said1 ,poor ,constance6  ,now in  
this there is the exact type of the     
consummate poetical temperament4 ,for1  
be it clearly and constantly remembered1

 that the greatness of a poet depends   
upon the two faculties1 acuteness of    
feeling1 and command of it4 ,a poet is  
great1 first in proportion to the       
strength of his passion1 and then1 that 
strength being granted1 in proportion to
 his government of it2 there being1     
however1 always a point beyond which it 
would be inhuman and monstrous if he    
pushed this government1 and1 therefore1 
a point at which all feverish and wild  
fancy becomes just and true4 ,thus the  
destruction of the kingdom of ,assyria  
cannot be contemplated firmly by a      
prophet of ,israel4 ,the fact is too    
great1 too wonderful4 ,it overthrows    
him1 dashes him into a confused element 
of dreams4 ,all the world is1 to his    
stunned thought1 full of strange voices4
 ,yea1 the fir-trees rejoice at thee1   
and the cedars of ,lebanon1 saying4     
',since thou art gone down to the grave1
 no feller is come up against us4'#ff   
,so1 still more1 the thought of the     
presence of ,deity cannot be borne      

without this great astonishment4 ,the   
mountains and the hills shall break     
forth before you into singing1 and all  
the trees of the field shall clap their 
hands4#fg  ,but by how much this feeling
 is noble when it is justified by the   
strength of its cause1 by so much it is 
ignoble when there is not cause enough  
for it2 and beyond all other ignobleness
 is the mere affectation of it1 in      
hardness of heart4 ,simply bad writing  
may almost always1 as above noticed1 be 
known by its adoption of these fanciful 
metaphorical expressions as a sort of   
current coin2 yet there is even a worse1
 at least a more harmful condition of   
writing than this1 in which such        
expressions are not ignorantly and      
feelinglessly caught up1 but1 by some   
master1 skilful in handling1 yet        
insincere1 deliberately wrought out with
 chill and studied fancy2 as if we      
should try to make an old lava-stream   
look red-hot again1 by covering it with 
dead leaves1 or white-hot1 with         

hoar-frost4  ,when ,young is lost in    
veneration1 as he dwells on the         
character of a truly good and holy man1 
he permits himself for a moment to be   
overborne by the feeling so far as to   
exclaim--      ,where shall ,i find him8
 angels1 tell me where4     ,you know   
him2 he is near you2 point him out4     
,shall ,i see glories beaming from his  
brow1     ,or trace his footsteps by the
 rising flowers8#fh  ,this emotion has a
 worthy cause1 and is thus true and     
right4 ,but now hear the cold-hearted   
,pope say to a shepherd girl--          
,where'er you walk1 cool gales shall fan
 the glade2     ,trees1 where you sit1  
shall crowd into a shade2     ,your     
praise the birds shall chant in every   
grove1     ,and winds shall waft it to  
the powers above4     ,but would you    
sing1 and rival ,orpheus' strain1       
,the wondering forests soon should dance
 again2     ,the moving mountains hear  
the powerful call1     ,and headlong    
streams hang1 listening1 in their       

fall4#fi  ,this is not1 nor could it for
 a moment be mistaken for1 the language 
of passion4 ,it is simple falsehood1    
uttered by hypocrisy2 definite          
absurdity1 rooted in affectation1 and   
coldly asserted in the teeth of nature  
and fact4 ,passion will indeed go far in
 deceiving itself2 but it must be a     
strong passion1 not the simple wish of a
 lover to tempt his mistress to sing4   
,compare a very closely parallel passage
 in ,wordsworth1 in which the lover has 
lost his mistress3--      ,three years  
had ,barbara in her grave been laid1    
,when thus his moan he made3--      ,oh1
 move1 thou cottage1 from behind yon    
oak1       ,or let the ancient tree     
uprooted lie1     ,that in some other   
way yon smoke       ,may mount into the 
sky4     ,if still behind yon           
pine-tree's ragged bough1               
,headlong1 the waterfall must come1     
,oh1 let it1 then1 be dumb--     ,be    
anything1 sweet stream1 but that which  
thou art now4#gj  ,here is a cottage to 

be moved1 if not a mountain1 and a      
water-fall to be silent1 if it is not to
 hang listening3 but with what different
 relation to the mind that contemplates 
them6 ,here1 in the extremity of its    
agony1 the soul cries out wildly for    
relief1 which at the same moment it     
partly knows to be impossible1 but      
partly believes possible1 in a vague    
impression that a miracle might be      
wrought to give relief even to a less   
sore distress1--that nature is kind1 and
 ,god is kind1 and that grief is strong2
 it knows not well what is possible to  
such grief4 ,to silence a stream1 to    
move a cottage wall1--one might think it
 could do as much as that6  ,i believe  
these instances are enough to illustrate
 the main point ,i insist upon          
respecting the pathetic fallacy1--that  
so far as it is a fallacy1 it is always 
the sign of a morbid state of mind1 and 
comparatively of a weak one4 ,even in   
the most inspired prophet it is a sign  
of the incapacity of his human sight or 

thought to bear what has been revealed  
to it4 ,in ordinary poetry1 if it is    
found in the thoughts of the poet       
himself1 it is at once a sign of his    
belonging to the inferior school2 if in 
the thoughts of the characters imagined 
by him1 it is right or wrong according  
to the genuineness of the emotion from  
which it springs2 always1 however1      
implying necessarily some degree of     
weakness in the character4  ,take two   
most exquisite instances from master    
hands4 ,the ,jessy of ,shenstone1 and   
the ,ellen of ,wordsworth1 have both    
been betrayed and deserted4 ,jessy1 in  
the course of her most touching         
complaint says3--      ,if through the  
garden's flowery tribes ,i stray1       
,where bloom the jasmines that could    
once allure1     ,hope not to find      
delight in us1 they say1       ,for we  
are spotless1 ,jessy2 we are pure4#ga   
,compare with this some of the words of 
,ellen3--      ,ah1 why1 said ,ellen1   
sighing to herself1     ,why do not     

words1 and kiss1 and solemn pledge1     
,and nature1 that is kind in woman's    
breast1     ,and reason1 that in man is 
wise and good1     ,and fear of ,him who
 is a righteous ,judge1--     ,why do   
not these prevail for human life1       
,to keep two hearts together1 that began
     ,their springtime with one love1   
and that have need     ,of mutual pity  
and forgiveness sweet     ,to grant1 or 
be received2 while that poor bird--     
,o1 come and hear him6 ,thou who hast to
 me     ,been faithless1 hear           
him2--though a lowly creature1     ,one 
of ,god's simple children that yet know 
not     ,the ,universal ,parent1 how he 
sings6     ,as if he wished the         
firmament of heaven     ,should listen1 
and give back to him the voice     ,of  
his triumphant constancy and love2      
,the proclamation that he makes1 how far
     ,his darkness doth transcend our   
fickle light4#gb  ,the perfection of    
both these passages1 as far as regards  
truth and tenderness of imagination in  

the two poets1 is quite insuperable4    
,but of the two characters imagined1    
,jessy is weaker than ,ellen1 exactly in
 so far as something appears to her to  
be in nature which is not4 ,the flowers 
do not really reproach her4 ,god meant  
them to comfort her1 not to taunt her2  
they would do so if she saw them        
rightly4  ,ellen1 on the other hand1 is 
quite above the slightest erring        
emotion4 ,there is not the barest film  
of fallacy in all her thoughts4 ,she    
reasons as calmly as if she did not     
feel4 ,and1 although the singing of the 
bird suggests to her the idea of its    
desiring to be heard in heaven1 she does
 not for an instant admit any veracity  
in the thought4 ,as if1 she says1--,i   
know he means nothing of the kind2 but  
it does verily seem as if4 ,the reader  
will find1 by examining the rest of the 
poem1 that ,ellen's character is        
throughout consistent in this clear     
though passionate strength4#gc  ,it then
 being1 ,i hope1 now made clear to the  

reader in all respects that the pathetic
 fallacy is powerful only so far as it  
is pathetic1 feeble so far as it is     
fallacious1 and1 therefore1 that the    
dominion of ,truth is entire1 over this1
 as over every other natural and just   
state of the human mind1 we may go on to
 the subject for the dealing with which 
this prefatory inquiry became necessary2
 and why necessary1 we shall see        
forthwith4     #eb ,three short sections
 discussing the use of the terms        
,objective   and ,subjective have been  
omitted from the beginning of this      
chapter4    #ec ,holmes 7,oliver        
,wendell71 quoted by ,miss ,mitford in  
her   ,recollections of a ,literary     
,life4 ,ruskin4 ,from ,astraea1 a ,poem 
delivered before the ,phi ,beta ,kappa  
,society of ,yale ,college4 ,the        
passage in which these lines are found  
was later published as   ,spring4    #ed
 ,kingsley's ,alton ,locke1 chap4 #bf4  
#ee ,i admit two orders of poets1 but no
 third2 and by these two   orders ,i    

mean the creative 7,shakspere1 ,homer1  
,dante71 and   ,reflective or           
,perceptive 7,wordsworth1 ,keats1       
,tennyson74 ,but both of   these must be
 first-rate in their range1 though their
 range is   different2 and with poetry  
second-rate in quality no one ought to  
be allowed to trouble mankind4 ,there is
 quite enough of the   best1--much more 
than we can ever read or enjoy in the   
length of a   life2 and it is a literal 
wrong or sin in any person to encumber  
us   with inferior work4 ,i have no     
patience with apologies made by young   
pseudo-poets1 that they believe there is
 some good in what they   have written3 
that they hope to do better in time1    
etc4 ,some   good6 ,if there is not all 
good1 there is no good4 ,if they ever   
hope to do better1 why do they trouble  
us now8 ,let them rather   courageously 
burn all they have done1 and wait for   
the better days4   ,there are few men1  
ordinarily educated1 who in moments of  
strong   feeling could not strike out a 

poetical thought1 and afterwards        
polish it so as to be presentable4 ,but 
men of sense know better   than so to   
waste their time2 and those who         
sincerely love poetry1   know the touch 
of the master's hand on the chords too  
well to   fumble among them after him4  
,nay1 more than this1 all inferior      
poetry is an injury to the good1        
inasmuch as it takes away the           
freshness of rhymes1 blunders upon and  
gives a wretched commonalty   to good   
thoughts2 and1 in general1 adds to the  
weight of human   weariness in a most   
woful and culpable manner4 ,there are   
few   thoughts likely to come across    
ordinary men1 which have not already    
been expressed by greater men in the    
best possible way2 and it is a   wiser1 
more generous1 more noble thing to      
remember and point out   the perfect    
words1 than to invent poorer ones1      
wherewith to   encumber temporarily the 
world4 ,ruskin4    #ef ,inferno1 #c4    
#aab4    #eg ,christabel1 #a4 #di-ej4   

#eh ,well said1 old mole6 can'st work i'
 the ground so   fast8--,ruskin4    #ei 
,odyssey1 #aa4 #eg-eh4    #fj ,it is    
worth while comparing the way a similar 
question is put   by the exquisite      
sincerity of ,keats3--        ,he wept1 
and his bright tears   ,went trickling  
down the golden bow he held4   ,thus1   
with half-shut1 suffused eyes1 he stood2
   ,while from beneath some cumbrous    
boughs hard by   ,with solemn step an   
awful goddess came1   ,and there was    
purport in her looks for him1   ,which  
he with eager guess began to read       
,perplex'd1 the while melodiously he    
said1   ,how cam'st thou over the       
unfooted sea8                           
,hyperion1 #c4 #db4--,ruskin4    #fa    
,see ,wordsworth's ,peter ,bell1 ,part  
,i3--    ,a primrose by a river's brim  
,a yellow primrose was to him1   ,and it
 was nothing more4    #fb ,jude #ac4    
#fc ,kings xxiii1 #ah1 and ,hosea x1 #g4
    #fd ,iliad1 #c4 #bdc4 ,in the ,,ms4 
,ruskin notes1 ,the insurpassably       

tender irony in the                     
epithet--'life-giving earth'--of the    
grave2   and then adds another          
illustration3--,compare the             
hammer-stroke at   the close of the     
#cb;d chapter of ,vanity ,fair--',the   
darkness came   down on the field and   
city1 and ,amelia was praying for       
,george1 who   was lying on his face1   
dead1 with a bullet through his heart4  
,a   great deal might have been said    
about it4 ,the writer is very sorry     
for ,amelia1 neither does he want faith 
in prayer4 ,he knows as well   as any of
 us that prayer must be answered in some
 sort2 but those   are the facts4 ,the  
man and woman sixteen miles apart---one 
on her   knees on the floor1 the other  
on his face in the clay4 ,so much love  
in her heart1 so much lead in his4 ,make
 what you can of it4 ,cook   and        
,wedderburn4    #fe ,the poem may be    
crudely paraphrased as follows3--       
,quick1 ,anna1 quick6 to the mirror6 ,it
 is late1   ,and ,i'm to dance at the   

ambassador's 444   ,i'm going to the    
ball 444                                
,they're faded1 see1   ,these           
ribbons--they belong to yesterday4      
,heavens1 how all things pass6 ,now     
gracefully hang   ,the blue tassels from
 the net that holds my hair4            
,higher6--no1 lower6--you get nothing   
right6444   ,now let this sapphire      
sparkle on my brow4   ,you're pricking  
me1 you careless   thing6 ,that's good6 
,i love you1 ,anna dear4 ,how fair ,i   
am4444    ,i hope he'll be there1       
too--the one ,i've tried   ,to forget6  
no use6 7,anna1 my gown67 he too 444    
7,o fie1 you wicked girl6 my necklace1  
this8   ,these golden beads the ,holy   
,father blessed87    ,he'll be          
there--,heavens6 suppose he takes my    
hand   --,i scarce can draw my breath   
for thinking of it6   ,and ,i confess to
 ,father ,anselmo   ,to-morrow--how can 
,i ever tell him all8444   ,one last    
glance at the mirror4   ,o1 ,i'm sure   
,that they'll adore me at the ball      

to-night4    ,before the fire she stands
 admiringly4   ,o ,god6 a spark has     
leapt into her gown4   ,fire1 fire6--,o 
run6--,lost thus when mad with hope8    
,what1 die8 and she so fair8 ,the       
hideous flames   ,rage greedily about   
her arms and breast1   ,envelop her1 and
 leaping ever higher1   ,swallow up all 
her beauty1 pitiless--   ,her eighteen  
years1 alas6 and her sweet dream4       
,adieu to ball1 to pleasure1 and to     
love6   ,poor ,constance6 said the      
dancers at the ball1   ,poor            
,constance6--and they danced till break 
of day4    #ff ,isaiah xiv1 #h4    #fg  
,isaiah lv1 #ab4    #fh ,night          
,thoughts1 #b4 #cde4    #fi ,pastorals3 
,summer1 or ,alexis1 #gc ff41 with the  
omission of   two couplets after the    
first4    #gj ,from the poem beginning  
',t is said that some have died for     
love1 ,ruskin evidently quoted from     
memory1 for there are several   verbal  
slips in the passage quoted4    #ga     
,stanza #af1 of ,shenstone's            

twenty-sixth ,elegy4    #gb ,the        
,excursion1 #f4 #hfi ff4    #gc ,i      
cannot quit this subject without giving 
two more instances1   both exquisite1 of
 the pathetic fallacy1 which ,i have    
just come   upon1 in ,maud3--           
,for a great speculation had fail'd2    
,and ever he mutter'd and madden'd1 and 
ever wann'd with despair2   ,and out he 
walk'd1 when the wind like a broken     
worldling wail'd1   ,and the flying gold
 of the ruin'd woodlands drove thro' the
 air4        ,there has fallen a        
splendid tear         ,from the         
passion-flower at the gate4       ,the  
red rose cries1 ,she is near1 she is    
near6         ,and the white rose weeps1
 ,she is late4       ,the larkspur      
listens1 ,i hear1 ,i hear6         ,and 
the lily whispers1 ,i wait4             
,ruskin4     ,,of ,,classical           
,,landscape  ,,volume ,,iii1 ,,chapter  
#ac   ,my reason for asking the reader  
to give so much of his time to the      
examination of the pathetic fallacy was1

 that1 whether in literature or in art1 
he will find it eminently characteristic
 of the modern mind2 and in the         
landscape1 whether of literature or art1
 he will also find the modern painter   
endeavouring to express something which 
he1 as a living creature imagines in the
 lifeless object1 while the classical   
and mediaeval painters were content with
 expressing the unimaginary and actual  
qualities of the object itself4 ,it will
 be observed that1 according to the     
principle stated long ago1 ,i use the   
words painter and poet quite            
indifferently1 including in our inquiry 
the landscape of literature1 as well as 
that of painting2 and this the more     
because the spirit of classical         
landscape has hardly been expressed in  
any other way than by words4  ,taking1  
therefore1 this wide field1 it is surely
 a very notable circumstance1 to begin  
with1 that this pathetic fallacy is     
eminently characteristic of modern      
painting4 ,for instance1 ,keats1        

describing a wave breaking out at sea1  
says of it3--      ,down whose green    
back the short-lived foam1 all hoar1    
,bursts gradual1 with a wayward         
indolence4#gd  ,that is quite perfect1  
as an example of the modern manner4 ,the
 idea of the peculiar action with which 
foam rolls down a long1 large wave could
 not have been given by any other words 
so well as by this wayward indolence4   
,but ,homer would never have written1   
never thought of1 such words4 ,he could 
not by any possibility have lost sight  
of the great fact that the wave1 from   
the beginning to the end of it1 do what 
it might1 was still nothing else than   
salt water2 and that salt water could   
not be either wayward or indolent4 ,he  
will call the waves over-roofed1        
full-charged1 monstrous1 compact-black1 
dark-clear1 violet-coloured1            
wine-coloured1 and so on4 ,but every one
 of these epithets is descriptive of    
pure physical nature4 ,over-roofed is   
the term he invariably uses of          

anything--rock1 house1 or wave--that    
nods over at the brow2 the other terms  
need no explanation2 they are as        
accurate and intense in truth as words  
can be1 but they never show the         
slightest feeling of anything animated  
in the ocean4 ,black or clear1 monstrous
 or violet-coloured1 cold salt water it 
is always1 and nothing but that4  ,well1
 but the modern writer1 by his admission
 of the tinge of fallacy1 has given an  
idea of something in the action of the  
wave which ,homer could not1 and surely1
 therefore1 has made a step in advance8 
,also there appears to be a degree of   
sympathy and feeling in the one writer1 
which there is not in the other2 and as 
it has been received for a first        
principle that writers are great in1    
proportion to the intensity of their    
feelings1 and ,homer seems to have no   
feelings about the sea but that it is   
black and deep1 surely in this respect  
also the modern writer is the greater8  
,stay a moment4 ,homer had some feeling 

about the sea2 a faith in the animation 
of it much stronger than ,keats's4 ,but 
all this sense of something living in   
it1 he separates in his mind into a     
great abstract image of a ,sea ,power4  
,he never says the waves rage1 or the   
waves are idle4 ,but he says there is   
somewhat in1 and greater than1 the      
waves1 which rages1 and is idle1 and    
that he calls a god4  ,i do not think we
 ever enough endeavour to enter into    
what a ,greek's real notion of a god    
was4 ,we are so accustomed to the modern
 mockeries of the classical religion1 so
 accustomed to hear and see the ,greek  
gods introduced as living personages1 or
 invoked for help1 by men who believe   
neither in them nor in any other gods1  
that we seem to have infected the ,greek
 ages themselves with the breath1 and   
dimmed them with the shade1 of our      
hypocrisy2 and are apt to think that    
,homer1 as we know that ,pope1 was      
merely an ingenious fabulist2 nay1 more 
than this1 that all the nations of past 

time were ingenious fabulists also1 to  
whom the universe was a lyrical drama1  
and by whom whatsoever was said about it
 was merely a witty allegory1 or a      
graceful lie1 of which the entire upshot
 and consummation was a pretty statue in
 the middle of the court1 or at the end 
of the garden4  ,this1 at least1 is one 
of our forms of opinion about ,greek    
faith2 not1 indeed1 possible altogether 
to any man of honesty or ordinary powers
 of thought2 but still so venomously    
inherent in the modern philosophy that  
all the pure lightning of ,carlyle      
cannot as yet quite burn it out of any  
of us4 ,and then1 side by side with this
 mere infidel folly1 stands the bitter  
short-sightedness of ,puritanism1       
holding the classical god to be either  
simply an idol1--a block of stone       
ignorantly1 though sincerely1           
worshipped--or else an actual diabolic  
or betraying power1 usurping the place  
of ,god4  ,both these ,puritanical      
estimates of ,greek deity are of course 

to some extent true4 ,the corruption of 
classical worship is barren idolatry2   
and that corruption was deepened1 and   
variously directed to their own         
purposes1 by the evil angels4 ,but this 
was neither the whole1 nor the principal
 part1 of ,pagan worship4 ,pallas was   
not1 in the pure ,greek mind1 merely a  
powerful piece of ivory in a temple at  
,athens2 neither was the choice of      
,leonidas between the alternatives      
granted him by the oracle1 of personal  
death1 or ruin to his country1          
altogether a work of the ,devil's       
prompting4  ,what1 then1 was actually   
the ,greek god8 ,in what way were these 
two ideas of human form1 and divine     
power1 credibly associated in the       
ancient heart1 so as to become a subject
 of true faith irrespective equally of  
fable1 allegory1 superstitious trust in 
stone1 and demoniacal influence8  ,it   
seems to me that the ,greek had exactly 
the same instinctive feeling about the  
elements that we have ourselves2 that to

 ,homer1 as much as to ,casimir de la   
,vigne1#ge fire seemed ravenous and     
pitiless2 to ,homer1 as much as to      
,keats1 the sea-wave appeared wayward or
 idle1 or whatever else it may be to the
 poetical passion4 ,but then the ,greek 
reasoned upon this sensation1 saying to 
himself3 ,i can light the fire1 and put 
it out2 ,i can dry this water up1 or    
drink it4 ,it cannot be the fire or the 
water that rages1 or that is wayward4   
,but it must be something in this fire  
and in the water1 which ,i cannot       
destroy by extinguishing the one1 or    
evaporating the other1 any more than ,i 
destroy myself by cutting off my finger2
 ,i was in my finger1--something of me  
at least was2 ,i had a power over it and
 felt pain in it1 though ,i am still as 
much myself when it is gone4 ,so there  
may be a power in the water which is not
 water1 but to which the water is as a  
body2--which can strike with it1 move in
 it1 suffer in it1 yet not be destroyed 
with it4 ,this something1 this ,great   

,water ,spirit1 ,i must not confuse with
 the waves1 which are only its body4    
,they may flow hither and thither1      
increase or diminish4 ,that must be     
invisible--imperishable--a god4 ,so of  
fire also2 those rays which ,i can stop1
 and in the midst of which ,i cast a    
shadow1 cannot be divine1 nor greater   
than ,i4 ,they cannot feel1 but there   
may be something in them that feels1--a 
glorious intelligence1 as much nobler   
and more swift than mine1 as these rays1
 which are its body1 are nobler and     
swifter than my flesh2--the spirit of   
all light1 and truth1 and melody1 and   
revolving hours4  ,it was easy to       
conceive1 farther1 that such spirits    
should be able to assume at will a human
 form1 in order to hold intercourse with
 men1 or to perform any act for which   
their proper body1 whether of fire1     
earth1 or air1 was unfitted4 ,and it    
would have been to place them beneath1  
instead of above1 humanity1 if1 assuming
 the form of man1 they could not also   

have tasted his pleasures4 ,hence the   
easy step to the more or less material  
ideas of deities1 which are apt at first
 to shock us1 but which are indeed only 
dishonourable so far as they represent  
the gods as false and unholy4 ,it is not
 the materialism1 but the vice1 which   
degrades the conception2 for the        
materialism itself is never positive or 
complete4 ,there is always some sense of
 exaltation in the spiritual and        
immortal body2 and of a power proceeding
 from the visible form through all the  
infinity of the element ruled by the    
particular god4 ,the precise nature of  
the idea is well seen in the passage of 
the ,iliad which describes the river    
,scamander defending the ,trojans       
against ,achilles4#gf ,in order to      
remonstrate with the hero1 the god      
assumes a human form1 which nevertheless
 is in some way or other instantly      
recognized by ,achilles as that of the  
river-god3 it is addressed at once as a 
river1 not as a man2 and its voice is   

the voice of a river out of the deep    
whirlpools4#gg ,achilles refuses to obey
 its commands2 and from the human form  
it returns instantly into its natural or
 divine one1 and endeavours to overwhelm
 him with waves4 ,vulcan defends        
,achilles1 and sends fire against the   
river1 which suffers in its water-body1 
till it is able to bear no more4 ,at    
last even the nerve of the river1 or    
strength of the river 7note the         
expression71 feels the fire1 and this   
strength of the river addresses ,vulcan 
in supplications for respite4 ,there is 
in this precisely the idea of a vital   
part of the river-body1 which acted and 
felt1 and which1 if the fire reached1 it
 was death1 just as would be the case if
 it touched a vital part of the human   
body4 ,throughout the passage the manner
 of conception is perfectly clear and   
consistent2 and if1 in other places1 the
 exact connection between the ruling    
spirit and the thing ruled is not so    
manifest1 it is only because it is      

almost impossible for the human mind to 
dwell long upon such subjects without   
falling into inconsistencies1 and       
gradually slackening its effort to grasp
 the entire truth2 until the more       
spiritual part of it slips from its     
hold1 and only the human form of the god
 is left1 to be conceived and described 
as subject to all the errors of         
humanity4 ,but ,i do not believe that   
the idea ever weakens itself down to    
mere allegory4 ,when ,pallas is said to 
attack and strike down ,mars1 it does   
not mean merely that ,wisdom at that    
moment prevailed against ,wrath4 ,it    
means that there are1 indeed1 two great 
spirits1 one entrusted to guide the     
human soul to wisdom and chastity1 the  
other to kindle wrath and prompt to     
battle4 ,it means that these two        
spirits1 on the spot where1 and at the  
moment when1 a great contest was to be  
decided between all that they each      
governed in man1 then and there         
7assumed7 human form1 and human weapons1

 and did verily and materially strike at
 each other1 until the ,spirit of ,wrath
 was crushed4 ,and when ,diana is said  
to hunt with her nymphs in the woods1 it
 does not mean merely1 as ,wordsworth   
puts it1#gh that the poet or shepherd   
saw the moon and stars glancing between 
the branches of the trees1 and wished to
 say so figuratively4 ,it means that    
there is a living spirit1 to which the  
light of the moon is a body2 which takes
 delight in glancing between the clouds 
and following the wild beasts as they   
wander through the night2 and that this 
spirit sometimes assumes a perfect human
 form1 and in this form1 with real      
arrows1 pursues and slays the wild      
beasts1 which with its mere arrows of   
moonlight it could not slay2 retaining1 
nevertheless1 all the while1 its power  
and being in the moonlight1 and in all  
else that it rules4  ,there is not the  
smallest inconsistency or unspirituality
 in this conception4 ,if there were1 it 
would attach equally to the appearance  

of the angels to ,jacob1 ,abraham1      
,joshua1 or ,manoah4#gi ,in all those   
instances the highest authority which   
governs our own faith requires us to    
conceive divine power clothed with a    
human form 7a form so real that it is   
recognized for superhuman only by its   
doing wondrously71 and retaining1       
nevertheless1 sovereignty and           
omnipresence in all the world4 ,this is 
precisely1 as ,i understand it1 the     
heathen idea of a ,god2 and it is       
impossible to comprehend any single part
 of the ,greek mind until we grasp this 
faithfully1 not endeavouring to explain 
it away in any wise1 but accepting1 with
 frank decision and definition1 the     
tangible existence of its               
deities2--blue-eyed--white-fleshed--    
human-hearted1--capable at their choice 
of meeting man absolutely in his own    
nature--feasting with him--talking with 
him--fighting with him1 eye to eye1 or  
breast to breast1 as ,mars with         
,diomed2#hj or else1 dealing with him in

 a more retired spirituality1 as ,apollo
 sending the plague upon the ,greeks1#ha
 when his quiver rattles at his         
shoulders as he moves1 and yet the darts
 sent forth of it strike not as arrows1 
but as plague2 or1 finally1 retiring    
completely into the material universe   
which they properly inhabit1 and dealing
 with man through that1 as ,scamander   
with ,achilles1 through his waves4  ,nor
 is there anything whatever in the      
various actions recorded of the gods1   
however apparently ignoble1 to indicate 
weakness of belief in them4 ,very       
frequently things which appear to us    
ignoble are merely the simplicities of a
 pure and truthful age4 ,when ,juno     
beats ,diana about the ears with her own
 quiver1#hb for instance1 we start at   
first1 as if ,homer could not have      
believed that they were both real       
goddesses4 ,but what should ,juno have  
done8 ,killed ,diana with a look8 ,nay1 
she neither wished to do so1 nor could  
she have done so1 by the very faith of  

,diana's goddess-ship4 ,diana is as     
immortal as herself4 ,frowned ,diana    
into submission8 ,but ,diana has come   
expressly to try conclusions with her1  
and will by no means be frowned into    
submission4 ,wounded her with a         
celestial lance8 ,that sounds more      
poetical1 but it is in reality partly   
more savage and partly more absurd1 than
 ,homer4 ,more savage1 for it makes     
,juno more cruel1 therefore less divine2
 and more absurd1 for it only seems     
elevated in tone1 because we use the    
word celestial1 which means nothing4    
,what sort of a thing is a celestial    
lance8 ,not a wooden one4 ,of what then8
 ,of moonbeams1 or clouds1 or mist4     
,well1 therefore1 ,diana's arrows were  
of mist too2 and her quiver1 and        
herself1 and ,juno1 with her lance1 and 
all1 vanish into mist4 ,why not have    
said at once1 if that is all you mean1  
that two mists met1 and one drove the   
other back8 ,that would have been       
rational and intelligible1 but not to   

talk of celestial lances4 ,homer had no 
such misty fancy2 he believed the two   
goddesses were there in true bodies1    
with true weapons1 on the true earth2   
and still ,i ask1 what should ,juno have
 done8 ,not beaten ,diana8 ,no2 for it  
is unlady-like4 ,un-,english-lady-like1 
yes2 but by no means                    
un-,greek-lady-like1 nor even           
un-natural-lady-like4 ,if a modern lady 
does not beat her servant or her rival  
about the ears1 it is oftener because   
she is too weak1 or too proud1 than     
because she is of purer mind than       
,homer's ,juno4 ,she will not strike    
them2 but she will overwork the one or  
slander the other without pity2 and     
,homer would not have thought that one  
whit more goddess-like than striking    
them with her open hand4  ,if1 however1 
the reader likes to suppose that while  
the two goddesses in personal presence  
thus fought with arrow and quiver1 there
 was also a broader and vaster contest  
supposed by ,homer between the elements 

they ruled2 and that the goddess of the 
heavens1 as she struck the goddess of   
the moon on the flushing cheek1 was at  
the same instant exercising omnipresent 
power in the heavens themselves1 and    
gathering clouds1 with which1 filled    
with the moon's own arrows or beams1 she
 was encumbering and concealing the     
moon2 he is welcome to this out carrying
 of the idea1 provided that he does not 
pretend to make it an interpretation    
instead of a mere extension1 nor think  
to explain away my real1 running1       
beautiful beaten ,diana1 into a moon    
behind clouds4#hc  ,it is only farther  
to be noted1 that the ,greek conception 
of ,godhead1 as it was much more real   
than we usually suppose1 so it was much 
more bold and familiar than to a modern 
mind would be possible4 ,i shall have   
something more to observe1 in a little  
while1 of the danger of our modern habit
 of endeavouring to raise ourselves to  
something like comprehension of the     
truth of divinity1 instead of simply    

believing the words in which the ,deity 
reveals ,himself to us4 ,the ,greek     
erred rather on the other side1 making  
hardly any effort to conceive divine    
mind as above the human2 and no more    
shrinking from frank intercourse with a 
divine being1 or dreading its immediate 
presence1 than that of the simplest of  
mortals4 ,thus ,atrides1 enraged at his 
sword's breaking in his hand upon the   
helmet of ,paris1 after he had expressly
 invoked the assistance of ,jupiter1    
exclaims aloud1 as he would to a king   
who had betrayed him1 ,jove1 ,father1   
there is not another god more           
evil-minded than thou6#hd and ,helen1   
provoked at ,paris's defeat1 and        
oppressed with pouting shame both for   
him and for herself1 when ,venus appears
 at her side1 and would lead her back to
 the delivered ,paris1 impatiently tells
 the goddess to go and take care of     
,paris herself4#he  ,the modern mind is 
naturally1 but vulgarly and unjustly1   
shocked by this kind of familiarity4    

,rightly understood1 it is not so much a
 sign of misunderstanding of the divine 
nature as of good understanding of the  
human4 ,the ,greek lived1 in all things1
 a healthy1 and1 in a certain degree1 a 
perfect life4 ,he had no morbid or      
sickly feeling of any kind4 ,he was     
accustomed to face death without the    
slightest shrinking1 to undergo all     
kinds of bodily hardship without        
complaint1 and to do what he supposed   
right and honourable1 in most cases1 as 
a matter of course4 ,confident of his   
own immortality1 and of the power of    
abstract justice1 he expected to be     
dealt with in the next world as was     
right1 and left the matter much in his  
god's hands2 but being thus immortal1   
and finding in his own soul something   
which it seemed quite as difficult to   
master1 as to rule the elements1 he did 
not feel that it was an appalling       
superiority in those gods to have bodies
 of water1 or fire1 instead of flesh1   
and to have various work to do among the

 clouds and waves1 out of his human way2
 or sometimes1 even in a sort of service
 to himself4 ,was not the nourishment of
 herbs and flowers a kind of ministering
 to his wants2 were not the gods in some
 sort his husbandmen1 and               
spirit-servants8 ,their mere strength or
 omnipresence did not seem to him a     
distinction absolutely terrific4 ,it    
might be the nature of one being to be  
in two places at once1 and of another to
 be only in one2 but that did not seem  
of itself to infer any absolute         
lordliness of one nature above the      
other1 any more than an insect must be a
 nobler creature than a man1 because it 
can see on four sides of its head1 and  
the man only in front4 ,they could kill 
him or torture him1 it was true2 but    
even that not unjustly1 or not for ever4
 ,there was a fate1 and a ,divine       
,justice1 greater than they2 so that if 
they did wrong1 and he right1 he might  
fight it out with them1 and have the    
better of them at last4 ,in a general   

way1 they were wiser1 stronger1 and     
better than he2 and to ask counsel of   
them1 to obey them1 to sacrifice to     
them1 to thank them for all good1 this  
was well3 but to be utterly downcast    
before them1 or not to tell them his    
mind in plain ,greek if they seemed to  
him to be conducting themselves in an   
ungodly manner--this would not be well4 
,such being their general idea of the   
gods1 we can now easily understand the  
habitual tone of their feelings towards 
what was beautiful in nature4 ,with us1 
observe1 the idea of the ,divinity is   
apt to get separated from the life of   
nature2 and imagining our ,god upon a   
cloudy throne1 far above the earth1 and 
not in the flowers or waters1 we        
approach those visible things with a    
theory that they are dead2 governed by  
physical laws1 and so forth4 ,but coming
 to them1 we find the theory fail2 that 
they are not dead2 that1 say what we    
choose about them1 the instinctive sense
 of their being alive is too strong for 

us2 and in scorn of all physical law1   
the wilful fountain sings1 and the      
kindly flowers rejoice4 ,and then1      
puzzled1 and yet happy2 pleased1 and yet
 ashamed of being so2 accepting sympathy
 from nature which we do not believe it 
gives1 and giving sympathy to nature1   
which we do not believe it              
receives1--mixing1 besides1 all manner  
of purposeful play and conceit with     
these involuntary fellowships1--we fall 
necessarily into the curious web of     
hesitating sentiment1 pathetic fallacy1 
and wandering fancy1 which form a great 
part of our modern view of nature4 ,but 
the ,greek never removed his god out of 
nature at all2 never attempted for a    
moment to contradict his instinctive    
sense that ,god was everywhere4 ,the    
tree is glad1 said he1 ,i know it is2 ,i
 can cut it down3 no matter1 there was a
 nymph in it4 ,the water does sing1 said
 he2 ,i can dry it up2 but no matter1   
there was a naiad in it4 ,but in thus   
clearly defining his belief1 observe1 he

 threw it entirely into a human form1   
and gave his faith to nothing but the   
image of his own humanity4 ,what        
sympathy and fellowship he had1 were    
always for the spirit in the stream1 not
 for the stream2 always for the dryad in
 the wood1 not for the wood4 ,content   
with this human sympathy1 he approached 
the actual waves and woody fibres with  
no sympathy at all4 ,the spirit that    
ruled them1 he received as a plain fact4
 ,them1 also1 ruled and material1 he    
received as plain facts2 they1 without  
their spirit1 were dead enough4 ,a rose 
was good for scent1 and a stream for    
sound and coolness2 for the rest1 one   
was no more than leaves1 the other no   
more than water2 he could not make      
anything else of them2 and the divine   
power1 which was involved in their      
existence1 having been all distilled    
away by him into an independent ,flora  
or ,thetis1 the poor leaves or waves    
were left1 in mere cold corporealness1  
to make the most of their being         

discernibly red and soft1 clear and wet1
 and unacknowledged in any other power  
whatsoever4  ,then1 observe farther1 the
 ,greeks lived in the midst of the most 
beautiful nature1 and were as familiar  
with blue sea1 clear air1 and sweet     
outlines of mountain1 as we are with    
brick walls1 black smoke1 and level     
fields4 ,this perfect familiarity       
rendered all such scenes of natural     
beauty unexciting1 if not indifferent to
 them1 by lulling and overwearying the  
imagination as far as it was concerned  
with such things2 but there was another 
kind of beauty which they found it      
required effort to obtain1 and which1   
when thoroughly obtained1 seemed more   
glorious than any of this wild          
loveliness--the beauty of the human     
countenance and form4 ,this1 they       
perceived1 could only be reached by     
continual exercise of virtue2 and it was
 in ,heaven's sight1 and theirs1 all the
 more beautiful because it needed this  
self-denial to obtain it4 ,so they set  

themselves to reach this1 and having    
gained it1 gave it their principal      
thoughts1 and set it off with beautiful 
dress as best they might4 ,but making   
this their object1 they were obliged to 
pass their lives in simple exercise and 
disciplined employments4 ,living        
wholesomely1 giving themselves no fever 
fits1 either by fasting or over-eating1 
constantly in the open air1 and full of 
animal spirit and physical power1 they  
became incapable of every morbid        
condition of mental emotion4 ,unhappy   
love1 disappointed ambition1 spiritual  
despondency1 or any other disturbing    
sensation1 had little power over the    
well-braced nerves1 and healthy flow of 
the blood2 and what bitterness might yet
 fasten on them was soon boxed or raced 
out of a boy1 and spun or woven out of a
 girl1 or danced out of both4 ,they had 
indeed their sorrows1 true and deep1 but
 still1 more like children's sorrows    
than ours1 whether bursting into open   
cry of pain1 or hid with shuddering     

under the veil1 still passing over the  
soul as clouds do over heaven1 not      
sullying it1 not mingling with          
it2--darkening it perhaps long or       
utterly1 but still not becoming one with
 it1 and for the most part passing away 
in dashing rain of tears1 and leaving   
the man unchanged2 in no wise affecting1
 as our sorrow does1 the whole tone of  
his thought and imagination             
thenceforward4  ,how far our melancholy 
may be deeper and wider than theirs in  
its roots and view1 and therefore       
nobler1 we shall consider presently2 but
 at all events1 they had the advantage  
of us in being entirely free from all   
those dim and feverish sensations which 
result from unhealthy state of the body4
 ,i believe that a large amount of the  
dreamy and sentimental sadness1 tendency
 to reverie1 and general patheticalness 
of modern life results merely from      
derangement of stomach2 holding to the  
,greek life the same relation that the  
feverish night of an adult does to a    

child's sleep4  ,farther4 ,the human    
beauty1 which1 whether in its bodily    
being or in imagined divinity1 had      
become1 for the reasons we have seen1   
the principal object of culture and     
sympathy to these ,greeks1 was1 in its  
perfection1 eminently orderly1          
symmetrical1 and tender4 ,hence1        
contemplating it constantly in this     
state1 they could not but feel a        
proportionate fear of all that was      
disorderly1 unbalanced1 and rugged4     
,having trained their stoutest soldiers 
into a strength so delicate and lovely1 
that their white flesh1 with their blood
 upon it1 should look like ivory stained
 with purple2#hf and having always      
around them1 in the motion and majesty  
of this beauty1 enough for the full     
employment of their imagination1 they   
shrank with dread or hatred from all the
 ruggedness of lower nature1--from the  
wrinkled forest bark1 the jagged        
hill-crest1 and irregular1 inorganic    
storm of sky2 looking to these for the  

most part as adverse powers1 and taking 
pleasure only in such portions of the   
lower world as were at once conducive to
 the rest and health of the human frame1
 and in harmony with the laws of its    
gentler beauty4  ,thus1 as far as ,i    
recollect1 without a single exception1  
every ,homeric landscape1 intended to be
 beautiful1 is composed of a fountain1 a
 meadow1 and a shady grove4 ,this ideal 
is very interestingly marked1 as        
intended for a perfect one1 in the fifth
 book of the ,odyssey2 when ,mercury    
himself stops for a moment1 though on a 
message1 to look at a landscape which   
even an immortal might be gladdened to  
behold4#hg ,this landscape consists of a
 cave covered with a running vine1 all  
blooming into grapes1 and surrounded by 
a grove of alder1 poplar1 and           
sweet-smelling cypress4 ,four fountains 
of white 7foaming7 water1 springing in  
succession 7mark the orderliness71 and  
close to one another1 flow away in      
different directions1 through a meadow  

full of violets and parsley 7parsley1 to
 mark its moisture1 being elsewhere     
called marsh-nourished1 and associated  
with the lotus#hh72 the air is perfumed 
not only by these violets1 and by the   
sweet cypress1 but by ,calypso's fire of
 finely chopped cedar-wood1 which sends 
a smoke1 as of incense1 through the     
island2 ,calypso herself is singing2 and
 finally1 upon the trees are resting1 or
 roosting1 owls1 hawks1 and long-tongued
 sea-crows4 ,whether these last are     
considered as a part of the ideal       
landscape1 as marine singing birds1 ,i  
know not2 but the approval of ,mercury  
appears to be elicited chiefly by the   
fountains and violet meadow4  ,now the  
notable things in this description are1 
first1 the evident subservience of the  
whole landscape to human comfort1 to the
 foot1 the taste1 or the smell2 and1    
secondly1 that throughout the passage   
there is not a single figurative word   
expressive of the things being in any   
wise other than plain grass1 fruit1 or  

flower4 ,i have used the term spring of 
the fountains1 because1 without doubt1  
,homer means that they sprang forth     
brightly1 having their source at the    
foot of the rocks 7as copious fountains 
nearly always have72 but ,homer does not
 say spring1 he says simply flow1 and   
uses only one word for growing softly1  
or richly1 of the tall trees1 the vine1 
and the violets4 ,there is1 however1    
some expression of sympathy with the    
sea-birds2 he speaks of them in         
precisely the same terms1 as in other   
places of naval nations1 saying they    
have care of the works of the sea4  ,if 
we glance through the references to     
pleasant landscape which occur in other 
parts of the ,odyssey1 we shall always  
be struck by this quiet subjection of   
their every feature to human service1   
and by the excessive similarity in the  
scenes4 ,perhaps the spot intended1     
after this1 to be most perfect1 may be  
the garden of ,alcinous1 where the      
principal ideas are1 still more         

definitely1 order1 symmetry and         
fruitfulness2#hi the beds being duly    
ranged between rows of vines1 which1 as 
well as the pear1 apple1 and fig trees1 
bear fruit continually1 some grapes     
being yet sour1 while others are getting
 black2 there are plenty of orderly     
square beds of herbs1 chiefly leeks1 and
 two fountains1 one running through the 
garden1 and one under the pavement of   
the palace to a reservoir for the       
citizens4 ,ulysses1 pausing to          
contemplate this scene1 is described    
nearly in the same terms as ,mercury    
pausing to contemplate the wilder       
meadow2 and it is interesting to        
observe1 that1 in spite of all ,homer's 
love of symmetry1 the god's admiration  
is excited by the free fountains1 wild  
violets1 and wandering vine2 but the    
mortal's1 by the vines in rows1 the     
leeks in beds1 and the fountains in     
pipes4  ,ulysses has1 however1 one      
touching reason for loving vines in     
rows4 ,his father had given him fifty   

rows for himself1 when he was a boy1    
with corn between them 7just as it now  
grows in ,italy74 ,proving his identity 
afterwards to his father1 whom he finds 
at work in his garden1 with thick gloves
 on1 to keep his hands from the thorns1 
he reminds him of these fifty rows of   
vines1 and of the thirteen pear-trees   
and ten apple-trees which he had given  
him3 and ,laertes faints upon his       
neck4#ij  ,if ,ulysses had not been so  
much of a gardener1 it might have been  
received as a sign of considerable      
feeling for landscape beauty1 that1     
intending to pay the very highest       
possible compliment to the ,princess    
,nausicaa 7and having1 indeed1 the      
moment before gravely asked her whether 
she was a goddess or not71 he says that 
he feels1 at seeing her1 exactly as he  
did when he saw the young palm tree     
growing at ,apollo's shrine at          
,delos4#ia ,but ,i think the taste for  
trim hedges and upright trunks has its  
usual influence over him here also1 and 

that he merely means to tell the        
princess that she is delightfully tall  
and straight4  ,the princess is1        
however1 pleased by his address1 and    
tells him to wait outside the town1 till
 she can speak to her father about him4 
,the spot to which she directs him is   
another ideal piece of landscape1       
composed of a beautiful grove of aspen  
poplars1 a fountain1 and a meadow1#ib   
near the road-side3 in fact1 as nearly  
as possible such a scene as meets the   
eye of the traveller every instant on   
the much-despised lines of road through 
lowland ,france2 for instance1 on the   
railway between ,arras and              
,amiens2--scenes1 to my mind1 quite     
exquisite in the various grouping and   
grace of their innumerable poplar       
avenues1 casting sweet1 tremulous       
shadows over their level meadows and    
labyrinthine streams4 ,we know that the 
princess means aspen poplars1 because   
soon afterwards we find her fifty       
maid-servants at the palace1 all        

spinning and in perpetual motion1       
compared to the leaves of the tall      
poplar2 and it is with exquisite feeling
 that it is made afterwards#ic the chief
 tree in the groves of ,proserpine2 its 
light and quivering leafage having      
exactly the melancholy expression of    
fragility1 faintness1 and inconstancy   
which the ancients attributed to the    
disembodied spirit4#id ,the likeness to 
the poplars by the streams of ,amiens is
 more marked still in the ,iliad1 where 
the young ,simois1 struck by ,ajax1     
falls to the earth like an aspen that   
has grown in an irrigated meadow1       
smooth-trunked1 the soft shoots         
springing from its top1 which some      
coach-making man has cut down with his  
keen iron1 that he may fit a wheel of it
 to a fair chariot1 and it lies parching
 by the side of the stream4#ie ,it is   
sufficiently notable that ,homer1 living
 in mountainous and rocky countries1    
dwells thus delightedly on all the flat 
bits2 and so ,i think invariably the    

inhabitants of mountain countries do1   
but the inhabitants of the plains do    
not1 in any similar way1 dwell          
delightedly on mountains4 ,the ,dutch   
painters are perfectly contented with   
their flat fields and pollards2#if      
,rubens1 though he had seen the ,alps1  
usually composes his landscapes of a    
hayfield or two1 plenty of pollards and 
willows1 a distant spire1 a ,dutch house
 with a moat about it1 a windmill1 and a
 ditch4 ,the ,flemish sacred painters   
are the only ones who introduce         
mountains in the distance1 as we shall  
see presently2 but rather in a formal   
way than with any appearance of         
enjoyment4 ,so ,shakspere never speaks  
of mountains with the slightest joy1 but
 only of lowland flowers1 flat fields1  
and ,warwickshire streams4 ,and if we   
talk to the mountaineer1 he will usually
 characterize his own country to us as a
 pays affreux1 or in some equivalent1   
perhaps even more violent1 ,german term3
 but the lowland peasant does not think 

his country frightful2 he either will   
have no ideas beyond it1 or about it2 or
 will think it a very perfect country1  
and be apt to regard any deviation from 
its general principle of flatness with  
extreme disfavour2 as the ,lincolnshire 
farmer in ,alton ,locke3 ,i'll shaw 'ee 
some'at like a field o' beans1 ,i       
wool--none o' this here darned ups and  
downs o' hills1 to shake a body's       
victuals out of his inwards--all so vlat
 as a barn's vloor1 for vorty mile on   
end--there's the country to live in6#ig 
,i do not say whether this be altogether
 right 7though certainly not wholly     
wrong71 but it seems to me that there   
must be in the simple freshness and     
fruitfulness of level land1 in its pale 
upright trees1 and gentle lapse of      
silent streams1 enough for the          
satisfaction of the human mind in       
general2 and ,i so far agree with       
,homer1 that1 if ,i had to educate an   
artist to the full perception of the    
meaning of the word gracefulness in     

landscape1 ,i should send him neither to
 ,italy nor to ,greece1 but simply to   
those poplar groves between ,arras and  
,amiens4  ,but to return more definitely
 to our ,homeric landscape4 ,when it is 
perfect1 we have1 as in the above       
instances1 the foliage and meadows      
together2 when imperfect1 it is always  
either the foliage or the meadow2       
pre-eminently the meadow1 or arable     
field4 ,thus1 meadows of asphodel are   
prepared for the happier dead2 and even 
,orion1 a hunter among the mountains in 
his lifetime1 pursues the ghosts of     
beasts in these asphodel meadows after  
death4#ih ,so the sirens sing in a      
meadow2 #ii and throughout the ,odyssey 
there is a general tendency to the      
depreciation of poor ,ithaca1 because it
 is rocky1 and only fit for goats1 and  
has no meadows2#ajj for which reason    
,telemachus refuses ,atrides's present  
of horses1 congratulating the ,spartan  
king at the same time on ruling over a  
plain which has plenty of lotus in it1  

and rushes1 with corn and barley4 ,note 
this constant dwelling on the marsh     
plants1 or1 at least1 those which grow  
in flat and well-irrigated land1 or     
beside streams3 when ,scamander1 for    
instance1 is restrained by ,vulcan1     
,homer says1 very sorrowfully1 that all 
his lotus1 and reeds1 and rushes were   
burnt2#aja and thus ,ulysses1 after     
being shipwrecked and nearly drowned1   
and beaten about the sea for many days  
and nights1 on raft and mast1 at last   
getting ashore at the mouth of a large  
river1 casts himself down first upon its
 rushes1 and then1 in thankfulness1     
kisses the corn-giving land1 as most    
opposed1 in his heart1 to the fruitless 
and devouring sea4#ajb  ,in this same   
passage1 also1 we find some peculiar    
expressions of the delight which the    
,greeks had in trees2 for1 when ,ulysses
 first comes in sight of land1 which    
gladdens him as the reviving of a father
 from his sickness gladdens his         
children1 it is not merely the sight of 

the land itself which gives him such    
pleasure1 but of the land and wood4     
,homer never throws away any words1 at  
least in such a place as this2 and what 
in another poet would have been merely  
the filling up of the deficient line    
with an otherwise useless word1 is in   
him the expression of the general ,greek
 sense1 that land of any kind was in no 
wise grateful or acceptable till there  
was wood upon it 7or corn2 but the corn1
 in the flats1 could not be seen so far 
as the black masses of forest on the    
hill sides71 and that1 as in being rushy
 and corn-giving1 the low land1 so in   
being woody1 the high land was most     
grateful to the mind of the man who for 
days and nights had been wearied on the 
engulphing sea4 ,and this general idea  
of wood and corn1 as the types of the   
fatness of the whole earth1 is          
beautifully marked in another place of  
the ,odyssey1#ajc where the sailors in a
 desert island1 having no flour of corn 
to offer as a meat offering with their  

sacrifices1 take the leaves of the      
trees1 and scatter them over the burnt  
offering instead4  ,but still1 every    
expression of the pleasure which        
,ulysses has in this landing and        
resting1 contains uninterruptedly the   
reference to the utility and sensible   
pleasantness of all things1 not to their
 beauty4 ,after his first grateful kiss 
given to the corn-growing land1 he      
considers immediately how he is to pass 
the night2 for some minutes hesitating  
whether it will be best to expose       
himself to the misty chill from the     
river1 or run the risk of wild beasts in
 the wood4 ,he decides for the wood1 and
 finds in it a bower formed by a sweet  
and a wild olive tree1 interlacing their
 branches1 or--perhaps more accurately  
translating ,homer's intensely graphic  
expression--changing their branches with
 each other 7it is very curious how     
often1 in an entanglement of wood1 one  
supposes the branches to belong to the  
wrong trees7 and forming a roof         

penetrated by neither rain1 sun1 nor    
wind4 ,under this bower ,ulysses        
collects the vain 7or frustrate7        
outpouring of the dead leaves--another  
exquisite expression1 used elsewhere of 
useless grief or shedding of            
tears2--and1 having got enough together1
 makes his bed of them1 and goes to     
sleep1 having covered himself up with   
them1 as embers are covered up with     
ashes4#ajd  ,nothing can possibly be    
more intensely possessive of the facts  
than this whole passage3 the sense of   
utter deadness and emptiness1 and       
frustrate fall in the leaves2 of dormant
 life in the human body1--the fire1 and 
heroism1 and strength of it1 lulled     
under the dead brown heap1 as embers    
under ashes1 and the knitting of        
interchanged and close strength of      
living boughs above4 ,but there is not  
the smallest apparent sense of there    
being beauty elsewhere than in the human
 being4 ,the wreathed wood is admired   
simply as being a perfect roof for it2  

the fallen leaves only as being a       
perfect bed for it2 and there is        
literally no more excitement of emotion 
in ,homer1 as he describes them1 nor    
does he expect us to be more excited or 
touched by hearing about them1 than if  
he had been telling us how the          
chambermaid at the ,bull aired the      
four-poster1 and put on two extra       
blankets4  ,now1 exactly this same      
contemplation of subservience to human  
use makes the ,greek take some pleasure 
in rocks1 when they assume one          
particular form1 but one only--that of a
 cave4 ,they are evidently quite        
frightful things to him under any other 
condition1 and most of all if they are  
rough and jagged2 but if smooth1 looking
 sculptured1 like the sides of a ship1  
and forming a cave or shelter for him1  
he begins to think them endurable4      
,hence1 associating the ideas of rich   
and sheltering wood1 sea1 becalmed and  
made useful as a port by protecting     
promontories of rock1 and smoothed caves

 or grottoes in the rocks themselves1 we
 get the pleasantest idea which the     
,greek could form of a landscape1 next  
to a marsh with poplars in it2 not1     
indeed1 if possible1 ever to be without 
these last2 thus1 in commending the     
,cyclops' country as one possessed of   
every perfection1 ,homer erst says3     
,they have soft marshy meadows near the 
sea1 and good1 rich1 crumbling1         
ploughing-land1 giving fine deep crops1 
and vines always giving fruit2 then1 a  
port so quiet1 that they have no need of
 cables in it2 and at the head of the   
port1 a beautiful clear spring just     
under a cave1 and aspen poplars all     
round it4#aje  ,this1 it will be seen1  
is very nearly ,homer's usual ideal2    
but1 going into the middle of the       
island1 ,ulysses comes on a rougher and 
less agreeable bit1 though still        
fulfilling certain required conditions  
of endurableness2 a cave shaded with    
laurels1#ajf which1 having no poplars   
about it1 is1 however1 meant to be      

somewhat frightful1 and only fit to be  
inhabited by a ,cyclops4 ,so in the     
country of the ,laestrygons1 ,homer1    
preparing his reader gradually for      
something very disagreeable1 represents 
the rocks as bare and exposed to the    
sun2#ajg only with some smooth and      
slippery roads over them1 by which the  
trucks bring down wood from the higher  
hills4 ,any one familiar with ,swiss    
slopes of hills must remember how often 
he has descended1 sometimes faster than 
was altogether intentional1 by these    
same slippery woodman's truck roads4    
,and thus1 in general1 whenever the     
landscape is intended to be lovely1 it  
verges towards the ploughed lands and   
poplars2 or1 at worst1 to woody rocks2  
but1 if intended to be painful1 the     
rocks are bare and sharp4 ,this last    
epithet1 constantly used by ,homer for  
mountains1 does not altogether          
correspond1 in ,greek1 to the ,english  
term1 nor is it intended merely to      
characterize the sharp mountain summits2

 for it never would be applied simply to
 the edge or point of a sword1 but      
signifies rather harsh1 bitter1 or      
painful1 being applied habitually to    
fate1 death1 and in ,odyssey xi4 #ccc1  
to a halter2 and1 as expressive of      
general objectionableness and           
unpleasantness1 to all high1 dangerous1 
or peaked mountains1 as the ,maleian    
promontory 7a much-dreaded one71 the    
crest of ,parnassus1 the ,tereian       
mountain1 and a grim or untoward1       
though1 by keeping off the force of the 
sea1 protective1 rock at the mouth of   
the ,jardanus2 as well as habitually to 
inaccessible or impregnable fortresses  
built on heights4  ,in all this ,i      
cannot too strongly mark the utter      
absence of any trace of the feeling for 
what we call the picturesque1 and the   
constant dwelling of the writer's mind  
on what was available1 pleasant1 or     
useful3 his ideas respecting all        
landscape being not uncharacteristially 
summed1 finally1 by ,pallas herself2    

when1 meeting ,ulysses1 who after his   
long wandering does not recognize his   
own country1 and meaning to describe it 
as politely and soothingly as possible1 
she says3#ajh--,this ,ithaca of ours is1
 indeed1 a rough country enough1 and not
 good for driving in2 but1 still1 things
 might be worse3 it has plenty of corn1 
and good wine1 and always rain1 and soft
 nourishing dew2 and it has good feeding
 for goats and oxen1 and all manner of  
wood1 and springs fit to drink at all   
the year round4  ,we shall see presently
 how the blundering1 pseudo-picturesque1
 pseudo-classical minds of ,claude and  
the ,renaissance landscape-painters1    
wholly missing ,homer's practical common
 sense1 and equally incapable of feeling
 the quiet natural grace and sweetness  
of his asphodel meadows1 tender aspen   
poplars1 or running vines1--fastened on 
his ports and caves1 as the only        
available features of his scenery2 and  
appointed the type of classical         
landscape thenceforward to consist in a 

bay of insipid sea1 and a rock with a   
hole through it4#aji  ,it may indeed be 
thought that ,i am assuming too hastily 
that this was the general view of the   
,greeks respecting landscape1 because it
 was ,homer's4 ,but ,i believe the true 
mind of a nation1 at any period1 is     
always best ascertainable by examining  
that of its greatest men2 and that      
simpler and truer results will be       
attainable for us by simply comparing   
,homer1 ,dante1 and ,walter ,scott1 than
 by attempting 7what my limits must have
 rendered absurdly inadequate1 and in   
which1 also1 both my time and knowledge 
must have failed me7 an analysis of the 
landscape in the range of contemporary  
literature4 ,all that ,i can do1 is to  
state the general impression1 which has 
been made upon me by my desultory       
reading1 and to mark accurately the     
grounds for this impression in the works
 of the greatest men4 ,now it is quite  
true that in others of the ,greeks1     
especially in ,a,eschylus and           

,aristophanes1 there is infinitely more 
of modern feeling1 of pathetic fallacy1 
love of picturesque or beautiful form1  
and other such elements1 than there is  
in ,homer2 but then these appear to me  
just the parts of them which were not   
,greek1 the elements of their minds by  
which 7as one division of the human race
 always must be with subsequent ones7   
they are connected with the mediaevals  
and moderns4 ,and without doubt1 in his 
influence over future mankind1 ,homer is
 eminently the ,greek of ,greeks3 if ,i 
were to associate any one with him it   
would be ,herodotus1 and ,i believe all 
,i have said of the ,homeric landscape  
will be found equally true of the       
,herodotean1 as assuredly it will be of 
the ,platonic2--the contempt1 which     
,plato sometimes expresses by the mouth 
of ,socrates1 for the country in        
general1 except so far as it is shady1  
and has cicadas and running streams to  
make pleasant noises in it1 being almost
 ludicrous4 ,but ,homer is the great    

type1 and the more notable one because  
of his influence on ,virgil1 and1       
through him1 on ,dante1 and all the     
after ages3 and1 in like manner1 if we  
can get the abstract of mediaeval       
landscape out of ,dante1 it will serve  
us as well as if we had read all the    
songs of the troubadours1 and help us to
 the farther changes in derivative      
temper1 down to all modern time4  ,i    
think1 therefore1 the reader may safely 
accept the conclusions about ,greek     
landscape which ,i have got for him out 
of ,homer2 and in these he will         
certainly perceive something very       
different from the usual imaginations we
 form of ,greek feelings4 ,we think of  
the ,greeks as poetical1 ideal1         
imaginative1 in the way that a modern   
poet or novelist is2 supposing that     
their thoughts about their mythology and
 world were as visionary and artificial 
as ours are3 but ,i think the passages  
,i have quoted show that it was not so1 
although it may be difficult for us to  

apprehend the strange minglings in them 
of the elements of faith1 which1 in our 
days1 have been blended with other parts
 of human nature in a totally different 
guise4 ,perhaps the ,greek mind may be  
best imagined by taking1 as its         
groundwork1 that of a good1             
conscientious1 but illiterate ,scotch   
,presbyterian ,border farmer of a       
century or two back1 having perfect     
faith in the bodily appearances of      
,satan and his imps2 and in all kelpies1
 brownies1 and fairies4 ,substitute for 
the indignant terrors in this man's     
mind1 a general persuasion of the       
,divinity1 more or less beneficent1 yet 
faultful1 of all these beings2 that is  
to say1 take away his belief in the     
demoniacal malignity of the fallen      
spiritual world1 and lower1 in the same 
degree1 his conceptions of the          
angelical1 retaining for him the same   
firm faith in both2 keep his ideas about
 flowers and beautiful scenery much as  
they are1--his delight in regular       

ploughed land and meadows1 and a neat   
garden 7only with rows of gooseberry    
bushes instead of vines71 being1 in all 
probability1 about accurately           
representative of the feelings of       
,ulysses2 then1 let the military spirit 
that is in him1 glowing against the     
,border forager1 or the foe of old      
,flodden and ,chevy-,chase1#aaj be made 
more principal1 with a higher sense of  
nobleness in soldiership1 not as a      
careless excitement1 but a knightly     
duty2 and increased by high cultivation 
of every personal quality1 not of mere  
shaggy strength1 but graceful strength1 
aided by a softer climate1 and educated 
in all proper harmony of sight and      
sound3 finally1 instead of an informed  
,christian1 suppose him to have only the
 patriarchal ,jewish knowledge of the   
,deity1 and even this obscured by       
tradition1 but still thoroughly solemn  
and faithful1 requiring his continual   
service as a priest of burnt sacrifice  
and meat offering2 and ,i think we shall

 get a pretty close approximation to the
 vital being of a true old ,greek2 some 
slight difference still existing in a   
feeling which the ,scotch farmer would  
have of a pleasantness in blue hills and
 running streams1 wholly wanting in the 
,greek mind2 and perhaps also some      
difference of views on the subjects of  
truth and honesty4 ,but the main points1
 the easy1 athletic1 strongly logical   
and argumentative1 yet fanciful and     
credulous1 characters of mind1 would be 
very similar in both2 and the most      
serious change in the substance of the  
stuff among the modifications above     
suggested as necessary to turn the ,scot
 into the ,greek1 is that effect of     
softer climate and surrounding luxury1  
inducing the practice of various forms  
of polished art1--the more polished1    
because the practical and realistic     
tendency of the ,hellenic mind 7if my   
interpretation of it be right7 would    
quite prevent it from taking pleasure in
 any irregularities of form1 or         

imitations of the weeds and wildnesses  
of that mountain nature with which it   
thought itself born to contend4 ,in its 
utmost refinement of work1 it sought    
eminently for orderliness2 carried the  
principle of the leeks in squares1 and  
fountains in pipes1 perfectly out in its
 streets and temples2 formalized        
whatever decoration it put into its     
minor architectural mouldings1 and      
reserved its whole heart and power to   
represent the action of living men1 or  
gods1 though not unconscious1 meanwhile1
 of      ,the simple1 the sincere       
delight2     ,the habitual scene of hill
 and dale2     ,the rural herds1 the    
vernal gale2     ,the tangled vetches'  
purple bloom2     ,the fragrance of the 
bean's perfume1--     ,theirs1 theirs   
alone1 who cultivate the soil1     ,and 
drink the cup of thirst1 and eat the    
bread of toil4#aaa     #gd ,endymion1   
#b4 #cdi-cej4    #ge ,see p4 #fh4    #gf
 ,iliad1 #ba4 #bab-cfj4    #gg ,compare 
,lay of the ,last ,minstrel1 canto i4   

stanza #ae1 and   canto v4 stanza #b4   
,in the first instance1 the river-spirit
 is   accurately the ,homeric god1 only 
,homer would have believed in           
it1--,scott did not1 at least not       
altogether4 ,ruskin4    #gh ,the        
,excursion1 #d4 #hfa-hga4    #gi        
,genesis xxviii1 #ab2 xxxii1 #a2 xxii1  
#aa2 ,joshua v1 #ac ff42   ,judges xiii1
 #c ff4    #hj ,iliad1 #e4 #hdf4    #ha 
,iliad1 #a4 #dc4    #hb ,iliad1 #ba4    
#dhi ff4    #hc ,compare the exquisite  
lines of ,longfellow on the sunset in   
,the ,golden ,legend3--    ,the day is  
done2 and slowly from the scene   ,the  
stooping sun up-gathers his spent       
shafts4   ,and puts them back into his  
golden quiver4 ,ruskin4    #hd ,iliad1  
#c4 #cfe4    #he ,iliad1 #c4 #djf ff4   
#hf ,iliad1 #d4 #ada4 ,ruskin4    #hg   
,odyssey1 #e4 #fc-gd4    #hh ,iliad1 #b4
 #ggf4 ,ruskin4    #hi ,odyssey #g4     
#aab-acb4    #ij ,odyssey1 #bd4 #ccd ff4
    #ia ,odyssey1 #f4 #afb4    #ib      
,odyssey1 #f4 #bia-bib4    #ic ,odyssey1

 #aj4 #eaj4 ,ruskin4    #id ,compare the
 passage in ,dante referred to above1 p4
 #fj4   ,ruskin4    #ie ,iliad1 #d4     
#dhb-dhg4    #if ,pollards1 trees polled
 or cut back at some height above the   
ground1 producing a thick growth of     
young branches in a rounded   mass4     
#ig ,quoted1 with some omission1 from   
chapter #ab4    #ih ,odyssey1 #aa4 #egb2
 #bd4 #ac4 ,the couch of ,ceres1 with   
,homer's   usual faithfulness1 is made  
of a ploughed field1 #e4 #abg4          
,ruskin4    #ii ,odyssey1 #ab4 #de4     
#ajj ,odyssey1 #d4 #fje4    #aja ,iliad1
 #ba4 #cea4    #ajb ,odyssey1 #e4 #cih1 
#dfc4 ,ruskin4    #ajc ,odyssey1 #ab4   
#ceg4 ,ruskin4    #ajd ,odyssey1 #e4    
#dha-dic4    #aje ,odyssey1 #i4 #acb1   
etc4 ,hence ,milton's    ,from haunted  
spring1 and dale1 ,edged with poplar    
pale4 ,ruskin4    ,hymn on ,the ,morning
 of ,christ's ,nativity1 #ahd-ahe4      
#ajf ,odyssey1 #i4 #ahb4    #ajg        
,odyssey1 #aj4 #hg-hh4    #ajh ,odyssey1
 #ac4 #bcf1 etc4 ,ruskin4    #aji       

,educated1 as we shall see hereafter1   
first in this school4   ,turner gave the
 hackneyed composition a strange power  
and   freshness1 in his ,glaucus and    
,scylla4 ,ruskin4    #aaj ,flodden1     
,flodden ,field1 a plain in             
,northumberland1 famous as   the        
battlefield where ,james ,,iv of        
,scotland was defeated by an   ,english 
army under the ,earl of ,surrey1 ,sept4 
#i1 #aeac4 ,the sixth   canto of        
,scott's ,marmion gives a fairly        
accurate description of   the action4   
,chevy-,chase1 a famous old ,english    
ballad recounting the incidents   of the
 battle of ,otterburn ,aug4 #ai1 #achh  
in which the ,scots under   the ,earl of
 ,douglas defeated the ,english under   
the ,percies4    #aaa ,shenstone's      
,rural ,elegance1 #bja ff41 quoted with 
some   slight inaccuracies4     ,,of    
,,modern ,,landscape  ,,volume ,,iii1   
,,chapter #af   ,we turn our eyes1      
therefore1 as boldly and as quickly as  
may be1 from these serene fields and    

skies of mediaeval art1 to the most     
characteristic examples of modern       
landscape4 ,and1 ,i believe1 the first  
thing that will strike us1 or that ought
 to strike us1 is their cloudiness4     
,out of perfect light and motionless    
air1 we find ourselves on a sudden      
brought under sombre skies1 and into    
drifting wind2 and1 with fickle sunbeams
 flashing in our face1 or utterly       
drenched with sweep of rain1 we are     
reduced to track the changes of the     
shadows on the grass1 or watch the rents
 of twilight through angry cloud4 ,and  
we find that whereas all the pleasure of
 the mediaeval was in stability1        
definiteness1 and luminousness1 we are  
expected to rejoice in darkness1 and    
triumph in mutability2 to lay the       
foundation of happiness in things which 
momentarily change or fade2 and to      
expect the utmost satisfaction and      
instruction from what it is impossible  
to arrest1 and difficult to comprehend4 
,we find1 however1 together with this   

general delight in breeze and darkness1 
much attention to the real form of      
clouds1 and careful drawing of effects  
of mist2 so that the appearance of      
objects1 as seen through it1 becomes a  
subject of science with us2 and the     
faithful representation of that         
appearance is made of primal importance1
 under the name of aerial perspective4  
,the aspects of sunset and sunrise1 with
 all their attendant phenomena of cloud 
and mist1 are watchfully delineated2 and
 in ordinary daylight landscape1 the sky
 is considered of so much importance1   
that a principal mass of foliage1 or a  
whole foreground1 is unhesitatingly     
thrown into shade merely to bring out   
the form of a white cloud4 ,so that1 if 
a general and characteristic name were  
needed for modern landscape art1 none   
better could be invented than the       
service of clouds4  ,and this name      
would1 unfortunately1 be characteristic 
of our art in more ways than one4 ,in   
the last chapter1 ,i said that all the  

,greeks spoke kindly about the clouds1  
except ,aristophanes2 and he1 ,i am     
sorry to say 7since his report is so    
unfavourable71 is the only ,greek who   
had studied them attentively4 ,he tells 
us1 first1 that they are great goddesses
 to idle men2 then1 that they are       
mistresses of disputings1 and logic1 and
 monstrosities1 and noisy chattering2   
declares that whoso believes in their   
divinity must first disbelieve in       
,jupiter1 and place supreme power in the
 hands of an unknown god ,whirlwind2    
and1 finally1 he displays their         
influence over the mind of one of their 
disciples1 in his sudden desire to speak
 ingeniously concerning smoke4#aab      
,there is1 ,i fear1 an infinite truth in
 this ,aristophanic judgment applied to 
our modern cloud-worship4 ,assuredly1   
much of the love of mystery in our      
romances1 our poetry1 our art1 and1     
above all1 in our metaphysics1 must come
 under that definition so long ago given
 by the great ,greek1 speaking          

ingeniously concerning smoke4 ,and much 
of the instinct1 which1 partially       
developed in painting1 may be now seen  
throughout every mode of exertion of    
mind1--the easily encouraged doubt1     
easily excited curiosity1 habitual      
agitation1 and delight in the changing  
and the marvellous1 as opposed to the   
old quiet serenity of social custom and 
religious faith1--is again deeply       
defined in those few words1 the         
dethroning of ,jupiter1 the coronation  
of the whirlwind4  ,nor of whirlwind    
merely1 but also of darkness or         
ignorance respecting all stable facts4  
,that darkening of the foreground to    
bring out the white cloud1 is1 in one   
aspect of it1 a type of the subjection  
of all plain and positive fact1 to what 
is uncertain and unintelligible4 ,and1  
as we examine farther into the matter1  
we shall be struck by another great     
difference between the old and modern   
landscape1 namely1 that in the old no   
one ever thought of drawing anything but

 as well as he could4 ,that might not be
 well1 as we have seen in the case of   
rocks2 but it was as well as he could1  
and always distinctly4 ,leaf1 or stone1 
or animal1 or man1 it was equally drawn 
with care and clearness1 and its        
essential characters shown4 ,if it was  
an oak tree1 the acorns were drawn2 if a
 flint pebble1 its veins were drawn2 if 
an arm of the sea1 its fish were drawn2 
if a group of figures1 their faces and  
dresses were drawn--to the very last    
subtlety of expression and end of thread
 that could be got into the space1 far  
off or near4 ,but now our ingenuity is  
all concerning smoke4 ,nothing is truly 
drawn but that2 all else is vague1      
slight1 imperfect2 got with as little   
pains as possible4 ,you examine your    
closest foreground1 and find no leaves2 
your largest oak1 and find no acorns2   
your human figure1 and find a spot of   
red paint instead of a face2 and in all 
this1 again and again1 the ,aristophanic
 words come true1 and the clouds seem to

 be great goddesses to idle men4  ,the  
next thing that will strike us1 after   
this love of clouds1 is the love of     
liberty4 ,whereas the mediaeval was     
always shutting himself into castles1   
and behind fosses1 and drawing brickwork
 neatly1 and beds of flowers primly1 our
 painters delight in getting to the open
 fields and moors2 abhor all hedges and 
moats2 never paint anything but         
free-growing trees1 and rivers gliding  
at their own sweet will2 eschew         
formality down to the smallest detail2  
break and displace the brickwork which  
the mediaeval would have carefully      
cemented2 leave unpruned the thickets he
 would have delicately trimmed2 and1    
carrying the love of liberty even to    
license1 and the love of wildness even  
to ruin1 take pleasure at last in every 
aspect of age and desolation which      
emancipates the objects of nature from  
the government of men2--on the castle   
wall displacing its tapestry with ivy1  
and spreading1 through the garden1 the  

bramble for the rose4  ,connected with  
this love of liberty we find a singular 
manifestation of love of mountains1 and 
see our painters traversing the wildest 
places of the globe in order to obtain  
subjects with craggy foregrounds and    
purple distances4 ,some few of them     
remain content with pollards and flat   
land2 but these are always men of       
third-rate order2 and the leading       
masters1 while they do not reject the   
beauty of the low grounds1 reserve their
 highest powers to paint ,alpine peaks  
or ,italian promontories4 ,and it is    
eminently noticeable1 also1 that this   
pleasure in the mountains is never      
mingled with fear1 or tempered by a     
spirit of meditation1 as with the       
mediaeval2 but it is always free and    
fearless1 brightly exhilarating1 and    
wholly unreflective2 so that the painter
 feels that his mountain foreground may 
be more consistently animated by a      
sportsman than a hermit2 and our modern 
society in general goes to the          

mountains1 not to fast1 but to feast1   
and leaves their glaciers covered with  
chicken-bones and egg-shells4           
,connected with this want of any sense  
of solemnity in mountain scenery1 is a  
general profanity of temper in regarding
 all the rest of nature2 that is to say1
 a total absence of faith in the        
presence of any deity therein4 ,whereas 
the mediaeval never painted a cloud1 but
 with the purpose of placing an angel in
 it2 and a ,greek never entered a wood  
without expecting to meet a god in it2  
we should think the appearance of an    
angel in the cloud wholly unnatural1 and
 should be seriously surprised by       
meeting a god anywhere4 ,our chief ideas
 about the wood are connected with      
poaching4 ,we have no belief that the   
clouds contain more than so many inches 
of rain or hail1 and from our ponds and 
ditches expect nothing more divine than 
ducks and watercresses4  ,finally3      
connected with this profanity of temper 
is a strong tendency to deny the sacred 

element of colour1 and make our boast in
 blackness4 ,for though occasionally    
glaring or violent1 modern colour is on 
the whole eminently sombre1 tending     
continually to grey or brown1 and by    
many of our best painters consistently  
falsified1 with a confessed pride in    
what they call chaste or subdued tints2 
so that1 whereas a mediaeval paints his 
sky bright blue and his foreground      
bright green1 gilds the towers of his   
castles1 and clothes his figures with   
purple and white1 we paint our sky grey1
 our foreground black1 and our foliage  
brown1 and think that enough is         
sacrificed to the sun in admitting the  
dangerous brightness of a scarlet cloak 
or a blue jacket4  ,these1 ,i believe1  
are the principal points which would    
strike us instantly1 if we were to be   
brought suddenly into an exhibition of  
modern landscapes out of a room filled  
with mediaeval work4 ,it is evident that
 there are both evil and good in this   
change2 but how much evil1 or how much  

good1 we can only estimate by           
considering1 as in the former divisions 
of our inquiry1 what are the real roots 
of the habits of mind which have caused 
them4  ,and first1 it is evident that   
the title ,dark ,ages1 given to the     
mediaeval centuries1 is1 respecting art1
 wholly inapplicable4 ,they were1 on the
 contrary1 the bright ages2 ours are the
 dark ones4 ,i do not mean              
metaphysically1 but literally4 ,they    
were the ages of gold2 ours are the ages
 of umber4  ,this is partly mere mistake
 in us2 we build brown brick walls1 and 
wear brown coats1 because we have been  
blunderingly taught to do so1 and go on 
doing so mechanically4 ,there is1       
however1 also some cause for the change 
in our own tempers4 ,on the whole1 these
 are much sadder ages than the early    
ones2 not sadder in a noble and deep    
way1 but in a dim wearied way1--the way 
of ennui1 and jaded intellect1 and      
uncomfortableness of soul and body4 ,the
 ,middle ,ages had their wars and       

agonies1 but also intense delights4     
,their gold was dashed with blood2 but  
ours is sprinkled with dust4 ,their life
 was inwoven with white and purple3 ours
 is one seamless stuff of brown4 ,not   
that we are without apparent festivity1 
but festivity more or less forced1      
mistaken1 embittered1 incomplete--not of
 the heart4 ,how wonderfully1 since     
,shakspere's time1 have we lost the     
power of laughing at bad jests6 ,the    
very finish of our wit belies our       
gaiety4  ,the profoundest reason of this
 darkness of heart is1 ,i believe1 our  
want of faith4 ,there never yet was a   
generation of men 7savage or civilized7 
who1 taken as a body1 so wofully        
fulfilled the words having no hope1 and 
without ,god in the world1#aac as the   
present civilized ,european race4 ,a    
,red ,indian or ,otaheitan savage has   
more sense of a ,divine existence round 
him1 or government over him1 than the   
plurality of refined ,londoners and     
,parisians3 and those among us who may  

in some sense be said to believe1 are   
divided almost without exception into   
two broad classes1 ,romanist and        
,puritan2 who1 but for the interference 
of the unbelieving portions of society1 
would1 either of them1 reduce the other 
sect as speedily as possible to ashes2  
the ,romanist having always done so     
whenever he could1 from the beginning of
 their separation1 and the ,puritan at  
this time holding himself in complacent 
expectation of the destruction of ,rome 
by volcanic fire4 ,such division as this
 between persons nominally of one       
religion1 that is to say1 believing in  
the same ,god1 and the same ,revelation1
 cannot but become a stumbling-block of 
the gravest kind to all thoughtful and  
far-sighted men1--a stumbling-block     
which they can only surmount under the  
most favourable circumstances of early  
education4 ,hence1 nearly all our       
powerful men in this age of the world   
are unbelievers2 the best of them in    
doubt and misery2 the worst in reckless 

defiance2 the plurality1 in plodding    
hesitation1 doing1 as well as they can1 
what practical work lies ready to their 
hands4 ,most of our scientific men are  
in this last class2 our popular authors 
either set themselves definitely against
 all religious form1 pleading for simple
 truth and benevolence 7,thackeray1     
,dickens71 or give themselves up to     
bitter and fruitless statement of facts 
7,de ,balzac71 or surface-painting      
7,scott71 or careless blasphemy1 sad or 
smiling 7,byron1 ,beranger74 ,our       
earnest poets and deepest thinkers are  
doubtful and indignant 7,tennyson1      
,carlyle72 one or two1 anchored1 indeed1
 but anxious or weeping 7,wordsworth1   
,mrs4 ,browning72 and of these two1 the 
first is not so sure of his anchor1 but 
that now and then it drags with him1    
even to make him cry out1--             
,great ,god1 ,i had rather be     ,a    
,pagan suckled in some creed outworn2   
,so might ,i1 standing on this pleasant 
lea1     ,have glimpses that would make 

me less forlorn4#aad  ,in politics1     
religion is now a name2 in art1 a       
hypocrisy or affectation4 ,over ,german 
religious pictures the inscription1 ,see
 how ,pious ,i am1 can be read at a     
glance by any clear-sighted person4     
,over ,french and ,english religious    
pictures the inscription1 ,see how      
,impious ,i am1 is equally legible4 ,all
 sincere and modest art is1 among us1   
profane4#aae  ,this faithlessness       
operates among us according to our      
tempers1 producing either sadness or    
levity1 and being the ultimate root     
alike of our discontents and of our     
wantonnesses4 ,it is marvellous how full
 of contradiction it makes us3 we are   
first dull1 and seek for wild and lonely
 places because we have no heart for the
 garden2 presently we recover our       
spirits1 and build an assembly room     
among the mountains1 because we have no 
reverence for the desert4 ,i do not know
 if there be game on ,sinai1 but ,i am  
always expecting to hear of some one's  

shooting over it4  ,there is1 however1  
another1 and a more innocent root of our
 delight in wild scenery4  ,all the     
,renaissance principles of art tended1  
as ,i have before often explained1 to   
the setting ,beauty above ,truth1 and   
seeking for it always at the expense of 
truth4 ,and the proper punishment of    
such pursuit--the punishment which all  
the laws of the universe rendered       
inevitable--was1 that those who thus    
pursued beauty should wholly lose sight 
of beauty4 ,all the thinkers of the age1
 as we saw previously1 declared that it 
did not exist4 ,the age seconded their  
efforts1 and banished beauty1 so far as 
human effort could succeed in doing so1 
from the face of the earth1 and the form
 of man4 ,to powder the hair1 to patch  
the cheek1 to hoop the body1 to buckle  
the foot1 were all part and parcel of   
the same system which reduced streets to
 brick walls1 and pictures to brown     
stains4 ,one desert of ,ugliness was    
extended before the eyes of mankind2 and

 their pursuit of the beautiful1 so     
recklessly continued1 received          
unexpected consummation in high-heeled  
shoes and periwigs1--,gower ,street1 and
 ,gaspar ,poussin4#aaf  ,reaction from  
this state was inevitable1 if any true  
life was left in the races of mankind2  
and1 accordingly1 though still forced1  
by rule and fashion1 to the producing   
and wearing all that is ugly1 men steal 
out1 half-ashamed of themselves for     
doing so1 to the fields and mountains2  
and1 finding among these the colour1 and
 liberty1 and variety1 and power1 which 
are for ever grateful to them1 delight  
in these to an extent never before      
known2 rejoice in all the wildest       
shattering of the mountain side1 as an  
opposition to ,gower ,street1 gaze in a 
rapt manner at sunsets and sunrises1 to 
see there the blue1 and gold1 and       
purple1 which glow for them no longer on
 knight's armour or temple porch2 and   
gather with care out of the fields1 into
 their blotted herbaria1 the flowers    

which the five orders of architecture   
have banished from their doors and      
casements4  ,the absence of care for    
personal beauty1 which is another great 
characteristic of the age1 adds to this 
feeling in a twofold way3 first1 by     
turning all reverent thoughts away from 
human nature2 and making us think of men
 as ridiculous or ugly creatures1       
getting through the world as well as    
they can1 and spoiling it in doing so2  
not ruling it in a kingly way and       
crowning all its loveliness4 ,in the    
,middle ,ages hardly anything but vice  
could be caricatured1 because virtue was
 always visibly and personally noble3   
now virtue itself is apt to inhabit such
 poor human bodies1 that no aspect of it
 is invulnerable to jest2 and for all   
fairness we have to seek to the flowers1
 for all sublimity1 to the hills4  ,the 
same want of care operates1 in another  
way1 by lowering the standard of health1
 increasing the susceptibility to       
nervous or sentimental impressions1 and 

thus adding to the other powers of      
nature over us whatever charm may be    
felt in her fostering the melancholy    
fancies of brooding idleness4  ,it is   
not1 however1 only to existing inanimate
 nature that our want of beauty in      
person and dress has driven us4 ,the    
imagination of it1 as it was seen in our
 ancestors1 haunts us continually2 and  
while we yield to the present fashions1 
or act in accordance with the dullest   
modern principles of economy and        
utility1 we look fondly back to the     
manners of the ages of chivalry1 and    
delight in painting1 to the fancy1 the  
fashions we pretend to despise1 and the 
splendours we think it wise to abandon4 
,the furniture and personages of our    
romance are sought1 when the writer     
desires to please most easily1 in the   
centuries which we profess to have      
surpassed in everything2 the art which  
takes us into the present times is      
considered as both daring and degraded2 
and while the weakest words please us1  

and are regarded as poetry1 which recall
 the manners of our forefathers1 or of  
strangers1 it is only as familiar and   
vulgar that we accept the description of
 our own4  ,in this we are wholly       
different from all the races that       
preceded us4 ,all other nations have    
regarded their ancestors with reverence 
as saints or heroes2 but have           
nevertheless thought their own deeds and
 ways of life the fitting subjects for  
their arts of painting or of verse4 ,we1
 on the contrary1 regard our ancestors  
as foolish and wicked1 but yet find our 
chief artistic pleasures in descriptions
 of their ways of life4  ,the ,greeks   
and mediaevals honoured1 but did not    
imitate their forefathers2 we imitate1  
but do not honour4  ,with this romantic 
love of beauty1 forced to seek in       
history1 and in external nature1 the    
satisfaction it cannot find in ordinary 
life1 we mingle a more rational passion1
 the due and just result of newly       
awakened powers of attention4 ,whatever 

may first lead us to the scrutiny of    
natural objects1 that scrutiny never    
fails of its reward4 ,unquestionably    
they are intended to be regarded by us  
with both reverence and delight2 and    
every hour we give to them renders their
 beauty more apparent1 and their        
interest more engrossing4 ,natural      
science--which can hardly be considered 
to have existed before modern           
times--rendering our knowledge fruitful 
in accumulation1 and exquisite in       
accuracy1 has acted for good or evil1   
according to the temper of the mind     
which received it2 and though it has    
hardened the faithlessness of the dull  
and proud1 has shown new grounds for    
reverence to hearts which were          
thoughtful and humble4 ,the neglect of  
the art of war1 while it has somewhat   
weakened and deformed the body1#aag has 
given us leisure and opportunity for    
studies to which1 before1 time and space
 were equally wanting2 lives which once 
were early wasted on the battle-field   

are now passed usefully in the study2   
nations which exhausted themselves in   
annual warfare now dispute with each    
other the discovery of new planets2 and 
the serene philosopher dissects the     
plants1 and analyzes the dust1 of lands 
which were of old only traversed by the 
knight in hasty march1 or by the        
borderer in heedless rapine4  ,the      
elements of progress and decline being  
thus strangely mingled in the modern    
mind1 we might beforehand anticipate    
that one of the notable characters of   
our art would be its inconsistency2 that
 efforts would be made in every         
direction1 and arrested by every        
conceivable cause and manner of failure2
 that in all we did1 it would become    
next to impossible to distinguish       
accurately the grounds for praise or for
 regret2 that all previous canons of    
practice and methods of thought would be
 gradually overthrown1 and criticism    
continually defied by successes which no
 one had expected1 and sentiments which 

no one could define4  ,accordingly1     
while1 in our inquiries into ,greek and 
mediaeval art1 ,i was able to describe1 
in general terms1 what all men did or   
felt1 ,i find now many characters in    
many men2 some1 it seems to me1 founded 
on the inferior and evanescent          
principles of modernism1 on its         
recklessness1 impatience1 or            
faithlessness2 others founded on its    
science1 its new affection for nature1  
its love of openness and liberty4 ,and  
among all these characters1 good or     
evil1 ,i see that some1 remaining to us 
from old or transitional periods1 do not
 properly belong to us1 and will soon   
fade away1 and others1 though not yet   
distinctly developed1 are yet properly  
our own1 and likely to grow forward into
 greater strength4  ,for instance3 our  
reprobation of bright colour is1 ,i     
think1 for the most part1 mere          
affectation1 and must soon be done away 
with4 ,vulgarity1 dulness1 or impiety1  
will indeed always express themselves   

through art in brown and grey1 as in    
,rembrandt1 ,caravaggio1 and ,salvator2 
but we are not wholly vulgar1 dull1 or  
impious2 nor1 as moderns1 are we        
necessarily obliged to continue so in   
any wise4 ,our greatest men1 whether sad
 or gay1 still delight1 like the great  
men of all ages1 in brilliant hues4 ,the
 colouring of ,scott and ,byron is full 
and pure2 that of ,keats and ,tennyson  
rich even to excess4 ,our practical     
failures in colouring are merely the    
necessary consequences of our prolonged 
want of practice during the periods of  
,renaissance affectation and ignorance2 
and the only durable difference between 
old and modern colouring1 is the        
acceptance of certain hues1 by the      
modern1 which please him by expressing  
that melancholy peculiar to his more    
reflective or sentimental character1 and
 the greater variety of them necessary  
to express his greater science4  ,again3
 if we ever become wise enough to dress 
consistently and gracefully1 to make    

health a principal object in education1 
and to render our streets beautiful with
 art1 the external charm of past history
 will in great measure disappear4 ,there
 is no essential reason1 because we live
 after the fatal seventeenth century1   
that we should never again be able to   
confess interest in sculpture1 or see   
brightness in embroidery2 nor1 because  
now we choose to make the night deadly  
with our pleasures1 and the day with our
 labours1 prolonging the dance till     
dawn1 and the toil to twilight1 that we 
should never again learn how rightly to 
employ the sacred trusts of strength1   
beauty1 and time4 ,whatever external    
charm attaches itself to the past1 would
 then be seen in proper subordination to
 the brightness of present life2 and the
 elements of romance would exist1 in the
 earlier ages1 only in the attraction   
which must generally belong to whatever 
is unfamiliar2 in the reverence which a 
noble nation always pays to its         
ancestors2 and in the enchanted light   

which races1 like individuals1 must     
perceive in looking back to the days of 
their childhood4  ,again3 the peculiar  
levity with which natural scenery ,is   
regarded by a large number of modern    
minds cannot be considered as entirely  
characteristic of the age1 inasmuch as  
it never can belong to its greatest     
intellects4 ,men of any high mental     
power must be serious1 whether in       
ancient or modern days3 a certain degree
 of reverence for fair scenery is found 
in all our great writers without        
exception1--even the one who has made us
 laugh oftenest1 taking us to the valley
 of ,chamouni1 and to the sea beach1    
there to give peace after suffering1 and
 change revenge into pity4#aah ,it is   
only the dull1 the uneducated1 or the   
worldly1 whom it is painful to meet on  
the hillsides2 and levity1 as a ruling  
character1 cannot be ascribed to the    
whole nation1 but only to its           
holiday-making apprentices1 and its     
,house of ,commons4  ,we need not1      

therefore1 expect to find any single    
poet or painter representing the entire 
group of powers1 weaknesses1 and        
inconsistent instincts which govern or  
confuse our modern life4 ,but we may    
expect that in the man who seems to be  
given by ,providence as the type of the 
age 7as ,homer and ,dante were given1 as
 the types of classical and mediaeval   
mind71 we shall find whatever is        
fruitful and substantial to be          
completely present1 together with those 
of our weaknesses1 which are indeed     
nationally characteristic1 and          
compatible with general greatness of    
mind1 just as the weak love of fences1  
and dislike of mountains1 were found    
compatible with ,dante's greatness in   
other respects4  ,farther3 as the       
admiration of mankind is found1 in our  
times1 to have in great part passed from
 men to mountains1 and from human       
emotion to natural phenomena1 we may    
anticipate that the great strength of   
art will also be warped in this         

direction2 with this notable result for 
us1 that whereas the greatest painters  
or painter of classical and mediaeval   
periods1 being wholly devoted to the    
representation of humanity1 furnished us
 with but little to examine in          
landscape1 the greatest painters or     
painter of modern times will in all     
probability be devoted to landscape     
principally3 and farther1 because in    
representing human emotion words surpass
 painting1 but in representing natural  
scenery painting surpasses words1 we may
 anticipate also that the painter and   
poet 7for convenience' sake ,i here use 
the words in opposition7 will somewhat  
change their relations of rank in       
illustrating the mind of the age2 that  
the painter will become of more         
importance1 the poet of less2 and that  
the relations between the men who are   
the types and firstfruits of the age in 
word and work1--namely1 ,scott and      
,turner1--will be1 in many curious      
respects1 different from those between  

,homer and ,phidias1 or ,dante and      
,giotto4#aai     #aab ,clouds1 #caf-cah2
 #chj ff42 #cbj-cba4    #aac ,ephesians 
ii1 #ab4    #aad ,wordsworth's ,the     
world is too much with us4    #aae      
,pre-,raphaelitism1 of course1 excepted1
 which is a new phase   of art1 in no   
wise considered in this chapter4 ,blake 
was sincere1   but full of wild creeds1 
and somewhat diseased in brain4 ,ruskin4
    #aaf ,gower ,street1 a ,london      
street selected as typical of modern    
ugliness4    ,gaspar ,poussin #afac-ge1 
a ,french landscape painter1 of the     
pseudo-classical school4    #aag ,of    
course this is meant only of the modern 
citizen or   country-gentleman1 as      
compared with a citizen of ,sparta or   
old   ,florence4 ,i leave it to others  
to say whether the neglect of the   art 
of war may or may not1 in a yet more    
fatal sense1 be predicated   of the     
,english nation4 ,war1 without art1 we  
seem1 with ,god's help1   able still to 
wage nobly4 ,ruskin4    #aah ,see ,david

 ,copperfield1 chap4 #ee and #eh4       
,ruskin4    #aai ,ruskin proceeds to    
discuss ,scott as he has discussed      
,homer4   ,the chapter on ,turner that  
follows here is an almost equally good  
illustration of ,ruskin's ideas4        
,,the ,,two ,,boyhoods  ,,volume ,v1    
,,part #i1 ,,chapter #i   ,born half-way
 between the mountains and the sea--that
 young ,george of ,castelfranco--of the 
,brave ,castle3--,stout ,george they    
called him1 ,george of ,georges1 so     
goodly a boy he was--,giorgione4#abj    
,have you ever thought what a world his 
eyes opened on--fair1 searching eyes of 
youth8 ,what a world of mighty life1    
from those mountain roots to the        
shore2--of loveliest life1 when he went 
down1 yet so young1 to the marble       
city--and became himself as a fiery     
heart to it8  ,a city of marble1 did ,i 
say8 nay1 rather a golden city1 paved   
with emerald4 ,for truly1 every pinnacle
 and turret glanced or glowed1 overlaid 
with gold1 or bossed with jasper4       

,beneath1 the unsullied sea drew in deep
 breathing1 to and fro1 its eddies of   
green wave4 ,deep-hearted1 majestic1    
terrible as the sea1--the men of ,venice
 moved in sway of power and war2 pure as
 her pillars of alabaster1 stood her    
mothers and maidens2 from foot to brow1 
all noble1 walked her knights2 the low  
bronzed gleaming of sea-rusted armour   
shot angrily under their blood-red      
mantle-folds4 ,fearless1 faithful1      
patient1 impenetrable1                  
implacable1--every word a fate--sate her
 senate4 ,in hope and honour1 lulled by 
flowing of wave around their isles of   
sacred sand1 each with his name written 
and the cross graved at his side1 lay   
her dead4 ,a wonderful piece of world4  
,rather1 itself a world4 ,it lay along  
the face of the waters1 no larger1 as   
its captains saw it from their masts at 
evening1 than a bar of sunset that could
 not pass away2 but for its power1 it   
must have seemed to them as if they were
 sailing in the expanse of heaven1 and  

this a great planet1 whose orient edge  
widened through ether4 ,a world from    
which all ignoble care and petty        
thoughts were banished1 with all the    
common and poor elements of life4 ,no   
foulness1 nor tumult1 in those tremulous
 streets1 that filled1 or fell1 beneath 
the moon2 but rippled music of majestic 
change1 or thrilling silence4 ,no weak  
walls could rise above them2 no         
low-roofed cottage1 nor straw-built     
shed4 ,only the strength as of rock1 and
 the finished setting of stones most    
precious4 ,and around them1 far as the  
eye could reach1 still the soft moving  
of stainless waters1 proudly pure2 as   
not the flower1 so neither the thorn nor
 the thistle1 could grow in the glancing
 fields4 ,ethereal strength of ,alps1   
dreamlike1 vanishing in high procession 
beyond the ,torcellan shore2 blue       
islands of ,paduan hills1 poised in the 
golden west4 ,above1 free winds and     
fiery clouds ranging at their           
will2--brightness out of the north1 and 

balm from the south1 and the stars of   
the evening and morning clear in the    
limitless light of arched heaven and    
circling sea4  ,such was ,giorgione's   
school--such ,titian's home4  ,near the 
south-west corner of ,covent ,garden1 a 
square brick pit or well is formed by a 
close-set block of houses1 to the back  
windows of which it admits a few rays of
 light4 ,access to the bottom of it is  
obtained out of ,maiden ,lane1 through a
 low archway and an iron gate2 and if   
you stand long enough under the archway 
to accustom your eyes to the darkness   
you may see on the left hand a narrow   
door1 which formerly gave quiet access  
to a respectable barber's shop1 of which
 the front window1 looking into ,maiden 
,lane1 is still extant1 filled1 in this 
year 7#ahfj71 with a row of bottles1    
connected1 in some defunct manner1 with 
a brewer's business4 ,a more fashionable
 neighbourhood1 it is said1 eighty years
 ago than now--never certainly a        
cheerful one--wherein a boy being born  

on ,st4 ,george's day1 #agge1 began soon
 after to take interest in the world of 
,covent ,garden1 and put to service such
 spectacles of life as it afforded4  ,no
 knights to be seen there1 nor1 ,i      
imagine1 many beautiful ladies2 their   
costume at least disadvantageous1       
depending much on incumbency of hat and 
feather1 and short waists2 the majesty  
of men founded similarly on shoebuckles 
and wigs2--impressive enough when       
,reynolds will do his best for it2 but  
not suggestive of much ideal delight to 
a boy4  ,bello ovile dov' io dormii     
agnello2#aba of things beautiful1       
besides men and women1 dusty sunbeams up
 or down the street on summer mornings2 
deep furrowed cabbage-leaves at the     
greengrocer's2 magnificence of oranges  
in wheelbarrows round the corner2 and   
,thames' shore within three minutes'    
race4  ,none of these things very       
glorious2 the best1 however1 that       
,england1 it seems1 was then able to    
provide for a boy of gift3 who1 such as 

they are1 loves them--never1 indeed1    
forgets them4 ,the short waists modify  
to the last his visions of ,greek ideal4
 ,his foregrounds had always a succulent
 cluster or two of greengrocery at the  
corners4 ,enchanted oranges gleam in    
,covent ,gardens of the ,hesperides2 and
 great ships go to pieces in order to   
scatter chests of them on the waves4#abb
 ,that mist of early sunbeams in the    
,london dawn crosses1 many and many a   
time1 the clearness of ,italian air2 and
 by ,thames' shore1 with its stranded   
barges and glidings of red sail1 dearer 
to us than ,lucerne lake or ,venetian   
lagoon1--by ,thames' shore we will die4 
,with such circumstance round him in    
youth1 let us note what necessary       
effects followed upon the boy4 ,i assume
 him to have had ,giorgione's           
sensibility 7and more than ,giorgione's1
 if that be possible7 to colour and     
form4 ,i tell you farther1 and this fact
 you may receive trustfully1 that his   
sensibility to human affection and      

distress was no less keen than even his 
sense for natural beauty--heart-sight   
deep as eyesight4  ,consequently1 he    
attaches himself with the faithfullest  
child-love to everything that bears an  
image of the place he was born in4 ,no  
matter how ugly it is1--has it anything 
about it like ,maiden ,lane1 or like    
,thames' shore8 ,if so1 it shall be     
painted for their sake4 ,hence1 to the  
very close of life1 ,turner could endure
 ugliness which no one else1 of the same
 sensibility1 would have borne with for 
an instant4 ,dead brick walls1 blank    
square windows1 old clothes1            
market-womanly types of                 
humanity--anything fishy and muddy1 like
 ,billingsgate or ,hungerford ,market1  
had great attraction for him2 black     
barges1 patched sails1 and every        
possible condition of fog4  ,you will   
find these tolerations and affections   
guiding or sustaining him to the last   
hour of his life2 the notablest of all  
such endurances being that of dirt4 ,no 

,venetian ever draws anything foul2 but 
,turner devoted picture after picture to
 the illustration of effects of         
dinginess1 smoke1 soot1 dust1 and dusty 
texture2 old sides of boats1 weedy      
roadside vegetation1 dunghills1         
straw-yards1 and all the soilings and   
stains of every common labour4  ,and    
more than this1 he not only could       
endure1 but enjoyed and looked for      
litter1 like ,covent ,garden wreck after
 the market4 ,his pictures are often    
full of it1 from side to side2 their    
foregrounds differ from all others in   
the natural way that things have of     
lying about in them4 ,even his richest  
vegetation1 in ideal work1 is confused2 
and he delights in shingle1 debris1 and 
heaps of fallen stones4 ,the last words 
he ever spoke to me about a picture were
 in gentle exultation about his ,st4    
,gothard3 that litter of stones which ,i
 endeavoured to represent4  ,the second 
great result of this ,covent ,garden    
training was understanding of and regard

 for the poor1 whom the ,venetians1 we  
saw1 despised2 whom1 contrarily1 ,turner
 loved1 and more than loved--understood4
 ,he got no romantic sight of them1 but 
an infallible one1 as he prowled about  
the end of his lane1 watching night     
effects in the wintry streets2 nor sight
 of the poor alone1 but of the poor in  
direct relations with the rich4 ,he     
knew1 in good and evil1 what both       
classes thought of1 and how they dwelt  
with1 each other4  ,reynolds and        
,gainsborough1 bred in country villages1
 learned there the country boy's        
reverential theory of the squire1 and   
kept it4 ,they painted the squire and   
the squire's lady as centres of the     
movements of the universe1 to the end of
 their lives4 ,but ,turner perceived the
 younger squire in other aspects about  
his lane1 occurring prominently in its  
night scenery1 as a dark figure1 or one 
of two1 against the moonlight4 ,he saw  
also the working of city commerce1 from 
endless warehouse1 towering over        

,thames1 to the back shop in the lane1  
with its stale herrings--highly         
interesting these last2 one of his      
father's best friends1 whom he often    
afterwards visited affectionately at    
,bristol1 being a fishmonger and        
glue-boiler2 which gives us a friendly  
turn of mind towards herring-fishing1   
whaling1 ,calais poissardes1 and many   
other of our choicest subjects in after 
life2 all this being connected with that
 mysterious forest below ,london ,bridge
 on one side2--and1 on the other1 with  
these masses of human power and national
 wealth which weigh upon us1 at ,covent 
,garden here1 with strange compression1 
and crush us into narrow ,hand ,court4  
,that mysterious forest below ,london   
,bridge--better for the boy than wood of
 pine1 or grove of myrtle4 ,how he must 
have tormented the watermen1 beseeching 
them to let him crouch anywhere in the  
bows1 quiet as a log1 so only that he   
might get floated down there among the  
ships1 and round and round the ships1   

and with the ships1 and by the ships1   
and under the ships1 staring1 and       
clambering2--these the only quite       
beautiful things he can see in all the  
world1 except the sky2 but these1 when  
the sun is on their sails1 filling or   
falling1 endlessly disordered by sway of
 tide and stress of anchorage1 beautiful
 unspeakably2 which ships also are      
inhabited by glorious                   
creatures--red-faced sailors1 with      
pipes1 appearing over the gunwales1 true
 knights1 over their castle             
parapets--the most angelic beings in the
 whole compass of ,london world4 ,and   
,trafalgar happening long before we can 
draw ships1 we1 nevertheless1 coax all  
current stories out of the wounded      
sailors1 do our best at present to show 
,nelson's funeral streaming up the      
,thames2 and vow that ,trafalgar shall  
have its tribute of memory some day4    
,which1 accordingly1 is                 
accomplished--once1 with all our might1 
for its death2 twice1 with all our      

might1 for its victory2 thrice1 in      
pensive farewell to the old ,temeraire1 
and1 with it1 to that order of          
things4#abc  ,now this fond companying  
with sailors must have divided his time1
 it appears to me1 pretty equally       
between ,covent ,garden and ,wapping    
7allowing for incidental excursions to  
,chelsea on one side1 and ,greenwich on 
the other71 which time he would spend   
pleasantly1 but not magnificently1 being
 limited in pocket-money1 and leading a 
kind of ,poor-,jack life on the river4  
,in some respects1 no life could be     
better for a lad4 ,but it was not       
calculated to make his ear fine to the  
niceties of language1 nor form his      
moralities on an entirely regular       
standard4 ,picking up his first scraps  
of vigorous ,english chiefly at         
,deptford and in the markets1 and his   
first ideas of female tenderness and    
beauty among nymphs of the barge and the
 barrow1--another boy might1 perhaps1   
have become what people usually term    

vulgar4 ,but the original make and frame
 of ,turner's mind being not vulgar1 but
 as nearly as possible a combination of 
the minds of ,keats and ,dante1 joining 
capricious waywardness1 and intense     
openness to every fine pleasure of      
sense1 and hot defiance of formal       
precedent1 with a quite infinite        
tenderness1 generosity1 and desire of   
justice and truth--this kind of mind did
 not become vulgar1 but very tolerant of
 vulgarity1 even fond of it in some     
forms2 and on the outside1 visibly      
infected by it1 deeply enough2 the      
curious result1 in its combination of   
elements1 being to most people wholly   
incomprehensible4 ,it was as if a cable 
had been woven of blood-crimson silk1   
and then tarred on the outside4 ,people 
handled it1 and the tar came off on     
their hands2 red gleams were seen       
through the black1 underneath1 at the   
places where it had been strained4 ,was 
it ochre8--said the world--or red lead8 
,schooled thus in manners1 literature1  

and general moral principles at ,chelsea
 and ,wapping1 we have finally to       
inquire concerning the most important   
point of all4 ,we have seen the         
principal differences between this boy  
and ,giorgione1 as respects sight of the
 beautiful1 understanding of poverty1 of
 commerce1 and of order of battle2 then 
follows another cause of difference in  
our training--not slight1--the aspect of
 religion1 namely1 in the neighbourhood 
of ,covent ,garden4 ,i say the aspect2  
for that was all the lad could judge by4
 ,disposed1 for the most part1 to learn 
chiefly by his eyes1 in this special    
matter he finds there is really no other
 way of learning4 ,his father had taught
 him to lay one penny upon another4 ,of 
mother's teaching1 we hear of none2 of  
parish pastoral teaching1 the reader may
 guess how much4  ,i chose ,giorgione   
rather than ,veronese to help me in     
carrying out this parallel2 because ,i  
do not find in ,giorgione's work any of 
the early ,venetian monarchist element4 

,he seems to me to have belonged more to
 an abstract contemplative school4 ,i   
may be wrong in this2 it is no          
matter2--suppose it were so1 and that he
 came down to ,venice somewhat recusant1
 or insentient1 concerning the usual    
priestly doctrines of his day1--how     
would the ,venetian religion1 from an   
outer intellectual standing-point1 have 
looked to him8  ,he would have seen it  
to be a religion indisputably powerful  
in human affairs2 often very harmfully  
so2 sometimes devouring widows'         
houses1#abd and consuming the strongest 
and fairest from among the young2       
freezing into merciless bigotry the     
policy of the old3 also1 on the other   
hand1 animating national courage1 and   
raising souls1 otherwise sordid1 into   
heroism3 on the whole1 always a real and
 great power2 served with daily         
sacrifice of gold1 time1 and thought2   
putting forth its claims1 if            
hypocritically1 at least in bold        
hypocrisy1 not waiving any atom of them 

in doubt or fear2 and1 assuredly1 in    
large measure1 sincere1 believing in    
itself1 and believed3 a goodly system1  
moreover1 in aspect2 gorgeous1          
harmonious1 mysterious2--a thing which  
had either to be obeyed or combated1 but
 could not be scorned4 ,a religion      
towering over all the                   
city--many-buttressed--luminous in      
marble stateliness1 as the dome of our  
,lady of ,safety#abe shines over the    
sea2 many-voiced also1 giving1 over all 
the eastern seas1 to the sentinel his   
watchword1 to the soldier his war-cry2  
and1 on the lips of all who died for    
,venice1 shaping the whisper of death4  
,i suppose the boy ,turner to have      
regarded the religion of his city also  
from an external intellectual           
standing-point4  ,what did he see in    
,maiden ,lane8  ,let not the reader be  
offended with me2 ,i am willing to let  
him describe1 at his own pleasure1 what 
,turner saw there2 but to me1 it seems  
to have been this4 ,a religion          

maintained occasionally1 even the whole 
length of the lane1 at point of         
constable's staff2 but1 at other times1 
placed under the custody of the beadle1 
within certain black and unstately iron 
railings of ,st4 ,paul's1 ,covent       
,garden4 ,among the wheelbarrows and    
over the vegetables1 no perceptible     
dominance of religion2 in the narrow1   
disquieted streets1 none2 in the        
tongues1 deeds1 daily ways of ,maiden   
,lane1 little4 ,some honesty1 indeed1   
and ,english industry1 and kindness of  
heart1 and general idea of justice2 but 
faith1 of any national kind1 shut up    
from one ,sunday to the next1 not       
artistically beautiful even in those    
,sabbatical exhibitions2 its            
paraphernalia being chiefly of high     
pews1 heavy elocution1 and cold grimness
 of behaviour4  ,what chiaroscuro       
belongs to it--7dependent mostly on     
candlelight71--we will1 however1 draw   
considerately2 no goodliness of         
escutcheon1 nor other respectability    

being omitted1 and the best of their    
results confessed1 a meek old woman and 
a child being let into a pew1 for whom  
the reading by candlelight will be      
beneficial4#abf  ,for the rest1 this    
religion seems to him                   
discreditable--discredited--not         
believing in itself2 putting forth its  
authority in a cowardly way1 watching   
how far it might be tolerated1          
continually shrinking1 disclaiming1     
fencing1 finessing2 divided against     
itself1 not by stormy rents1 but by thin
 fissures1 and splittings of plaster    
from the walls4 ,not to be either       
obeyed1 or combated1 by an ignorant1 yet
 clear-sighted youth3 only to be        
scorned4 ,and scorned not one whit the  
less1 though also the dome dedicated to 
it looms high over distant winding of   
the ,thames2 as ,st4 ,mark's campanile  
rose1 for goodly landmark1 over mirage  
of lagoon4 ,for ,st4 ,mark ruled over   
life2 the ,saint of ,london over death2 
,st4 ,mark over ,st4 ,mark's ,place1 but

 ,st4 ,paul over ,st4 ,paul's           
,churchyard4  ,under these influences   
pass away the first reflective hours of 
life1 with such conclusion as they can  
reach4 ,in consequence of a fit of      
illness1 he was taken--,i cannot        
ascertain in what year#abg--to live with
 an aunt1 at ,brentford2 and here1 ,i   
believe1 received some schooling1 which 
he seems to have snatched vigorously2   
getting knowledge1 at least by          
translation1 of the more picturesque    
classical authors1 which he turned      
presently to use1 as we shall see4      
,hence also1 walks about ,putney and    
,twickenham in the summer time          
acquainted him with the look of ,english
 meadow-ground in its restricted states 
of paddock and park2 and with some      
round-headed appearances of trees1 and  
stately entrances to houses of mark3 the
 avenue at ,bushy1 and the iron gates   
and carved pillars of ,hampton1#abh     
impressing him apparently with great awe
 and admiration2 so that in after life  

his little country house is1--of all    
places in the world1--at ,twickenham6   
,of swans and reedy shores he now learns
 the soft motion and the green mystery1 
in a way not to be forgotten4  ,and at  
last fortune wills that the lad's true  
life shall begin2 and one summer's      
evening1 after various wonderful        
stage-coach experiences on the north    
road1 which gave him a love of          
stage-coaches ever after1 he finds      
himself sitting alone among the         
,yorkshire hills4#abi ,for the first    
time1 the silence of ,nature round him1 
her freedom sealed to him1 her glory    
opened to him4 ,peace at last2 no roll  
of cart-wheel1 nor mutter of sullen     
voices in the back shop2 but curlew-cry 
in space of heaven1 and welling of      
bell-toned streamlet by its shadowy     
rock4 ,freedom at last4 ,dead-wall1 dark
 railing1 fenced field1 gated garden1   
all passed away like the dream1 of a    
prisoner2 and behold1 far as foot or eye
 can race or range1 the moor1 and cloud4

 ,loveliness at last4 ,it is here1 then1
 among these deserted vales6 ,not among 
men4 ,those pale1 poverty-struck1 or    
cruel faces2--that multitudinous1 marred
 humanity--are not the only things that 
,god has made4 ,here is something ,he   
has made which no one has marred4 ,pride
 of purple rocks1 and river pools of    
blue1 and tender wilderness of          
glittering trees1 and misty lights of   
evening on immeasurable hills4  ,beauty1
 and freedom1 and peace2 and yet another
 teacher1 graver than these4 ,sound     
preaching at last here1 in ,kirkstall   
crypt1 concerning fate and life4 ,here1 
where the dark pool reflects the chancel
 pillars1 and the cattle lie in         
unhindered rest1 the soft sunshine on   
their dappled bodies1 instead of        
priests' vestments2 their white furry   
hair ruffled a little1 fitfully1 by the 
evening wind deep-scented from the      
meadow thyme4  ,consider deeply the     
import to him of this1 his first sight  
of ruin1 and compare it with the effect 

of the architecture that was around     
,giorgione4 ,there were indeed aged     
buildings1 at ,venice1 in his time1 but 
none in decay4 ,all ruin was removed1   
and its place filled as quickly as in   
our ,london2 but filled always by       
architecture loftier and more wonderful 
than that whose place it took1 the boy  
himself happy to work upon the walls of 
it2 so that the idea of the passing away
 of the strength of men and beauty of   
their works never could occur to him    
sternly4 ,brighter and brighter the     
cities of ,italy had been rising and    
broadening on hill and plain1 for three 
hundred years4 ,he saw only strength and
 immortality1 could not but paint both2 
conceived the form of man as deathless1 
calm with power1 and fiery with life4   
,turner saw the exact reverse of this4  
,in the present work of men1 meanness1  
aimlessness1 unsightliness3 thin-walled1
 lath-divided1 narrow-garreted houses of
 clay2 booths of a darksome ,vanity     
,fair1 busily base4  ,but on ,whitby    

,hill1 and by ,bolton ,brook1#acj       
remained traces of other handiwork4 ,men
 who could build had been there2 and who
 also had wrought1 not merely for their 
own days4 ,but to what purpose8 ,strong 
faith1 and steady hands1 and patient    
souls--can this1 then1 be all you have  
left6 this the sum of your doing on the 
earth6--a nest whence the night-owl may 
whimper to the brook1 and a ribbed      
skeleton of consumed arches1 looming    
above the bleak banks of mist1 from its 
cliff to the sea8  ,as the strength of  
men to ,giorgione1 to ,turner their     
weakness and vileness1 were alone       
visible4 ,they themselves1 unworthy or  
ephemeral2 their work1 despicable1 or   
decayed4 ,in the ,venetian's eyes1 all  
beauty depended on man's presence and   
pride2 in ,turner's1 on the solitude he 
had left1 and the humiliation he had    
suffered4  ,and thus the fate and issue 
of all his work were determined at once4
 ,he must be a painter of the strength  
of nature1 there was no beauty elsewhere

 than in that2 he must paint also the   
labour and sorrow and passing away of   
men3 this was the great human truth     
visible to him4  ,their labour1 their   
sorrow1 and their death4 ,mark the      
three4 ,labour2 by sea and land1 in     
field and city1 at forge and furnace1   
helm and plough4 ,no pastoral indolence 
nor classic pride shall stand between   
him and the troubling of the world2     
still less between him and the toil of  
his country1--blind1 tormented1         
unwearied1 marvellous ,england4  ,also  
their ,sorrow2 ,ruin of all their       
glorious work1 passing away of their    
thoughts and their honour1 mirage of    
pleasure1 ,,fallacy ,,of ,,hope2        
gathering of weed on temple step2       
gaining of wave on deserted strand2     
weeping of the mother for the children1 
desolate by her breathless first-born in
 the streets of the city1#aca desolate  
by her last sons slain1 among the beasts
 of the field4#acb  ,and their ,death4  
,that old ,greek question again2--yet   

unanswered4 ,the unconquerable spectre  
still flitting among the forest trees at
 twilight2 rising ribbed out of the     
sea-sand2--white1 a strange             
,aphrodite1--out of the sea-foam2       
stretching its grey1 cloven wings among 
the clouds2 turning the light of their  
sunsets into blood4 ,this has to be     
looked upon1 and in a more terrible     
shape than ever ,salvator or ,duerer saw
 it4#acc ,the wreck of one guilty       
country does not infer the ruin of all  
countries1 and need not cause general   
terror respecting the laws of the       
universe4 ,neither did the orderly and  
narrow succession of domestic joy and   
sorrow in a small ,german community     
bring the question in its breadth1 or in
 any unresolvable shape1 before the mind
 of ,duerer4 ,but the ,english          
death--the ,european death of the       
nineteenth century--was of another range
 and power2 more terrible a thousandfold
 in its merely physical grasp and grief2
 more terrible1 incalculably1 in its    

mystery and shame4 ,what were the       
robber's casual pang1 or the range of   
the flying skirmish1 compared to the    
work of the axe1 and the sword1 and the 
famine1 which was done during this man's
 youth on all the hills and plains of   
the ,christian earth1 from ,moscow to   
,gibraltar8 ,he was eighteen years old  
when ,napoleon came down on ,arcola4    
,look on the map of ,europe and count   
the blood-stains on it1 between ,arcola 
and ,waterloo4#acd  ,not alone those    
blood-stains on the ,alpine snow1 and   
the blue of the ,lombard plain4 ,the    
,english death was before his eyes also4
 ,no decent1 calculable1 consoled dying2
 no passing to rest like that of the    
aged burghers of ,nuremberg town4 ,no   
gentle processions to churchyards among 
the fields1 the bronze crests bossed    
deep on the memorial tablets1 and the   
skylark singing above them from among   
the corn4 ,but the life trampled out in 
the slime of the street1 crushed to dust
 amidst the roaring of the wheel1 tossed

 countlessly away into howling winter   
wind along five hundred leagues of      
rock-fanged shore4 ,or1 worst of all1   
rotted down to forgotten graves through 
years of ignorant patience1 and vain    
seeking for help from man1 for hope in  
,god--infirm1 imperfect yearning1 as of 
motherless infants starving at the dawn2
 oppressed royalties of captive thought1
 vague ague-fits of bleak1 amazed       
despair4  ,a goodly landscape this1 for 
the lad to paint1 and under a goodly    
light4 ,wide enough the light was1 and  
clear2 no more ,salvator's lurid chasm  
on jagged horizon1 nor ,duerer's spotted
 rest of sunny gleam on hedgerow and    
field2 but light over all the world4    
,full shone now its awful globe1 one    
pallid charnel-house1--a ball strewn    
bright with human ashes1 glaring in     
poised sway beneath the sun1 all        
blinding-white with death from pole to  
pole1--death1 not of myriads of poor    
bodies only1 but of will1 and mercy1 and
 conscience2 death1 not once inflicted  

on the flesh1 but daily1 fastening on   
the spirit2 death1 not silent or        
patient1 waiting his appointed hour1 but
 voiceful1 venomous2 death with the     
taunting word1 and burning grasp1 and   
infixed sting4  ,put ye in the sickle1  
for the harvest is ripe4#ace ,the word  
is spoken in our ears continually to    
other reapers than the angels1--to the  
busy skeletons that never tire for      
stooping4 ,when the measure of iniquity 
is full1 and it seems that another day  
might bring repentance and              
redemption1--,put ye in the sickle4     
,when the young life has been wasted all
 away1 and the eyes are just opening    
upon the tracks of ruin1 and faint      
resolution rising in the heart for      
nobler things1--,put ye in the sickle4  
,when the roughest blows of fortune have
 been borne long and bravely1 and the   
hand is just stretched to grasp its     
goal1--,put ye in the sickle4 ,and when 
there are but a few in the midst of a   
nation1 to save it1 or to teach1 or to  

cherish2 and all its life is bound up in
 those few golden ears1--,put ye in the 
sickle1 pale reapers1 and pour hemlock  
for your feast of harvest home4  ,this  
was the sight which opened on the young 
eyes1 this the watchword sounding within
 the heart of ,turner in his youth4  ,so
 taught1 and prepared for his life's    
labour1 sate the boy at last alone among
 his fair ,english hills2 and began to  
paint1 with cautious toil1 the rocks1   
and fields1 and trickling brooks1 and   
soft white clouds of heaven4     #abj c4
 #adgh-aeaa4    #aba ,dante1 alluding to
 ,florence1 ,paradiso1 #be4 #e4 ,from   
the   fair sheepfold1 where a lamb ,i   
slumbered4 ,longfellow's tr4    #abb    
,allusions to pictures by ,turner1 ,the 
,garden of the   ,hesperides1 and ,the  
,meuse3 ,orange-,merchantman going to   
pieces on   the ,bar4    #abc ,the      
pictures referred to are3 ,the ,death of
 ,nelson1 ,the ,battle   of ,trafalgar1 
and ,the ,fighting ,temeraire being     
towed to its ,last   ,berth 7see cut74  

,the first and third are in the         
,national ,gallery1   ,london4    #abd  
,matthew xxiii1 #ad4    #abe ,santa     
,maria della ,salute1 a church          
conspicuously situated at   the junction
 of the ,grand ,canal and the ,giudecca4
    #abf ,liber ,studiorum4 ,interior of
 a church4 ,it is worthy of   remark    
that ,giorgione and ,titian are always  
delighted to have an   opportunity of   
drawing priests4 ,the ,english ,church  
may1 perhaps1   accept it as matter of  
congratulation that this is the only    
instance in which ,turner drew a        
clergyman4 ,ruskin4    #abg #aghe4      
#abh ,wolsey's famous palace1 twelve    
miles from ,london4    #abi ,i do not   
mean that this is his first acquaintance
 with the   country1 but the first      
impressive and touching one1 after his  
mind   was formed4 ,the earliest        
sketches ,i found in the ,national      
,collection are at ,clifton and         
,bristol2 the next1 at ,oxford4         
,ruskin4    #acj ,the reference is to   

the two famous ruined abbeys of         
,yorkshire--,whitby and ,bolton4    #aca
 ,the ,tenth ,plague of ,egypt4 ,ruskin4
    #acb ,rizpah1 the ,daughter of      
,aiah4 ,ruskin4    #acc ,duerer         
#adga-aebh1 ,german painter1 engraver1  
and designer4   ,salvator #afae-gc1     
,italian painter1 etcher1 satirical     
poet1 and   musical composer4    #acd   
,i4e41 between ,november #ag1 #agif1 and
 ,june #ah1 #ahae4    #ace ,joel iii1   
#ac4     ,,selections ,,from  ,,the     
,,stones ,,of ,,venice   ,the first     
volume of ,the ,stones of ,venice       
appeared in ,march1 #ahea2 the first day
 of ,may of the same year we find the   
following entry in ,ruskin's diary3     
,about to enter on the true beginning of
 the second part of my ,venetian work4  
,may ,god help me to finish it--to ,his 
glory1 and man's good4 ,the main part of
 the volume was composed at ,venice in  
the winter of #ahea-eb1 though it did   
not appear until the end of ,july1      
#ahec4 ,his work on architecture1       

including ,the ,seven ,lamps1 it will be
 noted1 intervenes between the          
composition of the second and third     
volumes of ,modern ,painters2 and       
,ruskin himself always looked upon the  
work as an interlude1 almost as an      
interruption4 ,but he also came to      
believe that this digression had really 
led back to the heart of the truth for  
all art4 ,its main theme1 as in ,the    
,seven ,lamps of ,architecture1 is its  
illustration of the principle that      
architecture expresses certain states in
 the moral temper of the people by and  
for whom it is produced4 ,it may        
surprise us to-day to know that when    
,ruskin wrote of the glories of         
,venetian architecture1 the common      
professional opinion was that ,st4      
,mark's and the ,ducal ,palace were as  
ugly and repulsive as they were contrary
 to rule and order4 ,in a private letter
 ,gibbon writes of the ,square of ,st4  
,mark's as a large square decorated with
 the worst architecture ,i ever saw4    

,the architects of his own time regarded
 ,ruskin's opinions as dictated by wild 
caprice1 and almost evincing an         
unbalanced mind4 ,probably the core of  
all this architectural work is to be    
found in his chapter ,on the ,nature of 
,gothic1 in the main reproduced in this 
volume4 ,and we find here again a point 
of fundamental significance--that his   
artistic analysis led him inevitably on 
to social inquiries4 ,he proved to      
himself that the main virtue of ,gothic 
lay in the unrestricted play of the     
individual imagination2 that the best   
results were produced when every artist 
was a workman and every workman an      
artist4 ,twenty years after the         
publication of this book1 he wrote in a 
private letter that his main purpose was
 to show the dependence of              
7architectural7 beauty on the happiness 
and fancy of the workman1 and to show   
also that no architect could claim the  
title to authority of ,magister unless  
he himself wrought at the head of his   

men1 captain of manual skill1 as the    
best knight is captain of armies4 ,he   
himself called the chapter precisely and
 accurately the most important in the   
whole book4 ,mr4 ,frederic ,harrison    
says that in it is the creed1 if it be  
not the origin1 of a new industrial     
school of thought4     ,,the ,,throne   
,,volume ,,ii1 ,,chapter ,i   ,in the   
olden days of travelling1 now to return 
no more1 in which distance could not be 
vanquished without toil1 but in which   
that toil was rewarded1 partly by the   
power of deliberate survey of the       
countries through which the journey lay1
 and partly by the happiness of the     
evening hours1 when from the top of the 
last hill he had surmounted1 the        
traveller beheld the quiet village where
 he was to rest1 scattered among the    
meadows beside its valley stream2 or1   
from the long hoped for turn in the     
dusty perspective of the causeway1 saw1 
for the first time1 the towers of some  
famed city1 faint in the rays of        

sunset--hours of peaceful and thoughtful
 pleasure1 for which the rush of the    
arrival in the railway station is       
perhaps not always1 or to all men1 an   
equivalent1--in those days1 ,i say1 when
 there was something more to be         
anticipated and remembered in the first 
aspect of each successive halting-place1
 than a new arrangement of glass roofing
 and iron girder1 there were few moments
 of which the recollection was more     
fondly cherished by the traveller1 than 
that which1 as ,i endeavoured to        
describe in the close of the last       
chapter1 brought him within sight of    
,venice1 as his gondola shot into the   
open lagoon from the canal of ,mestre4  
,not but that the aspect of the city    
itself was generally the source of some 
slight disappointment1 for1 seen in this
 direction1 its buildings are far less  
characteristic than those of the other  
great towns of ,italy2 but this         
inferiority was partly disguised by     
distance1 and more than atoned for by   

the strange rising of its walls and     
towers out of the midst1 as it seemed1  
of the deep sea1 for it was impossible  
that the mind or the eye could at once  
comprehend the shallowness of the vast  
sheet of water which stretched away in  
leagues of rippling lustre to the north 
and south1 or trace the narrow line of  
islets bounding it to the east4 ,the    
salt breeze1 the white moaning          
sea-birds1 the masses of black weed     
separating and disappearing gradually1  
in knots of heaving shoal1 under the    
advance of the steady tide1 all         
proclaimed it to be indeed the ocean on 
whose bosom the great city rested so    
calmly2 not such blue1 soft1 lake-like  
ocean as bathes the ,neapolitan         
promontories1 or sleeps beneath the     
marble rocks of ,genoa1 but a sea with  
the bleak power of our own northern     
waves1 yet subdued into a strange       
spacious rest1 and changed from its     
angry pallor into a field of burnished  
gold1 as the sun declined behind the    

belfry tower of the lonely island       
church1 fitly named ,st4 ,george of the 
,seaweed4 ,as the boat drew nearer to   
the city1 the coast which the traveller 
had just left sank behind him into one  
long1 low1 sad-coloured line1 tufted    
irregularly with brushwood and willows3 
but1 at what seemed its northern        
extremity1 the hills of ,arqua rose in a
 dark cluster of purple pyramids1       
balanced on the bright mirage of the    
lagoon2 two or three smooth surges of   
inferior hill extended themselves about 
their roots1 and beyond these1 beginning
 with the craggy peaks above ,vicenza1  
the chain of the ,alps girded the whole 
horizon to the north--a wall of jagged  
blue1 here and there showing through its
 clefts a wilderness of misty           
precipices1 fading far back into the    
recesses of ,cadore1 and itself rising  
and breaking away eastward1 where the   
sun struck opposite upon its snow1 into 
mighty fragments of peaked light1       
standing up behind the barred clouds of 

evening1 one after another1 countless1  
the crown of the ,adrian ,sea1 until the
 eye turned back from pursuing them1 to 
rest upon the nearer burning of the     
campaniles of ,murano1 and on the great 
city1 where it magnified itself along   
the waves1 as the quick silent pacing of
 the gondola drew nearer and nearer4    
,and at last1 when its walls were       
reached1 and the outmost of its         
untrodden streets was entered1 not      
through towered gate or guarded rampart1
 but as a deep inlet between two rocks  
of coral in the ,indian sea2 when first 
upon the traveller's sight opened the   
long ranges of columned palaces1--each  
with its black boat moored at the       
portal1--each with its image cast down1 
beneath its feet1 upon that green       
pavement which every breeze broke into  
new fantasies of rich tessellation2 when
 first1 at the extremity of the bright  
vista1 the shadowy ,rialto threw its    
colossal curve slowly forth from behind 
the palace of the ,camerlenghi2#acf that

 strange curve1 so delicate1 so         
adamantine1 strong as a mountain cavern1
 graceful as a bow just bent2 when      
first1 before its moonlike circumference
 was all risen1 the gondolier's cry1    
,ah6 ,stali1#acg struck sharp upon the  
ear1 and the prow turned aside under the
 mighty cornices that half met over the 
narrow canal1 where the splash of the   
water followed close and loud1 ringing  
along the marble by the boat's side2 and
 when at last that boat darted forth    
upon the breadth of silver sea1 across  
which the front of the ,ducal ,palace1  
flushed with its sanguine veins1 looks  
to the snowy dome of ,our ,lady of      
,salvation1#ach it was no marvel that   
the mind should be so deeply entranced  
by the visionary charm of a scene so    
beautiful and so strange1 as to forget  
the darker truths of its history and its
 being4 ,well might it seem that such a 
city had owed her existence rather to   
the rod of the enchanter1 than the fear 
of the fugitive2 that the waters which  

encircled her had been chosen for the   
mirror of her state1 rather than the    
shelter of her nakedness2 and that all  
which in nature was wild or             
merciless1--,time and ,decay1 as well as
 the waves and tempests1--had been won  
to adorn her instead of to destroy1 and 
might still spare1 for ages to come1    
that beauty which seemed to have fixed  
for its throne the sands of the         
hour-glass as well as of the sea4  ,and 
although the last few eventful years1   
fraught with change to the face of the  
whole earth1 have been more fatal in    
their influence on ,venice than the five
 hundred that preceded them2 though the 
noble landscape of approach to her can  
now be seen no more1 or seen only by a  
glance1 as the engine slackens its      
rushing on the iron line2 and though    
many of her palaces are for ever        
defaced1 and many in desecrated ruins1  
there is still so much of magic in her  
aspect1 that the hurried traveller1 who 
must leave her before the wonder of that

 first aspect has been worn away1 may   
still be led to forget the humility of  
her origin1 and to shut his eyes to the 
depth of her desolation4 ,they1 at      
least1 are little to be envied1 in whose
 hearts the great charities of the      
imagination lie dead1 and for whom the  
fancy has no power to repress the       
importunity of painful impressions1 or  
to raise what is ignoble1 and disguise  
what is discordant1 in a scene so rich  
in its remembrances1 so surpassing in   
its beauty4 ,but for this work of the   
imagination there must be no permission 
during the task which is before us4 ,the
 impotent feelings of romance1 so       
singularly characteristic of this       
century1 may indeed gild1 but never     
save1 the remains of those mightier ages
 to which they are attached like        
climbing flowers2 and they must be torn 
away from the magnificent fragments1 if 
we would see them as they stood in their
 own strength4 ,those feelings1 always  
as fruitless as they are fond1 are in   

,venice not only incapable of           
protecting1 but even of discerning1 the 
objects to which they ought to have been
 attached4 ,the ,venice of modern       
fiction and drama is a thing of         
yesterday1 a mere efflorescence of      
decay1 a stage dream which the first ray
 of daylight must dissipate into dust4  
,no prisoner1 whose name is worth       
remembering1 or whose sorrow deserved   
sympathy1 ever crossed that ,bridge of  
,sighs1 which is the centre of the      
,byronic ideal of ,venice2#aci no great 
merchant of ,venice ever saw that       
,rialto under which the traveller now   
passes with breathless interest3 the    
statue which ,byron makes ,faliero      
address as of one of his great ancestors
 was erected to a soldier of fortune a  
hundred and fifty years after ,faliero's
 death2#adj and the most conspicuous    
parts of the city have been so entirely 
altered in the course of the last three 
centuries1 that if ,henry ,dandolo or   
,francis ,foscari#ada could be summoned 

from their tombs1 and stood each on the 
deck of his galley at the entrance of   
the ,grand ,canal1 that renowned        
entrance1 the painter's favourite       
subject1 the novelist's favourite scene1
 where the water first narrows by the   
steps of the ,church of ,la             
,salute1--the mighty ,doges would not   
know in what part of the world they     
stood1 would literally not recognize one
 stone of the great city1 for whose     
sake1 and by whose ingratitude1 their   
grey hairs had been brought down with   
bitterness to the grave4 ,the remains of
 their ,venice lie hidden behind the    
cumbrous masses which were the delight  
of the nation in its dotage2 hidden in  
many a grass-grown court1 and silent    
pathway1 and lightless canal1 where the 
slow waves have sapped their foundations
 for five hundred years1 and must soon  
prevail over them for ever4 ,it must be 
our task to glean and gather them forth1
 and restore out of them some faint     
image of the lost city2 more gorgeous a 

thousandfold than that which now exists1
 yet not created in the day-dream of the
 prince1 nor by the ostentation of the  
noble1 but built by iron hands and      
patient hearts1 contending against the  
adversity of nature and the fury of man1
 so that its wonderfulness cannot be    
grasped by the indolence of imagination1
 but only after frank inquiry into the  
true nature of that wild and solitary   
scene1 whose restless tides and         
trembling sands did indeed shelter the  
birth of the city1 but long denied her  
dominion4  ,when the eye falls casually 
on a map of ,europe1 there is no feature
 by which it is more likely to be       
arrested than the strange sweeping loop 
formed by the junction of the ,alps and 
,apennines1 and enclosing the great     
basin of ,lombardy4 ,this return of the 
mountain chain upon itself causes a vast
 difference in the character of the     
distribution of its debris on its       
opposite sides4 ,the rock fragments and 
sediment which the torrents on the other

 side of the ,alps bear into the plains 
are distributed over a vast extent of   
country1 and1 though here and there     
lodged in beds of enormous thickness1   
soon permit the firm substrata to appear
 from underneath them2 but all the      
torrents which descend from the southern
 side of the ,high ,alps1 and from the  
northern slope of the ,apennines1 meet  
concentrically in the recess or mountain
 bay which the two ridges enclose2 every
 fragment which thunder breaks out of   
their battlements1 and every grain of   
dust which the summer rain washes from  
their pastures1 is at last laid at rest 
in the blue sweep of the ,lombardic     
plain2 and that plain must have risen   
within its rocky barriers as a cup fills
 with wine1 but for two contrary        
influences which continually depress1 or
 disperse from its surface1 the         
accumulation of the ruins of ages4  ,i  
will not tax the reader's faith in      
modern science by insisting on the      
singular depression of the surface of   

,lombardy1 which appears for many       
centuries to have taken place steadily  
and continually2 the main fact with     
which we have to do is the gradual      
transport1 by the ,po and its great     
collateral rivers1 of vast masses of the
 finer sediment to the sea4 ,the        
character of the ,lombardic plains is   
most strikingly expressed by the ancient
 walls of its cities1 composed for the  
most part of large rounded ,alpine      
pebbles alternating with narrow courses 
of brick2 and was curiously illustrated 
in #ahdh1 by the ramparts of these same 
pebbles thrown up four or five feet high
 round every field1 to check the        
,austrian cavalry in the battle under   
the walls of ,verona4#adb ,the finer    
dust among which these pebbles are      
dispersed is taken up by the rivers1 fed
 into continual strength by the ,alpine 
snow1 so that1 however pure their waters
 may be when they issue from the lakes  
at the foot of the great chain1 they    
become of the colour and opacity of clay

 before they reach the ,adriatic2 the   
sediment which they bear is at once     
thrown down as they enter the sea1      
forming a vast belt of low land along   
the eastern coast of ,italy4 ,the       
powerful stream of the ,po of course    
builds forward the fastest2 on each side
 of it1 north and south1 there is a     
tract of marsh1 fed by more feeble      
streams1 and less liable to rapid change
 than the delta of the central river4   
,in one of these tracts is built        
,,ravenna1 and in the other ,,venice4   
,what circumstances directed the        
peculiar arrangement of this great belt 
of sediment in the earliest times1 it is
 not here the place to inquire4 ,it is  
enough for us to know that from the     
mouths of the ,adige to those of the    
,piave there stretches1 at a variable   
distance of from three to five miles    
from the actual shore1 a bank of sand1  
divided into long islands by narrow     
channels of sea4 ,the space between this
 bank and the true shore consists of the

 sedimentary deposits from these and    
other rivers1 a great plain of          
calcareous mud1 covered1 in the         
neighbourhood of ,venice1 by the sea at 
high water1 to the depth in most places 
of a foot or a foot and a half1 and     
nearly everywhere exposed at low tide1  
but divided by an intricate network of  
narrow and winding channels1 from which 
the sea never retires4 ,in some places1 
according to the run of the currents1   
the land has risen into marshy islets1  
consolidated1 some by art1 and some by  
time1 into ground firm enough to be     
built upon1 or fruitful enough to be    
cultivated3 in others1 on the contrary1 
it has not reached the sea level2 so    
that1 at the average low water1 shallow 
lakelets glitter among its irregularly  
exposed fields of seaweed4 ,in the midst
 of the largest of these1 increased in  
importance by the confluence of several 
large river channels towards one of the 
openings in the sea bank1 the city of   
,venice itself is built1 on a crowded   

cluster of islands2 the various plots of
 higher ground which appear to the north
 and south of this central cluster1 have
 at different periods been also thickly 
inhabited1 and now bear1 according to   
their size1 the remains of cities1      
villages1 or isolated convents and      
churches1 scattered among spaces of open
 ground1 partly waste and encumbered by 
ruins1 partly under cultivation for the 
supply of the metropolis4  ,the average 
rise and fall of the tide is about three
 feet 7varying considerably with the    
seasons72 but this fall1 on so flat a   
shore1 is enough to cause continual     
movement in the waters1 and in the main 
canals to produce a reflux which        
frequently runs like a mill stream4 ,at 
high water no land is visible for many  
miles to the north or south of ,venice1 
except in the form of small islands     
crowned with towers or gleaming with    
villages3 there is a channel1 some three
 miles wide1 between the city and the   
mainland1 and some mile and a half wide 

between it and the sandy breakwater     
called the ,lido1 which divides the     
lagoon from the ,adriatic1 but which is 
so low as hardly to disturb the         
impression of the city's having been    
built in the midst of the ocean1        
although the secret of its true position
 is partly1 yet not painfully1 betrayed 
by the clusters of piles set to mark the
 deepwater channels1 which undulate far 
away in spotty chains like the studded  
backs of huge sea-snakes1 and by the    
quick glittering of the crisped and     
crowded waves that flicker and dance    
before the strong winds upon the        
uplifted level of the shallow sea4 ,but 
the scene is widely different at low    
tide4 ,a fall of eighteen or twenty     
inches is enough to show ground over the
 greater part of the lagoon2 and at the 
complete ebb the city is seen standing  
in the midst of a dark plain of         
sea-weed1 of gloomy green1 except only  
where the larger branches of the ,brenta
 and its associated streams converge    

towards the port of the ,lido4 ,through 
this salt and sombre plain the gondola  
and the fishing-boat advance by tortuous
 channels1 seldom more than four or five
 feet deep1 and often so choked with    
slime that the heavier keels furrow the 
bottom till their crossing tracks are   
seen through the clear sea water like   
the ruts upon a wintry road1 and the oar
 leaves blue gashes upon the ground at  
every stroke1 or is entangled among the 
thick weed that fringes the banks with  
the weight of its sullen waves1 leaning 
to and fro upon the uncertain sway of   
the exhausted tide4 ,the scene is often 
profoundly oppressive1 even at this day1
 when every plot of higher ground bears 
some fragment of fair building3 but1 in 
order to know what it was once1 let the 
traveller follow in his boat at evening 
the windings of some unfrequented       
channel far into the midst of the       
melancholy plain2 let him remove1 in his
 imagination1 the brightness of the     
great city that still extends itself in 

the distance1 and the walls and towers  
from the islands that are near2 and so  
wait1 until the bright investiture and  
sweet warmth of the sunset are withdrawn
 from the waters1 and the black desert  
of their shore lies in its nakedness    
beneath the night1 pathless1            
comfortless1 infirm1 lost in dark       
languor and fearful silence1 except     
where the salt runlets plash into the   
tideless pools1 or the sea-birds flit   
from their margins with a questioning   
cry2 and he will be enabled to enter in 
some sort into the horror of heart with 
which this solitude was anciently chosen
 by man for his habitation4 ,they little
 thought1 who first drove the stakes    
into the sand1 and strewed the ocean    
reeds for their rest1 that their        
children were to be the princes of that 
ocean1 and their palaces its pride2 and 
yet1 in the great natural laws that rule
 that sorrowful wilderness1 let it be   
remembered what strange preparation had 
been made for the things which no human 

imagination could have foretold1 and how
 the whole existence and fortune of the 
,venetian nation were anticipated or    
compelled1 by the setting of those bars 
and doors to the rivers and the sea4    
,had deeper currents divided their      
islands1 hostile navies would again and 
again have reduced the rising city into 
servitude2 had stronger surges beaten   
their shores1 all the richness and      
refinement of the ,venetian architecture
 must have been exchanged for the walls 
and bulwarks of an ordinary sea-port4   
,had there been no tide1 as in other    
parts of the ,mediterranean1 the narrow 
canals of the city would have become    
noisome1 and the marsh in which it was  
built pestiferous4 ,had the tide been   
only a foot or eighteen inches higher in
 its rise1 the water-access to the doors
 of the palaces would have been         
impossible3 even as it is1 there is     
sometimes a little difficulty1 at the   
ebb1 in landing without setting foot    
upon the lower and slippery steps2 and  

the highest tides sometimes enter the   
courtyards1 and overflow the entrance   
halls4 ,eighteen inches more of         
difference between the level of the     
flood and ebb would have rendered the   
doorsteps of every palace1 at low water1
 a treacherous mass of weeds and        
limpets1 and the entire system of       
water-carriage for the higher classes1  
in their easy and daily intercourse1    
must have been done away with4 ,the     
streets of the city would have been     
widened1 its network of canals filled   
up1 and all the peculiar character of   
the place and the people destroyed4     
,the reader may perhaps have felt some  
pain in the contrast between this       
faithful view of the site of the        
,venetian ,throne1 and the romantic     
conception of it which we ordinarily    
form2 but this pain1 if he have felt it1
 ought to be more than counterbalanced  
by the value of the instance thus       
afforded to us at once of the           
inscrutableness and the wisdom of the   

ways of ,god4 ,if1 two thousand years   
ago1 we had been permitted to watch the 
slow settling of the slime of those     
turbid rivers into the polluted sea1 and
 the gaining upon its deep and fresh    
waters of the lifeless1 impassable1     
unvoyageable plain1 how little could we 
have understood the purpose with which  
those islands were shaped out of the    
void1 and the torpid waters enclosed    
with their desolate walls of sand6 ,how 
little could we have known1 any more    
than of what now seems to us most       
distressful1 dark1 and objectless1 the  
glorious aim which was then in the mind 
of ,him in whose hand are all the       
corners of the earth6 how little        
imagined that in the laws which were    
stretching forth the gloomy margins of  
those fruitless banks1 and feeding the  
bitter grass among their shallows1 there
 was indeed a preparation1 and the only 
preparation possible1 for the founding  
of a city which was to be set like a    
golden clasp on the girdle of the earth1

 to write her history on the white      
scrolls of the sea-surges1 and to word  
it in their thunder1 and to gather and  
give forth1 in world-wide pulsation1 the
 glory of the ,west and of the ,east1   
from the burning heart of her ,fortitude
 and ,splendour4     #acf ,the palace of
 the ,camerlenghi1 beside the ,rialto1  
is a   graceful work of the early       
,renaissance 7#aebe7 passing into ,roman
   ,renaissance4 ,adapted from ,ruskin4 
#acg ,signifying approximately ,keep to 
the right4    #ach ,see note #a1 p4     
#abi4    #aci ,childe ,harold1 #d4 #a4  
#adj ,marino ,faliero1 #c4 #a4 #bb ff4  
#ada ,dandolo c4 #aajh-abje and ,foscari
 #acgb-adeg were among the   most famous
 of ,venetian ,doges4    #adb ,in the   
battle of ,custozza1 #ahdh1 the         
,austrians defeated the   ,piedmontese4 
,,st4 ,,mark',s  ,,volume ,,ii1         
,,chapter #d   ,and so ,barnabas took   
,mark1 and sailed unto ,cyprus4 ,if as  
the shores of ,asia lessened upon his   
sight1 the spirit of prophecy had       

entered into the heart of the weak      
disciple who had turned back when his   
hand was on the plough1 and who had been
 judged1 by the chiefest of ,christ's   
captains1 unworthy thenceforward to go  
forth with him to the work1#adc how     
wonderful would he have thought it1 that
 by the lion symbol in future ages he   
was to be represented among men6 how    
woful1 that the war-cry of his name     
should so often reanimate the rage of   
the soldier1 on those very plains where 
he himself had failed in the courage of 
the ,christian1 and so often dye with   
fruitless blood that very ,cypriot ,sea1
 over whose waves1 in repentance and    
shame1 he was following the ,son of     
,consolation6  ,that the ,venetians     
possessed themselves of his body in the 
ninth century1 there appears no         
sufficient reason to doubt1 nor that it 
was principally in consequence of their 
having done so1 that they chose him for 
their patron saint4 ,there exists1      
however1 a tradition that before he went

 into ,egypt he had founded the church  
at ,aquileia1 and was thus in some sort 
the first bishop of the ,venetian isles 
and people4 ,i believe that this        
tradition stands on nearly as good      
grounds as that of ,st4 ,peter having   
been the first bishop of ,rome#add2 but1
 as usual1 it is enriched by various    
later additions and embellishments1 much
 resembling the stories told respecting 
the church of ,murano4 ,thus we find it 
recorded by the ,santo ,padre who       
compiled the ,vife de' ,santi spettanti 
alle ,chiese di ,venezia1#ade that ,st4 
,mark having seen the people of         
,aquileia well grounded in religion1 and
 being called to ,rome by ,st4 ,peter1  
before setting off took with him the    
holy bishop ,hermagoras1 and went in a  
small boat to the marshes of ,venice4   
,there were at that period some houses  
built upon a certain high bank called   
,rialto1 and the boat being driven by   
the wind was anchored in a marshy place1
 when ,st4 ,mark1 snatched into ecstasy1

 heard the voice of an angel saying to  
him3 ',peace be to thee1 ,mark2 here    
shall thy body rest4' ,the angel goes on
 to foretell the building of una        
stupenda1 ne piu veduta ,citta#adf2 but 
the fable is hardly ingenious enough to 
deserve farther relation4  ,but whether 
,st4 ,mark was first bishop of ,aquileia
 or not1 ,st4 ,theodore was the first   
patron of the city2 nor can he yet be   
considered as having entirely abdicated 
his early right1 as his statue1 standing
 on a crocodile1 still companions the   
winged lion on the opposing pillar of   
the piazzetta4 ,a church erected to this
 ,saint is said to have occupied1 before
 the ninth century1 the site of ,st4    
,mark's2 and the traveller1 dazzled by  
the brilliancy of the great square1     
ought not to leave it without           
endeavouring to imagine its aspect in   
that early time1 when it was a green    
field cloister-like and quiet1#adg      
divided by a small canal1 with a line of
 trees on each side2 and extending      

between the two churches of ,st4        
,theodore and ,st4 ,gemanium1 as the    
little piazza of ,torcello lies between 
its palazzo and cathedral4  ,but in the 
year #hac1 when the seat of government  
was finally removed to the ,rialto1 a   
,ducal ,palace1 built on the spot where 
the present one stands1 with a ,ducal   
,chapel beside it1#adh gave a very      
different character to the ,square of   
,st4 ,mark2 and fifteen years later1 the
 acquisition of the body of the ,saint1 
and its deposition in the ,ducal        
,chapel1 perhaps not yet completed1     
occasioned the investiture of that      
chapel with all possible splendour4 ,st4
 ,theodore was deposed from his         
patronship1 and his church destroyed1 to
 make room for the aggrandizement of the
 one attached to the ,ducal ,palace1 and
 thenceforward known as ,st4            
,mark's4#adi  ,this first church was    
however destroyed by fire1 when the     
,ducal ,palace was burned in the revolt 
against ,candiano1 in #igf4 ,it was     

partly rebuilt by his successor1 ,pietro
 ,orseolo1 on a larger scale2 and1 with 
the assistance of ,byzantine architects1
 the fabric was carried on under        
successive ,doges for nearly a hundred  
years2 the main building being completed
 in #ajga1 but its incrustation with    
marble not till considerably later4 ,it 
was consecrated on the #hth of ,october1
 #ajhe1aej according to ,sansovino and  
the author of the ,chiesa ,ducale di ,s4
 ,marco1 in #ajid according to ,lazari1 
but certainly between #ajhd and #ajif1  
those years being the limits of the     
reign of ,vital ,falier2 ,i incline to  
the supposition that it was soon after  
his accession to the throne in #ajhe1   
though ,sansovino writes1 by mistake1   
,ordelafo instead of ,vital ,falier4    
,but1 at all events1 before the close of
 the eleventh century the great         
consecration of the church took place4  
,it was again injured by fire in #aajf1 
but repaired2 and from that time to the 
fall of ,venice there was probably no   

,doge who did not in some slight degree 
embellish or alter the fabric1 so that  
few parts of it can be pronounced boldly
 to be of any given date4 ,two periods  
of interference are1 however1 notable   
above the rest3 the first1 that in which
 the ,gothic school had superseded the  
,byzantine towards the close of the     
fourteenth century1 when the pinnacles1 
upper archivolts1 and window traceries  
were added to the exterior1 and the     
great screen with various chapels and   
tabernacle-work1 to the interior2 the   
second1 when the ,renaissance school    
superseded the ,gothic1 and the pupils  
of ,titian and ,tintoret substituted1   
over one half of the church1 their own  
compositions for the ,greek mosaics with
 which it was originally decorated2#aea 
happily1 though with no good will1      
having left enough to enable us to      
imagine and lament what they destroyed4 
,of this irreparable loss we shall have 
more to say hereafter2 meantime1 ,i wish
 only to fix in the reader's mind the   

succession of periods of alterations as 
firmly and simply as possible4  ,we have
 seen that the main body of the church  
may be broadly stated to be of the      
eleventh century1 the ,gothic additions 
of the fourteenth1 and the restored     
mosaics of the seventeenth4 ,there is no
 difficulty in distinguishing at a      
glance the ,gothic portions from the    
,byzantine2 but there is considerable   
difficulty in ascertaining how long1    
during the course of the twelfth and    
thirteenth centuries1 additions were    
made to the ,byzantine church1 which    
cannot be easily distinguished from the 
work of the eleventh century1 being     
purposely executed in the same manner4  
,two of the most important pieces of    
evidence on this point are1 a mosaic in 
the south transept1 and another over the
 northern door of the facade2 the first 
representing the interior1 the second   
the exterior1 of the ancient church4    
,it has just been stated that the       
existing building was consecrated by the

 ,doge ,vital ,falier4 ,a peculiar      
solemnity was given to that act of      
consecration1 in the minds of the       
,venetian people1 by what appears to    
have been one of the best arranged and  
most successful impostures ever         
attempted by the clergy of the ,romish  
church4 ,the body of ,st4 ,mark had1    
without doubt1 perished in the          
conflagration of #igf2 but the revenues 
of the church depended too much upon the
 devotion excited by these relics to    
permit the confession of their loss4    
,the following is the account given by  
,corner1 and believed to this day by the
 ,venetians1 of the pretended miracle by
 which it was concealed4  ,after the    
repairs undertaken by the ,doge         
,orseolo1 the place in which the body of
 the holy ,evangelist rested had been   
altogether forgotten2 so that the ,doge 
,vital ,falier was entirely ignorant of 
the place of the venerable deposit4     
,this was no light affliction1 not only 
to the pious ,doge1 but to all the      

citizens and people2 so that at last1   
moved by confidence in the ,divine      
mercy1 they determined to implore1 with 
prayer and fasting1 the manifestation of
 so great a treasure1 which did not now 
depend upon any human effort4 ,a general
 fast being therefore proclaimed1 and a 
solemn procession appointed for the     
#beth day of ,june1 while the people    
assembled in the church interceded with 
,god in fervent prayers for the desired 
boon1 they beheld1 with as much         
amazement as joy1 a slight shaking in   
the marbles of a pillar 7near the place 
where the altar of the ,cross is now71  
which1 presently falling to the earth1  
exposed to the view of the rejoicing    
people the chest of bronze in which the 
body of the ,evangelist was laid4  ,of  
the main facts of this tale there is no 
doubt4 ,they were embellished           
afterwards1 as usual1 by many fanciful  
traditions2 as1 for instance1 that1 when
 the sarcophagus was discovered1 ,st4   
,mark extended his hand out of it1 with 

a gold ring on one of the fingers1 which
 he permitted a noble of the ,dolfin    
family to remove2 and a quaint and      
delightful story was further invented of
 this ring1 which ,i shall not repeat   
here1 as it is now as well known as any 
tale of the ,arabian ,nights4 ,but the  
fast and the discovery of the coffin1 by
 whatever means effected1 are facts2 and
 they are recorded in one of the        
best-preserved mosaics of the north#aeb 
transept1 executed very certainly not   
long after the event had taken place1   
closely resembling in its treatment that
 of the ,bayeux tapestry1 and showing1  
in a conventional manner1 the interior  
of the church1 as it then was1 filled by
 the people1 first in prayer1 then in   
thanksgiving1 the pillar standing open  
before them1 and the ,doge1 in the midst
 of them1 distinguished by his crimson  
bonnet embroidered with gold1 but more  
unmistakably by the inscription ,dux    
over his head1 as uniformly is the case 
in the ,bayeux tapestry1 and most other 

pictorial works of the period4 ,the     
church is1 of course1 rudely            
represented1 and the two upper stories  
of it reduced to a small scale in order 
to form a background to the figures2 one
 of those bold pieces of picture history
 which we in our pride of perspective1  
and a thousand things besides1 never    
dare attempt4 ,we should have put in a  
column or two1 of the real or           
perspective size1 and subdued it into a 
vague background3 the old workman       
crushed the church together that he     
might get it all in1 up to the cupolas2 
and has1 therefore1 left us some useful 
notes of its ancient form1 though any   
one who is familiar with the method of  
drawing employed at the period will not 
push the evidence too far4 ,the two     
pulpits are there1 however1 as they are 
at this day1 and the fringe of mosaic   
flowerwork which then encompassed the   
whole church1 but which modern restorers
 have destroyed1 all but one fragment   
still left in the south aisle4 ,there is

 no attempt to represent the other      
mosaics on the roof1 the scale being too
 small to admit of their being          
represented with any success2 but some  
at least of those mosaics had been      
executed at that period1 and their      
absence in the representation of the    
entire church is especially to be       
observed1 in order to show that we must 
not trust to any negative evidence in   
such works4 ,m4 ,lazari has rashly      
concluded that the central archivolt of 
,st4 ,mark's must be posterior to the   
year #abje1 because it does not appear  
in the representation of the exterior of
 the church over the northern door2#aec 
but he justly observes that this mosaic 
7which is the other piece of evidence we
 possess respecting the ancient form of 
the building7 cannot itself be earlier  
than #abje1 since it represents the     
bronze horses which were brought from   
,constantinople in that year4 ,and this 
one fact renders it very difficult to   
speak with confidence respecting the    

date of any part of the exterior of ,st4
 ,mark's2 for we have above seen that it
 was consecrated in the eleventh        
century1 and yet here is one of its most
 important exterior decorations         
assuredly retouched1 if not entirely    
added1 in the thirteenth1 although its  
style would have led us to suppose it   
had been an original part of the fabric4
 ,however1 for all our purposes1 it will
 be enough for the reader to remember   
that the earliest parts of the building 
belong to the eleventh1 twelfth1 and    
first part of the thirteenth century2   
the ,gothic portions to the fourteenth2 
some of the altars and embellishments to
 the fifteenth and sixteenth2 and the   
modern portion of the mosaics to the    
seventeenth4  ,this1 however1 ,i only   
wish him to recollect in order that ,i  
may speak generally of the ,byzantine   
architecture of ,st4 ,mark's1 without   
leading him to suppose the whole church 
to have been built and decorated by     
,greek artists4 ,its later portions1    

with the single exception of the        
seventeenth-century mosaics1 have been  
so dexterously accommodated to the      
original fabric that the general effect 
is still that of a ,byzantine building2 
and ,i shall not1 except when it is     
absolutely necessary1 direct attention  
to the discordant points1 or weary the  
reader with anatomical criticism4       
,whatever in ,st4 ,mark's arrests the   
eye1 or affects the feelings1 is either 
,byzantine1 or has been modified by     
,byzantine influence2 and our inquiry   
into its architectural merits need not  
therefore be disturbed by the anxieties 
of antiquarianism1 or arrested by the   
obscurities of chronology4  ,and now ,i 
wish that the reader1 before ,i bring   
him into ,st4 ,mark's ,place1 would     
imagine himself for a little time in a  
quiet ,english cathedral town1 and walk 
with me to the west front of its        
cathedral4 ,let us go together up the   
more retired street1 at the end of which
 we can see the pinnacles of one of the 

towers1 and then through the low grey   
gateway1 with its battlemented top and  
small latticed window in the centre1    
into the inner private-looking road or  
close1 where nothing goes in but the    
carts of the tradesmen who supply the   
bishop and the chapter1 and where there 
are little shaven grass-plots1 fenced in
 by neat rails1 before old-fashioned    
groups of somewhat diminutive and       
excessively trim houses1 with little    
oriel and bay windows jutting out here  
and there1 and deep wooden cornices and 
eaves painted cream colour and white1   
and small porches to their doors in the 
shape of cockle-shells1 or little1      
crooked1 thick1 indescribable wooden    
gables warped a little on one side2 and 
so forward till we come to larger       
houses1 also old-fashioned1 but of red  
brick1 and with gardens behind them1 and
 fruit walls1 which show here and there1
 among the nectarines1 the vestiges of  
an old cloister arch or shaft1 and      
looking in front on the cathedral square

 itself1 laid out in rigid divisions of 
smooth grass and gravel walk1 yet not   
uncheerful1 especially on the sunny     
side1 where the canons' children are    
walking with their nursery-maids4 ,and  
so1 taking care not to tread on the     
grass1 we will go along the straight    
walk to the west front1 and there stand 
for a time1 looking up at its           
deep-pointed porches and the dark places
 between their pillars where there were 
statues once1 and where the fragments1  
here and there1 of a stately figure are 
still left1 which has in it the likeness
 of a king1 perhaps indeed a king on    
earth1 perhaps a saintly king long ago  
in heaven2 and so higher and higher up  
to the great mouldering wall of rugged  
sculpture and confused arcades1         
shattered1 and grey1 and grisly with    
heads of dragons and mocking fiends1    
worn by the rain and swirling winds into
 yet unseemlier shape1 and coloured on  
their stony scales by the deep          
russet-orange lichen1 melancholy gold2  

and so1 higher still1 to the bleak      
towers1 so far above that the eye loses 
itself among the bosses of their        
traceries1 though they are rude and     
strong1 and only sees like a drift of   
eddying black points1 now closing1 now  
scattering1 and now settling suddenly   
into invisible places among the bosses  
and flowers1 the crowd of restless birds
 that fill the whole square with that   
strange clangour of theirs1 so harsh and
 yet so soothing1 like the cries of     
birds on a solitary coast between the   
cliffs and sea4  ,think for a little    
while of that scene1 and the meaning of 
all its small formalisms1 mixed with its
 serene sublimity4 ,estimate its        
secluded1 continuous1 drowsy felicities1
 and its evidence of the sense and      
steady performance of such kind of      
duties as can be regulated by the       
cathedral clock2 and weigh the influence
 of those dark towers on all who have   
passed through the lonely square at     
their feet for centuries1 and on all who

 have seen them rising far away over the
 wooded plain1 or catching on their     
square masses the last rays of the      
sunset1 when the city at their feet was 
indicated only by the mist at the bend  
of the river4 ,and then let us quickly  
recollect that we are in ,venice1 and   
land at the extremity of the ,calla     
,lunga ,san ,moise1 which may be        
considered as there answering to the    
secluded street that led us to our      
,english cathedral gateway4  ,we find   
ourselves in a paved alley1 some seven  
feet wide where it is widest1 full of   
people1 and resonant with cries of      
itinerant salesmen1--a shriek in their  
beginning1 and dying away into a kind of
 brazen ringing1 all the worse for its  
confinement between the high houses of  
the passage along which we have to make 
our way4 ,over-head1 an inextricable    
confusion of rugged shutters1 and iron  
balconies and chimney flues1 pushed out 
on brackets to save room1 and arched    
windows with projecting sills of        

,istrian stone1 and gleams of green     
leaves here and there where a fig-tree  
branch escapes over a lower wall from   
some inner cortile1 leading the eye up  
to the narrow stream of blue sky high   
over all4 ,on each side1 a row of shops1
 as densely set as may be1 occupying1 in
 fact1 intervals between the square     
stone shafts1 about eight feet high1    
which carry the first floors3 intervals 
of which one is narrow and serves as a  
door2 the other is1 in the more         
respectable shops1 wainscotted to the   
height of the counter and glazed above1 
but in those of the poorer tradesmen    
left open to the ground1 and the wares  
laid on benches and tables in the open  
air1 the light in all cases entering at 
the front only1 and fading away in a few
 feet from the threshold into a gloom   
which the eye from without cannot       
penetrate1 but which is generally broken
 by a ray or two from a feeble lamp at  
the back of the shop1 suspended before a
 print of the ,virgin4 ,the less pious  

shopkeeper sometimes leaves his lamp    
unlighted1 and is contented with a penny
 print2 the more religious one has his  
print coloured and set in a little      
shrine with a gilded or figured fringe1 
with perhaps a faded flower or two on   
each side1 and his lamp burning         
brilliantly4 ,here1 at the fruiterer's1 
where the dark-green water-melons are   
heaped upon the counter like cannon     
balls1 the ,madonna has a tabernacle of 
fresh laurel leaves2 but the pewterer   
next door has let his lamp out1 and     
there is nothing to be seen in his shop 
but the dull gleam of the studded       
patterns on the copper pans1 hanging    
from his roof in the darkness4 ,next    
comes a ,vendita ,frittole e            
,liquori1#aed where the ,virgin1        
enthroned in a very humble manner beside
 a tallow candle on a back shelf1       
presides over certain ambrosial morsels 
of a nature too ambiguous to be defined 
or enumerated4 ,but a few steps farther 
on1 at the regular wine-shop of the     

calle1 where we are offered ,vino       
,nostrani a ,soldi #bh-cb1 the ,madonna 
is in great glory1 enthroned above ten  
or a dozen large red casks of           
three-year-old vintage1 and flanked by  
goodly ranks of bottles of ,maraschino1 
and two crimson lamps2 and for the      
evening1 when the gondoliers will come  
to drink out1 under her auspices1 the   
money they have gained during the day1  
she will have a whole chandelier4  ,a   
yard or two farther1 we pass the        
hostelry of the ,black ,eagle1 and1     
glancing as we pass through the square  
door of marble1 deeply moulded1 in the  
outer wall1 we see the shadows of its   
pergola of vines resting on an ancient  
well1 with a pointed shield carved on   
its side2 and so presently emerge on the
 bridge and ,campo ,san ,moise1 whence  
to the entrance into ,st4 ,mark's       
,place1 called the ,bocca di ,piazza    
7mouth of the square71 the ,venetian    
character is nearly destroyed1 first by 
the frightful facade of ,san ,moise1    

which we will pause at another time to  
examine1 and then by the modernizing of 
the shops as they near the piazza1 and  
the mingling with the lower ,venetian   
populace of lounging groups of ,english 
and ,austrians4 ,we will push fast      
through them into the shadow of the     
pillars at the end of the ,bocca di     
,piazza1 and then we forget them all2   
for between those pillars there opens a 
great light1 and1 in the midst of it1 as
 we advance slowly1 the vast tower of   
,st4 ,mark seems to lift itself visibly 
forth from the level field of chequered 
stones2 and1 on each side1 the countless
 arches prolong themselves into ranged  
symmetry1 as if the rugged and irregular
 houses that pressed together above us  
in the dark alley had been struck back  
into sudden obedience and lovely order1 
and all their rude casements and broken 
walls had been transformed into arches  
charged with goodly sculpture1 and      
fluted shafts of delicate stone4  ,and  
well may they fall back1 for beyond     

those troops of ordered arches there    
rises a vision out of the earth1 and all
 the great square seems to have opened  
from it in a kind of awe1 that we may   
see it far away2--a multitude of pillars
 and white domes1 clustered into a long 
low pyramid of coloured light2 a        
treasure-heap1 it seems1 partly of gold1
 and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl1
 hollowed beneath into five great       
vaulted porches1 ceiled with fair       
mosaic1 and beset with sculpture of     
alabaster1 clear as amber and delicate  
as ivory1--sculpture fantastic and      
involved1 of palm leaves and lilies1 and
 grapes and pomegranates1 and birds     
clinging and fluttering among the       
branches1 all twined together into an   
endless network of buds and plumes2 and1
 in the midst of it1 the solemn forms of
 angels1 sceptred1 and robed to the     
feet1 and leaning to each other across  
the gates1 their figures indistinct     
among the gleaming of the golden ground 
through the leaves beside them1         

interrupted and dim1 like the morning   
light as it faded back among the        
branches of ,eden1 when first its gates 
were angel-guarded long ago4 ,and round 
the walls of the porches there are set  
pillars of variegated stones1 jasper and
 porphyry1 and deep-green serpentine    
spotted with flakes of snow1 and        
marbles1 that half refuse and half yield
 to the sunshine1 ,cleopatra-like1 their
 bluest veins to kiss#aee--the shadow1  
as it steals back from them1 revealing  
line after line of azure undulation1 as 
a receding tide leaves the waved sand2  
their capitals rich with interwoven     
tracery1 rooted knots of herbage1 and   
drifting leaves of acanthus and vine1   
and mystical signs1 all beginning and   
ending in the ,cross2 and above them1 in
 the broad archivolts1 a continuous     
chain of language and of life--angels1  
and the signs of heaven1 and the labours
 of men1 each in its appointed season   
upon the earth2 and above these1 another
 range of glittering pinnacles1 mixed   

with white arches edged with scarlet    
flowers1--a confusion of delight1 amidst
 which the breasts of the ,greek horses 
are seen blazing in their breadth of    
golden strength1 and the ,st4 ,mark's   
,lion1 lifted on a blue field covered   
with stars1 until at last1 as if in     
ecstasy1 the crests of the arches break 
into a marble foam1 and toss themselves 
far into the blue sky in flashes and    
wreaths of sculptured spray1 as if the  
breakers on the ,lido shore had been    
frost-bound before they fell1 and the   
sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral   
and amethyst4  ,between that grim       
cathedral of ,england and this1 what an 
interval6 ,there is a type of it in the 
very birds that haunt them2 for1 instead
 of the restless crowd1 hoarse-voiced   
and sable-winged1 drifting on the bleak 
upper air1 the ,st4 ,mark's porches are 
full of doves1 that nestle among the    
marble foliage1 and mingle the soft     
iridescence of their living plumes1     
changing at every motion1 with the      

tints1 hardly less lovely1 that have    
stood unchanged for seven hundred years4
  ,and what effect has this splendour on
 those who pass beneath it8 ,you may    
walk from sunrise to sunset1 to and fro1
 before the gateway of ,st4 ,mark's1 and
 you will not see an eye lifted to it1  
nor a countenance brightened by it4     
,priest and layman1 soldier and         
civilian1 rich and poor1 pass by it     
alike regardlessly4 ,up to the very     
recesses of the porches1 the meanest    
tradesmen of the city push their        
counters2 nay1 the foundations of its   
pillars are themselves the seats--not of
 them that sell doves#aef for sacrifice1
 but of the vendors of toys and         
caricatures4 ,round the whole square in 
front of the church there is almost a   
continuous line of cafes1 where the idle
 ,venetians of the middle classes       
lounge1 and read empty journals2 in its 
centre the ,austrian bands play during  
the time of vespers1 their martial music
 jarring with the organ notes1--the     

march drowning the miserere1 and the    
sullen crowd thickening round them1--a  
crowd1 which1 if it had its will1 would 
stiletto every soldier that pipes to it4
 ,and in the recesses of the porches1   
all day long1 knots of men of the lowest
 classes1 unemployed and listless1 lie  
basking in the sun like lizards2 and    
unregarded children1--every heavy glance
 of their young eyes full of desperation
 and stony depravity1 and their throats 
hoarse with cursing1--gamble1 and fight1
 and snarl1 and sleep1 hour after hour1 
clashing their bruised centesimi upon   
the marble ledges of the church porch4  
,and the images of ,christ and ,his     
angels look down upon it continually4   
#adc ,acts xiii1 #ac and xv1 #ch1 #ci4  
,ruskin4    #add ,the reader who desires
 to investigate it may consult          
,galliciolli1 ,delle ,memorie ,venete   
7,venice1 #agie71 tom4 #b1 p4 #ccb1     
and the authorities quoted by him4      
,ruskin4    #ade ,venice1 #agfa tom4 #a1
 p4 #abf4 ,ruskin4    #adf ,a wonderful 

,city1 such as was never seen before4   
#adg ,st4 ,mark's ,place1 partly covered
 by turf1 and planted with a   few      
trees2 and on account of its pleasant   
aspect called ,brollo or   ,broglio1    
that is to say1 ,garden4 ,the canal     
passed through it1 over   which is built
 the bridge of the ,malpassi4           
,galliciolli1 lib4 ,i1   cap4 viii4     
,ruskin4    #adh ,my authorities for    
this statement are given below1 in the  
chapter on the ,ducal ,palace4 ,ruskin4 
#adi ,in the ,chronicles1 ,sancti ,marci
 ,ducalis ,cappdla4 ,ruskin4    #aej ,to
 ,god the ,lord1 the glorious ,virgin   
,annunciate1 and the   ,protector ,st4  
,mark4--,corner1 p4 #ad4 ,it is needless
 to trouble the   reader with the       
various authorities for the above       
statements3 ,i   have consulted the     
best4 ,the previous inscription once    
existing on   the church itself3        
,anno milleno transacto bisque trigeno  
,desuper undecimo fuit facta     primo1 
is no longer to be seen1 and is         

conjectured by ,corner1 with much       
probability1 to have perished in qualche
 ristauro4 ,ruskin4    #aea ,signed     
,bartolomeus ,bozza1 #afcd1 #afdg1      
#afef1 etc4 ,ruskin4    #aeb ,an obvious
 slip4 ,the mosaic is on the west wall  
of the south   transept4 ,cook and      
,wedderburn4    #aec ,guida di ,venezia1
 p4 #f4 ,ruskin4    #aed ,fritters and  
liquors for sale4    #aee ,antony and   
,cleopatra1 #b4 #e4 #bi4    #aef        
,matthew xxi1 #ab and ,john ii1 #af4    
,,characteristics ,,of ,,gothic         
,,architecture  ,,volume ,,ii1 ,,chapter
 #f   ,i believe1 then1 that the        
characteristic or moral elements of     
,gothic are the following1 placed in the
 order of their importance3    #a4      
,savageness4   #b4 ,changefulness4   #c4
 ,naturalism4   #d4 ,grotesqueness4     
#e4 ,rigidity4   #f4 ,redundance4       
,these characters are here expressed as 
belonging to the building2 as belonging 
to the builder1 they would be expressed 
thus3--#a4 ,savageness1 or ,rudeness4   

#b4 ,love of ,change4 #c4 ,love of      
,nature4 #d4 ,disturbed ,imagination4   
#e4 ,obstinacy4 #f4 ,generosity4 ,and ,i
 repeat1 that the withdrawal of any one1
 or any two1 will not at once destroy   
the ,gothic character of a building1 but
 the removal of a majority of them will4
 ,i shall proceed to examine them in    
their order4  #a4 ,,savageness4 ,i am   
not sure when the word ,gothic was first
 generically applied to the architecture
 of the ,north2 but ,i presume that1    
whatever the date of its original usage1
 it was intended to imply reproach1 and 
express the barbaric character of the   
nations among whom that architecture    
arose4 ,it never implied that they were 
literally of ,gothic lineage1 far less  
that their architecture had been        
originally invented by the ,goths       
themselves2 but it did imply that they  
and their buildings together exhibited a
 degree of sternness and rudeness1      
which1 in contradistinction to the      
character of ,southern and ,eastern     

nations1 appeared like a perpetual      
reflection of the contrast between the  
,goth and the ,roman in their first     
encounter4 ,and when that fallen ,roman1
 in the utmost impotence of his luxury1 
and insolence of his guilt1 became the  
model for the imitation of civilized    
,europe1 at the close of the so-called  
,dark ,ages1 the word ,gothic became a  
term of unmitigated contempt1 not       
unmixed with aversion4 ,from that       
contempt1 by the exertion of the        
antiquaries and architects of this      
century1 ,gothic architecture has been  
sufficiently vindicated2 and perhaps    
some among us1 in our admiration of the 
magnificent science of its structure1   
and sacredness of its expression1 might 
desire that the term of ancient reproach
 should be withdrawn1 and some other1 of
 more apparent honourableness1 adopted  
in its place4 ,there is no chance1 as   
there is no need1 of such a             
substitution4 ,as far as the epithet was
 used scornfully1 it was used falsely2  

but there is no reproach in the word1   
rightly understood2 on the contrary1    
there is a profound truth1 which the    
instinct of mankind almost unconsciously
 recognizes4 ,it is true1 greatly and   
deeply true1 that the architecture of   
the ,north is rude and wild2 but it is  
not true1 that1 for this reason1 we are 
to condemn it1 or despise4 ,far         
otherwise3 ,i believe it is in this very
 character that it deserves our         
profoundest reverence4  ,the charts of  
the world which have been drawn up by   
modern science have thrown into a narrow
 space the expression of a vast amount  
of knowledge1 but ,i have never yet seen
 any one pictorial enough to enable the 
spectator to imagine the kind of        
contrast in physical character which    
exists between ,northern and ,southern  
countries4 ,we know the differences in  
detail1 but we have not that broad      
glance and grasp which would enable us  
to feel them in their fulness4 ,we know 
that gentians grow on the ,alps1 and    

olives on the ,apennines2 but we do not 
enough conceive for ourselves that      
variegated mosaic of the world's surface
 which a bird sees in its migration1    
that difference between the district of 
the gentian and of the olive which the  
stork and the swallow see far off1 as   
they lean upon the sirocco wind4 ,let   
us1 for a moment1 try to raise ourselves
 even above the level of their flight1  
and imagine the ,mediterranean lying    
beneath us like an irregular lake1 and  
all its ancient promontories sleeping in
 the sun3 here and there an angry spot  
of thunder1 a grey stain of storm1      
moving upon the burning field2 and here 
and there a fixed wreath of white       
volcano smoke1 surrounded by its circle 
of ashes2 but for the most part a great 
peacefulness of light1 ,syria and       
,greece1 ,italy and ,spain1 laid like   
pieces of a golden pavement into the    
sea-blue1 chased1 as we stoop nearer to 
them1 with bossy beaten work of mountain
 chains1 and glowing softly with        

terraced gardens1 and flowers heavy with
 frankincense1 mixed among masses of    
laurel1 and orange1 and plumy palm1 that
 abate with their grey-green shadows the
 burning of the marble rocks1 and of the
 ledges of porphyry sloping under lucent
 sand4 ,then let us pass farther towards
 the north1 until we see the orient     
colours change gradually into a vast    
belt of rainy green1 where the pastures 
of ,switzerland1 and poplar valleys of  
,france1 and dark forests of the ,danube
 and ,carpathians stretch from the      
mouths of the ,loire to those of the    
,volga1 seen through clefts in grey     
swirls of rain-cloud and flaky veils of 
the mist of the brooks1 spreading low   
along the pasture lands3 and then1      
farther north still1 to see the earth   
heave into mighty masses of leaden rock 
and heathy moor1 bordering with a broad 
waste of gloomy purple that belt of     
field and wood1 and splintering into    
irregular and grisly islands amidst the 
northern seas1 beaten by storm1 and     

chilled by ice-drift1 and tormented by  
furious pulses of contending tide1 until
 the roots of the last forests fail from
 among the hill ravines1 and the hunger 
of the north wind bites their peaks into
 barrenness2 and1 at last1 the wall of  
ice1 durable like iron1 sets1 deathlike1
 its white teeth against us out of the  
polar twilight4 ,and1 having once       
traversed in thought this gradation of  
the zoned iris of the earth in all its  
material vastness1 let us go down nearer
 to it1 and watch the parallel change in
 the belt of animal life2 the multitudes
 of swift and brilliant creatures that  
glance in the air and sea1 or tread the 
sands of the southern zone2 striped     
zebras and spotted leopards1 glistening 
serpents1 and birds arrayed in purple   
and scarlet4 ,let us contrast their     
delicacy and brilliancy of colour1 and  
swiftness of motion1 with the           
frost-cramped strength1 and shaggy      
covering1 and dusky plumage of the      
northern tribes2 contrast the ,arabian  

horse with the ,shetland1 the tiger and 
leopard with the wolf and bear1 the     
antelope with the elk1 the bird of      
paradise with the osprey3 and then1     
submissively acknowledging the great    
laws by which the earth and all that it 
bears are ruled throughout their being4 
,let us not condemn1 but rejoice in the 
expression by man of his own rest in the
 statutes of the lands that gave him    
birth4 ,let us watch him with reverence 
as he sets side by side the burning     
gems1 and smooths with soft sculpture   
the jasper pillars1 that are to reflect 
a ceaseless sunshine1 and rise into a   
cloudless sky3 but not with less        
reverence let us stand by him1 when1    
with rough strength and hurried stroke1 
he smites an uncouth animation out of   
the rocks which he has torn from among  
the moss of the moorland1 and heaves    
into the darkened air the pile of iron  
buttress and rugged wall1 instinct with 
work of an imagination as wild and      
wayward as the northern sea2 creations  

of ungainly shape and rigid limb1 but   
full of wolfish life2 fierce as the     
winds that beat1 and changeful as the   
clouds that shade them4  ,there is1 ,i  
repeat1 no degradation1 no reproach in  
this1 but all dignity and               
honourableness3 and we should err       
grievously in refusing either to        
recognize as an essential character of  
the existing architecture of the ,north1
 or to admit as a desirable character in
 that which it yet may be1 this wildness
 of thought1 and roughness of work2 this
 look of mountain brotherhood between   
the cathedral and the ,alp2 this        
magnificence of sturdy power1 put forth 
only the more energetically because the 
fine finger-touch was chilled away by   
the frosty wind1 and the eye dimmed by  
the moor-mist1 or blinded by the hail2  
this outspeaking of the strong spirit of
 men who may not gather redundant       
fruitage from the earth1 nor bask in    
dreamy benignity of sunshine1 but must  
break the rock for bread1 and cleave the

 forest for fire1 and show1 even in what
 they did for their delight1 some of the
 hard habits of the arm and heart that  
grew on them as they swung the axe or   
pressed the plough4  ,if1 however1 the  
savageness of ,gothic architecture1     
merely as an expression of its origin   
among ,northern nations1 may be         
considered1 in some sort1 a noble       
character1 it possesses a higher        
nobility still1 when considered as an   
index1 not of climate1 but of religious 
principle4  ,in the #acth and #adth     
paragraphs of ,chapter ,,xxl of the     
first volume of this work1 it was       
noticed that the systems of             
architectural ornament1 properly so     
called1 might be divided into           
three3--#a4 ,servile ornament1 in which 
the execution or power of the inferior  
workman is entirely subjected to the    
intellect of the higher2--#b4           
,constitutional ornament1 in which the  
executive inferior power is1 to a       
certain point1 emancipated and          

independent1 having a will of its own1  
yet confessing its inferiority and      
rendering obedience to higher           
powers2--and #c4 ,revolutionary         
ornament1 in which no executive         
inferiority is admitted at all4 ,i must 
here explain the nature of these        
divisions at somewhat greater length4   
,of ,servile ornament1 the principal    
schools are the ,greek1 ,ninevite1 and  
,egyptian2 but their servility is of    
different kinds4 ,the ,greek            
master-workman was far advanced in      
knowledge and power above the ,assyrian 
or ,egyptian4 ,neither he nor those for 
whom he worked could endure the         
appearance of imperfection in anything2 
and1 therefore1 what ornament he        
appointed to be done by those beneath   
him was composed of mere geometrical    
forms1--balls1 ridges1 and perfectly    
symmetrical foliage1--which could be    
executed with absolute precision by line
 and rule1 and were as perfect in their 
way1 when completed1 as his own figure  

sculpture4 ,the ,assyrian and ,egyptian1
 on the contrary1 less cognizant of     
accurate form in anything1 were content 
to allow their figure sculpture to be   
executed by inferior workmen1 but       
lowered the method of its treatment to a
 standard which every workman could     
reach1 and then trained him by          
discipline so rigid1 that there was no  
chance of his falling beneath the       
standard appointed4 ,the ,greek gave to 
the lower workman no subject which he   
could not perfectly execute4 ,the       
,assyrian gave him subjects which he    
could only execute imperfectly1 but     
fixed a legal standard for his          
imperfection4 ,the workman was1 in both 
systems1 a slave4#aeg  ,but in the      
mediaeval1 or especially ,christian1    
system of ornament1 this slavery is done
 away with altogether2 ,christianity    
having recognized1 in small things as   
well as great1 the individual value of  
every soul4 ,but it not only recognizes 
its value2 it confesses its             

imperfection1 in only bestowing dignity 
upon the acknowledgment of unworthiness4
 ,that admission of lost power and      
fallen nature1 which the ,greek or      
,ninevite felt to be intensely painful1 
and1 as far as might be1 altogether     
refused1 the ,christian makes daily and 
hourly contemplating the fact of it     
without fear1 as tending1 in the end1 to
 ,god's greater glory4 ,therefore1 to   
every spirit which ,christianity summons
 to her service1 her exhortation is3 ,do
 what you can1 and confess frankly what 
you are unable to do2 neither let your  
effort be shortened for fear of failure1
 nor your confession silenced for fear  
of shame4 ,and it is1 perhaps1 the      
principal admirableness of the ,gothic  
schools of architecture1 that they thus 
receive the results of the labour of    
inferior minds2 and out of fragments    
full of imperfection1 and betraying that
 imperfection in every touch1           
indulgently raise up a stately and      
unaccusable whole4  ,but the modern     

,english mind has this much in common   
with that of the ,greek1 that it        
intensely desires1 in all things1 the   
utmost completion or perfection         
compatible with their nature4 ,this is a
 noble character in the abstract1 but   
becomes ignoble when it causes us to    
forget the relative dignities of that   
nature itself1 and to prefer the        
perfectness of the lower nature to the  
imperfection of the higher2 not         
considering that as1 judged by such a   
rule1 all the brute animals would be    
preferable to man1 because more perfect 
in their functions and kind1 and yet are
 always held inferior to him1 so also in
 the works of man1 those which are more 
perfect in their kind are always        
inferior to those which are1 in their   
nature1 liable to more faults and       
shortcomings4 ,for the finer the nature1
 the more flaws it will show through the
 clearness of it2 and it is a law of    
this universe1 that the best things     
shall be seldomest seen in their best   

form4 ,the wild grass grows well and    
strongly1 one year with another2 but the
 wheat is1 according to the greater     
nobleness of its nature1 liable to the  
bitterer blight4 ,and therefore1 while  
in all things that we see or do1 we are 
to desire perfection1 and strive for it1
 we are nevertheless not to set the     
meaner thing1 in its narrow             
accomplishment1 above the nobler thing1 
in its mighty progress2 not to esteem   
smooth minuteness above shattered       
majesty2 not to prefer mean victory to  
honourable defeat2 not to lower the     
level of our aim1 that we may the more  
surely enjoy the complacency of success4
 ,but1 above all1 in our dealings with  
the souls of other men1 we are to take  
care how we check1 by severe requirement
 or narrow caution1 efforts which might 
otherwise lead to a noble issue2 and1   
still more1 how we withhold our         
admiration from great excellencies1     
because they are mingled with rough     
faults4 ,now1 in the make and nature of 

every man1 however rude or simple1 whom 
we employ in manual labour1 there are   
some powers for better things3 some     
tardy imagination1 torpid capacity of   
emotion1 tottering steps of thought1    
there are1 even at the worst2 and in    
most cases it is all our own fault that 
they are tardy or torpid4 ,but they     
cannot be strengthened1 unless we are   
content to take them in their           
feebleness1 and unless we prize and     
honour them in their imperfection above 
the best and most perfect manual skill4 
,and this is what we have to do with all
 our labourers2 to look for the         
thoughtful part of them1 and get that   
out of them1 whatever we lose for it1   
whatever faults and errors we are       
obliged to take with it4 ,for the best  
that is in them cannot manifest itself1 
but in company with much error4         
,understand this clearly2 ,you can teach
 a man to draw a straight line1 and to  
cut one2 to strike a curved line1 and to
 carve it2 and to copy and carve any    

number of given lines or forms1 with    
admirable speed and perfect precision2  
and you find his work perfect of its    
kind3 but if you ask him to think about 
any of those forms1 to consider if he   
cannot find any better in his own head1 
he stops2 his execution becomes         
hesitating2 he thinks1 and ten to one he
 thinks wrong2 ten to one he makes a    
mistake in the first touch he gives to  
his work as a thinking being4 ,but you  
have made a man of him for all that4 ,he
 was only a machine before1 an animated 
tool4  ,and observe1 you are put to     
stern choice in this matter4 ,you must  
either make a tool of the creature1 or a
 man of him4 ,you cannot make both4 ,men
 were not intended to work with the     
accuracy of tools1 to be precise and    
perfect in all their actions4 ,if you   
will have that precision out of them1   
and make their fingers measure degrees  
like cog-wheels1 and their arms strike  
curves like compasses1 you must         
unhumanize them4 ,all the energy of     

their spirits must be given to make cogs
 and compasses of themselves4 ,all their
 attention and strength must go to the  
accomplishment of the mean act4 ,the eye
 of the soul must be bent upon the      
finger-point1 and the soul's force must 
fill all the invisible nerves that guide
 it1 ten hours a day1 that it may not   
err from its steely precision1 and so   
soul and sight be worn away1 and the    
whole human being be lost at last--a    
heap of sawdust1 so far as its          
intellectual work in this world is      
concerned2 saved only by its ,heart1    
which cannot go into the form of cogs   
and compasses1 but expands1 after the   
ten hours are over1 into fireside       
humanity4 ,on the other hand1 if you    
will make a man of the working creature1
 you cannot make a tool4 ,let him but   
begin to imagine1 to think1 to try to do
 anything worth doing2 and the          
engine-turned precision is lost at once4
 ,out come all his roughness1 all his   
dulness1 all his incapability2 shame    

upon shame1 failure upon failure1 pause 
after pause3 but out comes the whole    
majesty of him also2 and we know the    
height of it only when we see the clouds
 settling upon him4 ,and1 whether the   
clouds be bright or dark1 there will be 
transfiguration behind and within them4 
,and now1 reader1 look round this       
,english room of yours1 about which you 
have been proud so often1 because the   
work of it was so good and strong1 and  
the ornaments of it so finished4        
,examine again all those accurate       
mouldings1 and perfect polishings1 and  
unerring adjustments of the seasoned    
wood and tempered steel4 ,many a time   
you have exulted over them1 and thought 
how great ,england was1 because her     
slightest work was done so thoroughly4  
,alas6 if read rightly1 these           
perfectnesses are signs of a slavery in 
our ,england a thousand times more      
bitter and more degrading than that of  
the scourged ,african1 or helot ,greek4 
,men may be beaten1 chained1 tormented1 

yoked like cattle1 slaughtered like     
summer flies1 and yet remain in one     
sense1 and the best sense1 free4 ,but to
 smother their souls within them1 to    
blight and hew into rotting pollards the
 suckling branches of their human       
intelligence1 to make the flesh and skin
 which1 after the worm's work on it1 is 
to see ,god1#aeh into leathern thongs to
 yoke machinery with1--this it is to be 
slave-masters indeed2 and there might be
 more freedom in ,england1 though her   
feudal lords' lightest words were worth 
men's lives1 and though the blood of the
 vexed husbandman dropped in the furrows
 of her fields1 than there is while the 
animation of her multitudes is sent like
 fuel to feed the factory smoke1 and the
 strength of them is given daily to be  
wasted into the fineness of a web1 or   
racked into the exactness of a line4    
,and1 on the other hand1 go forth again 
to gaze upon the old cathedral front1   
where you have smiled so often at the   
fantastic ignorance of the old          

sculptors3 examine once more those ugly 
goblins1 and formless monsters1 and     
stern statues1 anatomiless and rigid2   
but do not mock at them1 for they are   
signs of the life and liberty of every  
workman who struck the stone2 a freedom 
of thought1 and rank in scale of being1 
such as no laws1 no charters1 no        
charities can secure2 but which it must 
be the first aim of all ,europe at this 
day to regain for her children4  ,let me
 not be thought to speak wildly or      
extravagantly4 ,it is verily this       
degradation of the operative into a     
machine1 which1 more than any other evil
 of the times1 is leading the mass of   
the nations everywhere into vain1       
incoherent1 destructive struggling for a
 freedom of which they cannot explain   
the nature to themselves4 ,their        
universal outcry against wealth1 and    
against nobility1 is not forced from    
them either by the pressure of famine1  
or the sting of mortified pride4 ,these 
do much1 and have done much in all ages2

 but the foundations of society were    
never yet shaken as they are at this    
day4 ,it is not that men are ill fed1   
but that they have no pleasure in the   
work by which they make their bread1 and
 therefore look to wealth as the only   
means of pleasure4 ,it is not that men  
are pained by the scorn of the upper    
classes1 but they cannot endure their   
own2 for they feel that the kind of     
labour to which they are condemned is   
verily a degrading one1 and makes them  
less than men4 ,never had the upper     
classes so much sympathy with the lower1
 or charity for them1 as they have at   
this day1 and yet never were they so    
much hated by them3 for1 of old1 the    
separation between the noble and the    
poor was merely a wall built by law2 now
 it is a veritable difference in level  
of standing1 a precipice between upper  
and lower grounds in the field of       
humanity1 and there is pestilential air 
at the bottom of it4 ,i know not if a   
day is ever to come when the nature of  

right freedom will be understood1 and   
when men will see that to obey another  
man1 to labour for him1 yield reverence 
to him or to his place1 is not slavery4 
,it is often the best kind of           
liberty1--liberty from care4 ,the man   
who says to one1 ,go1 and he goeth1 and 
to another1 ,come1 and he cometh1#aei   
has1 in most cases1 more sense of       
restraint and difficulty than the man   
who obeys him4 ,the movements of the one
 are hindered by the burden on his      
shoulder2 of the other1 by the bridle on
 his lips3 there is no way by which the 
burden may be lightened2 but we need not
 suffer from the bridle if we do not    
champ at it4 ,to yield reverence to     
another1 to hold ourselves and our lives
 at his disposal1 is not slavery2 often 
it is the noblest state in which a man  
can live in this world4 ,there is1      
indeed1 a reverence which is servile1   
that is to say irrational or selfish3   
but there is also noble reverence1 that 
is to say1 reasonable and loving2 and a 

man is never so noble as when he is     
reverent in this kind2 nay1 even if the 
feeling pass the bounds of mere reason1 
so that it be loving1 a man is raised by
 it4 ,which had1 in reality1 most of the
 serf nature in him1--the ,irish peasant
 who was lying in wait yesterday for his
 landlord1 with his musket muzzle thrust
 through the ragged hedge2 or that old  
mountain servant1 who #bjj years ago1 at
 ,inverkeithing1 gave up his own life   
and the lives of his seven sons for his 
chief8--as each fell1 calling forth his 
brother to the death1 ,another for      
,hector6#afj ,and therefore1 in all ages
 and all countries1 reverence has been  
paid and sacrifice made by men to each  
other1 not only without complaint1 but  
rejoicingly2 and famine1 and peril1 and 
sword1 and all evil1 and all shame1 have
 been borne willingly in the causes of  
masters and kings2 for all these gifts  
of the heart ennobled the men who gave  
not less than the men who received them1
 and nature prompted1 and ,god rewarded 

the sacrifice4 ,but to feel their souls 
withering within them1 unthanked1 to    
find their whole being sunk into an     
unrecognized abyss1 to be counted off   
into a heap of mechanism1 numbered with 
its wheels1 and weighed with its hammer 
strokes2--this nature bade not1--this   
,god blesses not1--this humanity for no 
long time is able to endure4  ,we have  
much studied and much perfected1 of     
late1 the great civilized invention of  
the division of labour2 only we give it 
a false name4 ,it is not1 truly         
speaking2 the labour that is divided2   
but the men3--,divided into mere        
segments of men--broken into small      
fragments and crumbs of life2 so that   
all the little piece of intelligence    
that is left in a man is not enough to  
make a pin1 or a nail1 but exhausts     
itself in making the point of a pin or  
the head of a nail4 ,now it is a good   
and desirable thing1 truly1 to make many
 pins in a day2 but if we could only see
 with what crystal sand their points    

were polished1--sand of human soul1 much
 to be magnified before it can be       
discerned for what it is1--we should    
think there might be some loss in it    
also4 ,and the great cry that rises from
 all our manufacturing cities1 louder   
than their furnace blast1 is all in very
 deed for this1--that we manufacture    
everything there except men2 we blanch  
cotton1 and strengthen steel1 and refine
 sugar1 and shape pottery2 but to       
brighten1 to strengthen1 to refine1 or  
to form a single living spirit1 never   
enters into our estimate of advantages4 
,and all the evil to which that cry is  
urging our myriads can be met only in   
one way3 not by teaching nor preaching1 
for to teach them is but to show them   
their misery1 and to preach to them1 if 
we do nothing more than preach1 is to   
mock at it4 ,it can be met only by a    
right understanding1 on the part of all 
classes1 of what kinds of labour are    
good for men1 raising them1 and making  
them happy2 by a determined sacrifice of

 such convenience1 or beauty1 or        
cheapness as is to be got only by the   
degradation of the workman2 and by      
equally determined demand for the       
products and results of healthy and     
ennobling labour4  ,and how1 it will be 
asked1 are these products to be         
recognized1 and this demand to be       
regulated8 ,easily3 by the observance of
 three broad and simple rules3    #a4   
,never encourage the manufacture of any 
article not absolutely   necessary1 in  
the production of which ,invention has  
no share4    #b4 ,never demand an exact 
finish for its own sake1 but only for   
some   practical or noble end4    #c4   
,never encourage imitation or copying of
 any kind1 except for the   sake of     
preserving record of great works4  ,the 
second of these principles is the only  
one which directly rises out of the     
consideration of our immediate subject2 
but ,i shall briefly explain the meaning
 and extent of the first also1 reserving
 the enforcement of the third for       

another place4    #a4 ,never encourage  
the manufacture of anything not         
necessary1 in the   production of which 
invention has no share4  ,for instance4 
,glass beads are utterly unnecessary1   
and there is no design or thought       
employed in their manufacture4 ,they are
 formed by first drawing out the glass  
into rods2 these rods are chopped up    
into fragments of the size of beads by  
the human hand1 and the fragments are   
then rounded in the furnace4 ,the men   
who chop up the rods sit at their work  
all day1 their hands vibrating with a   
perpetual and exquisitely timed palsy1  
and the beads dropping beneath their    
vibration like hail4 ,neither they1 nor 
the men who draw out the rods or fuse   
the fragments1 have the smallest        
occasion for the use of any single human
 faculty2 and every young lady1         
therefore1 who buys glass beads is      
engaged in the slave-trade1 and in a    
much more cruel one than that which we  
have so long been endeavouring to put   

down4  ,but glass cups and vessels may  
become the subjects of exquisite        
invention2 and if in buying these we pay
 for the invention1 that is to say for  
the beautiful form1 or colour1 or       
engraving1 and not for mere finish of   
execution1 we are doing good to         
humanity4  ,so1 again1 the cutting of   
precious stones1 in all ordinary cases1 
requires little exertion of any mental  
faculty2 some tact and judgment in      
avoiding flaws1 and so on1 but nothing  
to bring out the whole mind4 ,every     
person who wears cut jewels merely for  
the sake of their value is1 therefore1 a
 slave-driver4  ,but the working of the 
goldsmith1 and the various designing of 
grouped jewellery and enamel-work1 may  
become the subject of the most noble    
human intelligence4 ,therefore1 money   
spent in the purchase of well-designed  
plate1 of precious engraved vases1      
cameos1 or enamels1 does good to        
humanity2 and1 in work of this kind1    
jewels may be employed to heighten its  

splendour2 and their cutting is then a  
price paid for the attainment of a noble
 end1 and thus perfectly allowable4  ,i 
shall perhaps press this law farther    
elsewhere1 but our immediate concern is 
chiefly with the second1 namely1 never  
to demand an exact finish1 when it does 
not lead to a noble end4 ,for observe1  
,i have only dwelt upon the rudeness of 
,gothic1 or any other kind of           
imperfectness1 as admirable1 where it   
was impossible to get design or thought 
without it4 ,if you are to have the     
thought of a rough and untaught man1 you
 must have it in a rough and untaught   
way2 but from an educated man1 who can  
without effort express his thoughts in  
an educated way1 take the graceful      
expression1 and be thankful4 ,only get  
the thought1 and do not silence the     
peasant because he cannot speak good    
grammar1 or until you have taught him   
his grammar4 ,grammar and refinement are
 good things1 both1 only be sure of the 
better thing first4 ,and thus in art1   

delicate finish is desirable from the   
greatest masters1 and is always given by
 them4 ,in some places ,michael ,angelo1
 ,leonardo1 ,phidias1 ,perugino1        
,turner1 all finished with the most     
exquisite care2 and the finish they give
 always leads to the fuller             
accomplishment of their noble purpose4  
,but lower men than these cannot finish1
 for it requires consummate knowledge to
 finish consummately1 and then we must  
take their thoughts as they are able to 
give them4 ,so the rule is simple3      
,always look for invention first1 and   
after that1 for such execution as will  
help the invention1 and as the inventor 
is capable of without painful effort1   
and no more4 ,above all1 demand no      
refinement of execution where there is  
no thought1 for that is slaves' work1   
unredeemed4 ,rather choose rough work   
than smooth work1 so only that the      
practical purpose be answered1 and never
 imagine there is reason to be proud of 
anything that may be accomplished by    

patience and sand-paper4  ,i shall only 
give one example1 which however will    
show the reader what ,i mean1 from the  
manufacture already alluded to1 that of 
glass4 ,our modern glass is exquisitely 
clear in its substance1 true in its     
form1 accurate in its cutting4 ,we are  
proud of this4 ,we ought to be ashamed  
of it4 ,the old ,venice glass was muddy1
 inaccurate in all its forms1 and       
clumsily cut1 if at all4 ,and the old   
,venetian was justly proud of it4 ,for  
there is this difference between the    
,english and ,venetian workman1 that the
 former thinks only of accurately       
matching his patterns1 and getting his  
curves perfectly true and his edges     
perfectly sharp1 and becomes a mere     
machine for rounding curves and         
sharpening edges2 while the old         
,venetian cared not a whit whether his  
edges were sharp or not1 but he invented
 a new design for every glass that he   
made1 and never moulded a handle or a   
lip without a new fancy in it4 ,and     

therefore1 though some ,venetian glass  
is ugly and clumsy enough when made by  
clumsy and uninventive workmen1 other   
,venetian glass is so lovely in its     
forms that no price is too great for it2
 and we never see the same form in it   
twice4 ,now you cannot have the finish  
and the varied form too4 ,if the workman
 is thinking about his edges1 he cannot 
be thinking of his design2 if of his    
design1 he cannot think of his edges4   
,choose whether you will pay for the    
lovely form or the perfect finish1 and  
choose at the same moment whether you   
will make the worker a man or a         
grindstone4  ,nay1 but the reader       
interrupts me1--,if the workman can     
design beautifully1 ,i would not have   
him kept at the furnace4 ,let him be    
taken away and made a gentleman1 and    
have a studio1 and design his glass     
there1 and ,i will have it blown and cut
 for him by common workmen1 and so ,i   
will have my design and my finish too4  
,all ideas of this kind are founded upon

 two mistaken suppositions3 the first1  
that one man's thoughts can be1 or ought
 to be1 executed by another man's hands2
 the second1 that manual labour is a    
degradation1 when it is governed by     
intellect4  ,on a large scale1 and in   
work determinable by line and rule1 it  
is indeed both possible and necessary   
that the thoughts of one man should be  
carried out by the labour of others2 in 
this sense ,i have already defined the  
best architecture to be the expression  
of the mind of manhood by the hands of  
childhood4 ,but on a smaller scale1 and 
in a design which cannot be             
mathematically defined1 one man's       
thoughts can never be expressed by      
another3 and the difference between the 
spirit of touch of the man who is       
inventing1 and of the man who is obeying
 directions1 is often all the difference
 between a great and a common work of   
art4 ,how wide the separation is between
 original and second-hand execution1 ,i 
shall endeavour to show elsewhere2 it is

 not so much to our purpose here as to  
mark the other and more fatal error of  
despising manual labour when governed by
 intellect2 for it is no less fatal an  
error to despise it when thus regulated 
by intellect1 than to value it for its  
own sake4 ,we are always in these days  
endeavouring to separate the two2 we    
want one man to be always thinking1 and 
another to be always working1 and we    
call one a gentleman1 and the other an  
operative2 whereas the workman ought    
often to be thinking1 and the thinker   
often to be working1 and both should be 
gentlemen1 in the best sense4 ,as it is1
 we make both ungentle1 the one envying1
 the other despising1 his brother2 and  
the mass of society is made up of morbid
 thinkers1 and miserable workers4 ,now  
it is only by labour that thought can be
 made healthy1 and only by thought that 
labour can be made happy1 and the two   
cannot be separated with impunity4 ,it  
would be well if all of us were good    
handicraftsmen in some kind1 and the    

dishonour of manual labour done away    
with altogether2 so that though there   
should still be a trenchant distinction 
of race between nobles and commoners1   
there should not1 among the latter1 be a
 trenchant distinction of employment1 as
 between idle and working men1 or       
between men of liberal and illiberal    
professions4 ,all professions should be 
liberal1 and there should be less pride 
felt in peculiarity of employment1 and  
more in excellence of achievement4 ,and 
yet more1 in each several profession1 no
 master should be too proud to do its   
hardest work4 ,the painter should grind 
his own colours2 the architect work in  
the mason's yard with his men2 the      
master-manufacturer be himself a more   
skilful operative than any man in his   
mills2 and the distinction between one  
man and another be only in experience   
and skill1 and the authority and wealth 
which these must naturally and justly   
obtain4  ,i should be led far from the  
matter in hand1 if ,i were to pursue    

this interesting subject4 ,enough1 ,i   
trust1 has been said to show the reader 
that the rudeness or imperfection which 
at first rendered the term ,gothic one  
of reproach is indeed1 when rightly     
understood1 one of the most noble       
characters of ,christian architecture1  
and not only a noble but an essential   
one4 ,it seems a fantastic paradox1 but 
it is nevertheless a most important     
truth1 that no architecture can be truly
 noble which is not imperfect4 ,and this
 is easily demonstrable4 ,for since the 
architect1 whom we will suppose capable 
of doing all in perfection1 cannot      
execute the whole with his own hands1 he
 must either make slaves of his workmen 
in the old ,greek1 and present ,english 
fashion1 and level his work to a slave's
 capacities1 which is to degrade it2 or 
else he must take his workmen as he     
finds them1 and let them show their     
weaknesses together with their strength1
 which will involve the ,gothic         
imperfection1 but render the whole work 

as noble as the intellect of the age can
 make it4  ,but the principle may be    
stated more broadly still4 ,i have      
confined the illustration of it to      
architecture1 but ,i must not leave it  
as if true of architecture only4        
,hitherto ,i have used the words        
imperfect and perfect merely to         
distinguish between work grossly        
unskilful1 and work executed with       
average precision and science2 and ,i   
have been pleading that any degree of   
unskilfulness should be admitted1 so    
only that the labourer's mind had room  
for expression4 ,but1 accurately        
speaking1 no good work whatever can be  
perfect1 and the demand for perfection  
is always a sign of a misunderstanding  
of the ends of art4  ,this for two      
reasons1 both based on everlasting laws4
 ,the first1 that no great man ever     
stops working till he has reached his   
point of failure3 that is to say1 his   
mind is always far in advance of his    
powers of execution1 and the latter will

 now and then give way in trying to     
follow it2 besides that he will always  
give to the inferior portions of his    
work only such inferior attention as    
they require2 and according to his      
greatness he becomes so accustomed to   
the feeling of dissatisfaction with the 
best he can do1 that in moments of      
lassitude or anger with himself he will 
not care though the beholder be         
dissatisfied also4 ,i believe there has 
only been one man who would not         
acknowledge this necessity1 and strove  
always to reach perfection1 ,leonardo2  
the end of his vain effort being merely 
that he would take ten years to a       
picture and leave it unfinished4 ,and   
therefore1 if we are to have great men  
working at all1 or less men doing their 
best1 the work will be imperfect1       
however beautiful4 ,of human work none  
but what is bad can be perfect1 in its  
own bad way4#afa  ,the second reason is1
 that imperfection is in some sort      
essential to all that we know of life4  

,it is the sign of life in a mortal     
body1 that is to say1 of a state of     
progress and change4 ,nothing that lives
 is1 or can be1 rigidly perfect2 part of
 it is decaying1 part nascent4 ,the     
foxglove blossom1--a third part bud1 a  
third part past1 a third part in full   
bloom1--is a type of the life of this   
world4 ,and in all things that live     
there are certain irregularities and    
deficiencies which are not only signs of
 life1 but sources of beauty4 ,no human 
face is exactly the same in its lines on
 each side1 no leaf perfect in its      
lobes1 no branch in its symmetry4 ,all  
admit irregularity as they imply change2
 and to banish imperfection is to       
destroy expression1 to check exertion1  
to paralyze vitality4 ,all things are   
literally better1 lovelier1 and more    
beloved for the imperfections which have
 been divinely appointed1 that the law  
of human life may be ,effort1 and the   
law of human judgment1 ,mercy4  ,accept 
this then for a universal law1 that     

neither architecture nor any other noble
 work of man can be good unless it be   
imperfect2 and let us be prepared for   
the otherwise strange fact1 which we    
shall discern clearly as we approach the
 period of the ,renaissance1 that the   
first cause of the fall of the arts of  
,europe was a relentless requirement of 
perfection1 incapable alike either of   
being silenced by veneration for        
greatness1 or softened into forgiveness 
of simplicity4  ,thus far then of the   
,rudeness or ,savageness1 which is the  
first mental element of ,gothic         
architecture4 ,it is an element in many 
other healthy architectures also1 as in 
,byzantine and ,romanesque2 but true    
,gothic cannot exist without it4  ,the  
second mental element above named was   
,,changefulness1 or ,variety4  ,i have  
already enforced the allowing           
independent operation to the inferior   
workman1 simply as a duty to him1 and as
 ennobling the architecture by rendering
 it more ,christian4 ,we have now to    

consider what reward we obtain for the  
performance of this duty1 namely1 the   
perpetual variety of every feature of   
the building4  ,wherever the workman is 
utterly enslaved1 the parts of the      
building must of course be absolutely   
like each other2 for the perfection of  
his execution can only be reached by    
exercising him in doing one thing1 and  
giving him nothing else to do4 ,the     
degree in which the workman is degraded 
may be thus known at a glance1 by       
observing whether the several parts of  
the building are similar or not2 and if1
 as in ,greek work1 all the capitals are
 alike1 and all the mouldings unvaried1 
then the degradation is complete2 if1 as
 in ,egyptian or ,ninevite work1 though 
the manner of executing certain figures 
is always the same1 the order of design 
is perpetually varied1 the degradation  
is less total2 if1 as in ,gothic work1  
there is perpetual change both in design
 and execution1 the workman must have   
been altogether set free4  ,how much the

 beholder gains from the liberty of the 
labourer may perhaps be questioned in   
,england1 where one of the strongest    
instincts in nearly every mind is that  
,love of ,order which makes us desire   
that our house windows should pair like 
our carriage horses1 and allows us to   
yield our faith unhesitatingly to       
architectural theories which fix a form 
for everything1 and forbid variation    
from it4 ,i would not impeach love of   
order3 it is one of the most useful     
elements of the ,english mind2 it helps 
us in our commerce and in all purely    
practical matters2 and it is in many    
cases one of the foundation stones of   
morality4 ,only do not let us suppose   
that love of order is love of art4 ,it  
is true that order1 in its highest      
sense1 is one of the necessities of art1
 just as time is a necessity of music2  
but love of order has no more to do with
 our right enjoyment of architecture or 
painting1 than love of punctuality with 
the appreciation of an opera4           

,experience1 ,i fear1 teaches us that   
accurate and methodical habits in daily 
life are seldom characteristic of those 
who either quickly perceive1 or richly  
possess1 the creative powers of art2    
there is1 however1 nothing inconsistent 
between the two instincts1 and nothing  
to hinder us from retaining our business
 habits1 and yet fully allowing and     
enjoying the noblest gifts of           
,invention4 ,we already do so1 in every 
other branch of art except architecture1
 and we only do not so there because we 
have been taught that it would be wrong4
 ,our architects gravely inform us that1
 as there are four rules of arithmetic1 
there are five orders of architecture2  
we1 in our simplicity1 think that this  
sounds consistent1 and believe them4    
,they inform us also that there is one  
proper form for ,corinthian capitals1   
another for ,doric1 and another for     
,ionic4 ,we1 considering that there is  
also a proper form for the letters ,a1  
,b1 and ,c1 think that this also sounds 

consistent1 and accept the proposition4 
,understanding1 therefore1 that one form
 of the said capitals is proper1 and no 
other1 and having a conscientious horror
 of all impropriety1 we allow the       
architect to provide us with the said   
capitals1 of the proper form1 in such   
and such a quantity1 and in all other   
points to take care that the legal forms
 are observed2 which having done1 we    
rest in forced confidence that we are   
well housed4  ,but our higher instincts 
are not deceived4 ,we take no pleasure  
in the building provided for us1        
resembling that which we take in a new  
book or a new picture4 ,we may be proud 
of its size1 complacent in its          
correctness1 and happy in its           
convenience4 ,we may take the same      
pleasure in its symmetry and workmanship
 as in a well-ordered room1 or a skilful
 piece of manufacture4 ,and this we     
suppose to be all the pleasure that     
architecture was ever intended to give  
us4 ,the idea of reading a building as  

we would read ,milton or ,dante1 and    
getting the same kind of delight out of 
the stones as out of the stanzas1 never 
enters our minds for a moment4 ,and for 
good reason2--,there is indeed rhythm in
 the verses1 quite as strict as the     
symmetries or rhythm of the             
architecture1 and a thousand times more 
beautiful1 but there is something else  
than rhythm4 ,the verses were neither   
made to order1 nor to match1 as the     
capitals were2 and we have therefore a  
kind of pleasure in them other than a   
sense of propriety4 ,but it requires a  
strong effort of common sense to shake  
ourselves quit of all that we have been 
taught for the last two centuries1 and  
wake to the perception of a truth just  
as simple and certain as it is new3 that
 great art1 whether expressing itself in
 words1 colours1 or stones1 does not say
 the same thing over and over again2    
that the merit of architectural1 as of  
every other art1 consists in its saying 
new and different things2 that to repeat

 itself is no more a characteristic of  
genius in marble than it is of genius in
 print2 and that we may1 without        
offending any laws of good taste1       
require of an architect1 as we do of a  
novelist1 that he should be not only    
correct1 but entertaining4  ,yet all    
this is true1 and self-evident2 only    
hidden from us1 as many other           
self-evident things are1 by false       
teaching4 ,nothing is a great work of   
art1 for the production of which either 
rules or models can be given4 ,exactly  
so far as architecture works on known   
rules1 and from given models1 it is not 
an art1 but a manufacture2 and it is1 of
 the two procedures1 rather less        
rational 7because more easy7 to copy    
capitals or mouldings from ,phidias1 and
 call ourselves architects1 than to copy
 heads and hands from ,titian1 and call 
ourselves painters4  ,let us then       
understand at once that change or       
variety is as much a necessity to the   
human heart and brain in buildings as in

 books2 that there is no merit1 though  
there is some occasional use1 in        
monotony2 and that we must no more      
expect to derive either pleasure or     
profit from an architecture whose       
ornaments are of one pattern1 and whose 
pillars are of one proportion1 than we  
should out of a universe in which the   
clouds were all of one shape1 and the   
trees all of one size4  ,and this we    
confess in deeds1 though not in words4  
,all the pleasure which the people of   
the nineteenth century take in art1 is  
in pictures1 sculpture1 minor objects of
 virtu1 or mediaeval architecture1 which
 we enjoy under the term picturesque3 no
 pleasure is taken anywhere in modern   
buildings1 and we find all men of true  
feeling delighting to escape out of     
modern cities into natural scenery3     
hence1 as ,i shall hereafter show1 that 
peculiar love of landscape1 which is    
characteristic of the age4 ,it would be 
well1 if1 in all other matters1 we were 
as ready to put up with what we dislike1

 for the sake of compliance with        
established law1 as we are in           
architecture4  ,how so debased a law    
ever came to be established1 we shall   
see when we come to describe the        
,renaissance schools2 here we have only 
to note1 as the second most essential   
element of the ,gothic spirit1 that it  
broke through that law wherever it found
 it in existence2 it not only dared1 but
 delighted in1 the infringement of every
 servile principle2 and invented a      
series of forms of which the merit was1 
not merely that they were new1 but that 
they were capable of perpetual novelty4 
,the pointed arch was not merely a bold 
variation from the round1 but it        
admitted of millions of variations in   
itself2 for the proportions of a pointed
 arch are changeable to infinity1 while 
a circular arch is always the same4 ,the
 grouped shaft was not merely a bold    
variation from the single one1 but it   
admitted of millions of variations in   
its grouping1 and in the proportions    

resultant from its grouping4 ,the       
introduction of tracery was not only a  
startling change in the treatment of    
window lights1 but admitted endless     
changes in the interlacement of the     
tracery bars themselves4 ,so that1 while
 in all living ,christian architecture  
the love of variety exists1 the ,gothic 
schools exhibited that love in          
culminating energy2 and their influence1
 wherever it extended itself1 may be    
sooner and farther traced by this       
character than by any other2 the        
tendency to the adoption of ,gothic     
types being always first shown by       
greater irregularity1 and richer        
variation in the forms of the           
architecture it is about to supersede1  
long before the appearance of the       
pointed arch or of any other            
recognizable outward sign of the ,gothic
 mind4  ,we must1 however1 herein note  
carefully what distinction there is     
between a healthy and a diseased love of
 change2 for as it was in healthy love  

of change that the ,gothic architecture 
rose1 it was partly in consequence of   
diseased love of change that it was     
destroyed4 ,in order to understand this 
clearly1 it will be necessary to        
consider the different ways in which    
change and monotony are presented to us 
in nature2 both having their use1 like  
darkness and light1 and the one         
incapable of being enjoyed without the  
other3 change being most delightful     
after some prolongation of monotony1 as 
light appears most brilliant after the  
eyes have been for some time closed4  ,i
 believe that the true relations of     
monotony and change may be most simply  
understood by observing them in music4  
,we may therein notice first1 that there
 is a sublimity and majesty in monotony1
 which there is not in rapid or frequent
 variation4 ,this is true throughout all
 nature4 ,the greater part of the       
sublimity of the sea depends on its     
monotony2 so also that of desolate moor 
and mountain scenery2 and especially the

 sublimity of motion1 as in the quiet1  
unchanged fall and rise of an engine    
beam4 ,so also there is sublimity in    
darkness which there is not in light4   
,again1 monotony after a certain time1  
or beyond a certain degree1 becomes     
either uninteresting or intolerable1 and
 the musician is obliged to break it in 
one or two ways3 either while the air or
 passage is perpetually repeated1 its   
notes are variously enriched and        
harmonized2 or else1 after a certain    
number of repeated passages1 an entirely
 new passage is introduced1 which is    
more or less delightful according to the
 length of the previous monotony4       
,nature1 of course1 uses both these     
kinds of variation perpetually4 ,the    
sea-waves1 resembling each other in     
general mass1 but none like its brother 
in minor divisions and curves1 are a    
monotony of the first kind2 the great   
plain1 broken by an emergent rock or    
clump of trees1 is a monotony of the    
second4  ,farther3 in order to the      

enjoyment of the change in either case1 
a certain degree of patience is required
 from the hearer or observer4 ,in the   
first case1 he must be satisfied to     
endure with patience the recurrence of  
the great masses of sound or form1 and  
to seek for entertainment in a careful  
watchfulness of the minor details4 ,in  
the second case1 he must bear patiently 
the infliction of the monotony for some 
moments1 in order to feel the full      
refreshment of the change4 ,this is true
 even of the shortest musical passage in
 which the element of monotony is       
employed4 ,in cases of more majestic    
monotony1 the patience required is so   
considerable that it becomes a kind of  
pain1--a price paid for the future      
pleasure4  ,again3 the talent of the    
composer is not in the monotony1 but in 
the changes3 he may show feeling and    
taste by his use of monotony in certain 
places or degrees2 that is to say1 by   
his various employment of it2 but it is 
always in the new arrangement or        

invention that his intellect is shown1  
and not in the monotony which relieves  
it4  ,lastly3 if the pleasure of change 
be too often repeated1 it ceases to be  
delightful1 for then change itself      
becomes monotonous1 and we are driven to
 seek delight in extreme and fantastic  
degrees of it4 ,this is the diseased    
love of change of which we have above   
spoken4  ,from these facts we may gather
 generally that monotony is1 and ought  
to be1 in itself painful to us1 just as 
darkness is2 that an architecture which 
is altogether monotonous is a dark or   
dead architecture2 and of those who love
 it1 it may be truly said1 they love    
darkness rather than light4 ,but        
monotony in certain measure1 used in    
order to give value to change1 and above
 all1 that transparent monotony1 which1 
like the shadows of a great painter1    
suffers all manner of dimly suggested   
form to be seen through the body of it1 
is an essential in architectural as in  
all other composition2 and the endurance

 of monotony has about the same place in
 a healthy mind that the endurance of   
darkness has3 that is to say1 as a      
strong intellect will have pleasure in  
the solemnities of storm and twilight1  
and in the broken and mysterious lights 
that gleam among them1 rather than in   
mere brilliancy and glare1 while a      
frivolous mind will dread the shadow and
 the storm2 and as a great man will be  
ready to endure much darkness of fortune
 in order to reach greater eminence of  
power or felicity1 while an inferior man
 will not pay the price2 exactly in like
 manner a great mind will accept1 or    
even delight in1 monotony which would be
 wearisome to an inferior intellect1    
because it has more patience and power  
of expectation1 and is ready to pay the 
full price for the great future pleasure
 of change4 ,but in all cases it is not 
that the noble nature loves monotony1   
anymore than it loves darkness or pain4 
,but it can bear with it1 and receives a
 high pleasure in the endurance or      

patience1 a pleasure necessary to the   
well-being of this world2 while those   
who will not submit to the temporary    
sameness1 but rush from one change to   
another1 gradually dull the edge of     
change itself1 and bring a shadow and   
weariness over the whole world from     
which there is no more escape4  ,from   
these general uses of variety in the    
economy of the world1 we may at once    
understand its use and abuse in         
architecture4 ,the variety of the       
,gothic schools is the more healthy and 
beautiful1 because in many cases it is  
entirely unstudied1 and results1 not    
from the mere love of change1 but from  
practical necessities4 ,for in one point
 of view ,gothic is not only the best1  
but the only rational architecture1 as  
being that which can fit itself most    
easily to all services1 vulgar or noble4
 ,undefined in its slope of roof1 height
 of shaft1 breadth of arch1 or          
disposition of ground plan1 it can      
shrink into a turret1 expand into a     

hall1 coil into a staircase1 or spring  
into a spire1 with undegraded grace and 
unexhausted energy2 and whenever it     
finds occasion for change in its form or
 purpose1 it submits to it without the  
slightest sense of loss either to its   
unity or majesty1--subtle and flexible  
like a fiery serpent1 but ever attentive
 to the voice of the charmer4 ,and it is
 one of the chief virtues of the ,gothic
 builders1 that they never suffered     
ideas of outside symmetries and         
consistencies to interfere with the real
 use and value of what they did4 ,if    
they wanted a window1 they opened one2 a
 room1 they added one2 a buttress1 they 
built one2 utterly regardless of any    
established conventionalities of        
external appearance1 knowing 7as indeed 
it always happened7 that such daring    
interruptions of the formal plan would  
rather give additional interest to its  
symmetry than injure it4 ,so that1 in   
the best times of ,gothic1 a useless    
window would rather have been opened in 

an unexpected place for the sake of the 
surprise1 than a useful one forbidden   
for the sake of symmetry4 ,every        
successive architect1 employed upon a   
great work1 built the pieces he added in
 his own way1 utterly regardless of the 
style adopted by his predecessors2 and  
if two towers were raised in nominal    
correspondence at the sides of a        
cathedral front1 one was nearly sure to 
be different from the other1 and in each
 the style at the top to be different   
from the style at the bottom4  ,these   
marked variations were1 however1 only   
permitted as part of the great system of
 perpetual change which ran through     
every member of ,gothic design1 and     
rendered it as endless a field for the  
beholder's inquiry as for the builder's 
imagination3 change1 which in the best  
schools is subtle and delicate1 and     
rendered more delightful by             
intermingling of a noble monotony2 in   
the more barbaric schools is somewhat   
fantastic and redundant2 but1 in all1 a 

necessary and constant condition of the 
life of the school4 ,sometimes the      
variety is in one feature1 sometimes in 
another2 it may be in the capitals or   
crockets1 in the niches or the          
traceries1 or in all together1 but in   
some one or other of the features it    
will be found always4 ,if the mouldings 
are constant1 the surface sculpture will
 change2 if the capitals are of a fixed 
design1 the traceries will change2 if   
the traceries are monotonous1 the       
capitals will change2 and if even1 as in
 some fine schools1 the early ,english  
for example1 there is the slightest     
approximation to an unvarying type of   
mouldings1 capitals1 and floral         
decoration1 the variety is found in the 
disposition of the masses1 and in the   
figure sculpture4  ,i must now refer for
 a moment1 before we quit the           
consideration of this1 the second mental
 element of ,gothic1 to the opening of  
the third chapter of the ,seven ,lamps  
of ,architecture1 in which the          

distinction was drawn 7,sec4 #b7 between
 man gathering and man governing2       
between his acceptance of the sources of
 delight from nature1 and his           
development of authoritative or         
imaginative power in their arrangement3 
for the two mental elements1 not only of
 ,gothic1 but of all good architecture1 
which we have just been examining1      
belong to it1 and are admirable in it1  
chiefly as it is1 more than any other   
subject of art1 the work of man1 and the
 expression of the average power of man4
 ,a picture or poem is often little more
 than a feeble utterance of man's       
admiration of something out of himself2 
but architecture approaches more to a   
creation of his own1 born of his        
necessities1 and expressive of his      
nature4 ,it is also1 in some sort1 the  
work of the whole race1 while the       
picture or statue are the work of one   
only1 in most cases more highly gifted  
than his fellows4 ,and therefore we may 
expect that the first two elements of   

good architecture should be expressive  
of some great truths commonly belonging 
to the whole race1 and necessary to be  
understood or felt by them in all their 
work that they do under the sun4 ,and   
observe what they are3 the confession of
 ,imperfection1 and the confession of   
,desire of ,change4 ,the building of the
 bird and the bee needs not express     
anything like this4 ,it is perfect and  
unchanging4 ,but just because we are    
something better than birds or bees1 our
 building must confess that we have not 
reached the perfection we can imagine1  
and cannot rest in the condition we have
 attained4 ,if we pretend to have       
reached either perfection or            
satisfaction1 we have degraded ourselves
 and our work4 ,god's work only may     
express that2 but ours may never have   
that sentence written upon it1--,and    
behold1 it was very good4 ,and1 observe 
again1 it is not merely as it renders   
the edifice a book of various knowledge1
 or a mine of precious thought1 that    

variety is essential to its nobleness4  
,the vital principle is not the love of 
,knowledge1 but the love of ,change4 ,it
 is that strange disquietude of the     
,gothic spirit that is its greatness2   
that restlessness of the dreaming mind1 
that wanders hither and thither among   
the niches1 and flickers feverishly     
around the pinnacles1 and frets and     
fades in labyrinthine knots and shadows 
along wall and roof1 and yet is not     
satisfied1 nor shall be satisfied4 ,the 
,greek could stay in his triglyph       
furrow1 and be at peace2 but the work of
 the ,gothic heart is fretwork still1   
and it can neither rest in1 nor from1   
its labour1 but must pass on1           
sleeplessly1 until its love of change   
shall be pacified for ever in the change
 that must come alike on them that wake 
and them that sleep4444  ,last1 because 
the least essential1 of the constituent 
elements of this noble school1 was      
placed that of ,,redundance1--the       
uncalculating bestowal of the wealth of 

its labour4 ,there is1 indeed1 much     
,gothic1 and that of the best period1 in
 which this element is hardly traceable1
 and which depends for its effect almost
 exclusively on loveliness of simple    
design and grace of uninvolved          
proportion2 still1 in the most          
characteristic buildings1 a certain     
portion of their effect depends upon    
accumulation of ornament2 and many of   
those which have most influence on the  
minds of men1 have attained it by means 
of this attribute alone4 ,and although1 
by careful study of the school1 it is   
possible to arrive at a condition of    
taste which shall be better contented by
 a few perfect lines than by a whole    
facade covered with fretwork1 the       
building which only satisfies such a    
taste is not to be considered the best4 
,for the very first requirement of      
,gothic architecture being1 as we saw   
above1 that it shall both admit the aid1
 and appeal to the admiration1 of the   
rudest as well as the most refined      

minds1 the richness of the work is1     
paradoxical as the statement may appear1
 a part of its humility4 ,no            
architecture is so haughty as that which
 is simple2 which refuses to address the
 eye1 except in a few clear and forceful
 lines2 which implies1 in offering so   
little to our regards1 that all it has  
offered is perfect2 and disdains1 either
 by the complexity of the attractiveness
 of its features1 to embarrass our      
investigation1 or betray us into        
delight4 ,that humility1 which is the   
very life of the ,gothic school1 is     
shown not only in the imperfection1 but 
in the accumulation1 of ornament4 ,the  
inferior rank of the workman is often   
shown as much in the richness1 as the   
roughness1 of his work2 and if the      
co-operation of every hand1 and the     
sympathy of every heart1 are to be      
received1 we must be content to allow   
the redundance which disguises the      
failure of the feeble1 and wins the     
regard of the inattentive4 ,there are1  

however1 far nobler interests mingling1 
in the ,gothic heart1 with the rude love
 of decorative accumulation3 a          
magnificent enthusiasm1 which feels as  
if it never could do enough to reach the
 fulness of its ideal2 an unselfishness 
of sacrifice1 which would rather cast   
fruitless labour before the altar than  
stand idle in the market2 and1 finally1 
a profound sympathy with the fulness and
 wealth of the material universe1 rising
 out of that ,naturalism whose operation
 we have already endeavoured to define4 
,the sculptor who sought for his models 
among the forest leaves1 could not but  
quickly and deeply feel that complexity 
need not involve the loss of grace1 nor 
richness that of repose2 and every hour 
which he spent in the study of the      
minute and various work of ,nature1 made
 him feel more forcibly the barrenness  
of what was best in that of man3 nor is 
it to be wondered at1 that1 seeing her  
perfect and exquisite creations poured  
forth in a profusion which conception   

could not grasp nor calculation sum1 he 
should think that it ill became him to  
be niggardly of his own rude            
craftsmanship2 and where he saw         
throughout the universe a faultless     
beauty lavished on measureless spaces of
 broidered field and blooming mountain1 
to grudge his poor and imperfect labour 
to the few stones that he had raised one
 upon another1 for habitation or        
memorial4 ,the years of his life passed 
away before his task was accomplished2  
but generation succeeded generation with
 unwearied enthusiasm1 and the cathedral
 front was at last lost in the tapestry 
of its traceries1 like a rock among the 
thickets and herbage of spring4     #aeg
 ,the third kind of ornament1 the       
,renaissance1 is that in which   the    
inferior detail becomes principal1 the  
executor of every minor   portion being 
required to exhibit skill and possess   
knowledge as   great as that which is   
possessed by the master of the design2  
and   in the endeavour to endow him with

 this skill and knowledge1 his   own    
original power is overwhelmed1 and the  
whole building becomes a   wearisome    
exhibition of well-educated imbecility4 
,we must fully   inquire into the nature
 of this form of error1 when we arrive  
at   the examination of the ,renaissance
 schools4 ,ruskin4    #aeh ,job xix1    
#bf4    #aei ,matthew viii1 #i4    #afj 
,vide ,preface to ,fair ,maid of ,perth4
 ,ruskin4    #afa ,the ,elgin marbles   
are supposed by many persons to be      
perfect4   ,in the most important       
portions they indeed approach           
perfection1   but only there4 ,the      
draperies are unfinished1 the hair and  
wool   of the animals are unfinished1   
and the entire bas-reliefs of the       
frieze are roughly cut4 ,ruskin4        
,,selections ,,from ,,the ,,seven       
,,lamps ,,of ,,architecture       ,this 
book began to assume shape in ,ruskin's 
mind as early as #ahdf2     he actually 
wrote it in the six months between      
,november1 #ahdh1 and     ,april1 #ahdi4

 ,it is the first of five illustrated   
volumes embodying     the results of    
seven years devoted to the study of the 
principles     and ideals of ,gothic    
,architecture1 the other volumes being  
,the     ,stones of ,venice and         
,examples of the ,architecture of       
,venice     7#ahea74 ,in the first      
edition of ,the ,seven ,lamps the plates
 were     not only all drawn but also   
etched by his own hand4 ,ruskin at a    
later time wrote that the purpose of    
,the ,seven ,lamps was to     show that 
certain right states of temper and moral
 feeling were     the magic powers by   
which all good architecture had been    
produced4 ,he is really applying here   
the same tests of truth and             
sincerity that he employed in ,modern   
,painters4 ,chronologically1     this   
volume and the others treating of       
architecture come between     the       
composition of ,volumes ,,ii and ,,iii  
of ,modern ,painters4     ,professor    
,charles ,eliot ,norton writes that the 

,seven ,lamps is     the first treatise 
in ,english to teach the real           
significance of     architecture as the 
most trustworthy record of the life and 
faith     of nations4 ,the following    
selections form the closing chapters of 
the volume1 and have a peculiar interest
 as anticipating the     social and     
political ideas which came to colour all
 his later     work4     ,,the ,,lamp   
,,of ,,memory   ,among the hours of his 
life to which the writer looks back with
 peculiar gratitude1 as having been     
marked by more than ordinary fulness of 
joy or clearness of teaching1 is one    
passed1 now some years ago1 near time of
 sunset1 among the broken masses of pine
 forest which skirt the course of the   
,ain1 above the village of ,champagnole1
 in the ,jura4 ,it is a spot which has  
all the solemnity1 with none of the     
savageness1 of the ,alps2 where there is
 a sense of a great power beginning to  
be manifested in the earth1 and of a    
deep and majestic concord in the rise of

 the long low lines of piny hills2 the  
first utterance of those mighty mountain
 symphonies1 soon to be more loudly     
lifted and wildly broken along the      
battlements of the ,alps4 ,but their    
strength is as yet restrained2 and the  
far reaching ridges of pastoral mountain
 succeed each other1 like the long and  
sighing swell which moves over quiet    
waters from some far off stormy sea4    
,and there is a deep tenderness         
pervading that vast monotony4 ,the      
destructive forces and the stern        
expression of the central ranges are    
alike withdrawn4 ,no frost-ploughed1    
dust-encumbered paths of ancient glacier
 fret the soft ,jura pastures2 no       
splintered heaps of ruin break the fair 
ranks of her forest2 no pale1 defiled1  
or furious rivers rend their rude and   
changeful ways among her rocks4         
,patiently1 eddy by eddy1 the clear     
green streams wind along their          
well-known beds2 and under the dark     
quietness of the undisturbed pines1     

there spring up1 year by year1 such     
company of joyful flowers as ,i know not
 the like of among all the blessings of 
the earth4 ,it was spring time1 too2 and
 all were coming forth in clusters      
crowded for very love2 there was room   
enough for all1 but they crushed their  
leaves into all manner of strange shapes
 only to be nearer each other4 ,there   
was the wood anemone1 star after star1  
closing every now and then into nebulae2
 and there was the oxalis1 troop by     
troop1 like virginal processions of the 
,mois de ,marie1#afb the dark vertical  
clefts in the limestone choked up with  
them as with heavy snow1 and touched    
with ivy on the edges--ivy as light and 
lovely as the vine2 and1 ever and anon1 
a blue gush of violets1 and cowslip     
bells in sunny places2 and in the more  
open ground1 the vetch1 and comfrey1 and
 mezereon1 and the small sapphire buds  
of the ,polygala ,alpina1 and the wild  
strawberry1 just a blossom or two all   
showered amidst the golden softness of  

deep1 warm1 amber-coloured moss4 ,i came
 out presently on the edge of the       
ravine3 the solemn murmur of its waters 
rose suddenly from beneath1 mixed with  
the singing of the thrushes among the   
pine boughs2 and1 on the opposite side  
of the valley1 walled all along as it   
was by grey cliffs of limestone1 there  
was a hawk sailing slowly off their     
brow1 touching them nearly with his     
wings1 and with the shadows of the pines
 flickering upon his plumage from above2
 but with the fall of a hundred fathoms 
under his breast1 and the curling pools 
of the green river gliding and          
glittering dizzily beneath him1 their   
foam globes moving with him as he flew4 
,it would be difficult to conceive a    
scene less dependent upon any other     
interest than that of its own secluded  
and serious beauty2 but the writer well 
remembers the sudden blankness and chill
 which were cast upon it when he        
endeavoured1 in order more strictly to  
arrive at the sources of its            

impressiveness1 to imagine it1 for a    
moment1 a scene in some aboriginal      
forest of the ,new ,continent4 ,the     
flowers in an instant lost their light1 
the river its music2 the hills became   
oppressively desolate2 a heaviness in   
the boughs of the darkened forest showed
 how much of their former power had been
 dependent upon a life which was not    
theirs1 how much of the glory of the    
imperishable1 or continually renewed1   
creation is reflected from things more  
precious in their memories than it1 in  
its renewing4 ,those ever springing     
flowers and ever flowing streams had    
been dyed by the deep colours of human  
endurance1 valour1 and virtue2 and the  
crests of the sable hills that rose     
against the evening sky received a      
deeper worship1 because their far       
shadows fell eastward over the iron wall
 of ,joux1 and the four-square keep of  
,granson4  ,it is as the centralization 
and protectress of this sacred          
influence1 that ,architecture is to be  

regarded by us with the most serious    
thought4 ,we may live without her1 and  
worship without her1 but we cannot      
remember without her4 ,how cold is all  
history1 how lifeless all imagery1      
compared to that which the living nation
 writes1 and the uncorrupted marble     
bears6--how many pages of doubtful      
record might we not often spare1 for a  
few stones left one upon another6 ,the  
ambition of the old ,babel builders was 
well directed for this world3#afc there 
are but two strong conquerors of the    
forgetfulness of men1 ,poetry and       
,architecture2 and the latter in some   
sort includes the former1 and is        
mightier in its reality3 it is well to  
have1 not only what men have thought and
 felt1 but what their hands have        
handled1 and their strength wrought1 and
 their eyes beheld1 all the days of     
their life4 ,the age of ,homer is       
surrounded with darkness1 his very      
personality with doubt4 ,not so that of 
,pericles3 and the day is coming when we

 shall confess1 that we have learned    
more of ,greece out of the crumbled     
fragments of her sculpture than even    
from her sweet singers or soldier       
historians4 ,and if indeed there be any 
profit in our knowledge of the past1 or 
any joy in the thought of being         
remembered hereafter1 which can give    
strength to present exertion1 or        
patience to present endurance1 there are
 two duties respecting national         
architecture whose importance it is     
impossible to overrate3 the first1 to   
render the architecture of the day1     
historical2 and1 the second1 to         
preserve1 as the most precious of       
inheritances1 that of past ages4  ,it is
 in the first of these two directions   
that ,memory may truly be said to be the
 ,sixth ,lamp of ,architecture2 for it  
is in becoming memorial or monumental   
that a true perfection is attained by   
civil and domestic buildings2 and this  
partly as they are1 with such a view1   
built in a more stable manner1 and      

partly as their decorations are         
consequently animated by a metaphorical 
or historical meaning4  ,as regards     
domestic buildings1 there must always be
 a certain limitation to views of this  
kind in the power1 as well as in the    
hearts1 of men2 still ,i cannot but     
think it an evil sign of a people when  
their houses are built to last for one  
generation only4 ,there is a sanctity in
 a good man's house which cannot be     
renewed in every tenement that rises on 
its ruins3 and ,i believe that good men 
would generally feel this2 and that     
having spent their lives happily and    
honourably1 they would be grieved1 at   
the close of them1 to think that the    
place of their earthly abode1 which had 
seen1 and seemed almost to sympathize   
in1 all their honour1 their gladness1 or
 their suffering1--that this1 with all  
the record it bare of them1 and of all  
material things that they had loved and 
ruled over1 and set the stamp of        
themselves upon--was to be swept away1  

as soon as there was room made for them 
in the grave2 that no respect was to be 
shown to it1 no affection felt for it1  
no good to be drawn from it by their    
children2 that though there was a       
monument in the church1 there was no    
warm monument in the hearth and house to
 them2 that all that they ever treasured
 was despised1 and the places that had  
sheltered and comforted them were       
dragged down to the dust4 ,i say that a 
good man would fear this2 and that1 far 
more1 a good son1 a noble descendant1   
would fear doing it to his father's     
house4 ,i say that if men lived like men
 indeed1 their houses would be          
temples--temples which we should hardly 
dare to injure1 and in which it would   
make us holy to be permitted to live2   
and there must be a strange dissolution 
of natural affection1 a strange         
unthankfulness for all that homes have  
given and parents taught1 a strange     
consciousness that we have been         
unfaithful to our fathers' honour1 or   

that our own lives are not such as would
 make our dwellings sacred to our       
children1 when each man would fain build
 to himself1 and build for the little   
revolution of his own life only4 ,and ,i
 look upon those pitiful concretions of 
lime and clay which spring up1 in       
mildewed forwardness1 out of the kneaded
 fields about our capital--upon those   
thin1 tottering1 foundationless shells  
of splintered wood and imitated         
stone--upon those gloomy rows of        
formalized minuteness1 alike without    
difference and without fellowship1 as   
solitary as similar--not merely with the
 careless disgust of an offended eye1   
not merely with sorrow for a desecrated 
landscape1 but with a painful foreboding
 that the roots of our national         
greatness must be deeply cankered when  
they are thus loosely struck in their   
native ground2 that those comfortless   
and unhonoured dwellings are the signs  
of a great and spreading spirit of      
popular discontent2 that they mark the  

time when every man's aim is to be in   
some more elevated sphere than his      
natural one1 and every man's past life  
is his habitual scorn2 when men build in
 the hope of leaving the places they    
have built1 and live in the hope of     
forgetting the years that they have     
lived2 when the comfort1 the peace1 the 
religion of home have ceased to be felt2
 and the crowded tenements of a         
struggling and restless population      
differ only from the tents of the ,arab 
or the ,gipsy by their less healthy     
openness to the air of heaven1 and less 
happy choice of their spot of earth2 by 
their sacrifice of liberty without the  
gain of rest1 and of stability without  
the luxury of change4  ,this is no      
slight1 no consequenceless evil2 it is  
ominous1 infectious1 and fecund of other
 fault and misfortune4 ,when men do not 
love their hearths1 nor reverence their 
thresholds1 it is a sign that they have 
dishonoured both1 and that they have    
never acknowledged the true universality

 of that ,christian worship which was   
indeed to supersede the idolatry1 but   
not the piety1 of the pagan4 ,our ,god  
is a household ,god1 as well as a       
heavenly one2 ,he has an altar in every 
man's dwelling2 let men look to it when 
they rend it lightly and pour out its   
ashes4 ,it is not a question of mere    
ocular delight1 it is no question of    
intellectual pride1 or of cultivated and
 critical fancy1 how1 and with what     
aspect of durability and of             
completeness1 the domestic buildings of 
a nation shall be raised4 ,it is one of 
those moral duties1 not with more       
impunity to be neglected because the    
perception of them depends on a finely  
toned and balanced conscientiousness1 to
 build our dwellings with care1 and     
patience1 and fondness1 and diligent    
completion1 and with a view to their    
duration at least for such a period as1 
in the ordinary course of national      
revolutions1 might be supposed likely to
 extend to the entire alteration of the 

direction of local interests4 ,this at  
the least2 but it would be better if1 in
 every possible instance1 men built     
their own houses on a scale commensurate
 rather with their condition at the     
commencement1 than their attainments at 
the termination1 of their worldly       
career2 and built them to stand as long 
as human work at its strongest can be   
hoped to stand2 recording to their      
children what they had been1 and from   
what1 if so it had been permitted them1 
they had risen4 ,and when houses are    
thus built1 we may have that true       
domestic architecture1 the beginning of 
all other1 which does not disdain to    
treat with respect and thoughtfulness   
the small habitation as well as the     
large1 and which invests with the       
dignity of contented manhood the        
narrowness of worldly circumstance4  ,i 
look to this spirit of honourable1      
proud1 peaceful self-possession1 this   
abiding wisdom of contented life1 as    
probably one of the chief sources of    

great intellectual power in all ages1   
and beyond dispute as the very primal   
source of the great architecture of old 
,italy and ,france4 ,to this day1 the   
interest of their fairest cities        
depends1 not on the isolated richness of
 palaces1 but on the cherished and      
exquisite decoration of even the        
smallest tenements of their proud       
periods4 ,the most elaborate piece of   
architecture in ,venice is a small house
 at the head of the ,grand ,canal1      
consisting of a ground floor with two   
storeys above1 three windows in the     
first1 and two in the second4 ,many of  
the most exquisite buildings are on the 
narrower canals1 and of no larger       
dimensions4 ,one of the most interesting
 pieces of fifteenth-century            
architecture in ,north ,italy1 is a     
small house in a back street1 behind the
 market-place of ,vicenza2 it bears date
 #adha1 and the motto1 ,il4 n'est4 rose4
 sans4 epine2 it has also only a ground 
floor and two storeys1 with three       

windows in each1 separated by rich      
flower-work1 and with balconies1        
supported1 the central one by an eagle  
with open wings1 the lateral ones by    
winged griffins standing on cornucopiae4
 ,the idea that a house must be large in
 order to be well built1 is altogether  
of modern growth1 and is parallel with  
the idea1 that no picture can be        
historical1 except of a size admitting  
figures larger than life4  ,i would     
have1 then1 our ordinary dwelling-houses
 built to last1 and built to be lovely2 
as rich and full of pleasantness as may 
be1 within and without2 with what degree
 of likeness to each other in style and 
manner1 ,i will say presently1 under    
another head2#afd but1 at all events1   
with such differences as might suit and 
express each man's character and        
occupation1 and partly his history4     
,this right over the house1 ,i conceive1
 belongs to its first builder1 and is to
 be respected by his children2 and it   
would be well that blank stones should  

be left in places1 to be inscribed with 
a summary of his life and of its        
experience1 raising thus the habitation 
into a kind of monument1 and developing1
 into more systematic instructiveness1  
that good custom which was of old       
universal1 and which still remains among
 some of the ,swiss and ,germans1 of    
acknowledging the grace of ,god's       
permission to build and possess a quiet 
resting-place1 in such sweet words as   
may well close our speaking of these    
things4 ,i have taken them from the     
front of a cottage lately built among   
the green pastures which descend from   
the village of ,grindelwald to the lower
 glacier3--      ,mit herzlichem        
,vertrauen     ,hat ,johannes ,mooter   
und ,maria ,rubi     ,dieses ,haus bauen
 lassen4     ,der liebe ,gott woll uns  
bewahren     ,vor allem ,unglueck und   
,gefahren1     ,und es in ,segen lassen 
stehn     ,auf der ,reise durch diese   
,jammerzeit     ,nach dem himmlischen   
,paradiese1     ,wo alle ,frommen       

wohnen1     ,da wird ,gott sie belohnen 
,mil der ,friedenskrone         ,zu alle
 ,ewigkeit4#afe  ,in public buildings   
the historical purpose should be still  
more definite4 ,it is one of the        
advantages of ,gothic architecture1--,i 
use the word ,gothic in the most        
extended sense as broadly opposed to    
classical1--that it admits of a richness
 of record altogether unlimited4 ,its   
minute and multitudinous sculptural     
decorations afford means of expressing1 
either symbolically or literally1 all   
that need be known of national feeling  
or achievement4 ,more decoration will1  
indeed1 be usually required than can    
take so elevated a character2 and much1 
even in the most thoughtful periods1 has
 been left to the freedom of fancy1 or  
suffered to consist of mere repetitions 
of some national bearing or symbol4 ,it 
is1 however1 generally unwise1 even in  
mere surface ornament1 to surrender the 
power and privilege of variety which the
 spirit of ,gothic architecture admits2 

much more in important                  
features--capitals of columns or bosses1
 and string-courses1 as of course in all
 confessed has-reliefs4 ,better the     
rudest work that tells a story or       
records a fact1 than the richest without
 meaning4 ,there should not be a single 
ornament put upon great civic buildings1
 without some intellectual intention4   
,actual representation of history has in
 modern times been checked by a         
difficulty1 mean indeed1 but steadfast2 
that of unmanageable costume3           
nevertheless1 by a sufficiently bold    
imaginative treatment1 and frank use of 
symbols1 all such obstacles may be      
vanquished2 not perhaps in the degree   
necessary to produce sculpture in itself
 satisfactory1 but at all events so as  
to enable it to become a grand and      
expressive element of architectural     
composition4 ,take1 for example1 the    
management of the capitals of the ducal 
palace at ,venice4 ,history1 as such1   
was indeed entrusted to the painters of 

its interior1 but every capital of its  
arcades was filled with meaning4 ,the   
large one1 the corner stone of the      
whole1 next the entrance1 was devoted to
 the symbolization of ,abstract         
,justice2 above it is a sculpture of the
 ,judgment of ,solomon1 remarkable for a
 beautiful subjection in its treatment  
to its decorative purpose4 ,the figures1
 if the subject had been entirely       
composed of them1 would have awkwardly  
interrupted the line of the angle1 and  
diminished its apparent strength2 and   
therefore in the midst of them1 entirely
 without relation to them1 and indeed   
actually between the executioner and    
interceding mother1 there rises the     
ribbed trunk of a massy tree1 which     
supports and continues the shaft of the 
angle1 and whose leaves above overshadow
 and enrich the whole4 ,the capital     
below bears among its leafage a throned 
figure of ,justice1 ,trajan doing       
justice to the widow1 ,aristotle che die
 legge1 and one or two other subjects   

now unintelligible from decay4 ,the     
capitals next in order represent the    
virtues and vices in succession1 as     
preservative or destructive of national 
peace and power1 concluding with ,faith1
 with the inscription ,fides optima in  
,deo est4 ,a figure is seen on the      
opposite side of the capital1           
worshipping the sun4 ,after these1 one  
or two capitals are fancifully decorated
 with birds1 and then come a series     
representing1 first the various fruits1 
then the national costumes1 and then the
 animals of the various countries       
subject to ,venetian rule4  ,now1 not to
 speak of any more important public     
building1 let us imagine our own ,india 
,house adorned in this way1 by          
historical or symbolical sculpture3     
massively built in the first place2 then
 chased with has-reliefs of our ,indian 
battles1 and fretted with carvings of   
,oriental foliage1 or inlaid with       
,oriental stones2 and the more important
 members of its decoration composed of  

groups of ,indian life and landscape1   
and prominently expressing the phantasms
 of ,hindoo worship in their subjection 
to the ,cross4 ,would not one such work 
be better than a thousand histories8    
,if1 however1 we have not the invention 
necessary for such efforts1 or if1 which
 is probably one of the most noble      
excuses we can offer for our deficiency 
in such matters1 we have less pleasure  
in talking about ourselves1 even in     
marble1 than the ,continental nations1  
at least we have no excuse for any want 
of care in the points which insure the  
building's endurance4 ,and as this      
question is one of great interest in its
 relations to the choice of various     
modes of decoration1 it will be         
necessary to enter into it at some      
length4  ,the benevolent regards and    
purposes of men in masses seldom can be 
supposed to extend beyond their own     
generation4 ,they may look to posterity 
as an audience1 may hope for its        
attention1 and labour for its praise3   

they may trust to its recognition of    
unacknowledged merit1 and demand its    
justice for contemporary wrong4 ,but all
 this is mere selfishness1 and does not 
involve the slightest regard to1 or     
consideration of1 the interest of those 
by whose numbers we would fain swell the
 circle of our flatterers1 and by whose 
authority we would gladly support our   
presently disputed claims4 ,the idea of 
self-denial for the sake of posterity1  
of practising present economy for the   
sake of debtors yet unborn1 of planting 
forests that our descendants may live   
under their shade1 or of raising cities 
for future nations to inhabit1 never1 ,i
 suppose1 efficiently takes place among 
publicly recognized motives of exertion4
 ,yet these are not the less our duties2
 nor is our part fitly sustained upon   
the earth1 unless the range of our      
intended and deliberate usefulness      
include1 not only the companions but the
 successors1 of our pilgrimage4 ,god has
 lent us the earth for our life2 it is a

 great entail4 ,it belongs as much to   
those who are to come after us1 and     
whose names are already written in the  
book of creation1 as to us2 and we have 
no right1 by anything that we do or     
neglect1 to involve them in unnecessary 
penalties1 or deprive them of benefits  
which it was in our power to bequeath4  
,and this the more1 because it is one of
 the appointed conditions of the labour 
of men that1 in proportion to the time  
between the seed-sowing and the harvest1
 is the fulness of the fruit2 and that  
generally1 therefore1 the farther off we
 place our aim1 and the less we desire  
to be ourselves the witnesses of what we
 have laboured for1 the more wide and   
rich will be the measure of our success4
 ,men cannot benefit those that are with
 them as they can benefit those who come
 after them2 and of all the pulpits from
 which human voice is ever sent forth1  
there is none from which it reaches so  
far as from the grave4  ,nor is there1  
indeed1 any present loss1 in such       

respect for futurity4 ,every human      
action gains in honour1 in grace1 in all
 true magnificence1 by its regard to    
things that are to come4 ,it is the far 
sight1 the quiet and confident patience1
 that1 above all other attributes1      
separate man from man1 and near him to  
his ,maker2 and there is no action nor  
art1 whose majesty we may not measure by
 this test4 ,therefore1 when we build1  
let us think that we build for ever4    
,let it not be for present delight1 nor 
for present use alone2 let it be such   
work as our descendants will thank us   
for1 and let us think1 as we lay stone  
on stone1 that a time is to come when   
those stones will be held sacred because
 our hands have touched them1 and that  
men will say as they look upon the      
labour and wrought substance of them1   
,see6 this our fathers did for us4 ,for1
 indeed1 the greatest glory of a        
building is not in its stones1 nor in   
its gold4 ,its glory is in its ,age1 and
 in that deep sense of voicefulness1 of 

stern watching1 of mysterious sympathy1 
nay1 even of approval or condemnation1  
which we feel in walls that have long   
been washed by the passing waves of     
humanity4 ,it is in their lasting       
witness against men1 in their quiet     
contrast with the transitional character
 of all things1 in the strength which1  
through the lapse of seasons and times1 
and the decline and birth of dynasties1 
and the changing of the face of the     
earth1 and of the limits of the sea1    
maintains its sculptured shapeliness for
 a time insuperable1 connects forgotten 
and following ages with each other1 and 
half constitutes the identity1 as it    
concentrates the sympathy1 of nations3  
it is in that golden stain of time1 that
 we are to look for the real light1 and 
colour1 and preciousness of             
architecture2 and it is not until a     
building has assumed this character1    
till it has been entrusted with the     
fame1 and hallowed by the deeds of men1 
till its walls have been witnesses of   

suffering1 and its pillars rise out of  
the shadows of death1 that its          
existence1 more lasting as it is than   
that of the natural objects of the world
 around it1 can be gifted with even so  
much as these possess1 of language and  
of life4  ,for that period1 then1 we    
must build2 not1 indeed1 refusing to    
ourselves the delight of present        
completion1 nor hesitating to follow    
such portions of character as may depend
 upon delicacy of execution to the      
highest perfection of which they are    
capable1 even although we may know that 
in the course of years such details must
 perish2 but taking care that for work  
of this kind we sacrifice no enduring   
quality1 and that the building shall not
 depend for its impressiveness upon     
anything that is perishable4 ,this      
would1 indeed1 be the law of good       
composition under any circumstances1 the
 arrangement of the larger masses being 
always a matter of greater importance   
than the treatment of the smaller2 but  

in architecture there is much in that   
very treatment which is skilful or      
otherwise in proportion to its just     
regard to the probable effects of time3 
and 7which is still more to be          
considered7 there is a beauty in those  
effects themselves1 which nothing else  
can replace1 and which it is our wisdom 
to consult and to desire4 ,for though1  
hitherto1 we have been speaking of the  
sentiment of age only1 there is an      
actual beauty in the marks of it1 such  
and so great as to have become not      
unfrequently the subject of especial    
choice among certain schools of art1 and
 to have impressed upon those schools   
the character usually and loosely       
expressed by the term picturesque44444  
,now1 to return to our immediate        
subject1 it so happens that1 in         
architecture1 the superinduced and      
accidental beauty is most commonly      
inconsistent with the preservation of   
original character1 and the picturesque 
is therefore sought in ruin1 and        

supposed to consist in decay4 ,whereas1 
even when so sought1 it consists in the 
mere sublimity of the rents1 or         
fractures1 or stains1 or vegetation1    
which assimilate the architecture with  
the work of ,nature1 and bestow upon it 
those circumstances of colour and form  
which are universally beloved by the eye
 of man4 ,so far as this is done1 to the
 extinction of the true characters of   
the architecture1 it is picturesque1 and
 the artist who looks to the stem of the
 ivy instead of the shaft of the pillar1
 is carrying out in more daring freedom 
the debased sculptor's choice of the    
hair instead of the countenance4 ,but so
 far as it can be rendered consistent   
with the inherent character1 the        
picturesque or extraneous sublimity of  
architecture has just this of nobler    
function in it than that of any other   
object whatsoever1 that it is an        
exponent of age1 of that in which1 as   
has been said1 the greatest glory of the
 building consists2 and1 therefore1 the 

external signs of this glory1 having    
power and purpose greater than any      
belonging to their mere sensible beauty1
 may be considered as taking rank among 
pure and essential characters2 so       
essential to my mind1 that ,i think a   
building cannot be considered as in its 
prime until four or five centuries have 
passed over it2 and that the entire     
choice and arrangement of its details   
should have reference to their          
appearance after that period1 so that   
none should be admitted which would     
suffer material injury either by the    
weather-staining1 or the mechanical     
degradation which the lapse of such a   
period would necessitate4  ,it is not my
 purpose to enter into any of the       
questions which the application of this 
principle involves4 ,they are of too    
great interest and complexity to be even
 touched upon within my present limits1 
but this is broadly to be noticed1 that 
those styles of architecture which are  
picturesque in the sense above explained

 with respect to sculpture1 that is to  
say1 whose decoration depends on the    
arrangement of points of shade rather   
than on purity of outline1 do not       
suffer1 but commonly gain in richness of
 effect when their details are partly   
worn away2 hence such styles1           
pre-eminently that of ,french ,gothic1  
should always be adopted when the       
materials to be employed are liable to  
degradation1 as brick1 sandstone1 or    
soft limestone2 and styles in any degree
 dependent on purity of line1 as the    
,italian ,gothic1 must be practised     
altogether in hard and undecomposing    
materials1 granite1 serpentine1 or      
crystalline marbles4 ,there can be no   
doubt that the nature of the accessible 
materials influenced the formation of   
both styles2 and it should still more   
authoritatively determine our choice of 
either4  ,it does not belong to my      
present plan to consider at length the  
second head of duty of which ,i have    
above spoken2 the preservation of the   

architecture we possess3 but a few words
 may be forgiven1 as especially         
necessary in modern times4 ,neither by  
the public1 nor by those who have the   
care of public monuments1 is the true   
meaning of the word restoration         
understood4 ,it means the most total    
destruction which a building can suffer3
 a destruction out of which no remnants 
can be gathered3 a destruction          
accompanied with false description of   
the thing destroyed4 ,do not let us     
deceive ourselves in this important     
matter2 it is impossible1 as impossible 
as to raise the dead1 to restore        
anything that has ever been great or    
beautiful in architecture4 ,that which  
,i have above insisted upon as the life 
of the whole1 that spirit which is given
 only by the hand and eye of the        
workman1 never can be recalled4 ,another
 spirit may be given by another time1   
and it is then a new building2 but the  
spirit of the dead workman cannot be    
summoned up1 and commanded to direct    

other hands1 and other thoughts4 ,and as
 for direct and simple copying1 it is   
palpably impossible4 ,what copying can  
there be of surfaces that have been worn
 half an inch down8 ,the whole finish of
 the work was in the half inch that is  
gone2 if you attempt to restore that    
finish1 you do it conjecturally2 if you 
copy what is left1 granting fidelity to 
be possible 7and what care1 or          
watchfulness1 or cost can secure it17   
how is the new work better than the old8
 ,there was yet in the old some life1   
some mysterious suggestion of what it   
had been1 and of what it had lost2 some 
sweetness in the gentle lines which rain
 and sun had wrought4 ,there can be none
 in the brute hardness of the new       
carving4 ,look at the animals which ,i  
have given in ,plate ,,xiv41 as an      
instance of living work1 and suppose the
 markings of the scales and hair once   
worn away1 or the wrinkles of the brows1
 and who shall ever restore them8 ,the  
first step to restoration1 7,i have seen

 it1 and that again and again--seen it  
on the ,baptistery of ,pisa1 seen it on 
the ,casa d',oro at ,venice1 seen it on 
the ,cathedral of ,lisieux17 is to dash 
the old work to pieces2 the second is   
usually to put up the cheapest and      
basest imitation which can escape       
detection1 but in all cases1 however    
careful1 and however laboured1 an       
imitation still1 a cold model of such   
parts as can be modelled1 with          
conjectural supplements2 and my         
experience has as yet furnished me with 
only one instance1 that of the ,palais  
de ,justice at ,rouen1 in which even    
this1 the utmost degree of fidelity     
which is possible1 has been attained1 or
 even attempted4#aff  ,do not let us    
talk then of restoration4 ,the thing is 
a ,lie from beginning to end4 ,you may  
make a model of a building as you may of
 a corpse1 and your model may have the  
shell of the old walls within it as your
 cast might have the skeleton1 with what
 advantage ,i neither see nor care3 but 

the old building is destroyed1 and that 
more totally and mercilessly than if it 
had sunk into a heap of dust1 or melted 
into a mass of clay3 more has been      
gleaned out of desolated ,nineveh than  
ever will be out of re-built ,milan4    
,but1 it is said1 there may come a      
necessity for restoration6 ,granted4    
,look the necessity full in the face1   
and understand it on its own terms4 ,it 
is a necessity for destruction4 ,accept 
it as such1 pull the building down1     
throw its stones into neglected corners1
 make ballast of them1 or mortar1 if you
 will2 but do it honestly1 and do not   
set up a ,lie in their place4 ,and look 
that necessity in the face before it    
comes1 and you may prevent it4 ,the     
principle of modern times1 7a principle 
which1 ,i believe1 at least in ,france1 
to be systematically acted on by the    
masons1 in order to find themselves     
work1 as the abbey of ,st4 ,ouen was    
pulled down by the magistrates of the   
town by way of giving work to some      

vagrants17 is to neglect buildings      
first1 and restore them afterwards4     
,take proper care of your monuments1 and
 you will not need to restore them4 ,a  
few sheets of lead put in time upon the 
roof1 a few dead leaves and sticks swept
 in time out of a water-course1 will    
save both roof and walls from ruin4     
,watch an old building with an anxious  
care2 guard it as best you may1 and at  
any cost1 from every influence of       
dilapidation4 ,count its stones as you  
would jewels of a crown2 set watches    
about it as if at the gates of a        
besieged city2 bind it together with    
iron where it loosens2 stay it with     
timber where it declines2 do not care   
about the unsightliness of the aid3     
better a crutch than a lost limb2 and do
 this tenderly1 and reverently1 and     
continually1 and many a generation will 
still be born and pass away beneath its 
shadow4 ,its evil day must come at last2
 but let it come declaredly and openly1 
and let no dishonouring and false       

substitute deprive it of the funeral    
offices of memory4  ,of more wanton or  
ignorant ravage it is vain to speak2 my 
words will not reach those who commit   
them1 and yet1 be it heard or not1 ,i   
must not leave the truth unstated1 that 
it is again no question of expediency or
 feeling whether we shall preserve the  
buildings of past times or not4 ,we have
 no right whatever to touch them4 ,they 
are not ours4 ,they belong partly to    
those who built them1 and partly to all 
the generations of mankind who are to   
follow us4 ,the dead have still their   
right in them3 that which they laboured 
for1 the praise of achievement or the   
expression of religious feeling1 or     
whatsoever else it might be which in    
those buildings they intended to be     
permanent1 we have no right to          
obliterate4 ,what we have ourselves     
built1 we are at liberty to throw down2 
but what other men gave their strength  
and wealth and life to accomplish1 their
 right over does not pass away with     

their death2 still less is the right to 
the use of what they have left vested in
 us only4 ,it belongs to all their      
successors4 ,it may hereafter be a      
subject of sorrow1 or a cause of injury1
 to millions1 that we have consulted our
 present convenience by casting down    
such buildings as we choose to dispense 
with4 ,that sorrow1 that loss1 we have  
no right to inflict4 ,did the cathedral 
of ,avranches#afg belong to the mob who 
destroyed it1 any more than it did to   
us1 who walk in sorrow to and fro over  
its foundation8 ,neither does any       
building whatever belong to those mobs  
who do violence to it4 ,for a mob it is1
 and must be always2 it matters not     
whether enraged1 or in deliberate folly2
 whether countless1 or sitting in       
committees2 the people who destroy      
anything causelessly are a mob1 and     
,architecture is always destroyed       
causelessly4 ,a fair building is        
necessarily worth the ground it stands  
upon1 and will be so until ,central     

,africa and ,america shall have become  
as populous as ,middlesex3 nor is any   
cause whatever valid as a ground for its
 destruction4 ,if ever valid1 certainly 
not now1 when the place both of the past
 and future is too much usurped in our  
minds by the restless and discontented  
present4 ,the very quietness of nature  
is gradually withdrawn from us2         
thousands who once in their necessarily 
prolonged travel were subjected to an   
influence1 from the silent sky and      
slumbering fields1 more effectual than  
known or confessed1 now bear with them  
even there the ceaseless fever of their 
life2 and along the iron veins that     
traverse the frame of our country1 beat 
and flow the fiery pulses of its        
exertion1 hotter and faster every hour4 
,all vitality is concentrated through   
those throbbing arteries into the       
central cities2 the country is passed   
over like a green sea by narrow bridges1
 and we are thrown back in continually  
closer crowds upon the city gates4 ,the 

only influence which can in any wise    
there take the place of that of the     
woods and fields1 is the power of       
ancient ,architecture4 ,do not part with
 it for the sake of the formal square1  
or of the fenced and planted walk1 nor  
of the goodly street nor opened quay4   
,the pride of a city is not in these4   
,leave them to the crowd2 but remember  
that there will surely be some within   
the circuit of the disquieted walls who 
would ask for some other spots than     
these wherein to walk2 for some other   
forms to meet their sight familiarly3   
like him#afh who sat so often where the 
sun struck from the west to watch the   
lines of the dome of ,florence drawn on 
the deep sky1 or like those1 his ,hosts1
 who could bear daily to behold1 from   
their palace chambers1 the places where 
their fathers lay at rest1 at the       
meeting of the dark streets of ,verona4 
#afb ,may-day processions in honour of  
the ,virgin4    #afc ,genesis xi1 #d4   
#afd ,see pp4 #bbe ff4    #afe ,in      

heartfelt trust ,johannes ,mooter and   
,maria ,rubi had this   house erected4  
,may dear ,god shield us from all perils
 and   misfortune2 and let ,his blessing
 rest upon it during the journey        
through this wretched life up to        
heavenly ,paradise where the pious      
dwell4 ,there will ,god reward them with
 the ,crown of ,peace to all   eternity4
    #aff ,baptistery of ,pisa1 circular1
 of marble1 with dome two   hundred feet
 high1 embellished with numerous        
columns1 is a notable   work of the     
twelfth century4 ,the pulpit is a       
masterpiece of ,nicola   ,pisano4 ,casa 
d',oro at ,venice is noted for its      
elegance4 ,it was   built in the        
fourteenth century4 ,the ,cathedral of  
,lisieux dates   chiefly from the       
twelfth and thirteenth centuries1 and   
contains   many works of art4 ,the      
,palais de ,justice is of the fifteenth 
century4 ,it was built for the          
,parliament of the ,province4    #afg   
,this cathedral1 destroyed in #agii1 was

 one of the most   beautiful in all     
,normandy4    #afh ,dante4     ,,the    
,,lamp ,,of ,,obedience   ,it has been  
my endeavour to show in the preceding   
pages how every form of noble           
architecture is in some sort the        
embodiment of the ,polity1 ,life1       
,history1 and ,religious ,faith of      
nations4 ,once or twice in doing this1  
,i have named a principle to which ,i   
would now assign a definite place among 
those which direct that embodiment2 the 
last place1 not only as that to which   
its own humility would incline1 but     
rather as belonging to it in the aspect 
of the crowning grace of all the rest2  
that principle1 ,i mean1 to which       
,polity owes its stability1 ,life its   
happiness1 ,faith its acceptance1       
,creation its continuance1--,obedience4 
,nor is it the least among the sources  
of more serious satisfaction which ,i   
have found in the pursuit of a subject  
that at first appeared to bear but      
slightly on the grave interests of      

mankind1 that the conditions of material
 perfection which it leads me in        
conclusion to consider1 furnish a       
strange proof how false is the          
conception1 how frantic the pursuit1 of 
that treacherous phantom which men call 
,liberty3 most treacherous1 indeed1 of  
all phantoms2 for the feeblest ray of   
reason might surely show us1 that not   
only its attainment1 but its being1 was 
impossible4 ,there is no such thing in  
the universe4 ,there can never be4 ,the 
stars have it not2 the earth has it not2
 the sea has it not2 and we men have the
 mockery and semblance of it only for   
our heaviest punishment4  ,in one of the
 noblest poems#afi for its imagery and  
its music belonging to the recent school
 of our literature1 the writer has      
sought in the aspect of inanimate nature
 the expression of that ,liberty which1 
having once loved1 he had seen among men
 in its true dyes of darkness4 ,but with
 what strange fallacy of interpretation6
 since in one noble line of his         

invocation he has contradicted the      
assumptions of the rest1 and            
acknowledged the presence of a          
subjection1 surely not less severe      
because eternal4 ,how could he          
otherwise8 since if there be any one    
principle more widely than another      
confessed by every utterance1 or more   
sternly than another imprinted on every 
atom1 of the visible creation1 that     
principle is not ,liberty1 but ,law4    
,the enthusiast would reply that by     
,liberty he meant the ,law of ,liberty4 
,then why use the single and            
misunderstood word8 ,if by liberty you  
mean chastisement of the passions1      
discipline of the intellect1 subjection 
of the will2 if you mean the fear of    
inflicting1 the shame of committing1 a  
wrong2 if you mean respect for all who  
are in authority1 and consideration for 
all who are in dependence2 veneration   
for the good1 mercy to the evil1        
sympathy with the weak2 if you mean     
watchfulness over all thoughts1         

temperance in all pleasures1 and        
perseverance in all toils2 if you mean1 
in a word1 that ,service which is       
defined in the liturgy of the ,english  
church to be perfect ,freedom1 why do   
you name this by the same word by which 
the luxurious mean license1 and the     
reckless mean change2 by which the rogue
 means rapine1 and the fool1 equality2  
by which the proud mean anarchy1 and the
 malignant mean violence8 ,call it by   
any name rather than this1 but its best 
and truest1 is ,obedience4 ,obedience   
is1 indeed1 founded on a kind of        
freedom1 else it would become mere      
subjugation1 but that freedom is only   
granted that obedience may be more      
perfect2 and thus1 while a measure of   
license is necessary to exhibit the     
individual energies of things1 the      
fairness and pleasantness and perfection
 of them all consist in their           
,restraint4 ,compare a river that has   
burst its banks with one that is bound  
by them1 and the clouds that are        

scattered over the face of the whole    
heaven with those that are marshalled   
into ranks and orders by its winds4 ,so 
that though restraint1 utter and        
unrelaxing1 can never be comely1 this is
 not because it is in itself an evil1   
but only because1 when too great1 it    
overpowers the nature of the thing      
restrained1 and so counteracts the other
 laws of which that nature is itself    
composed4 ,and the balance wherein      
consists the fairness of creation is    
between the laws of life and being in   
the things governed1 and the laws of    
general sway to which they are          
subjected2 and the suspension or        
infringement of either1 kind of law1 or1
 literally1 disorder1 is equivalent to1 
and synonymous with1 disease2 while the 
increase of both honour and beauty is   
habitually on the side of restraint 7or 
the action of superior law7 rather than 
of character 7or the action of inherent 
law74 ,the noblest word in the catalogue
 of social virtue is ,loyalty1 and the  

sweetest which men have learned in the  
pastures of the wilderness is ,fold4    
,nor is this all2 but we may observe1   
that exactly in proportion to the       
majesty of things in the scale of being1
 is the completeness of their obedience 
to the laws that are set over them4     
,gravitation is less quietly1 less      
instantly obeyed by a grain of dust than
 it is by the sun and moon2 and the     
ocean falls and flows under influences  
which the lake and river do not         
recognize4 ,so also in estimating the   
dignity of any action or occupation of  
men1 there is perhaps no better test    
than the question are its laws strait8  
,for their severity will probably be    
commensurate with the greatness of the  
numbers whose labour it concentrates or 
whose interest it concerns4  ,this      
severity must be singular1 therefore1 in
 the case of that art1 above all others1
 whose productions are the most vast and
 the most common2 which requires for its
 practice the co-operation of bodies of 

men1 and for its perfection the         
perseverance of successive generations4 
,and1 taking into account also what we  
have before so often observed of        
,architecture1 her continual influence  
over the emotions of daily life1 and her
 realism1 as opposed to the two sister  
arts which are in comparison but the    
picturing of stories and of dreams1 we  
might beforehand expect that we should  
find her healthy state and action       
dependent on far more severe laws than  
theirs3 that the license which they     
extend to the workings of individual    
mind would be withdrawn by her2 and     
that1 in assertion of the relations     
which she holds with all that is        
universally important to man1 she would 
set forth1 by her own majestic          
subjection1 some likeness of that on    
which man's social happiness and power  
depend4 ,we might1 therefore1 without   
the light of experience1 conclude1 that 
,architecture never could flourish      
except when it was subjected to a       

national law as strict and as minutely  
authoritative as the laws which regulate
 religion1 policy1 and social relations2
 nay1 even more authoritative than      
these1 because both capable of more     
enforcement1 as over more passive       
matter2 and needing more enforcement1 as
 the purest type not of one law nor of  
another1 but of the common authority of 
all4 ,but in this matter experience     
speaks more loudly than reason4 ,if     
there be any one condition which1 in    
watching the progress of architecture1  
we see distinct and general2 if1 amidst 
the counter-evidence of success         
attending opposite accidents of         
character and circumstance1 any one     
conclusion may be constantly and        
indisputably drawn1 it is this2 that the
 architecture of a nation is great only 
when it is as universal and as          
established as its language2 and when   
provincial differences of style are     
nothing more than so many dialects4     
,other necessities are matters of doubt3

 nations have been alike successful in  
their architecture in times of poverty  
and of wealth2 in times of war and of   
peace2 in times of barbarism and of     
refinement2 under governments the most  
liberal or the most arbitrary2 but this 
one condition has been constant1 this   
one requirement clear in all places and 
at all times1 that the work shall be    
that of a school1 that no individual    
caprice shall dispense with1 or         
materially vary1 accepted types and     
customary decorations2 and that from the
 cottage to the palace1 and from the    
chapel to the basilica1 and from the    
garden fence to the fortress wall1 every
 member and feature of the architecture 
of the nation shall be as commonly      
current1 as frankly accepted1 as its    
language or its coin4  ,a day never     
passes without our hearing our ,english 
architects called upon to be original1  
and to invent a new style3 about as     
sensible and necessary an exhortation as
 to ask of a man who has never had rags 

enough on his back to keep out cold1 to 
invent a new mode of cutting a coat4    
,give him a whole coat first1 and let   
him concern himself about the fashion of
 it afterwards4 ,we want no new style of
 architecture4 ,who wants a new style of
 painting or sculpture8 ,but we want    
some style4 ,it is of marvellously      
little importance1 if we have a code of 
laws and they be good laws1 whether they
 be new or old1 foreign or native1      
,roman or ,saxon1 or ,norman1 or        
,english laws4 ,but it is of            
considerable importance that we should  
have a code of laws of one kind or      
another1 and that code accepted and     
enforced from one side of the island to 
another1 and not one law made ground of 
judgment at ,york and another in        
,exeter4 ,and in like manner it does not
 matter one marble splinter whether we  
have an old or new architecture1 but it 
matters everything whether we have an   
architecture truly so called or not2    
that is1 whether an architecture whose  

laws might be taught at our schools from
 ,cornwall to ,northumberland1 as we    
teach ,english spelling and ,english    
grammar1 or an architecture which is to 
be invented fresh every time we build a 
workhouse or a parish school4 ,there    
seems to me to be a wonderful           
misunderstanding among the majority of  
architects at the present day as to the 
very nature and meaning of ,originality1
 and of all wherein it consists4        
,originality in expression does not     
depend on invention of new words2 nor   
originality in poetry on invention of   
new measures2 nor1 in painting1 on      
invention of new colours1 or new modes  
of using them4 ,the chords of music1 the
 harmonies of colour1 the general       
principles of the arrangement of        
sculptural masses1 have been determined 
long ago1 and1 in all probability1      
cannot be added to any more than they   
can be altered4 ,granting that they may 
be1 such additions or alterations are   
much more the work of time and of       

multitudes than of individual inventors4
 ,we may have one ,van ,eyck1#agj who   
will be known as the introducer of a new
 style once in ten centuries1 but he    
himself will trace his invention to some
 accidental by-play or pursuit2 and the 
use of that invention will depend       
altogether on the popular necessities or
 instincts of the period4 ,originality  
depends on nothing of the kind4 ,a man  
who has the gift1 will take up any style
 that is going1 the style of his day1   
and will work in that1 and be great in  
that1 and make everything that he does  
in it look as fresh as if every thought 
of it had just come down from heaven4 ,i
 do not say that he will not take       
liberties with his materials1 or with   
his rules3 ,i do not say that strange   
changes will not sometimes be wrought by
 his efforts1 or his fancies1 in both4  
,but those changes will be instructive1 
natural1 facile1 though sometimes       
marvellous2 they will never be sought   
after as things necessary to his dignity

 or to his independence2 and those      
liberties will be like the liberties    
that a great speaker takes with the     
language1 not a defiance of its rules   
for the sake of singularity2 but        
inevitable1 uncalculated1 and brilliant 
consequences of an effort to express    
what the language1 without such         
infraction1 could not4 ,there may be    
times when1 as ,i have above described1 
the life of an art is manifested in its 
changes1 and in its refusal of ancient  
limitations3 so there are in the life of
 an insect2 and there is great interest 
in the state of both the art and the    
insect at those periods when1 by their  
natural progress and constitutional     
power1 such changes are about to be     
wrought4 ,but as that would be both an  
,uncomfortable and foolish caterpillar  
which1 instead of being contented with a
 caterpillar's life and feeding on      
caterpillar's food1 was always striving 
to turn itself into a chrysalis2 and as 
that would be an unhappy chrysalis which

 should lie awake at night and roll     
restlessly in its cocoon1 in efforts to 
turn itself prematurely into a moth2 so 
will that art be unhappy and            
unprosperous which1 instead of          
supporting itself on the food1 and      
contenting itself with the customs1     
which have been enough for the support  
and guidance of other arts before it and
 like it1 is struggling and fretting    
under the natural limitations of its    
existence1 and striving to become       
something other than it is4 ,and though 
it is the nobility of the highest       
creatures to look forward to1 and partly
 to understand the changes which are    
appointed for them1 preparing for them  
beforehand2 and if1 as is usual with    
appointed changes1 they be into a higher
 state1 even desiring them1 and         
rejoicing in the hope of them1 yet it is
 the strength of every creature1 be it  
changeful or not1 to rest for the time  
being1 contented with the conditions of 
its existence1 and striving only to     

bring about the changes which it        
desires1 by fulfilling to the uttermost 
the duties for which its present state  
is appointed and continued4  ,neither   
originality1 therefore1 nor change1 good
 though both may be1 and this is        
commonly a most merciful and            
enthusiastic supposition with respect to
 either1 is ever to be sought in itself1
 or can ever be healthily obtained by   
any struggle or rebellion against common
 laws4 ,we want neither the one nor the 
other4 ,the forms of architecture       
already known are good enough for us1   
and for far better than any of us3 and  
it will be time enough to think of      
changing them for better when we can use
 them as they are4 ,but there are some  
things which we not only want1 but      
cannot do without2 and which all the    
struggling and raving in the world1 nay 
more1 which all the real talent and     
resolution in ,england1 will never      
enable us to do without3 and these are  
,obedience1 ,unity1 ,fellowship1 and    

,order4 ,and all our schools of design1 
and committees of taste2 all our        
academies and lectures1 and journalisms1
 and essays2 all the sacrifices which we
 are beginning to make1 all the truth   
which there is in our ,english nature1  
all the power of our ,english will1 and 
the life of our ,english intellect1 will
 in this matter be as useless as efforts
 and emotions in a dream1 unless we are 
contented to submit architecture and all
 art1 like other things1 to ,english    
law4  ,i say architecture and all art2  
for ,i believe architecture must be the 
beginning of arts1 and that the others  
must follow her in their time and order2
 and ,i think the prosperity of our     
schools of painting and sculpture1 in   
which no one will deny the life1 though 
many the health1 depends upon that of   
our architecture4 ,i think that all will
 languish until that takes the lead1 and
 7this ,i do not think1 but ,i proclaim1
 as confidently as ,i would assert the  
necessity1 for the safety of society1 of

 an understood and strongly administered
 legal government7 our architecture will
 languish1 and that in the very dust1   
until the first principle of common     
sense be manfully obeyed1 and an        
universal system of form and workmanship
 be everywhere adopted and enforced4 ,it
 may be said that this is impossible4   
,it may be so--,i fear it is so3 ,i have
 nothing to do with the possibility or  
impossibility of it2 ,i simply know and 
assert the necessity of it4 ,if it be   
impossible1 ,english art is impossible4 
,give it up at once4 ,you are wasting   
time1 and money1 and energy upon it1 and
 though you exhaust centuries and       
treasures1 and break hearts for it1 you 
will never raise it above the merest    
dilettanteism4 ,think not of it4 ,it is 
a dangerous vanity1 a mere gulph in     
which genius after genius will be       
swallowed up1 and it will not close4    
,and so it will continue to be1 unless  
the one bold and broad step be taken at 
the beginning4 ,we shall not manufacture

 art out of pottery and printed stuffs2 
we shall not reason out art by our      
philosophy2 we shall not stumble upon   
art by our experiments1 nor create it by
 our fancies3 ,i do not say that we can 
even build it out of brick and stone2   
but there is a chance for us in these1  
and there is none else2 and that chance 
rests on the bare possibility of        
obtaining the consent1 both of          
architects and of the public1 to choose 
a style1 and to use it universally4     
,how surely its principles ought at     
first to be limited1 we may easily      
determine by the consideration of the   
necessary modes of teaching any other   
branch of general knowledge4 ,when we   
begin to teach children writing1 we     
force them to absolute copyism1 and     
require absolute accuracy in the        
formation of the letters2 as they obtain
 command of the received modes of       
literal expression1 we cannot prevent   
their falling into such variations as   
are consistent with their feeling1 their

 circumstances1 or their characters4    
,so1 when a boy is first taught to write
 ,latin1 an authority is required of him
 for every expression he uses2 as he    
becomes master of the language he may   
take a license1 and feel his right to do
 so without any authority1 and yet write
 better ,latin than when he borrowed    
every separate expression4 ,in the same 
way our architects would have to be     
taught to write the accepted style4 ,we 
must first determine what buildings are 
to be considered ,augustan in their     
authority2 their modes of construction  
and laws of proportion are to be studied
 with the most penetrating care2 then   
the different forms and uses of their   
decorations are to be classed and       
catalogued1 as a ,german grammarian     
classes the powers of prepositions2 and 
under this absolute1 irrefragable       
authority1 we are to begin to work2     
admitting not so much as an alteration  
in the depth of a cavetto1#aga or the   
breadth of a fillet4 ,then1 when our    

sight is once accustomed to the         
grammatical forms and arrangements1 and 
our thoughts familiar with the          
expression of them all2 when we can     
speak this dead language naturally1 and 
apply it to whatever ideas we have to   
render1 that is to say1 to every        
practical purpose of life2 then1 and not
 till then1 a license might be          
permitted1 and individual authority     
allowed to change or to add to the      
received forms1 always within certain   
limits2 the decorations1 especially1    
might be made subjects of variable      
fancy1 and enriched with ideas either   
original or taken from other schools4   
,and thus1 in process of time and by a  
great national movement1 it might come  
to pass that a new style should arise1  
as language itself changes2 we might    
perhaps come to speak ,italian instead  
of ,latin1 or to speak modern instead of
 old ,english2 but this would be a      
matter of entire indifference1 and a    
matter1 besides1 which no determination 

or desire could either hasten or        
prevent4 ,that alone which it is in our 
power to obtain1 and which it is our    
duty to desire1 is an unanimous style of
 some kind1 and such comprehension and  
practice of it as would enable us to    
adapt its features to the peculiar      
character of every several building1    
large or small1 domestic1 civil or      
ecclesiastical4     #afi ,coleridge's   
,ode to ,france4    #agj ,hubert ,van   
,eyck #acff-addj4 ,the great ,flemish   
master4    #aga ,a hollowed moulding4   
,new ,eng4 ,dict4     ,,selections      
,,from ,,lectures ,,on ,,art            
,ruskin was first elected to the ,slade 
,professorship of ,fine ,art in         
,oxford in #ahfi1 and held the chair    
continuously until #ahgh1 when     he   
resigned because of ill-health1 and     
again from #ahhc to #ahhe4     ,the     
,lectures on ,art were announced in the 
,oxford ,university     ,gazette of     
,january #bh1 #ahgj1 the general subject
 of the course     being ,the ,limits   

and ,elementary ,practice of ,art1 with 
,leonardo's     ,trattato della ,pittura
 as the text-book4 ,the lectures were   
delivered between ,february #h and      
,march #bc1 #ahgj4 ,they appeared in    
book form in ,july of the same year4    
,these lectures contain much of     his 
best and most mature thought1 of his    
most painstaking research     and       
keenest analysis4 ,talking with a friend
 in later years1 he     said3 ,i have   
taken more pains with the ,oxford       
,lectures than with     anything else ,i
 have ever done3 and in the preface to  
the edition     of #ahhg he began3 ,the 
following lectures were the most        
important     piece of my literary work1
 done with unabated power1 best motive1 
and happiest concurrence of             
circumstance4 ,ruskin took his          
professorship very seriously4 ,he spent 
almost infinite labour in     composing 
his more formal lectures1 and during the
 eight years     in which he held the   
chair he published six volumes of them1 

not     to mention three ,italian       
guide-books1 which came under his       
interpretation of his professional      
duties2--the real duty     involved in  
my ,oxford ,professorship cannot be     
completely done by     giving lectures  
in ,oxford only1 but 444 ,i ought also  
to give what     guidance ,i may to     
travellers in ,italy4 ,not only by      
lecturing and     writing did he fill   
the chair1 but he taught individuals1   
founded     and endowed a ,drawing      
mastership1 and presented elaborately   
catalogued collections to illustrate his
 subject4 ,his lecture     classes were 
always large1 and his work had a marked 
influence in     the ,university4       
,,inaugural   ,we see lately a most     
powerful impulse given to the production
 of costly works of art by the various  
causes which promote the sudden         
accumulation of wealth in the hands of  
private persons4 ,we have thus a vast   
and new patronage1 which1 in its present
 agency1 is injurious to our schools2   

but which is nevertheless in a great    
degree earnest and conscientious1 and   
far from being influenced chiefly by    
motives of ostentation4 ,most of our    
rich men would be glad to promote the   
true interests of art in this country2  
and even those who buy for vanity1 found
 their vanity on the possession of what 
they suppose to be best4  ,it is        
therefore in a great measure the fault  
of artists themselves if they suffer    
from this partly unintelligent1 but     
thoroughly well-intended patronage4 ,if 
they seek to attract it by eccentricity1
 to deceive it by superficial qualities1
 or take advantage of it by thoughtless 
and facile production1 they necessarily 
degrade themselves and it together1 and 
have no right to complain afterwards    
that it will not acknowledge            
better-grounded claims4 ,but if every   
painter of real power would do only what
 he knew to be worthy of himself1 and   
refuse to be involved in the contention 
for undeserved or accidental success1   

there is indeed1 whatever may have been 
thought or said to the contrary1 true   
instinct enough in the public mind to   
follow such firm guidance4 ,it is one of
 the facts which the experience of      
thirty years enables me to assert       
without qualification1 that a really    
good picture is ultimately always       
approved and bought1 unless it is       
wilfully rendered offensive to the      
public by faults which the artist has   
been either too proud to abandon or too 
weak to correct4  ,the development of   
whatever is healthful and serviceable in
 the two modes of impulse which we have 
been considering1 depends however1      
ultimately1 on the direction taken by   
the true interest in art which has      
lately been aroused by the great and    
active genius of many of our living1 or 
but lately lost1 painters1 sculptors1   
and architects4 ,it may perhaps         
surprise1 but ,i think it will please   
you to hear me1 or 7if you will forgive 
me1 in my own ,oxford1 the presumption  

of fancying that some may recognize me  
by an old name7 to hear the author of   
,modern ,painters say1 that his chief   
error in earlier days was not in        
over-estimating1 but in too slightly    
acknowledging the merit of living men4  
,the great painter whose power1 while he
 was yet among us1 ,i was able to       
perceive1#agb was the first to reprove  
me for my disregard of the skill of his 
fellow-artists2 and1 with this          
inauguration of the study of the art of 
all time1--a study which can only by    
true modesty end in wise admiration1--it
 is surely well that ,i connect the     
record of these words of his1 spoken    
then too truly to myself1 and true      
always more or less for all who are     
untrained in that toil1--,you don't know
 how difficult it is4  ,you will not    
expect me1 within the compass of this   
lecture1 to give you any analysis of the
 many kinds of excellent art 7in all the
 three great divisions7 which the       
complex demands of modern life1 and yet 

more varied instincts of modern genius1 
have developed for pleasure or service4 
,it must be my endeavour1 in conjunction
 with my colleagues in other            
,universities1 hereafter to enable you  
to appreciate these worthily2 in the    
hope that also the members of the ,royal
 ,academy1 and those of the ,institute  
of ,british ,architects1 may be induced 
to assist1 and guide1 the efforts of the
 ,universities1 by organizing such a    
system of art education for their own   
students1 as shall in future prevent the
 waste of genius in any mistaken        
endeavours2 especially removing doubt as
 to the proper substance and use of     
materials2 and requiring compliance with
 certain elementary principles of right1
 in every picture and design exhibited  
with their sanction4 ,it is not indeed  
possible for talent so varied as that of
 ,english artists to be compelled into  
the formalities of a determined school2 
but it must certainly be the function of
 every academical body to see that their

 younger students are guarded from what 
must in every school be error2 and that 
they are practised in the best methods  
of work hitherto known1 before their    
ingenuity is directed to the invention  
of others4  ,i need scarcely refer1     
except for the sake of completeness in  
my statement1 to one form of demand for 
art which is wholly unenlightened1 and  
powerful only for evil2--namely1 the    
demand of the classes occupied solely in
 the pursuit of pleasure1 for objects   
and modes of art that can amuse         
indolence or excite passion4 ,there is  
no need for any discussion of these     
requirements1 or of their forms of      
influence1 though they are very deadly  
at present in their operation on        
sculpture1 and on jewellers' work4 ,they
 cannot be checked by blame1 nor guided 
by instruction2 they are merely the     
necessary results of whatever defects   
exist in the temper and principles of a 
luxurious society2 and it is only by    
moral changes1 not by art-criticism1    

that their action can be modified4      
,lastly1 there is a continually         
increasing demand for popular art1      
multipliable by the printing-press1     
illustrative of daily events1 of general
 literature1 and of natural science4    
,admirable skill1 and some of the best  
talent of modern times1 are occupied in 
supplying this want2 and there is no    
limit to the good which may be effected 
by rightly taking advantage of the      
powers we now possess of placing good   
and lovely art within the reach of the  
poorest classes4 ,much has been already 
accomplished2 but great harm has been   
done also1--first1 by forms of art      
definitely addressed to depraved tastes2
 and1 secondly1 in a more subtle way1 by
 really beautiful and useful engravings 
which are yet not good enough to retain 
their influence on the public           
mind2--which weary it by redundant      
quantity of monotonous average          
excellence1 and diminish or destroy its 
power of accurate attention to work of a

 higher order4  ,especially this is to  
be regretted in the effect produced on  
the schools of line engraving1 which had
 reached in ,england an executive skill 
of a kind before unexampled1 and which  
of late have lost much of their more    
sterling and legitimate methods4 ,still1
 ,i have seen plates produced quite     
recently1 more beautiful1 ,i think1 in  
some qualities than anything ever before
 attained by the burin3#agc and ,i have 
not the slightest fear that photography1
 or any other adverse or competitive    
operation1 will in the least ultimately 
diminish1--,i believe they will1 on the 
contrary1 stimulate and exalt--the grand
 old powers of the wood and the steel4  
,such are1 ,i think1 briefly the present
 conditions of art with which we have to
 deal2 and ,i conceive it to be the     
function of this ,professorship1 with   
respect to them1 to establish both a    
practical and critical school of fine   
art for ,english gentlemen3 practical1  
so that1 if they draw at all1 they may  

draw rightly2 and critical1 so that1    
being first directed to such works of   
existing art as will best reward their  
study1 they may afterwards make their   
patronage of living artists delightful  
to themselves in their consciousness of 
its justice1 and1 to the utmost1        
beneficial to their country1 by being   
given only to the men who deserve it2 in
 the early period of their lives1 when  
they both need it most and can be       
influenced by it to the best advantage4 
,and especially with reference to this  
function of patronage1 ,i believe myself
 justified in taking into account future
 probabilities as to the character and  
range of art in ,england2 and ,i shall  
endeavour at once to organize with you a
 system of study calculated to develope 
chiefly the knowledge of those branches 
in which the ,english schools have      
shown1 and are likely to show1 peculiar 
excellence4  ,now1 in asking your       
sanction both for the nature of the     
general plans ,i wish to adopt1 and for 

what ,i conceive to be necessary        
limitations of them1 ,i wish you to be  
fully aware of my reasons for both3 and 
,i will therefore risk the burdening of 
your patience while ,i state the        
directions of effort in which ,i think  
,english artists are liable to failure1 
and those also in which past experience 
has shown they are secure of success4   
,i referred1 but now1 to the effort we  
are making to improve the designs of our
 manufactures4 ,within certain limits ,i
 believe this improvement may indeed    
take effect3 so that we may no more     
humour momentary fashions by ugly       
results of chance instead of design2 and
 may produce both good tissues1 of      
harmonious colours1 and good forms and  
substance of pottery and glass4 ,but we 
shall never excel in decorative design4 
,such design is usually produced by     
people of great natural powers of mind1 
who have no variety of subjects to      
employ themselves on1 no oppressive     
anxieties1 and are in circumstances     

either of natural scenery or of daily   
life1 which cause pleasurable           
excitement4 ,we cannot design because we
 have too much to think of1 and we think
 of it too anxiously4 ,it has long been 
observed how little real anxiety exists 
in the minds of the partly savage races 
which excel in decorative art2 and we   
must not suppose that the temper of the 
middle ages was a troubled one1 because 
every day brought its dangers or its    
changes4 ,the very eventfulness of the  
life rendered it careless1 as generally 
is still the case with soldiers and     
sailors4 ,now1 when there are great     
powers of thought1 and little to think  
of1 all the waste energy and fancy are  
thrown into the manual work1 and you    
have as much intellect as would direct  
the affairs of a large mercantile       
concern for a day1 spent all at once1   
quite unconsciously1 in drawing an      
ingenious spiral4  ,also1 powers of     
doing fine ornamental work are only to  
be reached by a perpetual discipline of 

the hand as well as of the fancy2       
discipline as attentive and painful as  
that which a juggler has to put himself 
through1 to overcome the more palpable  
difficulties of his profession4 ,the    
execution of the best artists is always 
a splendid tour-de-force1 and much that 
in painting is supposed to be dependent 
on material is indeed only a lovely and 
quite inimitable legerdemain4 ,now1 when
 powers of fancy1 stimulated by this    
triumphant precision of manual          
dexterity1 descend uninterruptedly from 
generation to generation1 you have at   
last1 what is not so much a trained     
artist as a new species of animal1 with 
whose instinctive gifts you have no     
chance of contending4 ,and thus all our 
imitations of other peoples' work are   
futile4 ,we must learn first to make    
honest ,english wares1 and afterward to 
decorate them as may please the then    
approving ,graces4  ,secondly--and this 
is an incapacity of a graver kind1 yet  
having its own good in it also--we shall

 never be successful in the highest     
fields of ideal or theological art4     
,for there is one strange1 but quite    
essential1 character in us--ever since  
the ,conquest1 if not earlier3--a       
delight in the forms of burlesque which 
are connected in some degree with the   
foulness in evil4 ,i think the most     
perfect type of a true ,english mind in 
its best possible temper1 is that of    
,chaucer2 and you will find that1 while 
it is for the most part full of thoughts
 of beauty1 pure and wild like that of  
an ,april morning1 there are1 even in   
the midst of this1 sometimes momentarily
 jesting passages which stoop to play   
with evil--while the power of listening 
to and enjoying the jesting of entirely 
gross persons1 whatever the feeling may 
be which permits it1 afterwards         
degenerates into forms of humour which  
render some of quite the greatest1      
wisest1 and most moral of ,english      
writers now almost useless for our      
youth4 ,and yet you will find that      

whenever ,englishmen are wholly without 
this instinct1 their genius is          
comparatively weak and restricted4      
,now1 the first necessity for the doing 
of any great work in ideal art1 is the  
looking upon all foulness with horror1  
as a contemptible though dreadful enemy4
 ,you may easily understand what ,i     
mean1 by comparing the feelings with    
which ,dante regards any form of        
obscenity or of base jest1 with the     
temper in which the same things are     
regarded by ,shakspere4 ,and this       
strange earthly instinct of ours1       
coupled as it is1 in our good men1 with 
great simplicity and common sense1      
renders them shrewd and perfect         
observers and delineators of actual     
nature1 low or high2 but precludes them 
from that speciality of art which is    
properly called sublime4 ,if ever we try
 anything in the manner of ,michael     
,angelo or of ,dante1 we catch a fall1  
even in literature1 as ,milton in the   
battle of the angels1 spoiled from      

,hesiod3#agd while in art1 every attempt
 in this style has hitherto been the    
sign either of the presumptuous egotism 
of persons who had never really learned 
to be workmen1 or it has been connected 
with very tragic forms of the           
contemplation of death1--it has always  
been partly insane1 and never once      
wholly successful4  ,but we need not    
feel any discomfort in these limitations
 of our capacity4 ,we can do much that  
others cannot1 and more than we have    
ever yet ourselves completely done4 ,our
 first great gift is in the portraiture 
of living people--a power already so    
accomplished in both ,reynolds and      
,gainsborough1 that nothing is left for 
future masters but to add the calm of   
perfect workmanship to their vigour and 
felicity of perception4 ,and of what    
value a true school of portraiture may  
become in the future1 when worthy men   
will desire only to be known1 and others
 will not fear to know them1 for what   
they truly were1 we cannot from any past

 records of art influence yet conceive4 
,but in my next address it will be      
partly my endeavour to show you how much
 more useful1 because more humble1 the  
labour of great masters might have been1
 had they been content to bear record of
 the souls that were dwelling with them 
on earth1 instead of striving to give a 
deceptive glory to those they dreamed of
 in heaven4  ,secondly1 we have an      
intense power of invention and          
expression in domestic drama2 7,king    
,lear and ,hamlet being essentially     
domestic in their strongest motives of  
interest74 ,there is a tendency at this 
moment towards a noble development of   
our art in this direction1 checked by   
many adverse conditions1 which may be   
summed in one1--the insufficiency of    
generous civic or patriotic passion in  
the heart of the ,english people2 a     
fault which makes its domestic          
affections selfish1 contracted1 and1    
therefore1 frivolous4  ,thirdly1 in     
connection with our simplicity and      

good-humour1 and partly with that very  
love of the grotesque which debases our 
ideal1 we have a sympathy with the lower
 animals which is peculiarly our own2   
and which1 though it has already found  
some exquisite expression in the works  
of ,bewick and ,landseer1 is yet quite  
undeveloped4 ,this sympathy1 with the   
aid of our now authoritative science of 
physiology1 and in association with our 
,british love of adventure1 will1 ,i    
hope1 enable us to give to the future   
inhabitants of the globe an almost      
perfect record of the present forms of  
animal life upon it1 of which many are  
on the point of being extinguished4444  
,while ,i myself hold this              
professorship1 ,i shall direct you in   
these exercises very definitely to      
natural history1 and to landscape2 not  
only because in these two branches ,i am
 probably able to show you truths which 
might be despised by my successors2 but 
because ,i think the vital and joyful   
study of natural history quite the      

principal element requiring             
introduction1 not only into ,university1
 but into national1 education1 from     
highest to lowest2 and ,i even will risk
 incurring your ridicule by confessing  
one of my fondest dreams1 that ,i may   
succeed in making some of you ,english  
youths like better to look at a bird    
than to shoot it2 and even desire to    
make wild creatures tame1 instead of    
tame creatures wild4 ,and for the study 
of landscape1 it is1 ,i think1 now      
calculated to be of use in deeper1 if   
not more important modes1 than that of  
natural science1 for reasons which ,i   
will ask you to let me state at some    
length4  ,observe first2--no race of men
 which is entirety bred in wild country1
 far from cities1 ever enjoys landscape4
 ,they may enjoy the beauty of animals1 
but scarcely even that3 a true peasant  
cannot see the beauty of cattle2 but    
only the qualities expressive of their  
serviceableness4 ,i waive discussion of 
this to-day2 permit my assertion of it1 

under my confident guarantee of future  
proof4 ,landscape can only be enjoyed by
 cultivated persons2 and it is only by  
music1 literature1 and painting1 that   
cultivation can be given4 ,also1 the    
faculties which are thus received are   
hereditary2 so that the child of an     
educated race has an innate instinct for
 beauty1 derived from arts practised    
hundreds of years before its birth4 ,now
 farther note this1 one of the loveliest
 things in human nature4 ,in the        
children of noble races1 trained by     
surrounding art1 and at the same time in
 the practice of great deeds1 there is  
an intense delight in the landscape of  
their country as memorial2 a sense not  
taught to them1 nor teachable to any    
others2 but1 in them1 innate2 and the   
seal and reward of persistence in great 
national life2--the obedience and the   
peace of ages having extended gradually 
the glory of the revered ancestors also 
to the ancestral land2 until the        
,motherhood of the dust1 the mystery of 

the ,demeter from whose bosom we came1  
and to whose bosom we return1 surrounds 
and inspires1 everywhere1 the local awe 
of field and fountain2 the sacredness of
 landmark that none may remove1 and of  
wave that none may pollute2 while       
records of proud days1 and of dear      
persons1 make every rock monumental with
 ghostly inscription1 and every path    
lovely with noble desolateness4  ,now1  
however checked by lightness of         
temperament1 the instinctive love of    
landscape in us has this deep root1     
which1 in your minds1 ,i will pray you  
to disencumber from whatever may oppress
 or mortify it1 and to strive to feel   
with all the strength of your youth that
 a nation is only worthy of the soil and
 the scenes that it has inherited1 when1
 by all its acts and arts1 it is making 
them more lovely for its children4444   
,but if either our work1 or our         
inquiries1 are to be indeed successful  
in their own field1 they must be        
connected with others of a sterner      

character4 ,now listen to me1 if ,i have
 in these past details lost or burdened 
your attention2 for this is what ,i have
 chiefly to say to you4 ,the art of any 
country is the exponent of its social   
and political virtues4 ,i will show you 
that it is so in some detail1 in the    
second of my subsequent course of       
lectures2 meantime accept this as one of
 the things1 and the most important of  
all things1 ,i can positively declare to
 you4 ,the art1 or general productive   
and formative energy1 of any country1 is
 an exact exponent of its ethical life4 
,you can have noble art only from noble 
persons1 associated under laws fitted to
 their time and circumstances4 ,and the 
best skill that any teacher of art could
 spend here in your help1 would not end 
in enabling you even so much as rightly 
to draw the water-lilies in the         
,cherwell 7and though it did1 the work  
when done would not be worth the lilies 
themselves7 unless both he and you were 
seeking1 as ,i trust we shall together  

seek1 in the laws which regulate the    
finest industries1 the clue to the laws 
which regulate all industries1 and in   
better obedience to which we shall      
actually have henceforward to live3 not 
merely in compliance with our own sense 
of what is right1 but under the weight  
of quite literal necessity4 ,for the    
trades by which the ,british people has 
believed it to be the highest of        
destinies to maintain itself1 cannot now
 long remain undisputed in its hands2   
its unemployed poor are daily becoming  
more violently criminal2 and a certain  
distress in the middle classes1 arising1
 partly from their vanity in living     
always up to their incomes1 and partly  
from1 their folly in imagining that they
 can subsist in idleness upon usury1    
will at last compel the sons and        
daughters of ,english families to       
acquaint themselves with the principles 
of providential economy2 and to learn   
that food can only be got out of the    
ground1 and competence only secured by  

frugality2 and that although it is not  
possible for all to be occupied in the  
highest arts1 nor for any1 guiltlessly1 
to pass their days in a succession of   
pleasures1 the most perfect mental      
culture possible to men is founded on   
their useful energies1 and their best   
arts and brightest happiness are        
consistent1 and consistent only1 with   
their virtue4  ,this1 ,i repeat1        
gentlemen1 will soon become manifest to 
those among us1 and there are yet many1 
who are honest-hearted4 ,and the future 
fate of ,england depends upon the       
position they then take1 and on their   
courage in maintaining it4  ,there is a 
destiny now possible to us--the highest 
ever set before a nation to be accepted 
or refused4 ,we are still undegenerate  
in race2 a race mingled of the best     
northern blood4 ,we are not yet         
dissolute in temper1 but still have the 
firmness to govern1 and the grace to    
obey4 ,we have been taught a religion of
 pure mercy1 which we must either now   

betray1 or learn to defend by           
fulfilling4 ,and we are rich in an      
inheritance of honour1 bequeathed to us 
through a thousand years of noble       
history1 which it should be our daily   
thirst to increase with splendid        
avarice1 so that ,englishmen1 if it be a
 sin to covet honour1 should be the most
 offending souls alive4#age ,within the 
last few years we have had the laws of  
natural science opened to us with a     
rapidity which has been blinding by its 
brightness2 and means of transit and    
communication given to us1 which have   
made but one kingdom of the habitable   
globe4 ,one kingdom2--but who is to be  
its king8 ,is there to be no king in it1
 think you1 and every man to do that    
which is right in his own eyes8 ,or only
 kings of terror1 and the obscene       
empires of ,mammon and ,belial8 ,or will
 you1 youths of ,england1 make your     
country again a royal throne of kings2 a
 sceptred isle1 for all the world a     
source of light1 a centre of peace2     

mistress of ,learning and of the        
,arts2--faithful guardian of great      
memories in the midst of irreverent and 
ephemeral visions2--faithful servant of 
time-tried principles1 under temptation 
from fond experiments and licentious    
desires2 and amidst the cruel and       
clamorous jealousies of the nations1    
worshipped in her strange valour of     
goodwill toward men8#agf  ,vexilla regis
 prodeunt4#agg ,yes1 but of which king8 
,there are the two oriflammes2 which    
shall we plant on the farthest          
islands--the one that floats in heavenly
 fire1 or that hangs heavy with foul    
tissue of terrestrial gold8 ,there is   
indeed a course of beneficent glory open
 to us1 such as never was yet offered to
 any poor group of mortal souls4 ,but it
 must be--it is with us1 now4 ,reign or 
,die4 ,and if it shall be said of this  
country1 ,fece per viltate1 il gran     
rifiuto1#agh that refusal of the crown  
will be1 of all yet recorded in history1
 the shamefullest and most untimely4    

,and this is what she must either do1 or
 perish3 she must found colonies as fast
 and as far as she is able1 formed of   
her most energetic and worthiest        
men2--seizing every piece of fruitful   
waste ground she can set her foot on1   
and there teaching these her colonists  
that their chief virtue is to be        
fidelity to their country1 and that     
their first aim is to be to advance the 
power of ,england by land and sea3 and  
that1 though they live on a distant plot
 of ground1 they are no more to consider
 themselves therefore disfranchised from
 their native land1 than the sailors of 
her fleets do1 because they float on    
distant waves4 ,so that literally1 these
 colonies must be fastened fleets2 and  
every man of them must be under         
authority of captains and officers1     
whose better command is to be over      
fields and streets instead of ships of  
the line2 and ,england1 in these her    
motionless navies 7or1 in the true and  
mightiest sense1 motionless churches1   

ruled by pilots on the ,galilean        
lake#agi of all the world71 is to expect
 every man to do his duty2#ahj          
recognizing that duty is indeed possible
 no less in peace than war2 and that if 
we can get men1 for little pay1 to cast 
themselves against cannon-mouths for    
love of ,england1 we may find men also  
who will plough and sow for her1 who    
will behave kindly and righteously for  
her1 who will bring up their children to
 love her1 and who will gladden         
themselves in the brightness of her     
glory1 more than in all the light of    
tropic skies4  ,but that they may be    
able to do this1 she must make her own  
majesty stainless2 she must give them   
thoughts of their home of which they can
 be proud4 ,the ,england who is to be   
mistress of half the earth1 cannot      
remain herself a heap of cinders1       
trampled by contending and miserable    
crowds2 she must yet again become the   
,england she was once1 and in all       
beautiful ways1--more3 so happy1 so     

secluded1 and so pure1 that in her      
sky--polluted by no unholy clouds--she  
may be able to spell rightly of every   
star that heaven doth show2 and in her  
fields1 ordered and wide and fair1 of   
every herb that sips the dew2#aha and   
under the green avenues of her enchanted
 garden1 a sacred ,circe1 true ,daughter
 of the ,sun1 she must guide the human  
arts1 and gather the divine knowledge1  
of distant nations1 transformed from    
savageness to manhood1 and redeemed from
 despairing into ,peace4  ,you think    
that an impossible ideal4 ,be it so2    
refuse to accept it if you will2 but see
 that you form your own in its stead4   
,all that ,i ask of you is to have a    
fixed purpose of some kind for your     
country and yourselves2 no matter how   
restricted1 so that it be fixed and     
unselfish4 ,i know what stout hearts are
 in you1 to answer acknowledged need2   
but it is the fatallest form of error in
 ,english youth to hide their hardihood 
till it fades for lack of sunshine1 and 

to act in disdain of purpose1 till all  
purpose is vain4 ,it is not by          
deliberate1 but by careless selfishness2
 not by compromise with evil1 but by    
dull following of good1 that the weight 
of national evil increases upon us      
daily4 ,break through at least this     
pretence of existence2 determine what   
you will be1 and what you would win4    
,you will not decide wrongly if you     
resolve to decide at all4 ,were even the
 choice between lawless pleasure and    
loyal suffering1 you would not1 ,i      
believe1 choose basely4 ,but your trial 
is not so sharp4 ,it is between drifting
 in confused wreck among the castaways  
of ,fortune1 who condemns to assured    
ruin those who know not either how to   
resist her1 or obey2 between this1 ,i   
say1 and the taking of your appointed   
part in the heroism of ,rest2 the       
resolving to share in the victory which 
is to the weak rather than the strong2  
and the binding yourselves by that law1 
which1 thought on through lingering     

night and labouring day1 makes a man's  
life to be as a tree planted by the     
water-side1 that bringeth forth his     
fruit in his season2--      ,,et        
,,folium ,,ejus ,,non ,,defluet1        
,,et ,,omnia1 ,,quaecunque ,,faciet1    
,,prosperabuntur4#ahb     #agb ,turner4 
#agc ,the tool of the engraver on       
copper4    #agd ,see ,paradise ,lost1   
#f4 #bjg ff41 and ,hesiod's ,theogony1  
#fgf ff4    #age ,henry ,v1 #d4 #c4 #bi4
    #agf ,luke ii1 #ad4    #agg ,forward
 go the banners of the ,king1 or more   
commonly1 ,the   royal banners forward  
go4 ,one of the seven great hymns of the
 ,church4   ,see the ,episcopal ,hymnal1
 #id4    #agh ,dante1 ,inferno1 #c4 #fj4
 ,who made through cowardice the great  
refusal4 ,longfellow's tr4    #agi      
,lyridas1 #aji4    #ahj ,nelson's famous
 signal at ,trafalgar4    #aha ,milton's
 ,il ,penseroso1 #agj ff4    #ahb       
,psalms i1 #c4    ,,the ,,relation ,,of 
,,art ,,to ,,morals   ,and now ,i pass  
to the arts with which ,i have special  

concern1 in which1 though the facts are 
exactly the same1 ,i shall have more    
difficulty in proving my assertion1     
because very few of us are as cognizant 
of the merit of painting as we are of   
that of language2 and ,i can only show  
you whence that merit springs1 after    
having thoroughly shown you in what it  
consists4 ,but1 in the meantime1 ,i have
 simply to tell you1 that the manual    
arts are as accurate exponents of       
ethical state1 as other modes of        
expression2 first1 with absolute        
precision1 of that of the workman2 and  
then with precision1 disguised by many  
distorting influences1 of that of the   
nation to which it belongs4  ,and1      
first1 they are a perfect exponent of   
the mind of the workman3 but1 being so1 
remember1 if the mind be great or       
complex1 the art is not an easy book to 
read2 for we must ourselves possess all 
the mental characters of which we are to
 read the signs4 ,no man can read the   
evidence of labour who is not himself   

laborious1 for he does not know what the
 work cost3 nor can he read the evidence
 of true passion if he is not           
passionate2 nor of gentleness if he is  
not gentle3 and the most subtle signs of
 fault and weakness of character he can 
only judge by having had the same faults
 to fight with4 ,i myself1 for instance1
 know impatient work1 and tired work1   
better than most critics1 because ,i am 
myself always impatient1 and often      
tired3--so also1 the patient and        
indefatigable touch of a mighty master  
becomes more wonderful to me than to    
others4 ,yet1 wonderful in no mean      
measure it will be to you all1 when ,i  
make it manifest2--and as soon as we    
begin our real work1 and you have       
learned what it is to draw a true line1 
,i shall be able to make manifest to    
you1--and undisputably so1--that the    
day's work of a man like ,mantegna or   
,paul ,veronese consists of an          
unfaltering1 uninterrupted1 succession  
of movements of the hand more precise   

than those of the finest fencer3 the    
pencil leaving one point and arriving at
 another1 not only with unerring        
precision at the extremity of the line1 
but with an unerring and yet varied     
course--sometimes over spaces a foot or 
more in extent--yet a course so         
determined everywhere that either of    
these men could1 and ,veronese often    
does1 draw a finished profile1 or any   
other portion of the contour of the     
face1 with one line1 not afterwards     
changed4 ,try1 first1 to realize to     
yourselves the muscular precision of    
that action1 and the intellectual strain
 of it2 for the movement of a fencer is 
perfect in practised monotony2 but the  
movement of the hand of a great painter 
is at every instant governed by direct  
and new intention4 ,then imagine that   
muscular firmness and subtlety1 and the 
instantaneously selective and ordinant  
energy of the brain1 sustained all day  
long1 not only without fatigue1 but with
 a visible joy in the exertion1 like    

that which an eagle seems to take in the
 wave of his wings2 and this all life   
long1 and through long life1 not only   
without failure of power1 but with      
visible increase of it1 until the       
actually organic changes of old age4    
,and then consider1 so far as you know  
anything of physiology1 what sort of an 
ethical state of body and mind that     
means6--ethic through ages past6 what   
fineness of race there must be to get   
it1 what exquisite balance and symmetry 
of the vital powers6 ,and then1 finally1
 determine for yourselves whether a     
manhood like that is consistent with any
 viciousness of soul1 with any mean     
anxiety1 any gnawing lust1 any          
wretchedness of spite or remorse1 any   
consciousness of rebellion against law  
of ,god or man1 or any actual1 though   
unconscious violation of even the least 
law to which obedience is essential for 
the glory of life1 and the pleasing of  
its ,giver4  ,it is1 of course1 true    
that many of the strong masters had deep

 faults of character1 but their faults  
always show in their work4 ,it is true  
that some could not govern their        
passions2 if so1 they died young1 or    
they painted ill when old4 ,but the     
greater part of our misapprehension in  
the whole matter is from our not having 
well known who the great painters were1 
and taking delight in the petty skill   
that was bred in the fumes of the       
taverns of the ,north1 instead of theirs
 who breathed empyreal air1 sons of the 
morning1 under the woods of ,assisi and 
the crags of ,cadore4  ,it is true      
however also1 as ,i have pointed out    
long ago1 that the strong masters fall  
into two great divisions1 one leading   
simple and natural lives1 the other     
restrained in a ,puritanism of the      
worship of beauty2 and these two manners
 of life you may recognize in a moment  
by their work4 ,generally the           
naturalists are the strongest2 but there
 are two of the ,puritans1 whose work if
 ,i can succeed in making clearly       

understandable to you during my three   
years#ahc here1 it is all ,i need care  
to do4 ,but of these two ,puritans one  
,i cannot name to you1 and the other ,i 
at present will not4 ,one ,i cannot1 for
 no one knows his name1 except the      
baptismal one1 ,bernard1 or dear little 
,bernard--,bernardino1 called from his  
birthplace1 7,luino1 on the ,lago       
,maggiore17 ,bernard of ,luino4 ,the    
other is a ,venetian1 of whom many of   
you probably have never heard1 and of   
whom1 through me1 you shall not hear1   
until ,i have tried to get some picture 
by him over to ,england4  ,observe then1
 this ,puritanism in the worship of     
beauty1 though sometimes weak1 is always
 honourable and amiable1 and the exact  
reverse of the false ,puritanism1 which 
consists in the dread or disdain of     
beauty4 ,and in order to treat my       
subject rightly1 ,i ought to proceed    
from the skill of art to the choice of  
its subject1 and show you how the moral 
temper of the workman is shown by his   

seeking lovely forms and thoughts to    
express1 as well as by the force of his 
hand in expression4 ,but ,i need not now
 urge this part of the proof on you1    
because you are already1 ,i believe1    
sufficiently conscious of the truth in  
this matter1 and also ,i have already   
said enough of it in my writings2       
whereas ,i have not at all said enough  
of the infallibleness of fine technical 
work as a proof of every other good     
power4 ,and indeed it was long before ,i
 myself understood the true meaning of  
the pride of the greatest men in their  
mere execution1 shown for a permanent   
lesson to us1 in the stories which1     
whether true or not1 indicate with      
absolute accuracy the general conviction
 of great artists2--the stories of the  
contest of ,apelles and ,protogenes#ahd 
in a line only1 7of which ,i can promise
 you1 you shall know the meaning to some
 purpose in a little while71--the story 
of the circle of ,giotto1#ahe and       
especially1 which you may perhaps not   

have observed1 the expression of ,duerer
 in his inscription on the drawings sent
 him by ,raphael4 ,these figures1 he    
says1 ,raphael drew and sent to ,albert 
,duerer in ,nurnberg1 to show           
him--,what8 ,not his invention1 nor his 
beauty of expression1 but sein ,hand zu 
weisen1 to show him his hand4 ,and you  
will find1 as you examine farther1 that 
all inferior artists are continually    
trying to escape from the necessity of  
sound work1 and either indulging        
themselves in their delights in subject1
 or pluming themselves on their noble   
motives for attempting what they cannot 
perform2 7and observe1 by the way1 that 
a great deal of what is mistaken for    
conscientious motive is nothing but a   
very pestilent1 because very subtle1    
condition of vanity72 whereas the great 
men always understand at once that the  
first morality of a painter1 as of      
everybody else1 is to know his business2
 and so earnest are they in this1 that  
many1 whose lives you would think1 by   

the results of their work1 had been     
passed in strong emotion1 have in       
reality subdued themselves1 though      
capable of the very strongest passions1 
into a calm as absolute as that of a    
deeply sheltered mountain lake1 which   
reflects every agitation of the clouds  
in the sky1 and every change of the     
shadows on the hills1 but ,,as itself   
motionless4  ,finally1 you must remember
 that great obscurity has been brought  
upon the truth in this matter by the    
want of integrity and simplicity in our 
modern life4 ,i mean integrity in the   
,latin sense1 wholeness4 ,everything is 
broken up1 and mingled in confusion1    
both in our habits and thoughts2 besides
 being in great part imitative3 so that 
you not only cannot tell what a man is1 
but sometimes you cannot tell whether he
 is1 at all6--whether you have indeed to
 do with a spirit1 or only with an echo4
 ,and thus the same inconsistencies     
appear now1 between the work of artists 
of merit and their personal characters1 

as those which you find continually     
disappointing expectation in the lives  
of men of modern literary power2--the   
same conditions of society having       
obscured or misdirected the best        
qualities of the imagination1 both in   
our literature and art4 ,thus there is  
no serious question with any of us as to
 the personal character of ,dante and   
,giotto1 of ,shakespeare and ,holbein2  
but we pause timidly in the attempt to  
analyze the moral laws of the art skill 
in recent poets1 novelists1 and         
painters4  ,let me assure you once for  
all1 that as you grow older1 if you     
enable yourselves to distinguish by the 
truth of your own lives1 what is true in
 those of other men1 you will gradually 
perceive that all good has its origin in
 good1 never in evil2 that the fact of  
either literature or painting being     
truly fine of their kind1 whatever their
 mistaken aim1 or partial error1 is     
proof of their noble origin3 and that1  
if there is indeed sterling value in the

 thing done1 it has come of a sterling  
worth in the soul that did it1 however  
alloyed or defiled by conditions of sin 
which are sometimes more appalling or   
more strange than those which all may   
detect in their own hearts1 because they
 are part of a personality altogether   
larger than ours1 and as far beyond our 
judgment in its darkness as beyond our  
following in its light4 ,and it is      
sufficient warning against what some    
might dread as the probable effect of   
such a conviction on your own minds1    
namely1 that you might permit yourselves
 in the weaknesses which you imagined to
 be allied to genius1 when they took the
 form of personal temptations2--it is   
surely1 ,i say1 sufficient warning      
against so mean a folly1 to discern1 as 
you may with little pains1 that1 of all 
human existences1 the lives of men of   
that distorted and tainted nobility of  
intellect are probably the most         
miserable4  ,i pass to the second1 and  
for us the more practically important   

question1 ,what is the effect of noble  
art upon other men2 what has it done for
 national morality in time past3 and    
what effect is the extended knowledge or
 possession of it likely to have upon us
 now8 ,and here we are at once met by   
the facts1 which are as gloomy as       
indisputable1 that1 while many peasant  
populations1 among whom scarcely the    
rudest practice of art has ever been    
attempted1 have lived in comparative    
innocence1 honour1 and happiness1 the   
worst foulness and cruelty of savage    
tribes have been frequently associated  
with fine ingenuities of decorative     
design2 also1 that no people has ever   
attained the higher stages of art skill1
 except at a period of its civilization 
which was sullied by frequent1 violent1 
and even monstrous crime2 and1 lastly1  
that the attaining of perfection in art 
power1 has been hitherto1 in every      
nation1 the accurate signal of the      
beginning of its ruin4  ,respecting     
which phenomena1 observe first1 that    

although good never springs out of evil1
 it is developed to its highest by      
contention with evil4 ,there are some   
groups of peasantry1 in far-away nooks  
of ,christian countries1 who are nearly 
as innocent as lambs2 but the morality  
which gives power to art is the morality
 of men1 not of cattle4  ,secondly1 the 
virtues of the inhabitants of many      
country districts are apparent1 not     
real2 their lives are indeed artless1   
but not innocent2 and it is only the    
monotony of circumstances1 and the      
absence of temptation1 which prevent the
 exhibition of evil passions not less   
real because often dormant1 nor less    
foul because shown only in petty faults1
 or inactive malignities4  ,but you will
 observe also that absolute artlessness1
 to men in any kind of moral health1 is 
impossible2 they have always1 at least1 
the art by which they live--agriculture 
or seamanship2 and in these industries1 
skilfully practised1 you will find the  
law of their moral training2 while1     

whatever the adversity of circumstances1
 every rightly-minded peasantry1 such as
 that of ,sweden1 ,denmark1 ,bavaria1 or
 ,switzerland1 has associated with its  
needful industry a quite studied school 
of pleasurable art in dress2 and        
generally also in song1 and simple      
domestic architecture4  ,again1 ,i need 
not repeat to you here what ,i          
endeavoured to explain in the first     
lecture in the book ,i called ,the ,two 
,paths1 respecting the arts of savage   
races3 but ,i may now note briefly that 
such arts are the result of an          
intellectual activity which has found no
 room to expand1 and which the tyranny  
of nature or of man has condemned to    
disease through arrested growth4 ,and   
where neither ,christianity1 nor any    
other religion conveying some moral     
help1 has reached1 the animal energy of 
such races necessarily flames into      
ghastly conditions of evil1 and the     
grotesque or frightful forms assumed by 
their art are precisely indicative of   

their distorted moral nature4  ,but the 
truly great nations nearly always begin 
from a race possessing this imaginative 
power2 and for some time their progress 
is very slow1 and their state not one of
 innocence1 but of feverish and faultful
 animal energy4 ,this is gradually      
subdued and exalted into bright human   
life2 the art instinct purifying itself 
with the rest of the nature1 until      
social perfectness is nearly reached2   
and then comes the period when          
conscience and intellect are so highly  
developed1 that new forms of error begin
 in the inability to fulfil the demands 
of the one1 or to answer the doubts of  
the other4 ,then the wholeness of the   
people is lost2 all kinds of hypocrisies
 and oppositions of science develope    
themselves2 their faith is questioned on
 one side1 and compromised with on the  
other2 wealth commonly increases at the 
same period to a destructive extent2    
luxury follows2 and the ruin of the     
nation is then certain3 while the arts1 

all this time1 are simply1 as ,i said at
 first1 the exponents of each phase of  
its moral state1 and no more control it 
in its political career than the gleam  
of the firefly guides its oscillation4  
,it is true that their most splendid    
results are usually obtained in the     
swiftness of the power which is hurrying
 to the precipice2 but to lay the charge
 of the catastrophe to the art by which 
it is illumined1 is to find a cause for 
the cataract in the hues of its iris4   
,it is true that the colossal vices     
belonging to periods of great national  
wealth 7for wealth1 you will find1 is   
the real root of all evil7#ahf can turn 
every good gift and skill of nature or  
of man to evil purpose4 ,if1 in such    
times1 fair pictures have been misused1 
how much more fair realities8 ,and if   
,miranda is immoral to ,caliban is that 
,miranda's fault8     #ahc ,as ,slade   
,professor1 ,ruskin held a three years' 
appointment at   ,oxford4    #ahd ,this 
story comes from ,pliny1 ,natural       

,history1 #ce4 #cf2 the   two rival     
painters alternately showing their skill
 by the drawing   of lines of increasing
 fineness4    #ahe ,this story comes    
from ,vasari's ,lives of the ,painters4 
,see   ,blashfield and ,hopkins's ed4   
vol4 #a1 p4 #fa4 ,giotto was asked by a 
messenger of the ,pope for a specimen of
 his work1 and sent a perfect   circle1 
drawn free hand4    #ahf ,timothy vi1   
#aj4    ,,the ,,relation ,,of ,,art ,,to
 ,,use   ,our subject of inquiry to-day1
 you will remember1 is the mode in which
 fine art is founded upon1 or may       
contribute to1 the practical            
requirements of human life4  ,its       
offices in this respect are mainly      
twofold3 it gives ,form to knowledge1   
and ,grace to utility2 that is to say1  
it makes permanently visible to us      
things which otherwise could neither be 
described by our science1 nor retained  
by our memory2 and it gives             
delightfulness and worth to the         
implements of daily use1 and materials  

of dress1 furniture and lodging4 ,in the
 first of these offices it gives        
precision and charm to truth2 in the    
second it gives precision and charm to  
service4 ,for1 the moment we make       
anything useful thoroughly1 it is a law 
of nature that we shall be pleased with 
ourselves1 and with the thing we have   
made2 and become desirous therefore to  
adorn or complete it1 in some dainty    
way1 with finer art expressive of our   
pleasure4  ,and the point ,i wish       
chiefly to bring before you today is    
this close and healthy connection of the
 fine arts with material use2 but ,i    
must first try briefly to put in clear  
light the function of art in giving     
,form to truth4  ,much that ,i have     
hitherto tried to teach has been        
disputed on the ground that ,i have     
attached too much importance to art as  
representing natural facts1 and too     
little to it as a source of pleasure4   
,and ,i wish1 in the close of these four
 prefatory lectures1 strongly to assert 

to you1 and1 so far as ,i can in the    
time1 convince you1 that the entire     
vitality of art depends upon its being  
either full of truth1 or full of use2   
and that1 however pleasant1 wonderful1  
or impressive it may be in itself1 it   
must yet be of inferior kind1 and tend  
to deeper inferiority1 unless it has    
clearly one of these main               
objects1--either to state a true thing1 
or to adorn a serviceable one4 ,it must 
never exist alone1--never for itself2 it
 exists rightly only when it is the     
means of knowledge1 or the grace of     
agency for life4  ,now1 ,i pray you to  
observe--for though ,i have said this   
often before1 ,i have never yet said it 
clearly enough--every good piece of art1
 to whichever of these ends it may be   
directed1 involves first essentially the
 evidence of human skill1 and the       
formation of an actually beautiful thing
 by it4  ,skill and beauty1 always1     
then2 and1 beyond these1 the formative  
arts have always one or other of the two

 objects which ,i have just defined to  
you--truth1 or serviceableness2 and     
without these aims neither the skill nor
 their beauty will avail2 only by these 
can either legitimately reign4 ,all the 
graphic arts begin in keeping the       
outline of shadow that we have loved1   
and they end in giving to it the aspect 
of life2 and all the architectural arts 
begin in the shaping of the cup and the 
platter1 and they end in a glorified    
roof4  ,therefore1 you see1 in the      
graphic arts you have ,skill1 ,beauty1  
and ,likeness2 and in the architectural 
arts ,skill1 ,beauty1 and ,use3 and you 
must have the three in each group1      
balanced and co-ordinate2 and all the   
chief errors of art consist in losing or
 exaggerating one of these elements4    
,for instance1 almost the whole system  
and hope of modern life are founded on  
the notion that you may substitute      
mechanism for skill1 photograph for     
picture1 cast-iron for sculpture4 ,that 
is your main nineteenth-century faith1  

or infidelity4 ,you think you can get   
everything by grinding--music1          
literature1 and painting4 ,you will find
 it grievously not so2 you can get      
nothing but dust by mere grinding4 ,even
 to have the barley-meal out of it1 you 
must have the barley first2 and that    
comes by growth1 not grinding4 ,but     
essentially1 we have lost our delight in
 ,skill2 in that majesty of it which ,i 
was trying to make clear to you in my   
last address1 and which long ago#ahg ,i 
tried to express1 under the head of     
ideas of power4 ,the entire sense of    
that1 we have lost1 because we ourselves
 do not take pains enough to do right1  
and have no conception of what the right
 costs2 so that all the joy and         
reverence we ought to feel in looking at
 a strong man's work have ceased in us4 
,we keep them yet a little in looking at
 a honeycomb or a bird's-nest2 we       
understand that these differ1 by        
divinity of skill1 from a lump of wax or
 a cluster of sticks4 ,but a picture1   

which is a much more wonderful thing    
than a honeycomb or a bird's-nest1--have
 we not known people1 and sensible      
people too1 who expected to be taught to
 produce that1 in six lessons8  ,well1  
you must have the skill1 you must have  
the beauty1 which is the highest moral  
element2 and then1 lastly1 you must have
 the verity or utility1 which is not the
 moral1 but the vital element2 and this 
desire for verity and use is the one aim
 of the three that always leads in great
 schools1 and in the minds of great     
masters1 without any exception4 ,they   
will permit themselves in awkwardness1  
they will permit themselves in          
ugliness2--but they will never permit   
themselves in uselessness or in         
unveracity4  ,and farther1 as their     
skill increases1 and as their grace1 so 
much more their desire for truth4 ,it is
 impossible to find the three motives in
 fairer balance and harmony than in our 
own ,reynolds4 ,he rejoices in showing  
you his skill2 and those of you who     

succeed in learning what painters' work 
really is1 will one day rejoice also1   
even to laughter--that highest laughter 
which springs of pure delight1 in       
watching the fortitude and the fire of a
 hand which strikes forth its will upon 
the canvas as easily as the wind strikes
 it on the sea4 ,he rejoices in all     
abstract beauty and rhythm and melody of
 design2 he will never give you a colour
 that is not lovely1 nor a shade that is
 unnecessary1 nor a line that is        
ungraceful4 ,but all his power and all  
his invention are held by him           
subordinate1--and the more obediently   
because of their nobleness1-to his true 
leading purpose of setting before you   
such likeness of the living presence of 
an ,english gentleman or an ,english    
lady1 as shall be worthy of being looked
 upon for ever4  ,but farther1 you      
remember1 ,i hope--for ,i said it in a  
way that ,i thought would shock you a   
little1 that you might remember it--my  
statement1 that art had never done more 

than this1 never more than given the    
likeness of a noble human being4 ,not   
only so1 but it very seldom does so much
 as this1 and the best pictures that    
exist of the great schools are all      
portraits1 or groups of portraits1 often
 of very simple and nowise noble        
persons4 ,you may have much more        
brilliant and impressive qualities in   
imaginative pictures2 you may have      
figures scattered like clouds1 or       
garlanded like flowers2 you may have    
light and shade as of a tempest1 and    
colour1 as of the rainbow2 but all that 
is child's play to the great men1 though
 it is astonishment to us4 ,their real  
strength is tried to the utmost1 and as 
far as ,i know1 it is never elsewhere   
brought out so thoroughly1 as in        
painting one man or woman1 and the soul 
that was in them2 nor that always the   
highest soul1 but often only a thwarted 
one that was capable of height2 or      
perhaps not even that1 but faultful and 
poor1 yet seen through1 to the poor best

 of it1 by the masterful sight4 ,so that
 in order to put before you in your     
,standard series the best art possible1 
,i am obliged1 even from the very       
strongest men1 to take the portraits1   
before ,i take the idealism4 ,nay1      
whatever is best in the great           
compositions themselves has depended on 
portraiture2 and the study necessary to 
enable you to understand invention will 
also convince you that the mind of man  
never invented a greater thing than the 
form of man1 animated by faithful life4 
,every attempt to refine or exalt such  
healthy humanity has weakened or        
caricatured it2 or else consists only in
 giving it1 to please our fancy1 the    
wings of birds1 or the eyes of          
antelopes4 ,whatever is truly great in  
either ,greek or ,christian art1 is also
 restrictedly human2 and even the       
raptures of the redeemed souls who enter
 celestemente ballando1#ahh the gate of 
,angelico's ,paradise1 were seen first  
in the terrestrial1 yet most pure1 mirth

 of ,florentine maidens4  ,i am aware   
that this cannot but at present appear  
gravely questionable to those of my     
audience who are strictly cognizant of  
the phases of ,greek art2 for they know 
that the moment of its decline is       
accurately marked1 by its turning from  
abstract form to portraiture4 ,but the  
reason of this is simple4 ,the          
progressive course of ,greek art was in 
subduing monstrous conceptions to       
natural ones2 it did this by general    
laws2 it reached absolute truth of      
generic human form1 and if its ethical  
force had remained1 would have advanced 
into healthy portraiture4 ,but at the   
moment of change the national life ended
 in ,greece2 and portraiture1 there1    
meant insult to her religion1 and       
flattery to her tyrants4 ,and her skill 
perished1 not because she became true in
 sight1 but because she became vile in  
heart4444  ,but ,i have told you enough1
 it seems to me1 at least to-day1 of    
this function of art in recording fact2 

let me now finally1 and with all        
distinctness possible to me1 state to   
you its main business of all2--its      
service in the actual uses of daily     
life4  ,you are surprised1 perhaps1 to  
hear me call this its main business4    
,that is indeed so1 however4 ,the giving
 brightness to picture is much1 but the 
giving brightness to life more4 ,and    
remember1 were it as patterns only1 you 
cannot1 without the realities1 have the 
pictures4 ,you cannot have a landscape  
by ,turner without a country for him to 
paint2 you cannot have a portrait by    
,titian1 without a man to be pourtrayed4
 ,i need not prove that to you1 ,i      
suppose1 in these short terms2 but in   
the outcome ,i can get no soul to       
believe that the beginning of art is in 
getting our country clean1 and our      
people beautiful4 ,i have been ten years
 trying to get this very plain          
certainty--,i do not say believed--but  
even thought of1 as anything but a      
monstrous proposition4 ,to get your     

country clean1 and your people          
lovely2--,i assure you that is a        
necessary work of art to begin with6    
,there has indeed been art in countries 
where people lived in dirt to serve     
,god1 but never in countries where they 
lived in dirt to serve the devil4 ,there
 has indeed been art where the people   
were not all lovely1--where even their  
lips were thick--and their skins black1 
because the sun had looked upon         
them2#ahi but never in a country where  
the people were pale with miserable toil
 and deadly shade1 and where the lips of
 youth1 instead of being full with      
blood1 were pinched by famine1 or warped
 with poison4 ,and now1 therefore1 note 
this well1 the gist of all these long   
prefatory talks4 ,i said that the two   
great moral instincts were those of     
,order and ,kindness4 ,now1 all the arts
 are founded on agriculture by the hand1
 and on the graces and kindness of      
feeding1 and dressing1 and lodging your 
people4 ,greek art begins in the gardens

 of ,alcinous--perfect order1 leeks in  
beds1 and fountains in pipes4#aij ,and  
,christian art1 as it arose out of      
chivalry1 was only possible so far as   
chivalry compelled both kings and       
knights to care for the right personal  
training of their people2 it perished   
utterly when those kings and knights    
became ,greek3 daemoboroi1 devourers of 
the people4 ,and it will become possible
 again only1 when1 literally1 the sword 
is beaten into the ploughshare1#aia when
 your ,st4 ,george of ,england shall    
justify his name1#aib and ,christian art
 shall be known as its ,master was1 in  
breaking of bread4#aic  ,now look at the
 working out of this broad principle in 
minor detail2 observe how1 from highest 
to lowest1 health of art has first      
depended on reference to industrial use4
 ,there is first the need of cup and    
platter1 especially of cup2 for you can 
put your meat on the ,harpies'1#aid or  
any other1 tables2 but you must have    
your cup to drink from4 ,and to hold it 

conveniently1 you must put a handle to  
it2 and to fill it when it is empty you 
must have a large pitcher of some sort2 
and to carry the pitcher you may most   
advisably have two handles4 ,modify the 
forms of these needful possessions      
according to the various requirements of
 drinking largely and drinking          
delicately2 of pouring easily out1 or of
 keeping for years the perfume in2 of   
storing in cellars1 or bearing from     
fountains2 of sacrificial libation1 of  
,pan-athenaic treasure of oil1 and      
sepulchral treasure of ashes1--and you  
have a resultant series of beautiful    
form and decoration1 from the rude      
amphora of red earth up to ,cellini's   
vases of gems and crystal1 in which     
series1 but especially in the more      
simple conditions of it1 are developed  
the most beautiful lines and most       
perfect types of severe composition     
which have yet been attained by art4    
,but again1 that you may fill your cup  
with pure water1 you must go to the well

 or spring2 you need a fence round the  
well2 you need some tube or trough1 or  
other means of confining the stream at  
the spring4 ,for the conveyance of the  
current to any distance you must build  
either enclosed or open aqueduct2 and in
 the hot square of the city where you   
set it free1 you find it good for health
 and pleasantness to let it leap into a 
fountain4 ,on these several needs you   
have a school of sculpture founded2 in  
the decoration of the walls of wells in 
level countries1 and of the sources of  
springs in mountainous ones1 and chiefly
 of all1 where the women of household or
 market meet at the city fountain4      
,there is1 however1 a farther reason for
 the use of art here than in any other  
material service1 so far as we may1 by  
art1 express our reverence or           
thankfulness4 ,whenever a nation is in  
its right mind1 it always has a deep    
sense of divinity in the gift of rain   
from heaven1 filling its heart with food
 and gladness2#aie and all the more when

 that gift becomes gentle and perennial 
in the flowing of springs4 ,it literally
 is not possible that any fruitful power
 of the ,muses should be put forth upon 
a people which disdains their ,helicon2 
still less is it possible that any      
,christian nation should grow up tanquam
 lignum quod plantatum est secus        
decursus aquarum1#aif which cannot      
recognize the lesson meant in their     
being told of the places where ,rebekah 
was met2--where ,rachel1--where         
,zipporah1--and she who was asked for   
water under ,mount ,gerizim by a        
,stranger1 weary1 who had nothing to    
draw with4#aig  ,and truly1 when our    
mountain springs are set apart in vale  
or craggy glen1 or glade of wood green  
through the drought of summer1 far from 
cities1 then1 it is best let them stay  
in their own happy peace2 but if near   
towns1 and liable therefore to be       
defiled by common usage1 we could not   
use the loveliest art more worthily than
 by sheltering the spring and its first 

pools with precious marbles3 nor ought  
anything to be esteemed more important1 
as a means of healthy education1 than   
the care to keep the streams of it      
afterwards1 to as great a distance as   
possible1 pure1 full of fish1 and easily
 accessible to children4 ,there used to 
be1 thirty years ago1 a little rivulet  
of the ,wandel1 about an inch deep1     
which ran over the carriage-road and    
under a footbridge just under the last  
chalk hill near ,croydon4 ,alas6 men    
came and went2 and it--did not go on for
 ever4 ,it has long since been bricked  
over by the parish authorities2 but     
there was more education in that stream 
with its minnows than you could get out 
of a thousand pounds spent yearly in the
 parish schools1 even though you were to
 spend every farthing of it in teaching 
the nature of oxygen and hydrogen1 and  
the names1 and rate per minute1 of all  
the rivers in ,asia and ,america4       
,well1 the gist of this matter lies here
 then4 ,suppose we want a school of     

pottery again in ,england1 all we poor  
artists are ready to do the best we can1
 to show you how pretty a line may be   
that is twisted first to one side1 and  
then to the other2 and how a plain      
household-blue will make a pattern on   
white2 and how ideal art may be got out 
of the spaniel's colours of black and   
tan4 ,but ,i tell you beforehand1 all   
that we can do will be utterly useless1 
unless you teach your peasant to say    
grace1 not only before meat1 but before 
drink2 and having provided him with     
,greek cups and platters1 provide him   
also with something that is not poisoned
 to put into them4  ,there cannot be any
 need that ,i should trace for you the  
conditions of art that are directly     
founded on serviceableness of dress1 and
 of armour2 but it is my duty to affirm 
to you1 in the most positive manner1    
that after recovering1 for the poor1    
wholesomeness of food1 your next step   
toward founding schools of art in       
,england must be in recovering1 for the 

poor1 decency and wholesomeness of      
dress2 thoroughly good in substance1    
fitted for their daily work1 becoming to
 their rank in life1 and worn with order
 and dignity4 ,and this order and       
dignity must be taught them by the women
 of the upper and middle classes1 whose 
minds can be in nothing right1 as long  
as they are so wrong in this matter us  
to endure the squalor of the poor1 while
 they themselves dress gaily4 ,and on   
the proper pride and comfort of both    
poor and rich in dress1 must be founded 
the true arts of dress2 carried on by   
masters of manufacture no less careful  
of the perfectness and beauty of their  
tissues1 and of all that in substance   
and in design can be bestowed upon them1
 than ever the armourers of ,milan and  
,damascus were careful of their steel4  
,then1 in the third place1 having       
recovered some wholesome habits of life 
as to food and dress1 we must recover   
them as to lodging4 ,i said just now    
that the best architecture was but a    

glorified roof4 ,think of it4 ,the dome 
of the ,vatican1 the porches of ,rheims 
or ,chartres1 the vaults and arches of  
their aisles1 the canopy of the tomb1   
and the spire of the belfry1 are all    
forms resulting from the mere           
requirement that a certain space shall  
be strongly covered from heat and rain4 
,more than that--as ,i have tried all   
through ,the ,stones of ,venice to      
show--the lovely forms of these were    
every one of them developed in civil and
 domestic building1 and only after their
 invention employed ecclesiastically on 
the grandest scale4 ,i think you cannot 
but have noticed here in ,oxford1 as    
elsewhere1 that our modern architects   
never seem to know what to do with their
 roofs4 ,be assured1 until the roofs are
 right1 nothing else will be2 and there 
are just two ways of keeping them right4
 ,never build them of iron1 but only of 
wood or stone2 and secondly1 take care  
that in every town the little roofs are 
built before the large ones1 and that   

everybody who wants one has got one4    
,and we must try also to make everybody 
want one4 ,that is to say1 at some not  
very advanced period of life1 men should
 desire to have a home1 which they do   
not wish to quit any more1 suited to    
their habits of life1 and likely to be  
more and more suitable to them until    
their death4 ,and men must desire to    
have these their dwelling-places built  
as strongly as possible1 and furnished  
and decorated daintily1 and set in      
pleasant places1 in bright light1 and   
good air1 being able to choose for      
themselves that at least as well as     
swallows4 ,and when the houses are      
grouped together in cities1 men must    
have so much civic fellowship as to     
subject their architecture to a common  
law1 and so much civic pride as to      
desire that the whole gathered group of 
human dwellings should be a lovely      
thing1 not a frightful one1 on the face 
of the earth4 ,not many weeks ago an    
,english clergyman1#aih a master of this

 ,university1 a man not given to        
sentiment1 but of middle age1 and great 
practical sense1 told me1 by accident1  
and wholly without reference to the     
subject now before us1 that he never    
could enter ,london from his country    
parsonage but with closed eyes1 lest the
 sight of the blocks of houses which the
 railroad intersected in the suburbs    
should unfit him1 by the horror of it1  
for his day's work4  ,now1 it is not    
possible--and ,i repeat to you1 only in 
more deliberate assertion1 what ,i wrote
 just twenty-two years ago in the last  
chapter of the ,seven ,lamps of         
,architecture--it is not possible to    
have any right morality1 happiness1 or  
art1 in any country where the cities are
 thus built1 or thus1 let me rather say1
 clotted and coagulated2 spots of a     
dreadful mildew1 spreading by patches   
and blotches over the country they      
consume4 ,you must have lovely cities1  
crystallized1 not coagulated1 into form2
 limited in size1 and not casting out   

the scum and scurf of them into an      
encircling eruption of shame1 but girded
 each with its sacred pomoerium1 and    
with garlands of gardens full of        
blossoming trees and softly guided      
streams4     #ahg ,in ,modern ,painters1
 vol4 #a4    #ahh ,the quotation is from
 ,vasari's account of ,angelico's ,last 
,judgment 7now in the ,accademia at     
,florence74 ,cook and ,wedderbum4       
#ahi ,song of ,solomon i1 #f4    #aij   
,cf4 ,classical ,landscape1 pp4 #ib-ic4 
#aia ,isaiah1 ii1 #d2 ,micah iv1 #c2    
,joel iii1 #aj4    #aib ,the name of    
,st4 ,george1 the ,earthworker1 or      
,husbandman4   ,ruskin4    #aic ,luke   
xxiv1 #ce4    #aid ,virgil1 ,a,eneid1   
#c1 #bji4 seqq4 ,ruskin4    #aie ,acts  
xiv1 #ag4    #aif ,psalms i1 #c4    #aig
 ,genesis xxiv1 #ae1 #af and xxix1 #aj2 
,exodus ii1 #af2 ,john   iv1 #aa4       
#aih ,osborne ,gordon4 ,ruskin4         
,,art ,,and ,,history  ,,athena ,,ergane
       ,this short selection is taken   
from the volume entitled ,the ,queen    

of the ,air1 in which ,ruskin1          
fascinated by the deep significance     
of the ,greek myths and realizing the   
religious sincerity     underlying them1
 attempts to interpret those that       
cluster about     ,athena4 ,the book was
 published ,june #bb1 #ahfi4 ,it is     
divided into     three ,lectures1 parts 
of which actually were delivered as     
lectures on different occasions1        
entitled respectively ,athena           
,chalinitis 7,athena in the ,heavens71  
,athena ,keramitis 7,athena     in the  
,earth71 ,athena ,ergane 7,athena in the
 ,heart74 ,the first     lecture is the 
only one which keeps to the title of the
 book2 in     the others the legend is  
used merely as a starting-point for the 
expression of various pregnant ideas on 
social and historical     problems4 ,the
 book as a whole abounds in flashes of  
inspiration     and insight1 and is a   
favourite with many readers of ,ruskin4 
,carlyle1 in a letter to ,froude1 wrote3
 ,passages of that last     book1 ,queen

 of the ,air1 went into my heart like   
arrows4  ,in different places of my     
writings1 and through many years of     
endeavour to define the laws of art1 ,i 
have insisted on this ,tightness in     
work1 and on its connection with virtue 
of character1 in so many partial ways1  
that the impression left on the reader's
 mind--if1 indeed1 it was ever impressed
 at all--has been confused and          
uncertain4 ,in beginning the series of  
my corrected works1 ,i wish this        
principle 7in my own mind the foundation
 of every other7 to be made plain1 if   
nothing else is3 and will try1          
therefore1 to make it so1 so far as1 by 
any effort1 ,i can put it into          
unmistakable words4 ,and1 first1 here is
 a very simple statement of it1 given   
lately in a lecture on the ,architecture
 of the ,valley of the ,somme1#aii which
 will be better read in this place than 
in its incidental connection with my    
account of the porches of ,abbeville4   
,i had used1 in a preceding part of the 

lecture1 the expression1 by what faults 
this ,gothic architecture fell4 ,we     
continually speak thus of works of art4 
,we talk of their faults and merits1 as 
of virtues and vices4 ,what do we mean  
by talking of the faults of a picture1  
or the merits of a piece of stone8  ,the
 faults of a work of art are the faults 
of its workman1 and its virtues his     
virtues4  ,great art is the expression  
of the mind of a great man1 and mean    
art1 that of the want of mind of a weak 
man4 ,a foolish person builds foolishly1
 and a wise one1 sensibly2 a virtuous   
one1 beautifully2 and a vicious one1    
basely4 ,if stone work is well put      
together1 it means that a thoughtful man
 planned it1 and a careful man cut it1  
and an honest man cemented it4 ,if it   
has too much ornament1 it means that its
 carver was too greedy of pleasure2 if  
too little1 that he was rude1 or        
insensitive1 or stupid1 and the like4   
,so that when once you have learned how 
to spell these most precious of all     

legends1--pictures and buildings1--you  
may read the characters of men1 and of  
nations1 in their art1 as in a          
mirror2--nay1 as in a microscope1 and   
magnified a hundredfold2 for the        
character becomes passionate in the art1
 and intensifies itself in all its      
noblest or meanest delights4 ,nay1 not  
only as in a microscope1 but as under a 
scalpel1 and in dissection2 for a man   
may hide himself from you1 or           
misrepresent himself to you1 every other
 way2 but he cannot in his work3 there1 
be sure1 you have him to the inmost4    
,all that he likes1 all that he         
sees1--all that he can do1--his         
imagination1 his affections1 his        
perseverance1 his impatience1 his       
clumsiness1 cleverness1 everything is   
there4 ,if the work is a cobweb1 you    
know it was made by a spider2 if a      
honeycomb1 by a bee2 a worm-cast is     
thrown up by a worm1 and a nest wreathed
 by a bird2 and a house built by a man1 
worthily1 if he is worthy1 and ignobly1 

if he is ignoble4  ,and always1 from the
 least to the greatest1 as the made     
thing is good or bad1 so is the maker of
 it4  ,you all use this faculty of      
judgment more or less1 whether you      
theoretically admit the principle or    
not4 ,take that floral gable2#bjj you   
don't suppose the man who built         
,stonehenge could have built that1 or   
that the man who built that1 would have 
built ,stonehenge8 ,do you think an old 
,roman would have liked such a piece of 
filigree work8 or that ,michael ,angelo 
would have spent his time in twisting   
these stems of roses in and out8 ,or1 of
 modern handicraftsmen1 do you think a  
burglar1 or a brute1 or a pickpocket    
could have carved it8 ,could ,bill      
,sykes have done it8 or the ,dodger1    
dexterous with finger and tool8 ,you    
will find in the end1 that no man could 
have done it but exactly the man who did
 it2 and by looking close at it1 you    
may1 if you know your letters1 read     
precisely the manner of man he was4     

,now ,i must insist on this matter1 for 
a grave reason4 ,of all facts concerning
 art1 this is the one most necessary to 
be known1 that1 while manufacture is the
 work of hands only1 art is the work of 
the whole spirit of man2 and as that    
spirit is1 so is the deed of it3 and by 
whatever power of vice or virtue any art
 is produced1 the same vice or virtue it
 reproduces and teaches4 ,that which is 
born of evil begets evil2 and that which
 is born of valour and honour1 teaches  
valour and honour4 ,al art is either    
infection or education4 ,it must be one 
or other of these4  ,this1 ,i repeat1 of
 all truths respecting art1 is the one  
of which understanding is the most      
precious1 and denial the most deadly4   
,and ,i assert it the more1 because it  
has of late been repeatedly1 expressly1 
and with contumely denied2 and that by  
high authority3 and ,i hold it one of   
the most sorrowful facts connected with 
the decline of the arts among us1 that  
,english gentlemen1 of high standing as 

scholars and artists1 should have been  
blinded into the acceptance1 and        
betrayed into the assertion of a fallacy
 which only authority such as theirs    
could have rendered for an instant      
credible4 ,for the contrary of it is    
written in the history of all great     
nations2 it is the one sentence always  
inscribed on the steps of their thrones2
 the one concordant voice in which they 
speak to us out of their dust4  ,all    
such nations first manifest themselves  
as a pure and beautiful animal race1    
with intense energy and imagination4    
,they live lives of hardship by choice1 
and by grand instinct of manly          
discipline3 they become fierce and      
irresistible soldiers2 the nation is    
always its own army1 and their king1 or 
chief head of government1 is always     
their first soldier4 ,pharaoh1 or       
,david1 or ,leonidas1 or ,valerius1 or  
,barbarossa1 or ,coeur de ,lion1 or ,st4
 ,louis1 or ,dandolo1 or ,frederick the 
,great3--,egyptian1 ,jew1 ,greek1       

,roman1 ,german1 ,english1 ,french1     
,venetian1--that is inviolable law for  
them all2 their king must be their first
 soldier1 or they cannot be in          
progressive power4 ,then1 after their   
great military period1 comes the        
domestic period2 in which1 without      
betraying the discipline of war1 they   
add to their great soldiership the      
delights and possessions of a delicate  
and tender home-life3 and then1 for all 
nations1 is the time of their perfect   
art1 which is the fruit1 the evidence1  
the reward of their national ideal of   
character1 developed by the finished    
care of the occupations of peace4 ,that 
is the history of all true art that ever
 was1 or can be3 palpably the history of
 it1--unmistakably1--written on the     
forehead of it in letters of light1--in 
tongues of fire1 by which the seal of   
virtue is branded as deep as ever iron  
burnt into a convict's flesh the seal of
 crime4 ,but always1 hitherto1 after the
 great period1 has followed the day of  

luxury1 and pursuit of the arts for     
pleasure only4 ,and all has so ended4   
,thus far of ,abbeville building4 ,now  
,i have here asserted two               
things1--first1 the foundation of art in
 moral character2 next1 the foundation  
of moral character in war4 ,i must make 
both these assertions clearer1 and prove
 them4  ,first1 of the foundation of art
 in moral character4 ,of course art-gift
 and amiability of disposition are two  
different things4 ,a good man is not    
necessarily a painter1 nor does an eye  
for colour necessarily imply an honest  
mind4 ,but great art implies the union  
of both powers3 it is the expression1 by
 an art-gift1 of a pure soul4 ,if the   
gift is not there1 we can have no art at
 all2 and if the soul--and a right soul 
too--is not there1 the art is bad1      
however dexterous4  ,but also1 remember1
 that the art-gift itself is only the   
result of the moral character of        
generations4 ,a bad woman may have a    
sweet voice2 but that sweetness of voice

 comes of the past morality of her race4
 ,that she can sing with it at all1 she 
owes to the determination of laws of    
music by the morality of the past4      
,every act1 every impulse1 of virtue and
 vice1 affects in any creature1 face1   
voice1 nervous power1 and vigour and    
harmony of invention1 at once4          
,perseverance in rightness of human     
conduct1 renders1 after a certain number
 of generations1 human art possible2    
every sin clouds it1 be it ever so      
little a one2 and persistent vicious    
living and following of pleasure render1
 after a certain number of generations1 
all art impossible4 ,men are deceived by
 the long-suffering of the laws of      
nature2 and mistake1 in a nation1 the   
reward of the virtue of its sires for   
the issue of its own sins4 ,the time of 
their visitation will come1 and that    
inevitably2 for1 it is always true1 that
 if the fathers have eaten sour grapes1 
the children's teeth are set on         
edge4#bja ,and for the individual1 as   

soon as you have learned to read1 you   
may1 as ,i have said1 know him to the   
heart's core1 through his art4 ,let his 
art-gift be never so great1 and         
cultivated to the height by the schools 
of a great race of men2 and it is still 
but a tapestry thrown over his own being
 and inner soul2 and the bearing of it  
will show1 infallibly1 whether it hangs 
on a man1 or on a skeleton4 ,if you are 
dim-eyed1 you may not see the difference
 in the fall of the folds at first1 but 
learn how to look1 and the folds        
themselves will become transparent1 and 
you shall see through them the death's  
shape1 or the divine one1 making the    
tissue above it as a cloud of light1 or 
as a winding-sheet4  ,then farther1     
observe1 ,i have said 7and you will find
 it true1 and that to the uttermost7    
that1 as all lovely art is rooted in    
virtue1 so it bears fruit of virtue1 and
 is didactic in its own nature4 ,it is  
often didactic also in actually         
expressed thought1 as ,giotto's1        

,michael ,angelo's1 ,duerer's1 and      
hundreds more2 but that is not its      
special function1--it is didactic       
chiefly by being beautiful2 but         
beautiful with haunting thought1 no less
 than with form1 and full of myths that 
can be read only with the heart4  ,for  
instance1 at this moment there is open  
beside me as ,i write1 a page of        
,persian manuscript1 wrought with       
wreathed azure and geld1 and soft green1
 and violet1 and ruby and scarlet1 into 
one field of pure resplendence4 ,it is  
wrought to delight the eyes only2 and   
does delight them2 and the man who did  
it assuredly had eyes in his head2 but  
not much more4 ,it is not didactic art1 
but its author was happy3 and it will do
 the good1 and the harm1 that mere      
pleasure can do4 ,but1 opposite me1 is  
an early ,turner drawing of the lake of 
,geneva1 taken about two miles from     
,geneva1 on the ,lausanne road1 with    
,mont ,blanc in the distance4 ,the old  
city is seen lying beyond the waveless  

waters1 veiled with a sweet misty veil  
of ,athena's weaving3 a faint light of  
morning1 peaceful exceedingly1 and      
almost colourless1 shed from behind the 
,voirons1 increases into soft amber     
along the slope of the ,saleve1 and is  
just seen1 and no more1 on the fair warm
 fields of its summit1 between the folds
 of a white cloud that rests upon the   
grass1 but rises1 high and towerlike1   
into the zenith of dawn above4  ,there  
is not as much colour in that low amber 
light upon the hill-side as there is in 
the palest dead leaf4 ,the lake is not  
blue1 but grey in mist1 passing into    
deep shadow beneath the ,voirons' pines2
 a few dark clusters of leaves1 a single
 white flower--scarcely seen--are all   
the gladness given to the rocks of the  
shore4 ,one of the ruby spots of the    
eastern manuscript would give colour    
enough for all the red that is in       
,turner's entire drawing4 ,for the mere 
pleasure of the eye1 there is not so    
much in all those lines of his1         

throughout the entire landscape1 as in  
half an inch square of the ,persian's   
page4 ,what made him take pleasure in   
the low colour that is only like the    
brown of a dead leaf8 in the cold grey  
of dawn--in the one white flower among  
the rocks--in these--and no more than   
these8  ,he took pleasure in them       
because he had been bred among ,english 
fields and hills2 because the gentleness
 of a great race was in his heart1 and  
its power of thought in his brain2      
because he knew the stories of the      
,alps1 and of the cities at their feet2 
because he had read the ,homeric legends
 of the clouds1 and beheld the gods of  
dawn1 and the givers of dew to the      
fields2 because he knew the faces of the
 crags1 and the imagery of the          
passionate mountains1 as a man knows the
 face of his friend2 because he had in  
him the wonder and sorrow concerning    
life and death1 which are the           
inheritance of the ,gothic soul from the
 days of its first sea kings2 and also  

the compassion and the joy that are     
woven into the innermost fabric of every
 great imaginative spirit1 born now in  
countries that have lived by the        
,christian faith with any courage or    
truth4 ,and the picture contains also1  
for us1 just this which its maker had in
 him to give2 and can convey it to us1  
just so far as we are of the temper in  
which it must be received4 ,it is       
didactic if we are worthy to be taught1 
no otherwise4 ,the pure heart1 it will  
make more pure2 the thoughtful1 more    
thoughtful4 ,it has in it no words for  
the reckless or the base4     #aii ,the 
,flamboyant ,architecture of the ,valley
 of the ,somme1 a   lecture delivered at
 the ,royal ,institution1 ,january #bi1 
#ahfi4    #bjj ,the elaborate pediment  
above the central porch at the west     
end of ,rouen ,cathedral1 pierced into a
 transparent web of tracery1   and      
enriched with a border of twisted       
eglantine4 ,ruskin4    #bja ,jeremiah   
xxxi1 #bi4     ,,traffic       ,traffic 

is the second of the three lectures     
published ,may1 #ahff1     in the volume
 entitled ,the ,crown of ,wild ,olive4  
,all these     lectures were delivered  
in the years #ahfd and #ahfe1 but the   
one     here printed was earliest4 ,the 
occasion on which ,ruskin addressed     
the people of ,bradford is made         
sufficiently clear from the opening     
sentences4 ,the lecture is important as 
emphasizing in a popular     way some of
 his most characteristic economic       
theories4    ,,traffic#bjb   ,my good   
,yorkshire friends1 you asked me down   
here among your hills that ,i might talk
 to you about this ,exchange you are    
going to build3 but1 earnestly and      
seriously asking you to pardon me1 ,i am
 going to do nothing of the kind4 ,i    
cannot talk1 or at least can say very   
little1 about this same ,exchange4 ,i   
must talk of quite other things1 though 
not willingly2--,i could not deserve    
your pardon1 if1 when you invited me to 
speak on one subject1 ,i wilfully spoke 

on another4 ,but ,i cannot speak1 to    
purpose1 of anything about which ,i do  
not care2 and most simply and           
sorrowfully ,i have to tell you1 in the 
outset1 that ,i do not care about this  
,exchange of yours4  ,if1 however1 when 
you sent me your invitation1 ,i had     
answered1 ,i won't come1 ,i don't care  
about the ,exchange of ,bradford1 you   
would have been justly offended with me1
 not knowing the reasons of so blunt a  
carelessness4 ,so ,i have come down1    
hoping that you will patiently let me   
tell you why1 on this1 and many other   
such occasions1 ,i now remain silent1   
when formerly ,i should have caught at  
the opportunity of speaking to a        
gracious audience4  ,in a word1 then1 ,i
 do not care about this                 
,exchange--because you don't2 and       
because you know perfectly well ,i      
cannot make you4 ,look at the essential 
conditions of the case1 which you1 as   
business men1 know perfectly well1      
though perhaps you think ,i forget them4

 ,you are going to spend ,l#cj1jjj1     
which to you1 collectively1 is nothing2 
the buying a new coat is1 as to the cost
 of it1 a much more important matter of 
consideration to me1 than building a new
 ,exchange is to you4 ,but you think you
 may as well have the right thing for   
your money4 ,you know there are a great 
many odd styles of architecture about2  
you don't want to do anything           
ridiculous2 you hear of me1 among       
others1 as a respectable architectural  
man-milliner2 and you send for me1 that 
,i may tell you the leading fashion2 and
 what is1 in our shops1 for the moment1 
the newest and sweetest thing in        
pinnacles4  ,now1 pardon me for telling 
you frankly1 you cannot have good       
architecture merely by asking people's  
advice on occasion4 ,all good           
architecture is the expression of       
national life and character1 and it is  
produced by a prevalent and eager       
national taste1 or desire for beauty4   
,and ,i want you to think a little of   

the deep significance of this word      
taste2 for no statement of mine has been
 more earnestly or oftener controverted 
than that good taste is essentially a   
moral quality4 ,no1 say many of my      
antagonists1 taste is one thing1        
morality is another4 ,tell us what is   
pretty3 we shall be glad to know that2  
but we need no sermons--even were you   
able to preach them1 which may be       
doubted4  ,permit me1 therefore1 to     
fortify this old dogma of mine somewhat4
 ,taste is not only a part and an index 
of morality2--it is the ,,only morality4
 ,the first1 and last1 and closest trial
 question to any living creature is1    
,what do you like8 ,tell me what you    
like1 and ,i'll tell you what you are4  
,go out into the street1 and ask the    
first man or woman you meet1 what their 
taste is2 and if they answer candidly1  
you know them1 body and soul4 ,you1 my  
friend in the rags1 with the unsteady   
gait1 what do you like8 ,a pipe and a   
quartern of gin4 ,i know you4 ,you1 good

 woman1 with the quick step and tidy    
bonnet1 what do you like8 ,a swept      
hearth1 and a clean tea-table2 and my   
husband opposite me1 and a baby at my   
breast4 ,good1 ,i know you also4 ,you1  
little girl with the golden hair and the
 soft eyes1 what do you like8 ,my       
canary1 and a run among the wood        
hyacinths4 ,you1 little boy with the    
dirty hands1 and the low forehead1 what 
do you like8 ,a shy at the sparrows1 and
 a game at pitch farthing4 ,good2 we    
know them all now4 ,what more need we   
ask8  ,nay1 perhaps you answer2 we need 
rather to ask what these people and     
children do1 than what they like4 ,if   
they do right1 it is no matter that they
 like what is wrong2 and if they do     
wrong1 it is no matter that they like   
what is right4 ,doing is the great      
thing2 and it does not matter that the  
man likes drinking1 so that he does not 
drink2 nor that the little girl likes to
 be kind to her canary1 if she will not 
learn her lessons2 nor that the little  

boy likes throwing stones at the        
sparrows1 if he goes to the ,sunday     
school4 ,indeed1 for a short time1 and  
in a provisional sense1 this is true4   
,for if1 resolutely1 people do what is  
right1 in time they come to like doing  
it4 ,but they only are in a right moral 
state when they have come to like doing 
it2 and as long as they don't like it1  
they are still in a vicious state4 ,the 
man is not in health of body who is     
always thinking of the bottle in the    
cupboard1 though he bravely bears his   
thirst2 but the man who heartily enjoys 
water in the morning1 and wine in the   
evening1 each in its proper quantity and
 time4 ,and the entire object of true   
education is to make people not merely  
do the right things1 but enjoy the right
 things3--not merely industrious1 but to
 love industry--not merely learned1 but 
to love knowledge--not merely pure1 but 
to love purity--not merely just1 but to 
hunger and thirst after justice4#bjc    
,but you may answer or think1 ,is the   

liking for outside ornaments1--for      
pictures1 or statues1 or furniture1 or  
architecture1--a moral quality8 ,yes1   
most surely1 if a rightly set liking4   
,taste for any pictures or statues is   
not a moral quality1 but taste for good 
ones is4 ,only here again we have to    
define the word good4 ,i don't mean by  
good1 clever--or learned--or difficult  
in the doing4 ,take a picture by        
,teniers1 of sots quarrelling over their
 dice2 it is an entirely clever picture2
 so clever that nothing in its kind has 
ever been done equal to it2 but it is   
also an entirely base and evil picture4 
,it is an expression of delight in the  
prolonged contemplation of a vile thing1
 and delight in that is an unmannered1  
or immoral quality4 ,it is bad taste in 
the profoundest sense--it is the taste  
of the devils4 ,on the other hand1 a    
picture of ,titian's1 or a ,greek       
statue1 or a ,greek coin1 or a ,turner  
landscape1 expresses delight in the     
perpetual contemplation of a good and   

perfect thing4 ,that is an entirely     
moral quality--it is the taste of the   
angels ,and all delight in art1 and all 
love of it1 resolve themselves into     
simple love of that which deserves love4
 ,that deserving is the quality which we
 call loveliness--7we ought to have an  
opposite word1 hateliness1 to be said of
 the things which deserve to be hated72 
and it is not an indifferent nor        
optional thing whether we love this or  
that2 but it is just the vital function 
of all our being4 ,what we like         
determines what we are1 and is the sign 
of what we are2 and to teach taste is   
inevitably to form character4  ,as ,i   
was thinking over this1 in walking up   
,fleet ,street the other day1 my eye    
caught the title of a book standing open
 in a bookseller's window4 ,it was--,on 
the necessity of the diffusion of taste 
among all classes4 ,ah1 ,i thought to   
myself1 my classifying friend1 when you 
have diffused your taste1 where will    
your classes be8 ,the man who likes what

 you like1 belongs to the same class    
with you1 ,i think4 ,inevitably so4 ,you
 may put him to other work if you       
choose2 but1 by the condition you have  
brought him into1 he will dislike the   
other work as much as you would         
yourself4 ,you get hold of a scavenger  
or a costermonger1 who enjoyed the      
,newgate ,calendar for literature1 and  
',pop goes the ,weasel' for music4 ,you 
think you can make him like ,dante and  
,beethoven8 ,i wish you joy of your     
lessons2 but if you do1 you have made a 
gentleman of him3--he won't like to go  
back to his coster-mongering4  ,and so  
completely and unexceptionally is this  
so1 that1 if ,i had time to-night1 ,i   
could show you that a nation cannot be  
affected by any vice1 or weakness1      
without expressing it1 legibly1 and for 
ever1 either in bad art1 or by want of  
art2 and that there is no national      
virtue1 small or great1 which is not    
manifestly expressed in all the art     
which circumstances enable the people   

possessing that virtue to produce4      
,take1 for instance1 your great ,english
 virtue of enduring and patient courage4
 ,you have at present in ,england only  
one art of any consequence--that is1    
iron-working4 ,you know thoroughly well 
how to cast and hammer iron4 ,now1 do   
you think1 in those masses of lava which
 you build volcanic cones to melt1 and  
which you forge at the mouths of the    
,infernos you have created2 do you      
think1 on those iron plates1 your       
courage and endurance are not written   
for ever1--not merely with an iron pen1 
but on iron parchment8 ,and take also   
your great ,english vice--,european     
vice--vice of all the world--vice of all
 other worlds that roll or shine in     
heaven1 bearing with them yet the       
atmosphere of hell--the vice of         
jealousy1 which brings competition into 
your commerce1 treachery into your      
councils1 and dishonour into your       
wars--that vice which has rendered for  
you1 and for your next neighbouring     

nation1 the daily occupations of        
existence no longer possible1 but with  
the mail upon your breasts and the sword
 loose in its sheath2 so that at last1  
you have realized for all the multitudes
 of the two great peoples who lead the  
so-called civilization of the           
earth1--you have realized for them all1 
,i say1 in person and in policy1 what   
was once true only of the rough ,border 
riders of your ,cheviot hills--         
,they carved at the meal     ,with      
gloves of steel1  ,and they drank the   
red wine through the helmet barr'd2#bjd 
do you think that this national shame   
and dastardliness of heart are not      
written as legibly on every rivet of    
your iron armour as the strength of the 
right hands that forged it8  ,friends1  
,i know not whether this thing be the   
more ludicrous or the more melancholy4  
,it is quite unspeakably both4 ,suppose1
 instead of being now sent for by you1  
,i had been sent for by some private    
gentleman1 living in a suburban house1  

with his garden separated only by a     
fruit wall from his next door           
neighbour's2 and he had called me to    
consult with him on the furnishing of   
his drawing-room4 ,i begin looking about
 me1 and find the walls rather bare2 ,i 
think such and such a paper might be    
desirable--perhaps a little fresco here 
and there on the ceiling--a damask      
curtain or so at the windows4 ,ah1 says 
my employer1 damask curtains1 indeed6   
,that's all very fine1 but you know ,i  
can't afford that kind of thing just    
now6 ,yet the world credits you with a  
splendid income6 ,ah1 yes1 says my      
friend1 but do you know1 at present ,i  
am obliged to spend it nearly all in    
steel-traps8 ,steel-traps6 for whom8    
,why1 for that fellow on the other side 
the wall1 you know3 we're very good     
friends1 capital friends2 but we are    
obliged to keep our traps set on both   
sides of the wall2 we could not possibly
 keep on friendly terms without them1   
and our spring guns4 ,the worst of it   

is1 we are both clever fellows enough2  
and there's never a day passes that we  
don't find out a new trap1 or a new     
gun-barrel1 or something2 we spend about
 fifteen millions a year each in our    
traps1 take it altogether2 and ,i don't 
see how we're to do with less4 ,a highly
 comic state of life for two private    
gentlemen6 but for two nations1 it seems
 to me1 not wholly comic4 ,bedlam would 
be comic1 perhaps1 if there were only   
one madman in it2 and your ,christmas   
pantomime is comic1 when there is only  
one clown in it2 but when the whole     
world turns clown1 and paints itself red
 with its own heart's blood instead of  
vermilion1 it is something else than    
comic1 ,i think4  ,mind1 ,i know a great
 deal of this is play1 and willingly    
allow for that4 ,you don't know what to 
do with yourselves for a sensation3     
fox-hunting and cricketing will not     
carry you through the whole of this     
unendurably long mortal life3 you liked 
pop-guns when you were schoolboys1 and  

rifles and ,armstrongs are only the same
 things better made3 but then the worst 
of it is1 that what was play to you when
 boys1 was not play to the sparrows2 and
 what is play to you now1 is not play to
 the small birds of ,state neither2 and 
for the black eagles1 you are somewhat  
shy of taking shots at them1 if ,i      
mistake not4#bje  ,i must get back to   
the matter in hand1 however4 ,believe   
me1 without further instance1 ,i could  
show you1 in all time1 that every       
nation's vice1 or virtue1 was written in
 its art3 the soldiership of early      
,greece2 the sensuality of late ,italy2 
the visionary religion of ,tuscany2 the 
splendid human energy and beauty of     
,venice4 ,i have no time to do this     
to-night 7,i have done it elsewhere     
before now72#bjf but ,i proceed to apply
 the principle to ourselves in a more   
searching manner4  ,i notice that among 
all the new buildings that cover your   
once wild hills1 churches and schools   
are mixed in due1 that is to say1 in    

large proportion1 with your mills and   
mansions2 and ,i notice also that the   
churches and schools are almost always  
,gothic1 and the mansions and mills are 
never ,gothic4 ,will you allow me to ask
 precisely the meaning of this8 ,for1   
remember1 it is peculiarly a modern     
phenomenon4 ,when ,gothic was invented1 
houses were ,gothic as well as churches2
 and when the ,italian style superseded 
the ,gothic1 churches were ,italian as  
well as houses4 ,if there is a ,gothic  
spire to the cathedral of ,antwerp1     
there is a ,gothic belfry to the ,hotel 
de ,ville at ,brussels2 if ,inigo ,jones
 builds an ,italian ,whitehall1 ,sir    
,christopher ,wren builds an ,italian   
,st4 ,paul's4#bjg ,but now you live     
under one school of architecture1 and   
worship under another4 ,what do you mean
 by doing this8 ,am ,i to understand    
that you are thinking of changing your  
architecture back to ,gothic2 and that  
you treat your churches experimentally1 
because it does not matter what mistakes

 you make in a church8 ,or am ,i to     
understand that you consider ,gothic a  
pre-eminently sacred and beautiful mode 
of building1 which you think1 like the  
fine frankincense1 should be mixed for  
the tabernacle only1 and reserved for   
your religious services8 ,for if this be
 the feeling1 though it may seem at     
first as if it were graceful and        
reverent1 you will find that1 at the    
root of the matter1 it signifies neither
 more nor less than that you have       
separated your religion from your life4 
,for consider what a wide significance  
this fact has3 and remember that it is  
not you only1 but all the people of     
,england1 who are behaving thus1 just   
now4  ,you have all got into the habit  
of calling the church the house of ,god4
 ,i have seen1 over the doors of many   
churches1 the legend actually carved1   
,this is the house of ,god and this is  
the gate of heaven4#bjh ,now1 note where
 that legend comes from1 and of what    
place it was first spoken4 ,a boy leaves

 his father's house to go on a long     
journey on foot1 to visit his uncle3 he 
has to cross a wild hill-desert2 just as
 if one of your own boys had to cross   
the wolds to visit an uncle at          
,carlisle4 ,the second or third day your
 boy finds himself somewhere between    
,hawes and ,brough1 in the midst of the 
moors1 at sunset4 ,it is stony ground1  
and boggy2 he cannot go one foot further
 that night4 ,down he lies1 to sleep1 on
 ,wharnside1 where best he may1         
gathering a few of the stones together  
to put under his head2--so wild the     
place is1 he cannot get anything but    
stones4 ,and there1 lying under the     
broad night1 he has a dream2 and he sees
 a ladder set up on the earth1 and the  
top of it reaches to heaven1 and the    
angels of ,god are ascending and        
descending upon it4 ,and when he wakes  
out of his sleep1 he says1 ,how dreadful
 is this place2 surely this is none     
other than the house of ,god1 and this  
is the gate of heaven4 ,this ,,place1   

observe2 not this church2 not this city2
 not this stone1 even1 which he puts up 
for a memorial--the piece of flint on   
which his head has lain4 ,but this      
place2 this windy slope of ,wharnside2  
this moorland hollow1 torrent-bitten1   
snow-blighted6 this any place where ,god
 lets down the ladder4 ,and how are you 
to know where that will be8 or how are  
you to determine where it may be1 but by
 being ready for it always8 ,do you know
 where the lightning is to fall next8   
,you do know that1 partly2 you can guide
 the lightning2 but you cannot guide the
 going forth of the ,spirit1 which is   
that lightning when it shines from the  
east to the west4#bji  ,but the         
perpetual and insolent warping of that  
strong verse to serve a merely          
ecclesiastical purpose is only one of   
the thousand instances in which we sink 
back into gross ,judaism4 ,we call our  
churches temples4 ,now1 you know        
perfectly well they are not temples4    
,they have never had1 never can have1   

anything whatever to do with temples4   
,they are synagogues--gathering         
places--where you gather yourselves     
together as an assembly2 and by not     
calling them so1 you again miss the     
force of another mighty text--,thou1    
when thou prayest1 shalt not be as the  
hypocrites are2 for they love to pray   
standing in the churches we should      
translate it1 that they may be seen of  
men4 ,but thou1 when thou prayest1 enter
 into thy closet1 and when thou hast    
shut thy door1 pray to thy              
,father--which is1 not in chancel nor in
 aisle1 but in secret4#baj  ,now1 you   
feel1 as ,i say this to you--,i know you
 feel--as if ,i were trying to take away
 the honour of your churches4 ,not so2  
,i am trying to prove to you the honour 
of your houses and your hills2 not that 
the ,church is not sacred--but that the 
whole ,earth is4 ,i would have you feel1
 what careless1 what constant1 what     
infectious sin there is in all modes of 
thought1 whereby1 in calling your       

churches only holy1 you call your       
hearths and homes profane2 and have     
separated yourselves from the heathen by
 casting all your household gods to the 
ground1 instead of recognizing1 in the  
place of their many and feeble ,lares1  
the presence of your ,one and ,mighty   
,lord and ,lar4  ,but what has all this 
to do with our ,exchange8 you ask me1   
impatiently4 ,my dear friends1 it has   
just everything to do with it2 on these 
inner and great questions depend all the
 outer and little ones2 and if you have 
asked me down here to speak to you1     
because you had before been interested  
in anything ,i have written1 you must   
know that all ,i have yet said about    
architecture was to show this4 ,the book
 ,i called ,the ,seven ,lamps was to    
show that certain right states of temper
 and moral feeling were the magic powers
 by which all good architecture1 without
 exception1 had been produced4 ,the     
,stones of ,venice had1 from beginning  
to end1 no other aim than to show that  

the ,gothic architecture of ,venice had 
arisen out of1 and indicated in all its 
features1 a state of pure national      
faith1 and of domestic virtue2 and that 
its ,renaissance architecture had arisen
 out of1 and in all its features        
indicated1 a state of concealed national
 infidelity1 and of domestic corruption4
 ,and now1 you ask me what style is best
 to build in1 and how can ,i answer1    
knowing the meaning of the two styles1  
but by another question--do you mean to 
build as ,christians or as ,infidels8   
,and still more--do you mean to build as
 honest ,christians or as honest        
,infidels8 as thoroughly and confessedly
 either one or the other8 ,you don't    
like to be asked such rude questions4 ,i
 cannot help it2 they are of much more  
importance than this ,exchange business2
 and if they can be at once answered1   
the ,exchange business settles itself in
 a moment4 ,but before ,i press them    
farther1 ,i must ask leave to explain   
one point clearly4  ,in all my past     

work1 my endeavour has been to show that
 good architecture is essentially       
religious--the production of a faithful 
and virtuous1 not of an infidel and     
corrupted people4 ,but in the course of 
doing this1 ,i have had also to show    
that good architecture is not           
ecclesiastical4 ,people are so apt to   
look upon religion as the business of   
the clergy1 not their own1 that the     
moment they hear of anything depending  
on religion1 they think it must also    
have depended on the priesthood2 and ,i 
have had to take what place was to be   
occupied between these two errors1 and  
fight both1 often with seeming          
contradiction4 ,good architecture is the
 work of good and believing men2        
therefore1 you say1 at least some people
 say1 ,good architecture must           
essentially have been the work of the   
clergy1 not of the laity4 ,no--a        
thousand times no2 good architecture#baa
 has always been the work of the        
commonalty1 not of the clergy4 ,what1   

you say1 those glorious cathedrals--the 
pride of ,europe--did their builders not
 form ,gothic architecture8 ,no2 they   
corrupted ,gothic architecture4 ,gothic 
was formed in the baron's castle1 and   
the burgher's street4 ,it was formed by 
the thoughts1 and hands1 and powers of  
labouring citizens and warrior kings4   
,by the monk it was used as an          
instrument for the aid of his           
superstition2 when that superstition    
became a beautiful madness1 and the best
 hearts of ,europe vainly dreamed and   
pined in the cloister1 and vainly raged 
and perished in the crusade1--through   
that fury of perverted faith and wasted 
war1 the ,gothic rose also to its       
loveliest1 most fantastic1 and1 finally1
 most foolish dreams2 and in those      
dreams1 was lost4  ,i hope1 now1 that   
there is no risk of your                
misunderstanding me when ,i come to the 
gist of what ,i want to say             
to-night2--when ,i repeat1 that every   
great national architecture has been the

 result and exponent of a great national
 religion4 ,you can't have bits of it   
here1 bits there--you must have it      
everywhere or nowhere4 ,it is not the   
monopoly of a clerical company--it is   
not the exponent of a theological       
dogma--it is not the hieroglyphic       
writing of an initiated priesthood2 it  
is the manly language of a people       
inspired by resolute and common purpose1
 and rendering resolute and common      
fidelity to the legible laws of an      
undoubted ,god4  ,now1 there have as yet
 been three distinct schools of         
,european architecture4 ,i say1         
,european1 because ,asiatic and ,african
 architectures belong so entirely to    
other races and climates1 that there is 
no question of them here2 only1 in      
passing1 ,i will simply assure you that 
whatever is good or great in ,egypt1 and
 ,syria1 and ,india1 is just good or    
great for the same reasons as the       
buildings on our side of the ,bosphorus4
 ,we ,europeans1 then1 have had three   

great religions3 the ,greek1 which was  
the worship of the ,god of ,wisdom and  
,power2 the ,mediaeval1 which was the   
worship of the ,god of ,judgment and    
,consolation2 the ,renaissance1 which   
was the worship of the ,god of ,pride   
and ,beauty3 these three we have        
had--they are past1--and now1 at last1  
we ,english have got a fourth religion1 
and a ,god of our own1 about which ,i   
want to ask you4 ,but ,i must explain   
these three old ones first4  ,i repeat1 
first1 the ,greeks essentially          
worshipped the ,god of ,wisdom2 so that 
whatever contended against their        
religion1--to the ,jews a               
stumbling-block1--was1 to the           
,greeks--,foolishness4#bab  ,the first  
,greek idea of deity was that expressed 
in the word1 of which we keep the       
remnant in our words ,di-urnal and      
,di-vine--the god of ,day1 ,jupiter the 
revealer4 ,athena is his daughter1 but  
especially daughter of the ,intellect1  
springing armed from the head4 ,we are  

only with the help of recent            
investigation beginning to penetrate the
 depth of meaning couched under the     
,athenaic symbols3 but ,i may note      
rapidly1 that her aegis1 the mantle with
 the serpent fringes1 in which she      
often1 in the best statues1 is          
represented as folding up her left hand1
 for better guard2 and the ,gorgon1 on  
her shield1 are both representative     
mainly of the chilling horror and       
sadness 7turning men to stone1 as it    
were71 of the outmost and superficial   
spheres of knowledge--that knowledge    
which separates1 in bitterness1         
hardness1 and sorrow1 the heart of the  
full-grown man from the heart of the    
child4 ,for out of imperfect knowledge  
spring terror1 dissension1 danger1 and  
disdain2 but from perfect knowledge1    
given by the full-revealed ,athena1     
strength and peace1 in sign of which she
 is crowned with the olive spray1 and   
bears the resistless spear4#bac  ,this1 
then1 was the ,greek conception of      

purest ,deity2 and every habit of life1 
and every form of his art developed     
themselves from the seeking this bright1
 serene1 resistless wisdom2 and setting 
himself1 as a man1 to do things evermore
 rightly and strongly2#bad not with any 
ardent affection or ultimate hope2 but  
with a resolute and continent energy of 
will1 as knowing that for failure there 
was no consolation1 and for sin there   
was no remission4 ,and the ,greek       
architecture rose unerring1 bright1     
clearly defined1 and self-contained4    
,next followed in ,europe the great     
,christian faith1 which was essentially 
the religion of ,comfort4 ,its great    
doctrine is the remission of sins2 for  
which cause1 it happens1 too often1 in  
certain phases of ,christianity1 that   
sin and sickness themselves are partly  
glorified1 as if1 the more you had to be
 healed of1 the more divine was the     
healing4 ,the practical result of this  
doctrine1 in art1 is a continual        
contemplation of sin and disease1 and of

 imaginary states of purification from  
them2 thus we have an architecture      
conceived in a mingled sentiment of     
melancholy and aspiration1 partly       
severe1 partly luxuriant1 which will    
bend itself to every one of our needs1  
and every one of our fancies1 and be    
strong or weak with us1 as we are strong
 or weak ourselves4 ,it is1 of all      
architecture1 the basest1 when base     
people build it--of all1 the noblest1   
when built by the noble4  ,and now note 
that both these religions--,greek and   
,mediaeval--perished by falsehood in    
their own main purpose4 ,the ,greek     
religion of ,wisdom perished in a false 
philosophy--,oppositions of science1    
falsely so called4 ,the ,mediaeval      
religion of ,consolation perished in    
false comfort2 in remission of sins     
given lyingly4 ,it was the selling of   
absolution that ended the ,mediaeval    
faith2 and ,i can tell you more1 it is  
the selling of absolution which1 to the 
end of time1 will mark false            

,christianity4 ,pure ,christianity gives
 her remission of sins only by ending   
them2 but false ,christianity gets her  
remission of sins by compounding for    
them4 ,and there are many ways of       
compounding for them4 ,we ,english have 
beautiful little quiet ways of buying   
absolution1 whether in low ,church or   
high1 far more cunning than any of      
,tetzel's trading4#bae  ,then1 thirdly1 
there followed the religion of          
,pleasure1 in which all ,europe gave    
itself to luxury1 ending in death4      
,first1 bals masques in every saloon1   
and then guillotines in every square4   
,and all these three worships issue in  
vast temple building4 ,your ,greek      
worshipped ,wisdom1 and built you the   
,parthenon--the ,virgin's temple4 ,the  
,mediaeval worshipped ,consolation1 and 
built you ,virgin temples also--but to  
our ,lady of ,salvation4 ,then the      
,revivalist worshipped beauty1 of a     
sort1 and built you ,versailles and the 
,vatican4 ,now1 lastly1 will you tell me

 what we worship1 and what we build8    
,you know we are speaking always of the 
real1 active1 continual1 national       
worship2 that by which men act1 while   
they live2 not that which they talk of1 
when they die4 ,now1 we have1 indeed1 a 
nominal religion1 to which we pay tithes
 of property and sevenths of time2 but  
we have also a practical and earnest    
religion1 to which we devote nine-tenths
 of our property and sixth-sevenths of  
our time4 ,and we dispute a great deal  
about the nominal religion3 but we are  
all unanimous about this practical one2 
of which ,i think you will admit that   
the ruling goddess may be best generally
 described as the ,goddess of           
,getting-on1 or ,britannia of the       
,market4 ,the ,athenians had an ,athena 
,agoraia1 or ,athena of the ,market2 but
 she was a subordinate type of their    
goddess1 while our ,britannia ,agoraia  
is the principal type of ours4 ,and all 
your great architectural works are1 of  
course1 built to her4 ,it is long since 

you built a great cathedral2 and how you
 would laugh at me if ,i proposed       
building a cathedral on the top of one  
of these hills of yours1 taking it for  
an ,acropolis6 ,but your railroad       
mounds1 vaster than the walls of        
,babylon2 your railroad stations1 vaster
 than the temple of ,ephesus1 and       
innumerable2 your chimneys1 how much    
more mighty and costly than cathedral   
spires6 your harbour-piers2 your        
warehouses2 your exchanges6--all these  
are built to your great ,goddess of     
,getting-on2 and she has formed1 and    
will continue to form your architecture1
 as long as you worship her2 and it is  
quite vain to ask me to tell you how to 
build to her2 you know far better than  
,i4  ,there might1 indeed1 on some      
theories1 be a conceivably good         
architecture for ,exchanges--that is to 
say1 if there were any heroism in the   
fact or deed of exchange which might be 
typically carved on the outside of your 
building4 ,for1 you know1 all beautiful 

architecture must be adorned with       
sculpture or painting2 and for sculpture
 or painting1 you must have a subject4  
,and hitherto it has been a received    
opinion among the nations of the world  
that the only right subjects for either1
 were heroisms of some sort4 ,even on   
his pots and his flagons1 the ,greek put
 a ,hercules slaying lions1 or an       
,apollo slaying serpents1 or ,bacchus   
slaying melancholy giants1 and earthborn
 despondencies4 ,on his temples1 the    
,greek put contests of great warriors in
 founding states1 or of gods with evil  
spirits4 ,on his houses and temples     
alike1 the ,christian put carvings of   
angels conquering devils2 or of         
hero-martyrs exchanging this world for  
another3 subject inappropriate1 ,i      
think1 to our manner of exchange here4  
,and the ,master of ,christians not only
 left ,his followers without any orders 
as to the sculpture of affairs of       
exchange on the outside of buildings1   
but gave some strong evidence of ,his   

dislike of affairs of exchange within   
them4#baf ,and yet there might surely be
 a heroism in such affairs2 and all     
commerce become a kind of selling of    
doves1 not impious4 ,the wonder has     
always been great to me1 that heroism   
has never been supposed to be in any    
wise consistent with the practice of    
supplying people with food1 or clothes2 
but rather with that of quartering one's
 self upon them for food1 and stripping 
them of their clothes4 ,spoiling of     
armour is an heroic deed in all ages2   
but the selling of clothes1 old1 or new1
 has never taken any colour of          
magnanimity4 ,yet one does not see why  
feeding the hungry and clothing the     
naked should ever become base           
businesses1 even when engaged in on a   
large scale4 ,if one could contrive to  
attach the notion of conquest to them   
anyhow6 so that1 supposing there were   
anywhere an obstinate race1 who refused 
to be comforted1 one might take some    
pride in giving them compulsory comfort6

 and1 as it were1 occupying a country   
with one's gifts1 instead of one's      
armies8 ,if one could only consider it  
as much a victory to get a barren field 
sown1 as to get an eared field stripped2
 and contend who should build villages1 
instead of who should carry them6 ,are  
not all forms of heroism conceivable in 
doing these serviceable deeds8 ,you     
doubt who is strongest8 ,it might be    
ascertained by push of spade1 as well as
 push of sword4 ,who is wisest8 ,there  
are witty things to be thought of in    
planning other business than campaigns4 
,who is bravest8 ,there are always the  
elements to fight with1 stronger than   
men2 and nearly as merciless4  ,the only
 absolutely and unapproachably heroic   
element in the soldier's work seems to  
be--that he is paid little for it--and  
regularly3 while you traffickers1 and   
exchangers1 and others occupied in      
presumably benevolent business1 like to 
be paid much for it--and by chance4 ,i  
never can make out how it is that a     

knight-errant does not expect to be paid
 for his trouble1 but a pedlar-errant   
always does2--that people are willing to
 take hard knocks for nothing1 but never
 to sell ribands cheap2 that they are   
ready to go on fervent crusades1 to     
recover the tomb of a buried ,god1 but  
never on any travels to fulfil the      
orders of a living one2--that they will 
go anywhere barefoot to preach their    
faith1 but must be well bribed to       
practise it1 and are perfectly ready to 
give the ,gospel gratis1 but never the  
loaves and fishes4  ,if you chose to    
take the matter up on any such soldierly
 principle2 to do your commerce1 and    
your feeding of nations1 for fixed      
salaries2 and to be as particular about 
giving people the best food1 and the    
best cloth1 as soldiers are about giving
 them the best gunpowder1 ,i could carve
 something for you on your exchange     
worth looking at4 ,but ,i can only at   
present suggest decorating its frieze   
with pendant purses2 and making its     

pillars broad at the base1 for the      
sticking of bills4 ,and in the innermost
 chambers of it there might be a statue 
of ,britannia of the ,market1 who may   
have1 perhaps advisably1 a partridge for
 her crest1 typical at once of her      
courage in fighting for noble ideas1 and
 of her interest in game2 and round its 
neck1 the inscription in golden letters1
 ,perdix fovit quae non peperit4#bag    
,then1 for her spear1 she might have a  
weaver's beam2 and on her shield1       
instead of ,st4 ,george's ,cross1 the   
,milanese boar1 semi-fleeced1 with the  
town of ,gennesaret proper1 in the      
field2 and the legend1 ,in the best     
market1#bah and her corslet1 of leather1
 folded over her heart in the shape of a
 purse1 with thirty slits in it1 for a  
piece of money to go in at1 on each day 
of the month4 ,and ,i doubt not but that
 people would come to see your exchange1
 and its goddess1 with applause4        
,nevertheless1 ,i want to point out to  
you certain strange characters in this  

goddess of yours4 ,she differs from the 
great ,greek and ,mediaeval deities     
essentially in two things--first1 as to 
the continuance of her presumed power2  
secondly1 as to the extent of it4  #ast1
 as to the ,continuance4  ,the ,greek   
,goddess of ,wisdom gave continual      
increase of wisdom1 as the ,christian   
,spirit of ,comfort 7or ,comforter7     
continual increase of comfort4 ,there   
was no question1 with these1 of any     
limit or cessation of function4 ,but    
with your ,agora ,goddess1 that is just 
the most important question4 ,getting   
on--but where to8 ,gathering            
together--but how much8 ,do you mean to 
gather always--never to spend8 ,if so1  
,i wish you joy of your goddess1 for ,i 
am just as well off as you1 without the 
trouble of worshipping her at all4 ,but 
if you do not spend1 somebody else      
will--somebody else must4 ,and it is    
because of this 7among many other such  
errors7 that ,i have fearlessly declared
 your so-called science of ,political   

,economy to be no science2 because1     
namely1 it has omitted the study of     
exactly the most important branch of the
 business--the study of spending4 ,for  
spend you must1 and as much as you make1
 ultimately4 ,you gather corn3--will you
 bury ,england under a heap of grain2 or
 will you1 when you have gathered1      
finally eat8 ,you gather gold3--will you
 make your house-roofs of it1 or pave   
your streets with it8 ,that is still one
 way of spending it4 ,but if you keep   
it1 that you may get more1 ,i'll give   
you more2 ,i'll give you all the gold   
you want--all you can imagine--if you   
can tell me what you'll do with it4 ,you
 shall have thousands of                
gold-pieces2--thousands of              
thousands--millions--mountains1 of gold3
 where will you keep them8 ,will you put
 an ,olympus of silver upon a golden    
,pelion--make ,ossa like a wart8#bai ,do
 you think the rain and dew would then  
come down to you1 in the streams from   
such mountains1 more blessedly than they

 will down the mountains which ,god has 
made for you1 of moss and whinstone8    
,but it is not gold that you want to    
gather6 ,what is it8 greenbacks8 ,no2   
not those neither4 ,what is it then--is 
it ciphers after a capital ,i8 ,cannot  
you practise writing ciphers1 and write 
as many as you want8 ,write ciphers for 
an hour every morning1 in a big book1   
and say every evening1 ,i am worth all  
those noughts more than ,i was          
yesterday4 ,won't that do8 ,well1 what  
in the name of ,plutus is it you want8  
,not gold1 not greenbacks1 not ciphers  
after a capital ,i8 ,you will have to   
answer1 after all1 ,no2 we want1 somehow
 or other1 money's worth4 ,well1 what is
 that8 ,let your ,goddess of ,getting-on
 discover it1 and let her learn to stay 
therein4  #b;d4 ,but there is yet       
another question to be asked respecting 
this ,goddess of ,getting-on4 ,the first
 was of the continuance of her power2   
the second is of its extent4  ,pallas   
and the ,madonna were supposed to be all

 the world's ,pallas1 and all the       
world's ,madonna4 ,they could teach all 
men1 and they could comfort all men4    
,but1 look strictly into the nature of  
the power of your ,goddess of           
,getting-on2 and you will find she is   
the ,goddess--not of everybody's getting
 on--but only of somebody's getting on4 
,this is a vital1 or rather deathful1   
distinction4 ,examine it in your own    
ideal of the state of national life     
which this ,goddess is to evoke and     
maintain4 ,i asked you what it was1 when
 ,i was last here2--you have never told 
me4#bbj ,now1 shall ,i try to tell you8 
,your ideal of human life then is1 ,i   
think1 that it should be passed in a    
pleasant undulating world1 with iron and
 coal everywhere underneath it4 ,on each
 pleasant bank of this world is to be a 
beautiful mansion1 with two wings2 and  
stables1 and coach-houses2 a            
moderately-sized park2 a large garden   
and hot-houses2 and pleasant carriage   
drives through the shrubberies ,in this 

mansion are to live the favoured        
votaries of the ,goddess2 the ,english  
gentleman1 with his gracious wife1 and  
his beautiful family2 always able to    
have the boudoir and the jewels for the 
wife1 and the beautiful ball dresses for
 the daughters1 and hunters for the     
sons1 and a shooting in the ,highlands  
for himself4 ,at the bottom of the bank1
 is to be the mill2 not less than a     
quarter of a mile long1 with a steam    
engine at each end1 and two in the      
middle1 and a chimney three hundred feet
 high4 ,in this mill are to be in       
constant employment from eight hundred  
to a thousand workers1 who never drink1 
never strike1 always go to church on    
,sunday1 and always express themselves  
in respectful language4  ,is not that1  
broadly1 and in the main features1 the  
kind of thing you propose to yourselves8
 ,it is very pretty indeed seen from    
above2 not at all so pretty1 seen from  
below4 ,for1 observe1 while to one      
family this deity is indeed the ,goddess

 of ,getting-on1 to a thousand families 
she is the ,goddess of not ,getting-on4 
,nay1 you say1 they have all their      
chance4 ,yes1 so has every one in a     
lottery1 but there must always be the   
same number of blanks4 ,ah6 but in a    
lottery it is not skill and intelligence
 which take the lead1 but blind chance4 
,what then6 do you think the old        
practice1 that they should take who have
 the power1 and they should keep who    
can1#bba is less iniquitous1 when the   
power has become power of brains instead
 of fist8 and that1 though we may not   
take advantage of a child's or a woman's
 weakness1 we may of a man's            
foolishness8 ,nay1 but finally1 work    
must be done1 and some one must be at   
the top1 some one at the bottom4        
,granted1 my friends4 ,work must always 
be1 and captains of work must always be2
 and if you in the least remember the   
tone of any of my writings1 you must    
know that they are thought unfit for    
this age1 because they are always       

insisting on need of government1 and    
speaking with scorn of liberty4 ,but ,i 
beg you to observe that there is a wide 
difference between being captains or    
governors of work1 and taking the       
profits of it4 ,it does not follow1     
because you are general of an army1 that
 you are to take all the treasure1 or   
land1 it wins2 7if it fight for treasure
 or land27 neither1 because you are king
 of a nation1 that you are to consume   
all the profits of the nation's work4   
,real kings1 on the contrary1 are known 
invariably by their doing quite the     
reverse of this1--by their taking the   
least possible quantity of the nation's 
work for themselves4 ,there is no test  
of real kinghood so infallible as that4 
,does the crowned creature live simply1 
bravely1 unostentatiously8 probably he  
is a ,king4 ,does he cover his body with
 jewels1 and his table with delicates8  
in all probability he is not a ,king4   
,it is possible he may be1 as ,solomon  
was2 but that is when the nation shares 

his splendour with him4 ,solomon made   
gold1 not only to be in his own palace  
as stones1 but to be in ,jerusalem as   
stones4#bbb ,but1 even so1 for the most 
part1 these splendid kinghoods expire in
 ruin1 and only the true king-hoods     
live1 which are of royal labourers      
governing loyal labourers2 who1 both    
leading rough lives1 establish the true 
dynasties4 ,conclusively you will find  
that because you are king of a nation1  
it does not follow that you are to      
gather for yourself all the wealth of   
that nation2 neither1 because you are   
king of a small part of the nation1 and 
lord over the means of its              
maintenance--over field1 or mill1 or    
mine1--are you to take all the produce  
of that piece of the foundation of      
national existence for yourself4  ,you  
will tell me ,i need not preach against 
these things1 for ,i cannot mend them4  
,no1 good friends1 ,i cannot2 but you   
can1 and you will2 or something else can
 and will4 ,even good things have no    

abiding power--and shall these evil     
things persist in victorious evil8 ,all 
history shows1 on the contrary1 that to 
be the exact thing they never can do4   
,change must come2 but it is ours to    
determine whether change of growth1 or  
change of death4 ,shall the ,parthenon  
be in ruins on its rock1 and ,bolton    
priory#bbc in its meadow1 but these     
mills of yours be the consummation of   
the buildings of the earth1 and their   
wheels be as the wheels of eternity8    
,think you that men may come1 and men   
may go1 but--mills--go on for ever8#bbd 
,not so2 out of these1 better or worse  
shall come2 and it is for you to choose 
which4  ,i know that none of this wrong 
is done with deliberate purpose4 ,i     
know1 on the contrary1 that you wish    
your workmen well2 that you do much for 
them1 and that you desire to do more for
 them1 if you saw your way to such      
benevolence safely4 ,i know that even   
all this wrong and misery are brought   
about by a warped sense of duty1 each of

 you striving to do his best2 but1      
unhappily1 not knowing for whom this    
best should be done4 ,and all our hearts
 have been betrayed by the plausible    
impiety of the modern economist1 telling
 us that1 ,to do the best for ourselves1
 is finally to do the best for others4  
,friends1 our great ,master said not so2
 and most absolutely we shall find this 
world is not made so4 ,indeed1 to do the
 best for others1 is finally to do the  
best for ourselves2 but it will not do  
to have our eyes fixed on that issue4   
,the ,pagans had got beyond that4 ,hear 
what a ,pagan says of this matter2 hear 
what were1 perhaps1 the last written    
words of ,plato1--if not the last       
actually written 7for this we cannot    
know71 yet assuredly in fact and power  
his parting words--in which1            
endeavouring to give full crowning and  
harmonious close to all his thoughts1   
and to speak the sum of them by the     
imagined sentence of the ,great ,spirit1
 his strength and his heart fail him1   

and the words cease1 broken off for     
ever4 ,they are at the close of the     
dialogue called ,critias1 in which he   
describes1 partly from real tradition1  
partly in ideal dream1 the early state  
of ,athens2 and the genesis1 and order1 
and religion1 of the fabled isle of     
,atlantis2 in which genesis he conceives
 the same first perfection and final    
degeneracy of man1 which in our own     
,scriptural tradition is expressed by   
saying that the ,sons of ,god           
inter-married with the daughters of     
men1#bbe for he supposes the earliest   
race to have been indeed the children of
 ,god2 and to have corrupted themselves1
 until their spot was not the spot of   
his children4#bbf ,and this1 he says1   
was the end2 that indeed through many   
generations1 so long as the ,god's      
nature in them yet was full1 they were  
submissive to the sacred laws1 and      
carried themselves lovingly to all that 
had kindred with them in divineness2 for
 their uttermost spirit was faithful and

 true1 and in every wise great2 so that1
 in all meekness of wisdom1 they dealt  
with each other1 and took all the       
chances of life2 and despising all      
things except virtue1 they cared little 
what happened day by day1 and bore      
lightly the burden of gold and of       
possessions2 for they saw that1 if only 
their common love and virtue increased1 
all these things would be increased     
together with them2 but to set their    
esteem and ardent pursuit upon material 
possession would be to lose that first1 
and their virtue and affection together 
with it4 ,and by such reasoning1 and    
what of the divine nature remained in   
them1 they gained all this greatness of 
which we have already told2 but when the
 ,god's part of them faded and became   
extinct1 being mixed again and again1   
and effaced by the prevalent mortality2 
and the human nature at last exceeded1  
they then became unable to endure the   
courses of fortune2 and fell into       
shapelessness of life1 and baseness in  

the sight of him who could see1 having  
lost everything that was fairest of     
their honour2 while to the blind hearts 
which could not discern the true life1  
tending to happiness1 it seemed that    
they were then chiefly noble and happy1 
being filled with an iniquity of        
inordinate possession and power4        
,whereupon1 the ,god of ,gods1 whose    
,kinghood is in laws1 beholding a once  
just nation thus cast into misery1 and  
desiring to lay such punishment upon    
them as might make them repent into     
restraining1 gathered together all the  
gods into his dwelling-place1 which from
 heaven's centre overlooks whatever has 
part in creation2 and having assembled  
them1 he said --  ,the rest is silence4 
,last words of the chief wisdom of the  
heathen1 spoken of this idol of riches2 
this idol of yours2 this golden image1  
high by measureless cubits1 set up where
 your green fields of ,england are      
furnace-burnt into the likeness of the  
plain of ,dura3#bbg this idol1 forbidden

 to us1 first of all idols1 by our own  
,master and faith2 forbidden to us also 
by every human lip that has ever1 in any
 age or people1 been accounted of as    
able to speak according to the purposes 
of ,god4 ,continue to make that         
forbidden deity your principal one1 and 
soon no more art1 no more science1 no   
more pleasure will be possible4         
,catastrophe will come2 or1 worse than  
catastrophe1 slow mouldering and        
withering into ,hades4 ,but if you can  
fix some conception of a true human     
state of life to be striven for--life1  
good for all men1 as for yourselves2 if 
you can determine some honest and simple
 order of existence2 following those    
trodden ways of wisdom1 which are       
pleasantness1#bbh and seeking her quiet 
and withdrawn paths1 which are          
peace2--then1 and so sanctifying wealth 
into commonwealth1 all your art1 your   
literature1 your daily labours1 your    
domestic affection1 and citizen's duty1 
will join and increase into one         

magnificent harmony4 ,you will know then
 how to build1 well enough2 you will    
build with stone well1 but with flesh   
better2 temples not made with hands1#bbi
 but riveted of hearts2 and that kind of
 marble1 crimson-veined1 is indeed      
eternal4     #bjb ,delivered in the     
,town ,hall1 ,bradford1 ,april #ba1     
#ahfd4    #bjc ,matthew v1 #f4    #bjd  
,scott's ,lay of the ,last ,minstrel1   
canto #a1 stanza #d4    #bje ,the       
reference was to the reluctance of this 
country to take   arms in defence of    
,denmark against ,prussia and ,austria4 
,cook and   ,wedderburn4    #bjf ,see1  
e4g41 pp4 #afg ff4 and #bgj ff4    #bjg 
,inigo ,jones #aegc-afeb and ,sir       
,christopher ,wren #afcb-agbc   were the
 best known architects of their         
respective generations4    #bjh ,genesis
 xxviii1 #ag4    #bji ,matthew xxiv1    
#bg4    #baj ,matthew vi1 #f4    #baa   
,and all other arts1 for the most part2 
even of incredulous   and               
secularly-minded commonalties4 ,ruskin4 

#bab #a ,corinthians i1 #bc4    #bac    
,for further interpretation of ,greek   
mythology see ,ruskin's   ,queen of the 
,air4    #bad ,it is an error to suppose
 that the ,greek worship1 or seeking1   
was chiefly of ,beauty4 ,it was         
essentially of ,rightness and           
,strength1 founded on ,forethought3 the 
principal character of ,greek   art is  
not beauty1 but design3 and the ,dorian 
,apollo-worship and   ,athenian         
,virgin-worship are both expressions of 
adoration of divine   wisdom and purity4
 ,next to these great deities1 rank1 in 
power over   the national mind1         
,dionysus and ,ceres1 the givers of     
human strength   and life2 then1 for    
heroic example1 ,hercules4 ,there is no 
,venus-worship among the ,greeks in the 
great times3 and the ,muses   are       
essentially teachers of ,truth1 and of  
its harmonies4 ,ruskin4    #bae         
,tetzel's trading in ,papal indulgences 
aroused ,luther to the   protest which  
ended in the ,reformation4    #baf      

,matthew xxi1 #ab4    #bag ,jeremiah    
xvii1 #aa 7best in ,septuagint and      
,vulgate74 ,as the   partridge1         
fostering what she brought not forth1 so
 he that getteth   riches not by right  
shall leave them in the midst of his    
days1 and   at his end shall be a fool4 
,ruskin4    #bah ,meaning1 fully1 ,we   
have brought our pigs to it4 ,ruskin4   
#bai ,cf4 ,hamlet1 #e4 #a4 #cjf4    #bbj
 ,referring to a lecture on ,modern     
,manufacture and ,design1   delivered at
 ,bradford1 ,march #a1 #ahei published  
later as ,lecture ,,iii   in ,the ,two  
,paths4    #bba ,see ,wordsworth's ,rob 
,roy's ,grave1 #ci-dj4    #bbb #a ,kings
 x1 #bg4    #bbc ,a beautiful ruin in   
,yorkshire4    #bbd ,cf4 ,tennyson's    
,the ,brook4    #bbe ,genesis vi1 #b4   
#bbf ,deuteronomy xxxii1 #e4    #bbg    
,daniel iii1 #a4    #bbh ,proverbs iii1 
#ag4    #bbi ,acts vii1 #dh4     ,,life 
,,and ,,its ,,arts       ,this lecture1 
the full title of which is ,the ,mystery
 of ,life and     its ,arts1 was        

delivered in ,dublin on ,may #ac1 #ahfh4
 ,it composed     one of a series of    
afternoon lectures on various subjects1 
religion excepted1 arranged by some of  
the foremost residents in     ,dublin4  
,the latter half of the lecture is      
included in the present     volume of   
selections4 ,the first publication of   
the lecture was as     an additional    
part to a revised edition of ,sesame and
 ,lilies in     #ahga4 ,ruskin took     
exceptional care in writing ,the        
,mystery of     ,life3 he once said in  
conversation1 ,i put into it all that ,i
     know1 and in the preface to it when
 published he tells us that     certain 
passages of it contain the best         
expression ,i have yet     been able to 
put in words of what1 so far as is      
within my power1 ,i     mean            
henceforward both to do myself1 and to  
plead with all over     whom ,i have any
 influence to do according to their     
means4 ,sir     ,leslie ,stephen says   
this is1 to my mind1 the most perfect of

 his     essays4 ,in later editions of  
,sesame and ,lilies this lecture was    
withdrawn4 ,at the time the lecture was 
delivered its tone was                  
characteristic of ,ruskin's own thought 
and of the attitude he then     took    
toward the public4  ,we have sat at the 
feet of the poets who sang of heaven1   
and they have told us their dreams4 ,we 
have listened to the poets who sang of  
earth1 and they have chanted to us      
dirges and words of despair4 ,but there 
is one class of men more3--men1 not     
capable of vision1 nor sensitive to     
sorrow1 but firm of purpose--practised  
in business2 learned in all that can be1
 7by handling17 known4 ,men1 whose      
hearts and hopes are wholly in this     
present world1 from whom1 therefore1 we 
may surely learn1 at least1 how1 at     
present1 conveniently to live in it4    
,what will they say to us1 or show us by
 example8 ,these kings--these           
councillors--these statesmen and        
builders of kingdoms--these capitalists 

and men of business1 who weigh the      
earth1 and the dust of it1 in a         
balance4#bcj ,they know the world1      
surely2 and what is the mystery of life 
to us1 is none to them4 ,they can surely
 show us how to live1 while we live1 and
 to gather out of the present world what
 is best4  ,i think ,i can best tell you
 their answer1 by telling you a dream ,i
 had once4 ,for though ,i am no poet1 ,i
 have dreams sometimes3--,i dreamed ,i  
was at a child's ,may-day party1 in     
which every means of entertainment had  
been provided for them1 by a wise and   
kind host4 ,it was in a stately house1  
with beautiful gardens attached to it2  
and the children had been set free in   
the rooms and gardens1 with no care     
whatever but how to pass their afternoon
 rejoicingly4 ,they did not1 indeed1    
know much about what was to happen next 
day2 and some of them1 ,i thought1 were 
a little frightened1 because there was a
 chance of their being sent to a new    
school where there were examinations2   

but they kept the thoughts of that out  
of their heads as well as they could1   
and resolved to enjoy themselves4 ,the  
house1 ,i said1 was in a beautiful      
garden1 and in the garden were all kinds
 of flowers2 sweet1 grassy banks for    
rest2 and smooth lawns for play2 and    
pleasant streams and woods2 and rocky   
places for climbing4 ,and the children  
were happy for a little while1 but      
presently they separated themselves into
 parties2 and then each party declared  
it would have a piece of the garden for 
its own1 and that none of the others    
should have anything to do with that    
piece4 ,next1 they quarrelled violently 
which pieces they would have2 and at    
last the boys took up the thing1 as boys
 should do1 practically1 and fought in  
the flower-beds till there was hardly a 
flower left standing2 then they trampled
 down each other's bits of the garden   
out of spite2 and the girls cried till  
they could cry no more2 and so they all 
lay down at last breathless in the ruin1

 and waited for the time when they were 
to be taken home in the evening4#bca    
,meanwhile1 the children in the house   
had been making themselves happy also in
 their manner4 ,for them1 there had been
 provided every kind of in-door         
pleasure3 there was music for them to   
dance to2 and the library was open1 with
 all manner of amusing books2 and there 
was a museum full of the most curious   
shells1 and animals1 and birds2 and     
there was a workshop1 with lathes and   
carpenters' tools1 for the ingenious    
boys2 and there were pretty fantastic   
dresses1 for the girls to dress in2 and 
there were microscopes1 and             
kaleidoscopes2 and whatever toys a child
 could fancy2 and a table1 in the       
dining-room1 loaded with everything nice
 to eat4  ,but1 in the midst of all     
this1 it struck two or three of the more
 practical children1 that they would    
like some of the brass-headed nails that
 studded the chairs2 and so they set to 
work to pull them out4 ,presently1 the  

others1 who were reading1 or looking at 
shells1 took a fancy to do the like2    
and1 in a little while1 all the         
children1 nearly1 were spraining their  
fingers1 in pulling out brass-headed    
nails4 ,with all that they could pull   
out1 they were not satisfied2 and then1 
everybody wanted some of somebody       
else's4 ,and at last1 the really        
practical and sensible ones declared1   
that nothing was of any real            
consequence1 that afternoon1 except to  
get plenty of brass-headed nails2 and   
that the books1 and the cakes1 and the  
microscopes were of no use at all in    
themselves1 but only1 if they could be  
exchanged for nail-heads4 ,and at last  
they began to fight for nail-heads1 as  
the others fought for the bits of       
garden4 ,only here and there1 a despised
 one shrank away into a corner1 and     
tried to get a little quiet with a book1
 in the midst of the noise2 but all the 
practical ones thought of nothing else  
but counting nail-heads all the         

afternoon--even though they knew they   
would not be allowed to carry so much as
 one brass knob away with them4 ,but    
no--it was--who has most nails8 ,i have 
a hundred1 and you have fifty2 or1 ,i   
have a thousand1 and you have two4 ,i   
must have as many as you before ,i leave
 the house1 or ,i cannot possibly go    
home in peace4 ,at last1 they made so   
much noise that ,i awoke1 and thought to
 myself1 ,what a false dream that is1 of
 children6 ,the child is the father of  
the man2#bcb and wiser4 ,children never 
do such foolish things4 ,only men do4   
,but there is yet one last class of     
persons to be interrogated4 ,the wise   
religious men we have asked in vain2 the
 wise contemplative men1 in vain2 the   
wise worldly men1 in vain4 ,but there is
 another group yet4 ,in the midst of    
this vanity of empty religion--of tragic
 contemplation--of wrathful and wretched
 ambition1 and dispute for dust1 there  
is yet one great group of persons1 by   
whom all these disputers live--the      

persons who have determined1 or have had
 it by a beneficent ,providence         
determined for them1 that they will do  
something useful2 that whatever may be  
prepared for them hereafter1 or happen  
to them here1 they will1 at least1      
deserve the food that ,god gives them by
 winning it honourably3 and that1       
however fallen from the purity1 or far  
from the peace1 of ,eden1 they will     
carry out the duty of human dominion1   
though they have lost its felicity2 and 
dress and keep the wilderness1#bcc      
though they no more can dress or keep   
the garden4  ,these1--hewers of wood1   
and drawers of water1#bcd--these1 bent  
under burdens1 or torn of               
scourges--these1 that dig and           
weave--that plant and build2 workers in 
wood1 and in marble1 and in iron--by    
whom all food1 clothing1 habitation1    
furniture1 and means of delight are     
produced1 for themselves1 and for all   
men beside2 men1 whose deeds are good1  
though their words may be few2 men1     

whose lives are serviceable1 be they    
never so short1 and worthy of honour1 be
 they never so humble2--from these1     
surely1 at least1 we may receive some   
clear message of teaching2 and pierce1  
for an instant1 into the mystery of     
life1 and of its arts4  ,yes2 from      
these1 at last1 we do receive a lesson4 
,but ,i grieve to say1 or rather--for   
that is the deeper truth of the         
matter--,i rejoice to say--this message 
of theirs can only be received by       
joining them--not by thinking about     
them4  ,you sent for me to talk to you  
of art2 and ,i have obeyed you in       
coming4 ,but the main thing ,i have to  
tell you is1--that art must not be      
talked about4 ,the fact that there is   
talk about it at all1 signifies that it 
is ill done1 or cannot be done4 ,no true
 painter ever speaks1 or ever has       
spoken1 much of his art4 ,the greatest  
speak nothing4 ,even ,reynolds is no    
exception1 for he wrote of all that he  
could not himself do1#bce and was       

utterly silent respecting all that he   
himself did4  ,the moment a man can     
really do his work he becomes speechless
 about it4 ,all words become idle to    
him--all theories4  ,does a bird need to
 theorize about building its nest1 or   
boast of it when built8 ,all good work  
is essentially done that way--without   
hesitation1 without difficulty1 without 
boasting2 and in the doers of the best1 
there is an inner and involuntary power 
which approximates literally to the     
instinct of an animal--nay1 ,i am       
certain that in the most perfect human  
artists1 reason does not supersede      
instinct1 but is added to an instinct as
 much more divine than that of the lower
 animals as the human body is more      
beautiful than theirs2 that a great     
singer sings not with less instinct than
 the nightingale1 but with more--only   
more various1 applicable1 and           
governable2 that a great architect does 
not build with less instinct than the   
beaver or the bee1 but with more--with  

an innate cunning of proportion that    
embraces all beauty1 and a divine       
ingenuity of skill that improvises all  
construction4 ,but be that as it may--be
 the instinct less or more than that of 
inferior animals--like or unlike theirs1
 still the human art is dependent on    
that first1 and then upon an amount of  
practice1 of science1--and of           
imagination disciplined by thought1     
which the true possessor of it knows to 
be incommunicable1 and the true critic  
of it1 inexplicable1 except through long
 process of laborious years4 ,that      
journey of life's conquest1 in which    
hills over hills1 and ,alps on ,alps    
arose1 and sank1--do you think you can  
make another trace it painlessly1 by    
talking8 ,why1 you cannot even carry us 
up an ,alp1 by talking4 ,you can guide  
us up it1 step by step1 no              
otherwise--even so1 best silently4 ,you 
girls1 who have been among the hills1   
know how the bad guide chatters and     
gesticulates1 and it is put your foot   

here2 and mind how you balance yourself 
there2 but the good guide walks on      
quietly1 without a word1 only with his  
eyes on you when need is1 and his arm   
like an iron bar1 if need be4  ,in that 
slow way1 also1 art can be taught--if   
you have faith in your guide1 and will  
let his arm be to you as an iron bar    
when need is4 ,but in what teacher of   
art have you such faith8 ,certainly not 
in me2 for1 as ,i told you at first1 ,i 
know well enough it is only because you 
think ,i can talk1 not because you think
 ,i know my business1 that you let me   
speak to you at all4 ,if ,i were to tell
 you anything that seemed to you        
strange1 you would not believe it1 and  
yet it would only be in telling you     
strange things that ,i could be of use  
to you4 ,i could be of great use to     
you--infinite use--with brief saying1 if
 you would believe it2 but you would    
not1 just because the thing that would  
be of real use would displease you4 ,you
 are all wild1 for instance1 with       

admiration of ,gustave ,dore4 ,well1    
suppose ,i were to tell you1 in the     
strongest terms ,i could use1 that      
,gustave ,dore's art was bad--bad1 not  
in weakness1--not in failure1--but bad  
with dreadful power--the power of the   
,furies and the ,harpies mingled1       
enraging1 and polluting2 that so long as
 you looked at it1 no perception of pure
 or beautiful art was possible for you4 
,suppose ,i were to tell you that6 ,what
 would be the use8 ,would you look at   
,gustave ,dore less8 ,rather1 more1 ,i  
fancy4 ,on the other hand1 ,i could soon
 put you into good humour with me1 if ,i
 chose4 ,i know well enough what you    
like1 and how to praise it to your      
better liking4 ,i could talk to you     
about moonlight1 and twilight1 and      
spring flowers1 and autumn leaves1 and  
the ,madonnas of ,raphael--how motherly6
 and the ,sibyls of ,michael            
,angelo--how majestic6 and the ,saints  
of ,angelico--how pious6 and the        
,cherubs of ,correggio--how delicious6  

,old as ,i am1 ,i could play you a tune 
on the harp yet1 that you would dance   
to4 ,but neither you nor ,i should be a 
bit the better or wiser2 or1 if we were1
 our increased wisdom could be of no    
practical effect4 ,for1 indeed1 the     
arts1 as regards teachableness1 differ  
from the sciences also in this1 that    
their power is founded not merely on    
facts which can be communicated1 but on 
dispositions which require to be        
created4 ,art is neither to be achieved 
by effort of thinking1 nor explained by 
accuracy of speaking4 ,it is the        
instinctive and necessary result of     
power1 which can only be developed      
through the mind of successive          
generations1 and which finally burst    
into life under social conditions as    
slow of growth as the faculties they    
regulate4 ,whole aeras of mighty history
 are summed1 and the passions of dead   
myriads are concentrated1 in the        
existence of a noble art2 and if that   
noble art were among us1 we should feel 

it and rejoice2 not caring in the least 
to hear lectures on it2 and since it is 
not among us1 be assured we have to go  
back to the root of it1 or1 at least1 to
 the place where the stock of it is yet 
alive1 and the branches began to die4   
,and now1 may ,i have your pardon for   
pointing out1 partly with reference to  
matters which are at this time of       
greater moment than the arts--that if we
 undertook such recession to the vital  
germ of national arts that have decayed1
 we should find a more singular arrest  
of their power in ,ireland than in any  
other ,european country4 ,for in the    
eighth century ,ireland possessed a     
school of art in her manuscripts and    
sculpture1 which1 in many of its        
qualities--apparently in all essential  
qualities of decorative invention--was  
quite without rival2 seeming as if it   
might have advanced to the highest      
triumphs in architecture and in         
painting4 ,but there was one fatal flaw 
in its nature1 by which it was stayed1  

and stayed with a conspicuousness of    
pause to which there is no parallel3 so 
that1 long ago1 in tracing the progress 
of ,european schools from infancy to    
strength1 ,i chose for the students of  
,kensington1 in a lecture since         
published1 two characteristic examples  
of early art1 of equal skill2 but in the
 one case1 skill which was              
progressive--in the other1 skill which  
was at pause4 ,in the one case1 it was  
work receptive of correction--hungry for
 correction2 and in the other1 work     
which inherently rejected correction4 ,i
 chose for them a corrigible ,eve1 and  
an incorrigible ,angel1 and ,i grieve to
 say#bcf that the incorrigible ,angel   
was also an ,irish angel6  ,and the     
fatal difference lay wholly in this4 ,in
 both pieces of art there was an equal  
falling short of the needs of fact2 but 
the ,lombardic ,eve knew she was in the 
wrong1 and the ,irish ,angel thought    
himself all right4 ,the eager ,lombardic
 sculptor1 though firmly insisting on   

his childish idea1 yet showed in the    
irregular broken touches of the         
features1 and the imperfect struggle for
 softer lines in the form1 a perception 
of beauty and law that he could not     
render2 there was the strain of effort1 
under conscious imperfection1 in every  
line4 ,but the ,irish missal-painter had
 drawn his angel with no sense of       
failure1 in happy complacency1 and put  
red dots into the palms of each hand1   
and rounded the eyes into perfect       
circles1 and1 ,i regret to say1 left the
 mouth out altogether1 with perfect     
satisfaction to himself4  ,may ,i       
without offence ask you to consider     
whether this mode of arrest in ancient  
,irish art may not be indicative of     
points of character which even yet1 in  
some measure1 arrest your national      
power8 ,i have seen much of ,irish      
character1 and have watched it closely1 
for ,i have also much loved it4 ,and ,i 
think the form of failure to which it is
 most liable is this1--that being       

generous-hearted1 and wholly intending  
always to do right1 it does not attend  
to the external laws of right1 but      
thinks it must necessarily do right     
because it means to do so1 and therefore
 does wrong without finding it out2 and 
then1 when the consequences of its wrong
 come upon it1 or upon others connected 
with it1 it cannot conceive that the    
wrong is in any wise of its causing or  
of its doing1 but flies into wrath1 and 
a strange agony of desire for justice1  
as feeling itself wholly innocent1 which
 leads it farther astray1 until there is
 nothing that it is not capable of doing
 with a good conscience4  ,but mind1 ,i 
do not mean to say that1 in past or     
present relations between ,ireland and  
,england1 you have been wrong1 and we   
right4 ,far from that1 ,i believe that  
in all great questions of principle1 and
 in all details of administration of    
law1 you have been usually right1 and we
 wrong2 sometimes in misunderstanding   
you1 sometimes in resolute iniquity to  

you4 ,nevertheless1 in all disputes     
between states1 though the strongest is 
nearly always mainly in the wrong1 the  
weaker is often so in a minor degree2   
and ,i think we sometimes admit the     
possibility of our being in error1 and  
you never do4#bcg  ,and now1 returning  
to the broader question1 what these arts
 and labours of life have to teach us of
 its mystery1 this is the first of their
 lessons--that the more beautiful the   
art1 the more it is essentially the work
 of people who feel themselves          
wrong2--who are striving for the        
fulfilment of a law1 and the grasp of a 
loveliness1 which they have not yet     
attained1 which they feel even farther  
and farther from attaining the more they
 strive for it4 ,and yet1 in still      
deeper sense1 it is the work of people  
who know also that they are right4 ,the 
very sense of inevitable error from     
their purpose marks the perfectness of  
that purpose1 and the continued sense of
 failure arises from the continued      

opening of the eyes more clearly to all 
the sacredest laws of truth4  ,this is  
one lesson4 ,the second is a very plain1
 and greatly precious one3 namely1--that
 whenever the arts and labours of life  
are fulfilled in this spirit of striving
 against misrule1 and doing whatever we 
have to do1 honourably and perfectly1   
they invariably bring happiness1 as much
 as seems possible to the nature of man4
 ,in all other paths by which that      
happiness is pursued there is           
disappointment1 or destruction3 for     
ambition and for passion there is no    
rest--no fruition2 the fairest pleasures
 of youth perish in a darkness greater  
than their past light2 and the loftiest 
and purest love too often does but      
inflame the cloud of life with endless  
fire of pain4 ,but1 ascending from      
lowest to highest1 through every scale  
of human industry1 that industry        
worthily followed1 gives peace4 ,ask the
 labourer in the field1 at the forge1 or
 in the mine2 ask the patient1          

delicate-fingered artisan1 or the       
strong-armed1 fiery-hearted worker in   
bronze1 and in marble1 and in the       
colours of light2 and none of these1 who
 are true workmen1 will ever tell you1  
that they have found the law of heaven  
an unkind one--that in the sweat of     
their face they should eat bread1 till  
they return to the ground2#bch nor that 
they ever found it an unrewarded        
obedience1 if1 indeed1 it was rendered  
faithfully to the command--,whatsoever  
thy hand findeth to do--do it with thy  
might4#bci  ,these are the two great and
 constant lessons which our labourers   
teach us of the mystery of life4 ,but   
there is another1 and a sadder one1     
which they cannot teach us1 which we    
must read on their tombstones4  ,do it  
with thy might4 ,there have been myriads
 upon myriads of human creatures who    
have obeyed this law--who have put every
 breath and nerve of their being into   
its toil--who have devoted every hour1  
and exhausted every faculty--who have   

bequeathed their unaccomplished thoughts
 at death--who1 being dead1 have yet    
spoken1#bdj by majesty of memory1 and   
strength of example4 ,and1 at last1 what
 has all this ,might of humanity        
accomplished1 in six thousand years of  
labour and sorrow8 ,what has it done8   
,take the three chief occupations and   
arts of men1 one by one1 and count their
 achievements4 ,begin with the          
first--the lord of them                 
all--,agriculture4 ,six thousand years  
have passed since we were sent to till  
the ground1 from which we were taken4   
,how much of it is tilled8 ,how much of 
that which is1 wisely or well8 ,in the  
very centre and chief garden of         
,europe--where the two forms of parent  
,christianity have had their            
fortresses--where the noble ,catholics  
of the ,forest ,cantons1 and the noble  
,protestants of the ,vaudois valleys1   
have maintained1 for dateless ages1     
their faiths and liberties--there the   
unchecked ,alpine rivers yet run wild in

 devastation2 and the marshes1 which a  
few hundred men could redeem with a     
year's labour1 still blast their        
helpless inhabitants into fevered       
idiotism4 ,that is so1 in the centre of 
,europe6 ,while1 on the near coast of   
,africa1 once the ,garden of the        
,hesperides1 an ,arab woman1 but a few  
sunsets since1 ate her child1 for       
famine4 ,and1 with all the treasures of 
the ,east at our feet1 we1 in our own   
dominion1 could not find a few grains of
 rice1 for a people that asked of us no 
more2 but stood by1 and saw five hundred
 thousand of them perish of hunger4#bda 
,then1 after agriculture1 the art of    
kings1 take the next head of human      
arts--weaving2 the art of queens1       
honoured of all noble ,heathen women1 in
 the person of their virgin             
goddess#bdb--;honoured of all ,hebrew   
women1 by the word of their wisest      
king--,she layeth her hands to the      
spindle1 and her hands hold the distaff2
 she stretcheth out her hand to the     

poor4 ,she is not afraid of the snow for
 her household1 for all her household   
are clothed with scarlet4 ,she maketh   
herself covering of tapestry2 her       
clothing is silk and purple4 ,she maketh
 fine linen1 and selleth it1 and        
delivereth girdles unto the             
merchant4#bdc ,what have we done in all 
these thousands of years with this      
bright art of ,greek maid and ,christian
 matron8 ,six thousand years of weaving1
 and have we learned to weave8 ,might   
not every naked wall have been purple   
with tapestry1 and every feeble breast  
fenced with sweet colours from the cold8
 ,what have we done8 ,our fingers are   
too few1 it seems1 to twist together    
some poor covering for our bodies4 ,we  
set our streams to work for us1 and     
choke the air with fire1 to turn our    
pinning-wheels--and1--are we yet        
clothed8 ,are not the streets of the    
capitals of ,europe foul with the sale  
of cast clouts and rotten rags8#bdd ,is 
not the beauty of your sweet children   

left in wretchedness of disgrace1 while1
 with better honour1 nature clothes the 
brood of the bird in its nest1 and the  
suckling of the wolf in her den8 ,and   
does not every winter's snow robe what  
you have not robed1 and shroud what you 
have not shrouded2 and every winter's   
wind bear up to heaven its wasted souls1
 to witness against you hereafter1 by   
the voice of their ,christ1--,i was     
naked1 and ye clothed me not8#bde       
,lastly--take the ,art of ,building--the
 strongest--proudest--most orderly--most
 enduring of the arts of man2 that of   
which the produce is in the surest      
manner accumulative1 and need not       
perish1 or be replaced2 but if once well
 done1 will stand more strongly than the
 unbalanced rocks--more prevalently than
 the crumbling hills4 ,the art which is 
associated with all civic pride and     
sacred principle2 with which men record 
their power--satisfy their              
enthusiasm--make sure their             
defence--define and make dear their     

habitation4 ,and in six thousand years  
of building1 what have we done8 ,of the 
greater part of all that skill and      
strength1 no vestige is left1 but fallen
 stones1 that encumber the fields and   
impede the streams4 ,but1 from this     
waste of disorder1 and of time1 and of  
rage1 what is left to us8 ,constructive 
and progressive creatures that we are1  
with ruling brains1 and forming hands1  
capable of fellowship1 and thirsting for
 fame1 can we not contend1 in comfort1  
with the insects of the forest1 or1 in  
achievement1 with the worm of the sea8  
,the white surf rages in vain against   
the ramparts built by poor atoms of     
scarcely nascent life2 but only ridges  
of formless ruin mark the places where  
once dwelt our noblest multitudes4 ,the 
ant and the moth have cells for each of 
their young1 but our little ones lie in 
festering heaps1 in homes that consume  
them like graves2 and night by night1   
from the corners of our streets1 rises  
up the cry of the homeless--,i was a    

stranger1 and ye took me not in4#bdf    
,must it be always thus8 ,is our life   
for ever to be without profit--without  
possession8 ,shall the strength of its  
generations be as barren as death2 or   
cast away their labour1 as the wild     
fig-tree casts her untimely figs8#bdg   
,is it all a dream then--the desire of  
the eyes and the pride of life--or1 if  
it be1 might we not live in nobler dream
 than this8 ,the poets and prophets1 the
 wise men1 and the scribes1 though they 
have told us nothing about a life to    
come1 have told us much about the life  
that is now4 ,they have had--they       
also1--their dreams1 and we have laughed
 at them4 ,they have dreamed of mercy1  
and of justice2 they have dreamed of    
peace and good-will2 they have dreamed  
of labour undisappointed1 and of rest   
undisturbed2 they have dreamed of       
fulness in harvest1 and overflowing in  
store2 they have dreamed of wisdom in   
council1 and of providence in law2 of   
gladness of parents1 and strength of    

children1 and glory of grey hairs4 ,and 
at these visions of theirs we have      
mocked1 and held them for idle and vain1
 unreal and unaccomplishable4 ,what have
 we accomplished with our realities8 ,is
 this what has come of our worldly      
wisdom1 tried against their folly8 this1
 our mightiest possible1 against their  
impotent ideal8 or1 have we only        
wandered among the spectra of a baser   
felicity1 and chased phantoms of the    
tombs1 instead of visions of the        
,almighty2 and walked after the         
imaginations of our evil hearts1#bdh    
instead of after the counsels of        
,eternity1 until our lives--not in the  
likeness of the cloud of heaven1 but of 
the smoke of hell--have become as a     
vapour1 that appeareth for a little     
time1 and then vanisheth away8#bdi      
,does it vanish then8 ,are you sure of  
that8--sure1 that the nothingness of the
 grave will be a rest from this troubled
 nothingness2 and that the coiling      
shadow1 which disquiets itself in vain1 

cannot change into the smoke of the     
torment that ascends for ever8#bej ,will
 any answer that they are sure of it1   
and that there is no fear1 nor hope1 nor
 desire1 nor labour1 whither they       
go8#bea ,be it so3 will you not1 then1  
make as sure of the ,life that now is1  
as you are of the ,death that is to     
come8 ,your hearts are wholly in this   
world--will you not give them to it     
wisely1 as well as perfectly8 ,and see1 
first of all1 that you have hearts1 and 
sound hearts1 too1 to give4 ,because you
 have no heaven to look for1 is that any
 reason that you should remain ignorant 
of this wonderful and infinite earth1   
which is firmly and instantly given you 
in possession8 ,although your days are  
numbered1 and the following darkness    
sure1 is it necessary that you should   
share the degradation of the brute1     
because you are condemned to its        
mortality2 or live the life of the moth1
 and of the worm1 because you are to    
companion them in the dust8 ,not so2 we 

may have but a few thousands of days to 
spend1 perhaps hundreds only--perhaps   
tens2 nay1 the longest of our time and  
best1 looked back on1 will be but as a  
moment1 as the twinkling of an eye2     
still we are men1 not insects2 we are   
living spirits1 not passing clouds4 ,he 
maketh the winds ,his messengers2 the   
momentary fire1 ,his minister2#beb and  
shall we do less than these8 ,let us do 
the work of men while we bear the form  
of them2 and1 as we snatch our narrow   
portion of time out of ,eternity1 snatch
 also our narrow inheritance of passion 
out of ,immortality--even though our    
lives be as a vapour1 that appeareth for
 a little time1 and then vanisheth away4
  ,but there are some of you who believe
 not this--who think this cloud of life 
has no such close--that it is to float1 
revealed and illumined1 upon the floor  
of heaven1 in the day when ,he cometh   
with clouds1 and every eye shall see    
,him4#bec ,some day1 you believe1 within
 these five1 or ten1 or twenty years1   

for every one of us the judgment will be
 set1 and the books opened4#bed ,if that
 be true1 far more than that must be    
true4 ,is there but one day of judgment8
 ,why1 for us every day is a day of     
judgment--every day is a ,dies          
,irae1#bee and writes its irrevocable   
verdict in the flame of its ,west4      
,think you that judgment waits till the 
doors of the grave are opened8 ,it waits
 at the doors of your houses--it waits  
at the corners of your streets2 we are  
in the midst of judgment--the insects   
that we crush are our judges--the       
moments that we fret away are our       
judges--the elements that feed us1      
judge1 as they minister--and the        
pleasures that deceive us1 judge as they
 indulge4 ,let us1 for our lives1 do the
 work of ,men while we bear the form of 
them1 if indeed those lives are ,not as 
a vapour1 and do ,not vanish away4  ,the
 work of men--and what is that8 ,well1  
we may any of us know very quickly1 on  
the condition of being wholly ready to  

do it4 ,but many of us are for the most 
part thinking1 not of what we are to do1
 but of what we are to get2 and the best
 of us are sunk into the sin of         
,ananias1#bef and it is a mortal one--we
 want to keep back part of the price2   
and we continually talk of taking up our
 cross1 as if the only harm in a cross  
was the weight of it--as if it was only 
a thing to be carried1 instead of to    
be--crucified upon4 ,they that are ,his 
have crucified the flesh1 with the      
affections and lusts4#beg ,does that    
mean1 think you1 that in time of        
national distress1 of religious trial1  
of crisis for every interest and hope of
 humanity--none of us will cease        
jesting1 none cease idling1 none put    
themselves to any wholesome work1 none  
take so much as a tag of lace off their 
footmen's coats1 to save the world8 ,or 
does it rather mean1 that they are ready
 to leave houses1 lands1 and            
kindreds--yes1 and life1 if need be8    
,life6--some of us are ready enough to  

throw that away1 joyless as we have made
 it4 ,but station in ,life--how many of 
us are ready to quit that8 ,is it not   
always the great objection1 where there 
is question of finding something useful 
to do--,we cannot leave our stations in 
,life8  ,those of us who really         
cannot--that is to say1 who can only    
maintain themselves by continuing in    
some business or salaried office1 have  
already something to do2 and all that   
they have to see to is1 that they do it 
honestly and with all their might4 ,but 
with most people who use that apology1  
remaining in the station of life to     
which ,providence has called them means 
keeping all the carriages1 and all the  
footmen and large houses they can       
possibly pay for2 and1 once for all1 ,i 
say that if ever ,providence did put    
them into stations of that sort--which  
is not at all a matter of               
certainty--,providence is just now very 
distinctly calling them out again4      
,levi's station in life was the receipt 

of custom2 and ,peter's1 the shore of   
,galilee2 and ,paul's1 the antechambers 
of the ,high ,priest1--which station in 
life each had to leave1 with brief      
notice4  ,and1 whatever our station in  
life may be1 at this crisis1 those of us
 who mean to fulfil our duty ought first
 to live on as little as we can2 and1   
secondly1 to do all the wholesome work  
for it we can1 and to spend all we can  
spare in doing all the sure good we can4
  ,and sure good is1 first in feeding   
people1 then in dressing people1 then in
 lodging people1 and lastly in rightly  
pleasing people1 with arts1 or sciences1
 or any other subject of thought4  ,i   
say first in feeding2 and1 once for all1
 do not let yourselves be deceived by   
any of the common talk of indiscriminate
 charity4 ,the order to us is not to    
feed the deserving hungry1 nor the      
industrious hungry1 nor the amiable and 
well-intentioned hungry1 but simply to  
feed the hungry4#beh ,it is quite true1 
infallibly true1 that if any man will   

not work1 neither should he             
eat#bei--think of that1 and every time  
you sit down to your dinner1 ladies and 
gentlemen1 say solemnly1 before you ask 
a blessing1 ,how much work have ,i done 
to-day for my dinner8 ,but the proper   
way to enforce that order on those below
 you1 as well as on yourselves1 is not  
to leave vagabonds and honest people to 
starve together1 but very distinctly to 
discern and seize your vagabond2 and    
shut your vagabond up out of honest     
people's way1 and very sternly then see 
that1 until he has worked1 he does not  
eat4 ,but the first thing is to be sure 
you have the food to give2 and1         
therefore1 to enforce the organization  
of vast activities in agriculture and in
 commerce1 for the production of the    
wholesomest food1 and proper storing and
 distribution of it1 so that no famine  
shall any more be possible among        
civilized beings ,there is plenty of    
work in this business alone1 and at     
once1 for any number of people who like 

to engage in it4  ,secondly1 dressing   
people--that is to say1 urging every one
 within reach of your influence to be   
always neat and clean1 and giving them  
means of being so4 ,in so far as they   
absolutely refuse1 you must give up the 
effort with respect to them1 only taking
 care that no children within your      
sphere of influence shall any more be   
brought up with such habits2 and that   
every person who is willing to dress    
with propriety shall have encouragement 
to do so4 ,and the first absolutely     
necessary step towards this is the      
gradual adoption of a consistent dress  
for different ranks of persons1 so that 
their rank shall be known by their      
dress2 and the restriction of the       
changes of fashion within certain       
limits4 ,all which appears for the      
present quite impossible2 but it is only
 so far even difficult as it is         
difficult to conquer our vanity1        
frivolity1 and desire to appear what we 
are not4 ,and it is not1 nor ever shall 

be1 creed of mine1 that these mean and  
shallow vices are unconquerable by      
,christian women4  ,and then1 thirdly1  
lodging people1 which you may think     
should have been put first1 but ,i put  
it third1 because we must feed and      
clothe people where we find them1 and   
lodge them afterwards4 ,and providing   
lodgment for them means a great deal of 
vigorous legislation1 and cutting down  
of vested interests that stand in the   
way1 and after that1 or before that1 so 
far as we can get it1 thorough sanitary 
and remedial action in the houses that  
we have2 and then the building of more1 
strongly1 beautifully1 and in groups of 
limited extent1 kept in proportion to   
their streams1 and walled round1 so that
 there may be no festering and wretched 
suburb anywhere1 but clean and busy     
street within1 and the open country     
without1 with a belt of beautiful garden
 and orchard round the walls1 so that   
from any part of the city perfectly     
fresh air and grass1 and the sight of   

far horizon1 might be reachable in a few
 minutes' walk4 ,this is the final aim2 
but in immediate action every minor and 
possible good to be instantly done1     
when1 and as1 we can2 roofs mended that 
have holes in them--fences patched that 
have gaps in them--walls buttressed that
 totter--and floors propped that shake2 
cleanliness and order enforced with our 
own hands and eyes1 till we are         
breathless1 every day4 ,and all the fine
 arts will healthily follow4 ,i myself  
have washed a flight of stone stairs all
 down1 with bucket and broom1 in a      
,savoy inn1 where they hadn't washed    
their stairs since they first went up   
them2 and ,i never made a better sketch 
than that afternoon4  ,these1 then1 are 
the three first needs of civilized life2
 and the law for every ,christian man   
and woman is1 that they shall be in     
direct service towards one of these     
three needs1 as far as is consistent    
with their own special occupation1 and  
if they have no special business1 then  

wholly in one of these services4 ,and   
out of such exertion in plain duty all  
other good will come2 for in this direct
 contention with material evil1 you will
 find out the real nature of all evil2  
you will discern by the various kinds of
 resistance1 what is really the fault   
and main antagonism to good2 also you   
will find the most unexpected helps and 
profound lessons given1 and truths will 
come thus down to us which the          
speculation of all our lives would never
 have raised us up to4 ,you will find   
nearly every educational problem solved1
 as soon as you truly want to do        
something2 everybody will become of use 
in their own fittest way1 and will learn
 what is best for them to know in that  
use4 ,competitive examination will then1
 and not till then1 be wholesome1       
because it will be daily1 and calm1 and 
in practice2 and on these familiar arts1
 and minute1 but certain and serviceable
 knowledges1 will be surely edified and 
sustained the greater arts and splendid 

theoretical sciences4  ,but much more   
than this4 ,on such holy and simple     
practice will be founded1 indeed1 at    
last1 an infallible religion4 ,the      
greatest of all the mysteries of life1  
and the most terrible1 is the corruption
 of even the sincerest religion1 which  
is not daily founded on rational1       
effective1 humble1 and helpful action4  
,helpful action1 observe6 for there is  
just one law1 which obeyed1 keeps all   
religions pure--forgotten1 makes them   
all false4 ,whenever in any religious   
faith1 dark or bright1 we allow our     
minds to dwell upon the points in which 
we differ from other people1 we are     
wrong1 and in the devil's power4 ,that  
is the essence of the ,pharisee's       
thanksgiving--,lord1 ,i thank ,thee that
 ,i am not as other men are4#bfj ,at    
every moment of our lives we should be  
trying to find out1 not in what we      
differ with other people1 but in what we
 agree with them2 and the moment we find
 we can agree as to anything that should

 be done1 kind or good1 7and who but    
fools couldn't87 then do it2 push at it 
together3 you can't quarrel in a        
side-by-side push2 but the moment that  
even the best men stop pushing1 and     
begin talking1 they mistake their       
pugnacity for piety1 and if's all over4 
,i will not speak of the crimes which in
 past times have been committed in the  
name of ,christ1 nor of the follies     
which are at this hour held to be       
consistent with obedience to ,him2 but  
,i will speak of the morbid corruption  
and waste of vital power in religious   
sentiment1 by which the pure strength of
 that which should be the guiding soul  
of every nation1 the splendour of its   
youthful manhood1 and spotless light of 
its maidenhood1 is averted or cast away4
 ,you may see continually girls who have
 never been taught to do a single useful
 thing thoroughly2 who cannot sew1 who  
cannot cook1 who cannot cast an account1
 nor prepare a medicine1 whose whole    
life has been passed either in play or  

in pride2 you will find girls like      
these1 when they are earnest-hearted1   
cast all their innate passion of        
religious spirit1 which was meant by    
,god to support them through the        
irksomeness of daily toil1 into grievous
 and vain meditation over the meaning of
 the great ,book1 of which no syllable  
was ever yet to be understood but       
through a deed2 all the instinctive     
wisdom and mercy of their womanhood made
 vain1 and the glory of their pure      
consciences warped into fruitless agony 
concerning questions which the laws of  
common serviceable life would have      
either solved for them in an instant1 or
 kept out of their way4 ,give such a    
girl any true work that will make her   
active in the dawn1 and weary at night1 
with the consciousness that her         
fellow-creatures have indeed been the   
better for her day1 and the powerless   
sorrow of her enthusiasm will transform 
itself into a majesty of radiant and    
beneficent peace4  ,so with our youths4 

,we once taught them to make ,latin     
verses1 and called them educated2 now we
 teach them to leap and to row1 to hit a
 ball with a bat1 and call them         
educated4 ,can they plough1 can they    
sow1 can they plant at the right time1  
or build with a steady hand8 ,is it the 
effort of their lives to be chaste1     
knightly1 faithful1 holy in thought1    
lovely in word and deed8 ,indeed it is1 
with some1 nay with many1 and the       
strength of ,england is in them1 and the
 hope2 but we have to turn their courage
 from the toil of war to the toil of    
mercy2 and their intellect from dispute 
of words to discernment of things2 and  
their knighthood from the errantry of   
adventure to the state and fidelity of a
 kingly power4 ,and then1 indeed1 shall 
abide1 for them1 and for us1 an         
incorruptible felicity1 and an          
infallible religion2 shall abide for us 
,faith1 no more to be assailed by       
temptation1 no more to be defended by   
wrath and by fear2--shall abide with us 

,hope1 no more to be quenched by the    
years that overwhelm1 or made ashamed by
 the shadows that betray3--shall abide  
for us1 and with us1 the greatest of    
these2 the abiding will1 the abiding    
name of our ,father4 ,for the greatest  
of these is ,charity4#bfa     #bcj      
,isaiah xl1 #ab4    #bca ,i have        
sometimes been asked what this means4 ,i
 intended it to   set forth the wisdom  
of men in war contending for kingdoms1  
and   what follows to set forth their   
wisdom in peace1 contending for         
wealth4 ,ruskin4    #bcb ,see           
,wordsworth's poem1 ,my heart leaps up  
when ,i behold4    #bcc ,see ,genesis   
ii1 #ae1 and the opening lines of the   
first   selection in this volume4       
#bcd ,joshua ix1 #ba4    #bce ,in his   
,discourses on ,art4 ,cf4 pp4 #bd ff4   
above4    #bcf ,see ,the ,two ,paths1   
,sec4,sec4 #bh et seq4 ,ruskin4    #bcg 
,references mainly to the ,irish ,land  
,question1 on which ,ruskin   agreed    
with ,mill and ,gladstone in advocating 

the establishment of a                  
peasant-proprietorship in ,ireland4     
#bch ,genesis iii1 #ai4    #bci         
,ecclesiastes ix1 #aj4    #bdj ,hebrews 
xi1 #d4    #bda ,during the famine in   
the ,indian province of ,orissa4    #bdb
 ,athena1 goddess of weaving4    #bdc   
,proverbs xxxi1 #ai-bb1 #bd4    #bdd    
,jeremiah xxxviii1 #aa4    #bde ,matthew
 xxv1 #dc4    #bdf ,matthew xxv1 #dc4   
#bdg ,revelation vi1 #ac4    #bdh       
,jeremiah xi1 #h4    #bdi ,james iv1    
#ad4    #bej ,psalms xxxix1 #f and      
,revelation xiv1 #aa4    #bea           
,ecclesiastes ix1 #aj4    #beb ,psalms  
civ1 #d4    #bec ,revelation i1 #g4     
#bed ,daniel vii1 #aj4    #bee ,dies    
,irae1 the name generally given 7from   
the opening words7   to the most famous 
of the mediaeval hymns1 usually ascribed
 to the   ,franciscan ,thomas of ,celano
 7died c4 #abee74 ,it is composed in    
triplets of rhyming trochaic            
tetrameters1 and describes the ,last    
,judgment in language of magnificent    

grandeur1 passing into a   plaintive    
plea for the souls of the dead4    #bef 
,acts v1 #a1 #b4    #beg ,galatians v4  
#bd4    #beh ,isaiah lviii1 #g4    #bei 
#b ,thessalonians iii1 #aj4    #bfj     
,luke xviii1 #aa4    #bfa #a            
,corinthians xiii1 #ac4                 
,,bibliographical ,,note   ,editions4   
,the standard edition of ,ruskin is that
 of ,cook and       ,wedderburn in #cd  
volumes4 ,most of his better-known works
 may       be had in cheap and          
convenient forms4  ,the best lives are3 
,,collingwood1 ,w4,g4 ,the ,life and    
,work of ,john ,ruskin ,houghton        
,mifflin       ,company1 #ahic4 7#b     
vols47 ,the standard biography4         
,,harrison1 ,p4 ,john ,ruskin 7,english 
,men of ,letters74 ,the ,macmillan      
,company1 #aijb4 ,a short and readable  
biography4