,,belcaro   ,,being   ,,essays ,,on     
,,sundry ,,sthetical ,,questions1   ,,by
 ,,vernon ,,lee1 ,,author ,,of ,,studies
 ,,of ,,the ,,eighteenth ,,century ,,in 
,,italy4    ,,london3 ,w4 ,,satchell    
,,co41 #ab ,,tavistock ,,street1        
,,covent ,,garden1 ,w4,c4     ,,to  ,a4 
,,mary ,f4 ,,robinson4                  
,,contents4                             
,,page       ,i4 ,,the ,,book ,,and     
,,its ,,title              #a     ,,ii4 
,,the ,,child ,,in ,,the ,,vatican      
#ag    ,,iii4 ,,orpheus ,,and ,,eurydice
               #di     ,,iv4 ,,faustus  
,,and ,,helena                 #gj      
,v4 ,,chapelmaster ,,kreisler           
#ajf     ,,vi4 ,,cherubino              
#abi    ,,vii4 ,,in ,,umbria            
#aef   ,,viii4 ,,ruskinism              
#aig     ,,ix4 ,a ,,dialogue ,,on       
,,poetic ,,morality     #bcj      ,x4   
,,postscript ,,or ,,apology             
#bge   ,i have to thank the ,editors of 
the ,cornhill and of ,fraser's          
,magazines1 and of the ,contemporary    

,review1 for kind permission to         
republish such of these studies as have 
previously appeared in print4     ,,the 
,,book ,,and ,,its ,,title4  ,,to ,,one 
,,of ,,my ,,readers--,,the ,,first ,,and
 ,,earliest4   ,a little while ago ,i   
told you that ,i wished this collection 
of studies to be more especially yours3 
so now ,i send it you1 a bundle of      
proofs and of ,,ms41 to know whether you
 will have it4 ,i wish ,i could give you
 what ,i have written in the same       
complete way that a painter would give  
you one of his sketches2 that a singer1 
singing for you alone1 might give you   
his voice and his art2 for a dedication 
is but a drop of ink on a large white   
sheet1 and conveys but a sorry notion of
 property4 ,now1 this book is intended  
to be really yours2 yours in the sense  
that1 were it impossible for more than  
one copy of it to exist1 that one copy  
,i should certainly give to you4        
,because these studies represent the    
ideas ,i have so far been able to work  

out for myself about art1 considered not
 historically1 but in its double        
relation to the artist and the world for
 whom he works2 ideas which it is my    
highest ambition should influence those 
young enough and powerful enough to act 
upon them2 and1 this being the case1 my 
first thought is to place them before   
you3 it is1 you see1 a matter of        
conversion1 and the nearest1 most       
difficult1 most desired convert1 is     
yourself4  ,to you1 therefore1 before   
any one else1 must ,i explain what      
manner of book this is1 what are its    
origin and its aims4 ,and first1 the    
meaning of its title4 ,logically1 this  
title means nothing2 it is a mere       
negation1 a mere arbitrary combination  
of letters chosen from sheer despair to 
find any name which should tell1 what   
this title certainly does not1 what is  
the contents of the volume4 ,yet1 a     
meaning the name has3 a meaning of      
association4 ,for1 even as a snatch of  
melody will sometimes1 for no apparent  

reason1 haunt us while we are about any 
particular work1 follow us while we are 
travelling through a definite tract of  
country 7as1 two years since1 ,wagner's 
,spinning ,chorus travelled with me from
 ,mantua to ,verona1 and from ,verona to
 ,venice7 in such a way that the piece  
of work1 the tract of country1 bring    
with their recollection the haunting    
tune to our mind2 so1 also1 during the  
time of making up this volume1 ,i have  
been haunted by the remembrance of that 
winter afternoon1 when last we were     
together1 on the battlements of         
,belcaro4 ,perhaps 7if we must seek a   
reason71 because1 while driving to the  
strange1 isolated villa castle1 up and  
down1 and round and round the hills of  
ploughed-up russet earth1 and pale pink 
leafless brushwood1 and bright green    
pine-woods1 where every sharp           
road-turning surprises one with a sudden
 glimpse of ,siena1 astride1 with towers
 and walls and cupolas1 on her high1    
solitary ridge2 while dashing up the    

narrow hedged lanes whose sere oak and  
ilex branches brushed across our faces2 
or1 while looking down from the         
half-fortified old place on to the      
endless1 vague1 undulating ,sienese     
fields and oak-woods2 perhaps1 because  
at that moment ,i may1 unconscious to   
myself1 have had a vague first desire to
 put together more of the helter-skelter
 contents of the notes over which we had
 been looking1 and give it you in some  
intelligible shape4 ,perhaps this may   
have served to set up the association2  
or perhaps it was something wholly      
different1 unguessed1 trumpery1         
inscrutable4 ,be this as it may1 the    
fact remains that during the dull months
 of planning and putting together this  
book1 ,i have been haunted1 as by a     
melody1 by the remembrance1 the vision1 
the consciousness of that afternoon1    
warm and hazy1 of early ,december1 on   
the battlements of ,belcaro castle1 when
 we looked down over the top of the     
dense mural crown of sprouting pale     

green acorned ilex on to the hills and  
ravines1 with the sere oak-woods        
reddened with the faint flush of        
sun-light1 and the vague1 white thinned 
olives and isolated golden-leaved oaks1 
and distant solitary belfries and       
castles2 away towards ,siena1 grey on   
the horizon1 beneath the grey1 pinked1  
wet cloud masses1 lurid and mysterious  
like ,beccafumi's frescos1 as if the    
clouds1 if one looked at them long1     
might gather into clustered angels with 
palm-shaped wings and flushed faces and 
reddened pale locks4 ,thus have ,i been 
haunted by this remembrance1 this inner 
sight1 this single moment continuing1 in
 a way1 to exist alongside of so many   
and various other moments2 so that1 when
 it has come to giving a name to this   
book1 ,i find that there is already     
indissolubly associated with it1 the    
name of ,belcaro4  ,so far of the title3
 now of the book itself1 of what it is1 
and why it is such4 ,when1 two summers  
since1 ,i wrote the last pages of my    

first book1 it was1 in a way1 as if ,i  
had been working out the plans of       
another dead individual4 ,the myself who
 had1 almost as a child1 been insanely  
bewitched by the composers and singers1 
the mask actors and pedants1 and fine   
ladies and fops1 the whole ghostly      
turn-out of the ,italian #ahth century2 
who had1 for years1 in the bustle of    
self-culture1 ,i might almost say1 of   
childish education1 never let slip an   
opportunity of adding a new microscopic 
dab of colour to the beloved1 quaint1   
and ridiculous and pathetic             
century-portrait which ,i carried in my 
mind2 this myself1 thus smitten with the
 ,italian #ahth century1 had already    
ceased to exist4 ,another myself had    
come instead1 to whom this long         
accumulated #ahth century lore had been 
bequeathed1 but who would never have    
taken the pains1 or had the patience1 to
 collect it2 who carried out with a sort
 of filial piety the long cherished plan
 of making into a book all that         

inherited material1 seeing the while in 
this #ahth century lore what the        
original collector had never guessed3   
illustrations1 partial explanations1 of 
questions of artistic genesis and       
evolution1 of artistic right and wrong1 
which were for ever being discussed     
within me4 ,this new myself1 this heir  
to the task of putting into shape the   
historical materials collected by an    
extinct individuality1 is the myself by 
whom has been written this present book3
 this present book represents the       
thoughts1 the problems1 the doubts1 the 
solutions1 which were haunting me while 
writing that first book from which this 
new one so completely differs4 ,to plan1
 to work for such a book as that first  
one1 seems to me now about the most     
incomprehensible of all things2 to care 
for one particular historical moment1 to
 study the details of one particular    
civilisation1 to worry about finding out
 the exact when and how of any definite 
event2 above all1 to feel 7as ,i felt7  

any desire to teach any specified thing 
to anybody2 all this has become         
unintelligible to my sympathies of      
to-day4 ,and it is natural3 natural in  
mental growth that we are1 to some      
extent1 professorial and professorially 
self-important and engrossed1 before    
becoming restlessly and sceptically     
studious3 we may teach some things      
before we even know the desire of       
learning others4 ,thus ,i1 from my small
 magisterial chair or stool of #ahth    
century-expounder1 have descended and   
humbly gone to school as a student of   
sthetics4  ,to school1 where1 and with  
whom8 ,a little to books1 and this      
7excepting a few psychological works not
 bearing directly upon my subject7 with 
but small profit2 mainly to art itself1 
to pictures and statues and music and   
poetry1 to my own feelings and my own   
thoughts2 studying1 in seemingly        
desultory fashion1 in discussions with  
my friends and with myself4 ,this volume
 ,,belcaro is the first fruit of these  

attempts at knowing3 it is not the      
,sir-,oracle manual of a professor1 with
 all in its right place1 understood or  
misunderstood1 truth and error all      
neatly systematised for the teaching of 
others2 but rather the scholar's copy   
book1 the fragmentary and somewhat      
helter-skelter notes of what1 in his    
listenings and questionings1 he has been
 able to understand1 and which he hands 
over to his fellow-pupils1 who may have 
understood as much of the lessons as    
himself1 but have in all probability    
understood different portions or in     
different ways4 ,such a collection of   
notes this volume most unmetaphorically 
is3 it is literally a selection of such 
pages out of my commonplace books as    
seemed 7though written at various       
moments7 to converge upon given points  
of sthetical discussion2 to coalesce1   
conglomerate naturally1 and to admit of 
some sort of setting1 or resetting4 ,i  
say setting or resetting1 because these 
thoughts1 these questionings1 these     

discussions1 though in their written    
shape merely copied out from a confusion
 of quite heterogeneous notes1 have     
nearly all had1 while they were living1 
while thought or asked or discussed1 a  
real setting of some sort4 ,for the     
ideas have come mainly in the presence  
of works of art1 or in discussions with 
friends3 they have come1 sometimes      
unperceived at the moment1 together with
 the sight of a picture1 the hearing of 
a bar or two of music1 the reading of an
 accidentally met1 familiar quotation2 a
 reason1 a long sought explanation has  
been suddenly struck out by a sentence1 
a word from a friend4 ,oh yes1 a setting
 they have had1 these ideas1 such as    
they are3 a real1 living1 shimmering    
setting of tones and looks1 and jests   
and passion1 and anecdote and           
illustration1 and irrelevant streakings 
and veinings of description and story2 a
 setting too of place and time and      
personality4 ,for they have come out of 
real desultory talks3 re-echoed by the  

bare walls of glaring galleries and     
sounding statue cells2 or whispered on  
the steps before the withdrawn curtain  
of some altar-piece1 while the faint    
mass bell tinkled from distant chapels1 
or great waves of litany responses      
rushed roaring down the nave1 and broke 
in short repeated echoes against the    
pillars of the aisle2 or1 never clearly 
begun or ended1 between one piece of    
music and another1 with the hands still 
on the keys1 and the eyes still on the  
score2 talks desultory1 digressive1     
broken off by the withdrawing of the    
curtain from a fresh picture1 by the    
prelude of another piece1 by a cart     
blocking up the street or a cat in      
behind a window grating2 by something   
often utterly trumpery1 senseless and   
for the moment all important4 ,and they 
have come also1 these scattered ideas1  
in long discussions1 rambling but eager 
7their seriousness shivered ever and    
anon by a sudden grotesque image or     
cutting answer1 or inane pun1 or        

diverted off1 no one knew how1 into     
anecdotes or folk tales71 in the        
fire-lit winter afternoons1 with the    
crackle of wood and the crackling of    
sparks2 or1 in the ,august-heated1      
shuttered room1 with the midday drowsy  
silence brought home more completely by 
the never flagging saw of the cicalas on
 the vine-bearing poplars1 by the       
uniform clatter of the wooden frame     
crushing the brittle silvery hemp straw 
in the dark courtyard outside4 ,this    
manner of setting they have had2 and a  
far finer than any that could           
artificially be given to them4 ,in order
 to endure1 they had1 these ideas1 to be
 removed out of all this living         
frame-work2 to be written down1 that is 
to say1 to be made quite lifeless and   
inorganic1 and dry and stiff1 like some 
stuffed animal or bird4 ,and when it    
came to sorting them1 to preparing them 
to show to other folk2 the vague        
melancholy sense of how different they  
now looked1 my poor art thoughts all    

dreary in their abstractness1 from what 
they had been when they had first come  
into my head2 this sense of difference  
made me wish and try to replace them in 
a setting1 an artificial one1 which     
should in a manner be equivalent to that
 original real setting of place and     
moment1 and individuality and           
digression3 equivalent as an acre of    
garden1 with artificial rocks1 streams1 
groves1 grottoes1 places for losing your
 way1 flower-beds etc41 is equivalent   
for all the country you can travel over 
in five or six years4 ,i have done as   
best ,i could1 merely to satisfy my own 
strong feeling that art questions should
 always be discussed in the presence of 
some definite work of art1 if art and   
its productions are not to become mere  
abstractions1 logical counters wherewith
 to reckon2 also1 that discussions      
should be1 what real discussions are1 a 
gradual unravelling of tangled          
questions1 either alone or with others' 
assistance1 not a mere exposition of a  

cut and dry system4 ,i have always1 in  
putting together these notes1 had a     
vision of pictures or statues or places1
 had a sound of music in my mind1 or a  
page of a book in my memory2 ,i have    
always thought1 in arranging these      
discussions1 of the real individuals    
with whom ,i should most willingly have 
them3 ,i have always felt that some one 
else was by my side to whom ,i was      
showing1 explaining1 answering2 hence1  
the use of the second person plural1 of 
which ,i have vainly tried to be rid3 it
 is not the oracular we of the printed  
book1 it is the we of myself and those  
with whom1 for whom1 ,i am speaking2 it 
is the constantly felt dualism of myself
 and my companion4  ,thus much of the   
form into which1 as the only one which1 
however imperfectly1 suited my liking1  
,i have worked these notes1 taken from  
out of the confusion of my commonplace  
books4 ,now1 as to the notes1 or rather 
as to the ideas which they embody4      
,these ideas1 ,i repeat1 are not a      

system2 they are mere fragmentary       
thinkings out of sthetic questions4     
,yet1 they have1 taken altogether1 a    
certain uniformity of tendency1 a       
certain logical shape3 they look like a 
system4 ,but if a logical shape they    
have1 it is not because they have been  
deliberately fitted into each other1 but
 because they have been homogeneously   
evolved2 if a system they appear1 it is 
because the same individual mind1 in its
 attempt to solve a series of closely   
allied problems1 must solve them in a   
self-consistent way4 ,hence1 while      
dreading beyond all things to cramp my  
still growing1 and therefore altering1  
ideas in the limits of a system1 ,i find
 that ,i have1 nevertheless1 evolved for
 myself a series of answers to separate 
questions1 which constitute a sort of   
art-philosophy4 ,an art-philosophy      
entirely unabstract1 unsystematic1      
essentially personal1 because evolved   
unconsciously1 under the pressure of    
personal circumstances1 and to serve the

 requirements of personal tendencies4 ,i
 have1 of course1 read a good deal about
 art1 perhaps more than other people2   
and ,i have consciously and             
unconsciously assimilated a good deal of
 the books that ,i read2 but ,i have    
never deliberately accepted 7except in  
the domain of art-history and evolution1
 of which ,i have not treated in this   
book which deals only of art in its     
connection with the individual artist   
and his public7 a whole theory1 and set 
myself either to developing or          
correcting it3 the ideas of others enter
 largely into the answers to my         
self-questionings1 but they do so       
because they had become part and parcel 
of my own thought2 and the questions and
 their answers have always been asked by
 myself and answered by myself4 ,for1   
with respect to sthetic training1 ,i    
have been circumstanced differently from
 most writers on the subject1 nay1 from 
most readers of our generation4 ,i was  
taught as little about art1 ,i heard as 

little talk about pictures1 statues1 or 
music1 as any legendary calvinist child 
of the #agth century2 ,i jostled art of 
one kind or another as much as any child
 well can3 ,i was familiar with art1    
cared about it 7to the extent of        
requiring it7 before well knowing that  
art existed3 reversing the training of  
these days of culture and eclecticism   
and philosophy1 according to which one  
usually knows all about art1 all about  
its history1 ethics1 philosophy1        
schools1 epochs1 moral value1 poetic    
meaning1 and so forth1 before one knows 
art itself1 long before one cares a jot 
for it4 ,to me1 art was neither a       
technical study1 nor a philosophic      
puzzle1 nor a rhetorical theme1 nor a   
fashionable craze3 it was something     
natural1 familiar2 indifferent at first1
 then enjoyed2 only later read and      
thought about4 ,it was only when ,i     
began to read what other people had     
thought and felt on the subject1 that ,i
 began to discover 7with surprise and   

awe7 that there was something rare1     
wonderful1 exotic1 sublime1 mysterious1 
ineffable about art4 ,i read a great    
many books about all the arts1 and about
 each art in particular1 from ,plato to 
,lessing1 from ,reynolds to ,taine1 from
 ,hegel to ,ruskin2 ,i read1 re-read1   
annotated1 extracted1 compared1 refuted2
 ,i filled copy books with              
transcendental1 romantic1 and           
positivistic sthetics2 ,i began to feel1
 to understand art and all its wonderful
 mysteries2 ,i began to be able to      
express in words all the vague          
sublimities which ,i felt4 ,any one     
reading my notes1 hearing my            
conversation1 would have sworn that ,i  
was destined to become an art           
philosopher4 ,but it was not to be4     
,much as ,i read1 copied1 annotated1    
analysed1 imitated1 ,i could not really 
take in any of the things which ,i read2
 or if ,i took them in1 they would      
remain pure literary flourishes4 ,as    
soon as ,i got back into the presence of

 art itself1 all my carefully acquired  
artistic philosophy1 mystic1 romantic1  
or transcendental1 was forgotten3 ,i    
looked at pictures and statues1 and saw 
in them mere lines and colours1 pleasant
 or unpleasant2 ,i listened to music1   
and when1 afterwards1 ,i asked myself   
what strange moods it had awakened in my
 soul1 what wondrous visions it had     
conjured up in my mind1 ,i discovered   
that1 during that period of listening1  
my mind had been a complete blank1 and  
that all ,i could possibly recollect    
were notes4 ,my old original prosaic1   
matter-of-fact feeling about art1 as    
something simple1 straightforward1      
enjoyable1 always persisted beneath all 
the metaphysics and all the lyrism with 
which ,i tried to crush it4 ,i          
continued1 indeed1 to study art1 to     
think about what it really was2 but     
gradually ,i perceived that this        
thinking of mine1 instead of developing 
my faculties for seeing in art all the  
wonderful things seen in it by others1  

tended more and more to confirm my      
original childish impression that art   
was a simple thing to be simply enjoyed4
 ,my thinking was mainly negative3      
instead of discovering new things in    
art1 ,i discovered every day the absence
 in it of some of the strange properties
 with which ,i had learned to invest it2
 ,i perceived more and more distinctly  
that half of the ideas of stheticians   
had merely served to hide the real      
nature of the art about which they      
wrote2 ,i understood that while         
analysing psychological meanings in     
pictures1 they were shutting their eyes 
to the form and the colour2 that while  
they were dreaming about woods and      
lakes1 and love and death1 they were not
 listening to the music4 ,i gradually   
took in the fact that most writers on   
art were simply substituting            
psychological or mystic or poetic       
enjoyment1 due to their own literary    
activities1 for the simple artistic     
enjoyment which was alone and solely    

afforded by art itself4 ,i saw that the 
more value any work of art possessed in 
itself1 and the greater the amount of   
pleasure which it could afford1 the more
 extraneous and impertinent was the sort
 of interest with which stheticians     
tried to invest it4 ,i became aware that
 writers1 being unable to awaken with   
their machinery of thoughts and feelings
 and words the activities awakened by   
the intrinsic qualities1 visible or     
audible1 of statues or pictures or      
music1 had unconsciously substituted an 
appeal to other mental activities with  
which the works of art had at best but  
little connection4 ,this gradual        
discovery amused me1 but it also made me
 indignant4 ,had mankind appeared to me 
to be merely placidly enjoying as       
artistic effects those which were not   
artistic effects at all1 it would have  
been a mere matter for amusement2 but it
 seemed to me that as a consequence of  
this mankind was entirely missing much  
of the enjoyment which art could give1  

and1 moreover1 which could be given only
 by art4 ,besides1 art was for ever     
attempting really to produce those      
imaginary1 imagined effects3 sculpture  
was trying to give psychological        
amusement1 music was trying to play     
tragedies and paint landscapes1 and     
write religious meditations2 and in so  
doing art was incapacitating itself for 
its real work1 even as mankind was      
incapacitating itself for appreciating  
the real powers of art4 ,hence1 in so   
far as ,i thought at all about art in   
its absolute relations to artist and    
public 7as distinguished from art as a  
psychological1 historical1 merely       
scientific study7 my thoughts all tended
 towards getting rid of those foreign1  
extra-artistic1 irrelevant interests    
which stheticians have since the        
beginning of time interposed between art
 and those who are intended to enjoy it2
 my work has1 unconsciously enough1 been
 to logically justify that perfectly    
simple1 direct connection between art   

and ourselves1 which was the one ,i had 
felt1 as a child1 before learning all   
the wonderful fantastications of art    
philosophers4 ,my own art philosophy is 
therefore simply to try and enjoy in art
 what art really contains1 to obtain    
from art all that it can give1 by       
refraining from asking it to give what  
it cannot4 ,to this end have tended all 
those most harum-scarum notes1 written  
during the last six years1 which ,i have
 here collected and tried to group      
according to the particular art1 or the 
particular portion of an art1 to which  
they referred4 ,some are about painting1
 some about music1 some about poetry1   
some about art in general1 some         
inextricably combined and mixed up with 
other subjects4 ,they have been written 
at different times1 hence with varying  
amount of experience and information2   
occasionally they may even be           
contradictory in a trifle4 ,thus1 when  
,i wrote the notes on musical expression
 incorporated in the essay called after 

,hoffmann's ,kapell-,meister ,kreisler1 
,i was not yet acquainted with the      
discoveries of ,mr4 ,herbert ,spencer on
 the subject2 discoveries which have    
infinitely cleared my ideas1 and which  
serve to correct1 in the adjoining essay
 called ,cherubino1 much that was vague1
 and perhaps equivocal1 in my earlier   
notes4 ,had ,i been constructing a      
system1 ,i should have recast all the   
old 7or suppressed all the new72 but ,i 
am merely collecting notes1 so ,i have  
let them stand as they were written4 ,my
 object is not to teach others1 but to  
show them how far ,i have taught myself1
 and how far they may teach themselves4 
,i must always return to my comparison  
of the copy books of the boy attending a
 course of lectures3 this is not all    
that ,i conceive can be said on the     
subject2 it is merely as much as ,i have
 been able to understand thereof2 and   
the more ,i have listened and           
questioned1 the more what ,i have       
understood has become connected within  

itself and seemed to indicate           
connections with unstudied problems     
belonging to different orders of        
thought4 ,thus1 after having thought and
 written only about art2 about what each
 art can and cannot do1 about the       
relations of the various arts amongst   
each other and to their artists1 ,i have
 gradually found myself thinking and    
writing about what art as a whole can do
 and should do2 about the relations     
between all art and life taken as a     
whole3 after the purely sthetical       
questions has come the question1 no     
sthetical question this time--what      
value1 in this world of good and evil1  
of doubt and certainty1 of action and   
inaction1 in this world struggling for  
physical and social and moral good1 what
 value have sthetical questions at all8 
,and with these notes1 written latest of
 all1 and threatening to divert me more 
than they should from my present field  
of study to the wider1 nobler1 far more 
intricate and dangerous field of ethics1

 ,i have thought it best to close my    
book2 since these latest notes supply   
the explanation--felt all along1 but    
only vaguely formulated till now--of my 
whole sthetic1 because of my whole      
philosophic1 tendencies3 the greatest   
amount of good work to be obtained from 
everything1 and this possible only by   
all being seen in its right light1 and  
consequently used in its right place4   
,this is what my new book is1 and this  
is how such it has come to be4 ,and just
 because it is what it is1 because it is
 not a mere piece of work1 not a mere   
something made by me and thrust away1 in
 its systematic cut and dryness1 from my
 living personality2 but a certain      
proportion of my growing1 altering1     
enlarging1 disjointed1 helter-skelter   
thoughts1 of the thoughts which come to 
me whether ,i will or not2 because it is
 not a real book but a collection of    
notes1 do ,i wish it to be read by you4 
,so now ,i tie together and make a      
packet of all the pages of proofs and   

sheets of ,,ms41 and send it all to you4
 ,the summer has come round3 the tall   
grass1 brocaded like some rough1 rich   
medival stuff1 with yellow buttercups   
and blue sage flowers1 is already       
beginning to be scythed and raked away2 
the last clusters of hawthorn1 which1 a 
few days since1 still stood out white   
and crisp against the blue of the sky1  
fall to pieces as soon as one tries to  
gather them2 the ,tuscan country has    
already got its summer sheen of pale    
green poppied wheat1 and pale green     
budding vine1 and dim blue distance1 and
 pervading faint yellow haze2 the hills 
of ,siena are green with sprouting      
arbutus and ilex and fern and hellebore 
bells2 the oakwoods that we saw russet  
under the reddening light1 are in       
tender1 yellowish new leaf2 the olives  
are in blossom from which we broke the  
fruit-laden twigs2 it seems so long1 so 
very long1 since that soft grey winter  
day when last we were together1 looking 
down from the battlements of the old    

,sienese villa2 and yet the memory of   
that winter day seems as real as the    
present reality of this summer one2 and 
haunts me still1 as ,i write these      
words1 even as it has haunted me        
throughout the putting together of this 
book1 which ,i have called1 from that   
haunting remembrance1 and1 perhaps1 a   
little also that the association might  
make it more pleasant in your eyes1 by  
the name of that strange1 isolated1     
ilex-circled castle villa of ,belcaro4  
,and now1 unroll the tight-rolled       
manuscript and smooth out the rumpled   
proof sheets2 read1 and tell me whether 
or not what you have read is ever to be 
read by any one else4    ,,florence1    
,may1 #ahha4     ,,the ,,child ,,in     
,,the ,,vatican4   ,there were a lot of 
children in the ,vatican this morning3  
small barbarians scarce out of the      
nursery1 who should have been at home1  
at their lessons1 or reading fairy      
books1 or carpentering1 or              
doll-educating1 or boat-sailing1 or     

amusing themselves in the hundred       
nondescript ways which we seem to forget
 7remembering only ready-made toys and  
ready-made stories7 when we grow up4    
,some were left to their own devices1   
and scampered1 chattering and laughing1 
through the gallery2 jumping up three   
steps at a time1 clambering up to       
windows1 running round isolated statues1
 feretting into all the little nook and 
corner rooms1 peeping into the lidless  
sarcophagi and the great porphyry baths1
 with the rough-hewn rings and lions'   
heads4 ,the others were being led by    
their elders3 talking in whispers1 or   
silent3 demure1 weary1 vacant1 staring  
about with dreary1 vague little faces2  
these1 who were not permitted to rush   
about like the others1 seemed chilled1  
numbed by a sort of wonder unaccompanied
 by curiosity1 oppressed by a sense of  
indefineable desolation4 ,and1 indeed1  
it is a desolate place1 this ,vatican1  
with its long1 bleak1 glaring corridors2
 its half-lit1 chill1 resounding halls2 

its damp little ,belvedere ,court1 where
 green lichen fills up the fissured     
pavement2 a dreary labyrinth of brick   
and mortar1 a sort of over-ground       
catacomb of stones1 constructed in our  
art-studying1 rather than art-loving    
times where once--when ,michael ,angelo 
was stretched painting on the creaking  
scaffolding slung from the roof of the  
,sixtine--the poppies waved scarlet     
among the trailing vines of the pope's  
orchard1 and the white butterflies1 like
 wind-blown blossoms1 swarmed in the    
tall grass beneath the bending apple    
trees1 and the fire-flies danced in     
luminous spirals among the wild         
rose-hedges4 ,a dismal scientific piece 
of ostentation1 like all galleries2 a   
place where art is arranged and ticketed
 and made dingy and lifeless even as are
 the plants in a botanic collection4    
,eminently a place of exile2 or worse1  
of captivity1 for all this people of    
marble3 these athletes and nymphs and   
satyrs1 and warriors and poets and gods1

 who once stood1 each in happy          
independence1 against a screen of laurel
 or ilex branches1 or on the sun-heated 
gable of a temple1 where the grass waved
 in the fissures and the swallows       
nested1 or in a cresset-lit1 incense-dim
 chapel1 or high against the blue sky   
above the bustle of the market place2   
poor stone captives cloistered in       
monastic halls and cells1 or arranged1  
like the skeletons of ,capuchins1 in    
endless rows of niche1 shelf1 and       
bracket4 ,galleries are necessary       
things1 to save pictures and statues 7or
 the little remaining of them7 from     
candle smoke1 sacristans' ladders1 damp1
 worms1 and street boys1 but they are   
evil necessities2 and the sense of a    
sort of negative vandalism always clings
 to them1 specially to the galleries of 
statues1 so uninhabited1 so utterly     
sepulchral4 ,going to a gallery of      
sculpture1 we must be prepared to       
isolate what we wish to enjoy1 to make  
for it a fitting habitation in our      

fancy3 it is like going to read a page  
of ,homer1 or the ,georgics1 or         
,shelley1 in some great musty1 dusty    
library1 redolent of crumbling parchment
 and forgotten rubbish4 ,such is this   
,vatican1 even for us accustomed to it  
and knowing what we do and do not want3 
for us grown-up creatures1 familiar with
 such matters1 and with powers of       
impression quite deadened by culture4   
,what1 therefore1 must not this ,vatican
 be for a child3 a quite small1 ignorant
 barbarian such as has never before set 
its feet in a gallery1 to whom art and  
antiquity have been mere names1 to whom 
all this world of tintless stone can    
give but a confused1 huge1 overpowering 
impression of dreariness and vacuity4   
,an impression composed of negative     
things3 of silence and absence of       
colour1 of lifelessness1 of not knowing 
what it all is or all means2 a sense of 
void and of unattractive mystery which  
chills1 numbs the little soul into a    
sort of emotionless1 inactive           

discomfort4 ,what we were1 how we felt1 
how we understood and vaguely guessed   
things1 as children1 we can none of us  
know4 ,the recollection of ourselves    
when we were so different from          
ourselves1 this tradition handed down   
from a dim1 far-off creature of whom we 
know1 without feeling it1 that he1 was  
our ego1 this mysterious tradition      
remains to us only in fragments1 has    
been printed into our memory only by    
desultory patches3 at one point we can  
read1 at another the ink has not taken2 
we know as distinctly as the sensation  
and impressions of this very morning    
this or that sensation or impression of 
so many1 many years ago2 and we ask     
ourselves at the same time--how did such
 another thing affect our mind8--with   
the utter hopelessness of answer with   
which we should try to look into the    
soul of a dog or a cat4 ,thus it is with
 our small barbarian child in the       
,vatican3 how did it feel8 ,alas1 we    
should1 in order to know1 first have to 

find that little obscure1 puzzled soul  
again2 and where is it gone8 this thing 
which may once have been ourselves1     
whither has it disappeared1 when has it 
been extinguished8 ,so we can only      
speculate and reconstruct on a general  
basis4 ,certain it is that to this      
child1 to any child1 this ,vatican must 
have been the most desolate1 the most   
unintelligible of places4 ,for1 strange 
as it may seem1 this clear and simple   
art of sculpture1 born when the world   
was young and had not yet learned to    
think and talk in symbolical riddles1   
this apparently so outspoken art is1 to 
the childish soul of our days1 the most 
silent art of any4 ,to the child1 the   
modern child1 it is speechless2 it knows
 not a word of the language understood  
by the child's fancy4 ,for this fancy   
language of our modern child is the     
language of colour1 of movement1 of     
sound1 of suggestion1 of all the broken 
words of modern thought and feeling3 and
 the statue has none of these4 ,the     

child does not recognise in it anything 
familiar3 these naked1 or half-naked1   
limbs are things which the child has    
never seen1 at least1 never observed2   
they do not1 in their unfamiliarity1    
their vagueness1 constitute an          
individual character2 the dress1 the    
furrowed face1 the coloured hair1 the   
beard1 these are the things which the   
child knows1 and by which it recognises2
 but in these vague1 white things1 with 
their rounded white cheek1 and clotted  
white hair1 with their fold of white    
drapery about them1 the child recognises
 nothing3 men8 women8 it does not ask3  
for it1 they are mere things1 figures   
cut out of stone4 ,and thus1 in their   
vagueness1 their unfamiliarity1 they    
seem also to be all alike1 even as1 on  
first acquaintance1 we sometimes ask    
ourselves whether those sisters or      
brothers we know are four or only three2
 for in the unknown there is no         
diversity4 ,mysterious things1          
therefore1 these statues for the child2 

but theirs is a mystery of mere vacuity1
 one which does not haunt1 does not seek
 a solution4 ,for they are dull things1 
in their dirty whiteness3 they are doing
 nothing1 these creatures1 merely       
standing or sitting or leaning1 they are
 looking at nothing with their pupilless
 white eyes1 they have no story to tell1
 no name to be asked4 ,the child does   
not say to them1 as to the people in    
pictures1 the splendid people in strange
 colours1 and holding strange things1   
,who are you8 why are you doing that8   
,it does not even ask or answer itself  
whether these white things1 who seem to 
be all the same1 are dead or alive3 they
 are not ghosts1 they are things which1 
for aught the child knows or cares1 have
 never been born and never will die4 ,a 
negation1 oppressive and depressing1    
that is all2 and in the infinite        
multitude of statues in such a place as 
this ,vatican1 their sense must become  
actively painful to the child4 ,hence1  
the children we meet either rush        

headlong through corridor and hall1     
looking neither to the right nor to the 
left1 or let themselves be passively led
 through1 listless1 depressed1 glancing 
vaguely about1 looking wistfully at the 
little glimpses of sunlit garden        
outside1 at the clipped box hedges and  
trim orange trees in the court of the   
,pine ,cone4 ,for there1 outside1 is    
life1 movement1 green2 little hedged    
beds to run round2 fountains to be made 
to spirt aside by sticking fingers into 
their pipes2 walls on which to walk     
balanced1 and benches to jump over3     
there is field and food for the child's 
fancy1 and here1 within1 among all these
 cut stones1 there is none4  ,hence it  
is that the child1 who will one day     
become ourselves1 rarely cares to return
 to these sculpture galleries2 or1 if it
 care to return to any1 it is to mixed  
galleries like those of ,florence1      
where1 instead of the statues1 it looks 
at the pictures4 ,and out of pictures1  
out of the coarse blurs of colour in    

picture-books1 out of the black1        
huddled1 infinitively suggestive        
engravings in bible and book of travel2 
out of fine glossy modern pictures which
 represent a definite place1 or tell a  
definite story2 out of all this1        
confused with haunting impressions1 of  
things seen or heard of 7the strange1   
deeply significant sights and words of  
our childhood71 do we get our original1 
never really alterable ideas and        
feelings about art2 for much as we may  
clip1 trim1 and bedizen our minds with  
borrowed things1 we can never change1   
never even recast its solid material3 a 
compact1 and seemingly homogeneous soul 
mass1 made up of tightly-pressed1       
crushed odds and ends of impression2    
broken1 confused1 pounded bits of the   
sights and sounds and emotions of our   
childhood4 ,to the statues we return    
only quite late1 when this long-formed1 
long-moulded soul of ours has been well 
steeped in every sort of eclectic and   
artificial culture2 has been saturated  

with modern art and modern criticism1   
with mysticism and realism and sentiment
 and cynicism1 with ,dante and ,zola1   
and ,mozart and ,wagner and ,offenbach1 
saturated1 with every kind of critically
 distilled sthetic essence1 till there  
is not a flavour and not a scent1 good  
or bad1 sweet or foul1 which may not be 
perceived in this strange soul of ours4 
,then we return to the statues2 and1    
having imbibed 7like all things7 a      
certain amount of ,hellenic1 ,pagan1    
antique feeling1 we try also to         
assimilate the spirit of the statues of 
,phidias or ,praxiteles2 we expound the 
civilisation1 the mode of thought2 we   
trace the differences of school1 we     
approve and condemn1 we speak           
marvellously well1 with subtlety or     
passion2 we imagine all manner of       
occult1 ineffable virtues and vices in  
this antique art1 we dabble deliciously 
in alternate purity and impurity 7this  
being the perfection of artistic        
pleasure71 as we even occasionally1 for 

a few moments1 feel actual1 simple1     
unreasoning1 wholesome pleasure in the  
sight of the old broken marbles4 ,all   
this we do1 and most often are therewith
 satisfied4 ,yet if1 weighing our       
artistic likings and dislikings1        
comparing together our feelings towards 
so many and so various manifestations1  
trying to determine what is fresh and   
wholesome food to our depraved sthetic  
7and sthetico-moral7 palate1 and what is
 mere highly flavoured1 spicy or        
nauseous drug-stuff1 if1 in such a      
moment of doubt1 we ask ourselves1      
overheard by no one1 whether in reality 
this antique art is1 in the life of our 
feelings1 at all important1 comforting1 
influential8 we shall1 for the most     
part1 whisper back to ourselves that it 
is not so in the very least4 ,but could 
it ever have been8 ,could this1 or any  
art have been for us more than merely   
one of a hundred feebly enjoyed1 more or
 less exotic mental luxuries2 than an   
historic fossil1 by study of which1 as  

with the bone of a pterodactyl or an    
ichthyosaurus1 we can amuse ourselves   
reconstructing the appearance and habits
 of a long dead1 once living            
civilisation8 ,or might these statues   
have been much more to us8 ,might they1 
perhaps1 have shaped and trained our    
souls with their unspoken lessons8      
,well1 once upon a time 7let us invent a
 fairy tale71 a child was brought to the
 ,vatican3 just such an one1 only       
perhaps a trifle more wayward1 than     
those we met this morning1 demurely led 
about1 or scampering through the        
galleries3 its name signifies nothing1  
suffice it that it was a child4 ,now1 it
 so happened1 that upon that day the    
statues 7who1 as our forefathers of the 
middle ages knew7 are merely stone      
imprisoned demons1 dethroned gods of    
antiquity1 were bent upon getting some  
small amount of amusement in their      
dreary lives3 all the more dreary since 
the great joyful hope of restoration in 
the hearts of men which they had        

conceived when ,winckelmann and ,goethe 
came to them and adored1 had been slowly
 disappointed by seeing that what men   
cared for was not them1 but merely their
 own impertinent theories and           
grandiloquent speeches4 ,the            
,statue-demons were sick of the bitter  
amusement of watching the follies of    
their pretended or deluded worshippers4 
,so they sorely wanted excitement1      
diversion of some sort2 and in their    
idleness1 they capriciously determined  
to amuse themselves1 no longer with     
grown men1 but with children4 ,so1 as a 
toy for the moment1 they singled out    
this particular child we are speaking   
of1 who was wandering wearily through   
the gallery1 overpowered like its       
companions by the sense of negativeness1
 of greyness1 of silence1 of want of    
character and movement and story1 and as
 it passed them1 the statue-demons      
looked at each other with their         
pupilless eyes1 as much as to say3 ,this
 is the one we shall take1 and          

determined to cast a spell upon it which
 would make it theirs4 ,how they did is 
more than any of us can tell3 there was 
a little gurgling fountain in the garden
 outside1 where a broken-snouted dragon 
spirted a trickle of water through the  
maiden-hair choking up the basin1 and of
 this water the child did drink a little
 in the palm of its hand1 the rest      
running up its sleeve2 there was also an
 old noseless ,vertumnus in a corner1 on
 whose pedestal a great tuft of wild    
grass had shot up1 and round whose arms 
and neck an ivy plant had cast its green
 trailing leaves2 and one of these      
bitter glossy leaves that child did     
certainly munch2 but whether the charm  
was in the water or the leaf1 or in     
neither1 and only a mysterious spell1 a 
sort of invisible winged seed of passion
 which they cast direct into that little
 soul1 no one may ever decide4 ,be it as
 it may1 the child remained for a while 
conscious of nothing at all1 never      
dreaming that it had in any way come in 

contact with that demon world imprisoned
 in the stone4 ,it lived its child life 
of romping and day dreams and lessons   
and punishments1 and1 with its          
companions1 fretted to get away from    
this dreary1 horrible ,rome of the      
popes3 this warm1 wet place with its    
sordid houses1 its ruins embedded in    
filth and nettles2 its tawdry1 stuffy   
churches1 filled with snuffling of monks
 and jig-quavering of strange1 cracked1 
sickening-sweet voices2 its whole       
atmosphere of decay and sloth1 as of a  
great marsh-pond1 sprinkled with bright 
green weed and starred with flaunting   
nauseous yellow lilies4 ,the child      
wondered at all these things3 dug bits  
of porphyry and serpentine out of       
gutters1 collected pieces of potshard   
from the ,palatine2 read and re-read the
 stories of shipwrecks and red ,indians 
and volcanoes3 played in dressing-gowns 
and shawls1 at processions of cardinals 
and prelates1 and1 with yelling         
companions in pinafores and napkins1 at 

church music1 with tremendous           
time-beating with rolls of paper2       
laughed and pouted and quarrelled as    
children do2 quite unconscious of being 
the chosen one1 the changeling1 the     
victim of the statues4 ,but little by   
little1 into its everyday life1 stole   
strange symptoms2 sometimes there would 
come like a sudden stop1 as of a boat   
caught in the rushes1 a consciousness of
 immobility in the midst of swirling1   
flowing movement1 a giddy brain-swimming
 feeling2 and then things went on again 
just as before4 ,but the symptoms       
returned1 and others with them4 ,what   
was the matter8 ,a vagueness1 a want2 a 
seeking1 a clinging1 but seeking for1   
clinging to the unknown4 ,in the        
evenings of early spring1 when the      
children had returned from their        
scrambling walks1 and were waiting for  
supper1 chattering1 looking at books1 or
 strumming tunes2 this child would watch
 the bank of melting colours1 crimson1  
and smoke-purple and gold1 left by the  

sun behind the black dome of ,st4       
,peter's2 and as the white vapours rose 
from the town below and gathered on the 
roofs like a veil1 it would feel a      
vague1 acheless pain within it2 and at  
any stray1 trifling word or bar of dance
 music1 its eyes and its whole little   
soul would fill with a mist of tears4   
,the spell cast by the statues was not  
idle1 the mysterious philter which they 
had poured into it was working          
throughout that childish soul3 the child
 was in love2 in love with what it had  
hated2 in love intensely1 passionately1 
with ,rome4 ,and as a part of ,rome it  
loved1 blindly1 for no other reason1    
that desolate ,vatican2 to the statues  
it returned1 and in a way1 grew up in   
their presence4 ,and one day the child  
looked at itself1 and perceived that it 
was a child no longer2 knew all of a    
sudden1 that in those drowsy years of   
childish passion and day dreams1 it had 
been learning something which others did
 not know4 ,for it heard one day a few  

pages of a symphony of ,mozart's2 the   
first it had ever heard save much more  
modern music2 and those bars of symphony
 were intelligible words1 conveyed to   
the child a secret4 ,and the secret was3
 we are the brethren1 the sounding ones 
of the statues3 and all we who are      
brethren1 whether in stone1 or sound1 or
 colour1 or written word1 shall to thee 
speak in such a way that thou recognise 
us1 and distinguish us from others2 and 
thou shalt love and believe only in us  
and those of our kin4 ,then the child   
went forth from the ,vatican1 and went  
in among the pictures1 and among the    
poems and the music1 and did indeed find
 that all those who were of the same kin
 as the statues spoke to it intelligible
 words1 and returned its love by making 
it happy4 ,this came of the statues     
having had the whim of giving to that   
child the love potion which had made it 
love ,rome4  ,all this is a fairy tale1 
a very meagre one indeed1 quite inferior
 to any told us by nurse or peasant     

woman2 but a fairy tale nevertheless2   
for1 of course1 we all know that statues
 cannot give love philters1 nor children
 fall in love with towns1 nor symphonies
 talk about having brothers in marble or
 colour4 ,all this is rubbish of the    
same sort as the dancing water1 the     
singing apple1 the dragon ,fafner's     
blood which made ,sigurd understand the 
language of the birds1 the enchanted    
lake into which ,charlemagne sat gazing 
out his life1 because of the ring cast  
into it2 mere rubbish1 and1             
consequently1 not to be examined into or
 reasoned about4 ,but as the wise men of
 to-day tell us that in all our nursery 
tales 7,heaven forbid that anything so  
appalling be true7 there is a hidden1   
sensible meaning2 perhaps1 also1 there  
may be one in this absurd little story  
of the child in the ,vatican1 and that  
we may see4 ,and so1 now1 we must be    
serious and examine methodically into   
the matter4  ,to grow up in the presence
 of the statues2 to become acquainted   

with antique art long before any other2 
to perceive the beauty and enjoyableness
 of a statue before seeking for the     
beauty and enjoyableness of a picture or
 a piece of music2 this is the reverse  
of the artistic training which every    
individual man or woman obtains         
consciously or unconsciously in our own 
day2 for we begin with the art born     
nearest our time1 then proceed to those 
further2 we go from music to painting1  
and from painting to sculpture4 ,but    
humanity at large received the opposite 
training in the last four-and-twenty    
centuries1 since humanity knew beauty in
 the statue before knowing beauty in the
 picture1 and beauty in the picture     
before beauty in music4 ,the first      
standard of artistic right and wrong    
7since architecture1 being a thing      
partly for use1 and only partly for     
beauty1 has a mixed morality of its own7
 was the standard of sculpture4 ,let us 
see what that was1 and how we must alter
 and enlarge it 7as humankind has done71

 in order to obtain the standard of     
right and wrong in painting and that in 
music4 ,the statues1 in our fairy tale1 
told the child that they had brethren in
 sound1 brethren which1 knowing them1 he
 should also know from the resemblance4 
,but first1 what like are these first   
born of art1 these statues8 ,what is    
this character in them which1 found in  
the younger things1 in painting and     
music1 shall show that even these are of
 the same stock as the statues8 ,what   
like are these statues8 ,what a         
question6 it is perfectly insulting to  
any one of us most sthetic creatures4   
,what like are these statues8 ,does any 
of us require to ask or to be taught    
that8 ,and to begin with1 the very      
question is a gross error1 an           
unendurable blunder3 statues1 antique   
statues4444 ,you think that so simple1  
do you8 ,you think1 perhaps1 like the   
people of the sixteenth century1 that   
there is only one kind of antique       
statue2 know1 most impudent of          

ignoramuses1 that there are innumerable 
sorts of statues and antique statues1   
there are good statues and bad statues1 
and early statues and late statues1     
there are ,dedalian statues and ginete  
statues1 and immediately pre-,phidian   
and ,phidian1 and immediately           
post-,phidian and ,praxitelian statues1 
and statues of the school of ,pergamus1 
and statues of the school of ,rhodes1   
and ,grco-,roman statues1 and statues of
 the ,grco-,egyptian revival under      
,hadrian1 and statues4444 ,enough1      
enough6 ,we have been talking of the    
teachings of the statues themselves1 of 
the lesson which they1 with their       
unchangeable attitude and gesture1 their
 lines and curves and lights and shadows
 of body1 their folds and plaits of     
drapery1 have silently1 slowly taught to
 a child2 and the statues themselves1   
who have never read ,winckelmann1 nor   
,quatremre1 nor ,ottfried ,mller1 do not
 know all these wondrous classifications
 of schools of which 7with their        

infinite advantage of teaching us to    
admire only one or two schools1 and     
abominate all the others as barbarous1  
decaying1 ,grculan1 etc41 without even  
looking at them7 we are so justly proud4
 ,oh1 yes1 the statues which taught the 
child were a very mixed company1 such as
 the carefully-trained of our day1 who  
can endure only ,phidias1 and next to   
,phidias1 only ,clodion or ,carpeaux1   
would scarcely like to know at all4 ,not
 ,phidian1 all of them1 nor even1 alas1 
,praxitelian2 they were not the ,elgin  
marbles nor the ,venus of ,milo1 sole   
objects of the feeble love of us good1  
learned folk2 they were those extremely 
harum-scarum statues of the ,vatican3 a 
few of them copies of lost1             
irreproachable originals1 like the      
,doryphoros1 the ,minerva1 the ,amazon1 
the ,satyr2 a certain number of         
impostors of now exploded reputation1   
the ,apollo1 the ,laocoon1 the          
,antinous1 and a whole host of quite    
despicable others1 of every degree of   

lateness of epoch and baseness of work4 
,and what is still worse1 the child was 
taught1 not merely by this multifarious 
company1 but by heaven knows what       
dreadful statues besides2 things to     
shudder at1 things1 hewn stones 7for the
 right-minded cannot call them statues7 
out in gardens1 noseless1 armless things
 under artificial ruined temples1 in    
niches of clipped box1 or half-swathed  
up with ivy and creeping roses4 ,all    
these said to that child that1 although 
some of them were quite artistic        
patricians and princes1 and others the  
merest ragtag and bobtail1 nay1         
unspeakable ruffians and outcasts1 they 
yet belonged to the same stock1 they all
 being antique2 and that all of them1   
according to their degree and power1    
some in unspoken words perfect as any of
 ,plato's1 and others in horrible1      
jumbled slang1 malaprop gibberish1 would
 teach him the same lesson1 if he would 
listen to them all3 the lesson of their 
own nature and kinship4 ,and from all of

 them1 insensibly1 slowly1 without      
archologic or sthetic formul1 in the    
simple manner in which children learn   
all that is most important to know1 this
 child learned4 ,so that1 without desire
 for archologic and sthetic answers1 we 
now ask1 referring to this lesson learnt
 by the child--,what like are the       
statues8 ,what like8 ,why1 of           
course--well1 they are                  
like--like--like--what in the world     
should statues be like8--things cannot  
be defined in that cut and dry          
fashion--why1 statues are like--4 ,in   
short1 such questions can neither be    
asked nor answered by intelligent folk4 
,they can be put only by people who     
believe in love philters and symphonies 
which talk1 and children who fall in    
love with towns2 idiotic questions like 
,why should there be sin8--and ,why love
 our neighbours when they are           
nasty8--which only children             
ask--questions to answer which as they  
deserve1 you had better get hold of your

 eternal fairy-story child1 and ask him 
what the statues said they were like4   
,nay1 do not lose all patience4 ,and    
see1 since you think that the question1 
,what like are the statues is fit to be 
answered only by the child of the fairy 
tale1 we will pretend1 for a moment1    
that the fairy tale is true1 and play1  
for your benefit1 the part of that      
child4 ,and the things which that child 
would have learned1 scarce consciously1 
in the course of its own growth1 and    
during years of familiarity with all    
this host of statues1 we will try and   
explain in an hour or so1 by examining  
together a single work of ancient       
sculpture4 ,this work is the ,niobe     
group2 and we have chosen it1 after a   
little thought1 for the purpose1        
because1 from the complication of the   
story and of the group itself1 it will  
enable us to illustrate a greater number
 of points than could well be done in   
the examination of isolated antique     
figures1 or groups of merely two or     

three1 such as there are plenty of here 
in ,rome4 ,but the ,niobe is not in     
,rome1 you will say2 why not take some  
statue or group of statues here in the  
,vatican8 ,because the ,niobe can teach 
us most in least time2 and because also1
 you need not think of the group as it  
stands in the gallery in ,florence4     
,indeed1 you must not think of that     
group at all1 spread out as it is1 in   
idiotic confusion1 round the walls of   
,peter ,leopold's oblong hall4 ,what you
 must think of1 look at1 is this--,see3 
here we have all the figures composing  
the group1 very fairly copied in        
terra-cotta1 the largest not much longer
 than your arm2 and these figures we    
have placed1 according to their relative
 size1 in this rough wooden model of the
 triangular gable of a ,greek temple2   
following approximately the design of   
the restored temple front which         
,cockerell made years ago for the       
,florentine gallery4  ,come and stand at
 a little distance from the table on    

which the wooden gable and statues are  
set4 ,so1 now we can get an idea 7which 
in the gallery we cannot7 of the general
 effect of the group4 ,it seems so      
simple1 but it is not3 it is in         
sculpture something like what a fugue is
 in music3 it is a homogeneous form due 
to the extremely skilful co-ordination  
of various forms2 it is a harmonious    
whole1 because the parts are combined   
just at the point where their           
diversities coalesce4 ,for1 as the      
various voices of the fugue1 some subtly
 insinuating themselves half whispered1 
while the others are thundering their   
loudest or already dying away into      
silence1 meet and weave together various
 fragments of the same melody1 so also  
do the figures of the group1 some       
standing1 some reclining1 some kneeling1
 some rising1 some draped1 some nude1   
meet our sight in various ways so as to 
constitute in their variety1 one great  
pattern2 balance each other on opposite 
sides of the gable1 slope and taper down

 towards the extremities1 grow and rise 
higher towards the middle where the     
vertex of the triangular temple front1  
the triumphant centre of the rhythm and 
harmony of lines1 is formed by the      
majestic1 magnificent mother between her
 two eldest1 most beautiful daughters4  
,and now1 think no more of this         
terra-cotta than1 having learned the    
shape of a hymn by ,bach or a psalm by  
,marcello on the piano1 you would think 
of the poor miserable piano-notes which 
you hear with your ears1 instead of the 
mass of voices which you hear with your 
fancy4 ,think of this ,niobe group1     
twice humansized1 standing on the       
weather-mellowed1 delicately painted    
marble temple front2 the amber-tinted   
figures against the dark hollow formed  
by the projecting roof2 the sunshine    
drawing on the black back-ground1 as    
with a luminous pencil1 the great solemn
 masses of light and shadow1 the        
powerfully rhythmed attitudes1 the      
beautiful combinations of lines and     

light and shade produced by the gesture1
 which now raises1 now drops the        
drapery1 opposing to the large folds1   
heavy and severe1 the minute1 most      
supple1 and most subtle plaits2 and to  
the strong broken shadows of the        
drapery1 the shining smoothness of the  
nude4 ,think of that1 and remember then 
the single figures in their best        
examples1 the mother and eldest daughter
 of ,florence1 the headless younger     
daughter of the ,vatican1 the exquisite 
dying boy of ,munich2 and think1 by     
recollecting these dispersed noblest    
copies1 what must the lost original have
 been4 ,and thus1 looking at the little 
rough terra-cotta model1 and magnifying 
it in fancy into the great superb group 
such as it must have stood on the       
temple1 there comes home to us1 filling1
 expanding our mind1 an almost ineffable
 sense of perfection of line and curve1 
and light and shade1 perfection as of   
the sweeping wave of some great         
mountain1 distant and deep blue against 

the pale sky2 perfection as of the      
pearled edge of the tiny pink cyclamen  
petal2 as of the single small voice1    
swelling and diminishing in crisp       
exquisiteness every little turn and     
shake1 and again as of the many chords  
of multitudinous voices rolling out in  
great joyous sound billows2 perfection  
of whole in harmony and graduation of   
perfect parts3 perfection of visible    
form4  ,but by the side of this         
overwhelming positive sense of beauty   
there creeps into our consciousness an  
irritating little sense of negation4    
,for the more intense becomes our       
perception of the form1 the vaguer      
becomes our recollection of the subject2
 the strong imaginative realization of  
the story of ,niobe1 conjured up by the 
mere mention of her name1 dwindles to   
nothing in the presence of the group    
representing the chief incident of      
history2 the skrieks and desperate      
scuffling of feet1 which we had heard in
 our fancy1 gradually die into silence2 

our senses cease to shrink with horror1 
our sympathies cease to vibrate with    
pity1 as we look upon this visible      
embodiment of the terrible tragedy4 ,we 
are no longer feeling emotion2 we are   
merely perceiving beauty4 ,how has this 
come to pass8 ,shall we look into       
ourselves and analyze in the darkness of
 our consciousness8 ,nay1 rather first  
look for an explanation in the          
materially visible1 the clear1 easily   
examined work of art4 ,come and look at 
the group once more3 this time not to   
understand its beauty1 but to understand
 why there is in it nothing beyond this 
beauty4  ,certainly1 the group answers  
very well to the general idea of the    
massacre of the ,niobides3 the figures  
have the attitudes of men and women     
overtaken by a sudden danger against    
which they seek1 but vainly1 to shield  
themselves3 the mother clasps the       
cowering1 clinging1 youngest girl1 and  
tries to cover her with her mantle1 her 
arms1 her whole body1 to let the child  

melt into herself and be lost2 the      
youngest son sinks1 panting and         
helpless1 on to one knee2 the eldest    
daughter bends forward to throw her veil
 over a dead brother2 the younger       
daughter mechanically raises her draped 
arm to ward off the shafts from her     
face2 another son hastens away1 looking 
bewildered around him1 trying to see    
from which side come the arrows1 which  
come from all sides4 ,all this is       
perfectly correct in expression2 we are 
bound to admit that these are the       
probable movements and gestures of      
people situated like ,niobe and her     
children4 ,we cannot find fault with    
anything1 yet we feel a vague sense of  
unreality4 ,unreality to ourselves8     
,nay1 rather1 unreality to the artist3  
we perceive1 little by little1 that     
everyone of these evident indications of
 a catastrophe is connected with a grand
 gesture1 a noble fold1 a harmonious    
combination of masses3 the mother       
raising the arm covered with her cloak  

and clasping the child with the other1  
produces thereby a magnificent contrast 
between the round1 bunched fold of the  
mantle1 and the straight1 narrow folds  
of her skirt1 nay1 between the simple   
and ample drapery covering her own      
bosom1 and the minute clinging crinkles 
on the back of the little one2 the      
wounded youth sinks down in such a way  
as to display the grand muscles of his  
throat and shoulders2 the girl covering 
her naked dead brother1 forms with him1 
a powerfully-balanced mass of           
brightly-lit nude and broken1           
shadow-furrowed drapery2 and all the    
remaining children stoop and cower and  
stretch forth their arms in such a way  
as to produce the inclination of the two
 sides of the triangle crowning the     
temple4 ,moreover1 the pathetic1 upward 
movement of the mother's head1 by       
slightly drawing down the jaw1 and in   
upturning the eyes1 contracting the     
brows into a triangular furrow1         
accentuates the grandeur of the grand   

features1 and prevents the light from   
above falling upon a mere flat expanse  
of cheek and forehead2 the eldest       
daughter stooping tenderly over the dead
 boy produces1 in so doing1 an          
incomparable curve of neck and          
shoulders2 and thus1 with all the other 
figures1 the gesture is invariably      
productive of a definite beauty of form4
 ,and1 on the other hand1 there is not  
present a single one of the gestures or 
attitudes which would certainly produce 
definite ugliness of form1 and would yet
 be as appropriate and inevitable to the
 situation as these4 ,there is not1 in  
this group1 any movement1 any effect1 of
 which we could decidedly say that it   
would not arise in a scene like this2   
but1 in a scene like this1 there would  
certainly be a great many movements and 
effects which cannot be found in the    
group4 ,hence1 the dramatic expression  
of the work is essentially negative3 in 
the mind of the artist the realisation  
of the scene1 the bringing home of the  

story1 has been a purely secondary      
thing1 and therefore the realisation of 
the scene1 the bringing home of the     
story1 is secondary also to us1 the     
spectators4 ,the impression produced in 
us is exactly corresponding to the      
interest dominant in the artist3 he has 
cared for the subject only inasmuch as  
it afforded suggestions for beautiful   
forms2 and we therefore have perceived  
the beautiful forms1 and forgotten the  
subject4 ,the object of the artist has  
been1 whether or not he formulated it   
clearly to himself1 not to bring home   
the situation to the fancy2 not to      
awaken an emotion2 but to present to the
 eye and the mind a mere beautiful form4
 ,and that such has been his object1 is 
the first and main lesson which we have 
learned from the ,niobe group1 as it was
 the first and main lesson learned by   
the child of our fairy tale from the    
innumerable statues which1 during those 
long years in the ,vatican1 were its    
silent teachers4  ,to present to the eye

 and the mind a mere beautiful form1    
this seems a terrible low and limited   
definition of the aim of a great artist1
 of a whole great national art4 ,surely 
not this4 ,the aim of the artist1 of the
 innumerable artists constituting       
antique art1 must have been nobler3 the 
form for them must have been the mere   
physical embodiment of the ideas and the
 presentation of the beautiful idea must
 have been their real object4 ,you think
 so8 well2 the child of our fairy tale  
pretends that the statues told him the  
contrary2 told him that form was the    
real artistic aim1 and that the idea was
 arranged1 clipped1 sometimes even      
mangled1 to make it fit the form4 ,we   
can judge for ourselves4 ,you say idea1 
and oppose it to form2 hence1 the idea  
is1 we must presume1 what the form is   
not1 and since the form is the sensible1
 the visible1 the concrete1 the         
outwardly existing1 the idea must be the
 invisible1 the abstract1 the merely    
intellectually existing4 ,in this sense1

 what is the idea1 the abstract         
intellectual conception of the ,niobe   
group8 ,merely the fact of the          
slaughtering of the ,niobides by ,apollo
 and ,artemis in the presence of their  
mother1 keep this fact 7if you can7 in  
your mind without mentally investing    
with any shape the ,niobides1 the gods1 
or the mother2 conceiving the mere bare 
fact1 without conceiving what it would  
look like2 do this and when you have    
succeeded1 as far as any creature not   
born blind can succeed1 you will have   
the idea of the ,niobe group4 ,such an  
idea does not require for its conception
 that you be a great sculptor2 indeed   
you understand that for the idea to be  
nothing beyond an idea1 it requires a   
man born blind1 that is to say1 totally 
deficient1 that activity of plastic     
conception which is possessed in the    
highest degree by the artist4 ,now what 
is the product of that very plastic     
activity of mind which the artist       
possesses in the highest degree1 and    

which you required to deaden in yourself
 in order to conceive the idea in its   
perfect abstract purity1 what is that   
product of plastic activity8 what is it 
which is for ever hovering before your  
mental vision1 getting between you and  
the mere idea1 interfering with the     
abstract conception1 turning that       
abstract idea into something 7even in   
your mind7 concrete1 perceptible by the 
senses8 ,that something was the form4   
,when you involuntarily said to         
yourself--the mother looked in such a   
way1 the sons in such another1 this that
 you were conceiving was no longer the  
mere idea1 it was the form3 not the     
action1 but the visible appearance      
presented by the action4 ,to conceive   
the mere idea1 all plastic fancy must be
 in abeyance2 to conceive the form1 all 
plastic fancy must be active2 and as the
 artist is the man in whom plastic fancy
 is more than usually active1 that which
 the artist conceives is not the idea1  
but the form3 not the abstract          

intellectual side of the action1 but the
 concrete1 the visible4 ,the idea1 the  
fact of the action1 and all its         
non-visible1 psychological details1 come
 to the artist from without2 the        
knowledge that ,niobe saw her children  
slaughtered by the gods1 and the        
psychological inferences therefrom that 
,niobe1 being a mother1 and mothers     
feeling anguish at the sufferings of    
their children1 must have undergone     
great anguish at thus seeing her        
children slaughtered--this fact by its  
psychologic developments1 comes from    
without to the artist1 it may come from 
the same individual man of whom the     
artist is a portion1 but even in this   
case it comes equally from without the  
artist2 if ,mr4 ,rossetti invent a story
 about a ,blessed ,damozel1 and then    
paint a picture representing her looking
 down from heaven1 the story1 the idea  
of the ,blessed ,damozel is given by    
,mr4 ,rossetti1 the poet1 that is the   
man who conceives facts and their       

psychologic developments1 to ,mr4       
,rossetti1 the painter1 that is the man 
who conceives the visible appearance of 
actions2 the two artists happen to be   
united in one person1 but they are two  
distinct artists nevertheless1 and the  
painter is not the artist who conceives 
the idea of the action1 but the one who 
conceives the form of the action4 ,thus1
 the artist is the man who conceives the
 form4 ,now1 since his activity is      
entirely limited to the form1 since1 as 
an artist1 he can produce only the form1
 how is this artist to do what behoves  
every man and every artist3 his best8   
,how is he to give the world the        
greatest possible benefit of his special
 endowment8 ,evidently1 since his       
endowment is for the creation of form1  
the result of the greatest activity of  
his endowment will be seen in the form2 
if he do his best1 he will do his best  
with the only thing which1 inasmuch as  
he is an artist1 he can control1 namely1
 the form4 ,but how do his best1 with   

the form8 ,clearly1 by making the form  
as good as possible4 ,good in what way8 
,shall we say as expressive as possible8
 ,nay1 but the expressiveness is a mere 
correspondence between the idea and the 
form1 it is not an inherent quality of  
the form itself2 given only the form1   
without the idea1 we cannot judge of its
 expressiveness3 to judge whether or not
 the ,niobe group is expressive1 we must
 first be told that which it might or   
might not express2 the idea1 the fact   
and its psychologic developments1 which 
do not lie within the domain of the man 
of mere form4 ,thus the goodness of the 
form must not be a fittingness to       
something outside and separate from the 
form1 it must be intrinsic in the form  
itself4 ,and what is this excellence    
which can be intrinsic to the form1     
which can be fully appreciated in the   
contemplation of that mere form1 which  
requires no comparison with anything    
outside the form8 ,not expressiveness1  
we have seen2 not likeness1 for that1   

like expressiveness1 is an extrinsic    
quality of which we can judge only by   
bringing into comparison something      
besides this form2 still less           
fittingness to some material or moral   
use4 ,we must look for the intrinsic    
possibilities of form1 that is for the  
effect which the form can1 without      
intermediary or collateral help1 produce
 upon the spectator2 shall we say       
clearness8 ,clearness is an intrinsic   
quality of form1 but it is not an       
ultimate quality4 ,that a form is clear 
means that we can see it well2 but the  
question remains1 why should we care to 
see it well8 what is the intrinsic      
quality of form in obtaining which the  
artist is doing the utmost which1 in his
 capacity of mere artist1 he can do8    
,what is that which can make it         
desirable for us to see clearly a form  
isolated from any extraneous interest of
 expressiveness1 resemblance or utility8
 ,that highest intrinsic quality of form
 is beauty2 and the highest merit of the

 artist1 of the mere form creator1 is to
 make form which is beautiful4  ,can the
 ,niobe teach us more8 ,has your        
,vatican child learned any more from the
 statues8 you ask1 contemptuous at this 
definition1 narrow1 as must be all      
definitions of duty4 ,perhaps the ,niobe
 may teach us next how this highest     
artistic quality of beauty1 this sole   
aim of the artist1 is to be attained8   
,be not so contemptuous4 ,the ,niobe can
 teach us something about the mode of   
attaining to this end2 it cannot1       
indeed1 teach us what to do1 for the    
knowledge of that1 the knowledge of how 
to combine lines and curves and lights  
and shades1 is the secret belonging to  
the artist1 to be taught and learned    
only by himself2 but it can teach us    
what not to do1 teach us the conditions 
without which those combinations of     
lines and curves and lights and shades1 
cannot be created4 ,let us return to the
 ,niobe once more3 let us see the group 
clearly in its general composition1 and 

then1 with the group before us1 let us  
ask ourselves what plastic form is      
conceived in our imagination when there 
comes home to it the mere abstract idea 
of the sudden massacre of the ,niobides1
 by ,apollo and ,artemis4 ,nothing1     
perhaps1 very clear at first1 but       
clearer if we try to draw what we see or
 to describe it in words4 ,in the first 
place1 we see1 more or less vaguely1    
according to our imaginative endowment1 
a scene of very great confusion and     
horror3 figures wildly shuffling to and 
fro1 clutching at each other1 writhing1 
grimacing with convulsed agony1         
shrieking1 yelling1 howling2 we see     
horrible wounds1 rent1 raw flesh1 arrows
 sticking in torn muscles1 dragging     
forth hideous entrails1 spirting and    
gushing and trickling of blood2 we see  
the mother1 agonised into almost        
beast-like rage and terror1 the fourteen
 boys and girls1 the god and the goddess
 adjusting their shafts and drawing     
their bows2 we see all1 murderous       

divinities1 writhing victims1 impotent1 
anguished mother4 ,if we see it1 how    
much more fully and more clearly1 in    
every detail1 is it not seen in the mind
 of the sculptor1 of the man whose      
special gift is the conception of       
visible appearances8 ,oh1 yes1 he sees  
it3 here the mother1 here the elder     
daughters1 there the other children1    
further off1 ,apollo and ,artemis1 sees 
how each stands1 moves1 looks1 sees the 
convulsed features1 the rumpled         
garments1 the fear1 the pain1 the anger1
 the hopelessness1 the pitilessness4 ,he
 takes three planks1 nails together     
their extremities3 this is the gable of 
the temple1 the triangular cavity or box
 into which he must fit his group2 then1
 with thumb and fingers1 roughly moulds 
a certain number of clay puppets1 places
 them in the triangular box1 removes    
them1 alters them1 replaces them1 takes 
them out once more1 throws some away1   
elaborates others2 works for hours1     
days1 weeks1 till we return to his      

workshop1 and find a number of models1  
tiny moulded dolls in the plank         
triangle2 large statuettes1             
half-finished1 roughly-worked           
heads--drawings1 perhaps1 of parts of   
the group4 ,and we examine it all4 ,it  
is the rudiment of the ,niobe group4    
,but see3 of all those things which we  
saw in our fancy1 which the artist1     
being an artist1 must have seen with    
infinitely more completeness and        
clearness1 only a portion has here been 
reproduced4 ,of all the movements and   
gestures there remain but a very few3   
the convulsions1 the writhings1 and     
grimacings are gone2 there is no        
trampling1 no clutching1 no howling1 no 
grimacing1 there are no quivering limbs1
 or disembowelled bodies4 ,why so8 ,ask 
the artist4 ,because1 he will answer1   
all those movements and gestures were   
radically ugly2 because all that howling
 and grimacing in agony entirely ruined 
the beauty of the features2 because the 
situation could not be adequately       

represented1 except to the utter        
detriment of the form4 ,hence1 of all   
the movements and gestures which had    
presented themselves to his inner       
vision1 at the first mention of the     
story of ,niobe1 the artist has rejected
 those which were at all detrimental to 
the beauty of the form1 and accepted    
those others which were conducive       
thereto4 ,he has cast aside a whole     
portion of the real appearance of the   
event1 because it interfered with his1  
perhaps unspoken and unformulated1 but  
instinctively imperious artistic aim3 to
 create beautiful form4  ,but this is   
not all4 ,he has left out something else
 which was a most essential1 nay1 an all
 important part of his first mental     
vision of the scene4 ,he has actually   
left out--guess what--some son or       
daughter of ,niobe8--has run counter to 
the tradition of the seven girls and    
seven boys8--oh1 in comparison1 that    
would be nothing4 ,he has actually and  
absolutely left out the god and         

goddess--left out the murderers from the
 representation of the murder4 ,why in  
the world has he done this8 ,granting   
that he need not transfer to his group  
all the terrible details he has seen in 
his mind1 why should he leave out       
,apollo and ,artemis8 ,they need not be 
convulsed1 or writhing1 or grimacing2 on
 the contrary1 they ought to be quite   
calm and passionless in their cruel     
beauty4 ,there is nothing unbeautiful in
 ,apollo and ,artemis surely4 ,no3 not  
in ,apollo and ,artemis1 taken in       
themselves2 but in ,apollo and ,artemis 
considered as part of this group4       
,listen3 we will explain4 ,since ,apollo
 and ,artemis are1 between them1        
slaughtering all the ,niobides1 closing 
them in with their arrows1 it is obvious
 that ,apollo and ,artemis must be      
placed in such a manner as to command   
the whole family of ,niobides2 there    
must be no ,niobides behind them1 for   
that would mean that there are ,niobides
 who are out of danger and can escape4  

,so the god and goddess must be placed  
in one of three ways3 either back to    
back in the very centre of the group1   
each shooting down one half of the      
family2 or else entirely separated1 each
 at one extremity of the group1 so as to
 face each other and enclose all the    
,niobides between them2 or else above   
the ,niobides1 floating in mid air and  
raining down arrows like hail4 ,now1    
which of these three arrangements shall 
the sculptor select8 ,he rejects at once
 the plan of placing the god and goddess
 back to back in the centre of the      
group1 and we agree with him2 for the   
two figures1 thus applied to each other1
 each more or less in profile1 would    
form the most ludicrous double-headed   
,janus4 ,place1 then1 ,apollo at one end
 and ,artemis at the other4 ,there is   
nothing ugly in that1 is there8 ,there  
would not be were the sculptor modelling
 the oblong bas-relief of a sarcophagus2
 but there would be something very ugly 
now that1 as it happens1 he is modelling

 a group for the triangular gable of a  
temple4 ,for1 as the sides of the       
triangle slope sharply down1 the figures
 beneath them necessarily become smaller
 and less erect in proportion to their  
distance from the vertex2 so the god and
 goddess1 if placed at the extremity of 
the group1 must be flattened down in the
 acute angles of the base1 must crouch  
and squat with their bows barely on a   
level with the knees of their victims4  
,so this arrangement will not do2 there 
remains the third plan of placing       
,apollo and ,artemis above the          
,niobides4 ,this is an admirable idea3  
the vertex of the triangle is filled by 
the floating figures of the gods1 who   
appear calm1 beautiful1 mysterious1     
showering down death from inaccessible  
heaven4 ,will this do8 ,alas1 much less 
than either of the others4 ,the         
arrangement would be beautiful if the   
triangle of the gable1 instead of being 
filled with a group of statues1 were    
walled up1 plastered1 and could be      

painted on in fresco4 ,the colour1 light
 and shade1 and perspective of painting1
 by creating a seeming depth of         
back-ground1 by hiding one figure       
partially behind another1 so as to make 
them appear not in actual contact1 by   
piling up therial clouds or waving light
 draperies1 would permit the artist to  
show the ,niobides on solid ground      
below1 and the gods in the air1 high1   
distant above4 ,but the sculptor1       
without any such means1 could only      
suspend ,apollo and ,artemis 7at        
tremendous expense of iron clamps7 in   
such a way that they should seem to be  
standing on the shoulders of the        
,niobides2 or interpose between them a  
thick bolster of marble clouds1 a       
massive flutter of streaming marble     
draperies4 ,now do you think that the   
marble clouds and the marble fluttering 
drapery would be conducive to the beauty
 of the group1 to the perfection of     
visible forms8 ,certainly not4 ,and1    
therefore1 ,apollo and ,artemis1 gods   

though they are and chief actors in the 
story1 have simply been left out in this
 its artistic representation4  ,for     
beauty of form has a double origin3 it  
is not only an intellectual conception1 
but also a physical embodiment2 and the 
intellectual conception is altered by   
the nature of the material in which it  
is embodied4 ,the abstract form which   
will be infinitely delicate and         
life-like in the brown clay1 which      
receives every minute dimple and crease 
from the finger of the artist1 which    
presents a soft1 uniform tint to the    
spectator2 this same abstract form will 
be coarse and lifeless in the purple    
speckled porphyry1 against whose hard   
grain the chisel is blunted1 and the    
mottled colour and salt-like sparkle of 
which hide from the eye the real        
relations of line and curve1 of concave 
and projection4 ,the ,mercury who1 in   
the green bronze1 floats upwards like a 
bubble1 would jump like a clodhopper in 
the dingy white plaster4 ,and these1    

remark1 are differences only in one     
category of material and handling2      
change the sort of material and manner  
of handling and the differences become  
still greater4 ,statues1 whether in     
clay1 bronze1 porphyry1 or plaster1 are 
always similar in the fact of being     
wholly free--round as ,vasari calls     
them--of being interfered with by no    
complications of shadows like the       
figures of a high1 middle or bas-relief2
 hence1 as soon as the figures cease to 
be round1 as soon as they are attached  
to a back-ground1 the whole composition 
is altered by the consideration how the 
different degrees of projection1 and the
 consequent play of light and shadow1   
will affect the apparent shape of the   
figures4 ,and yet we are still within   
the domain of sculpture4 ,how great a   
difference of form will not result when1
 instead of the tintless1 tangible      
projections of stone1 we get to the mere
 semblance of infinite depth and        
distance cunningly obtained by light and

 shade1 colour and perspective1 on a    
flat surface2 where the light1 instead  
of existing variable and confusing      
outside the work1 is within that very   
work1 inside the picture1 combining1    
graduating every detail1 making form    
melt gently into form1 or stand out in  
triumphant relief8 ,thus the things     
which can be done in bronze must not be 
attempted in porphyry1 the group of     
statues must be conceived differently   
from the bas-relief2 the picture is     
different from the statue2 for the      
beauty of form depends not only on the  
conception but upon the embodiment3 if  
the material is violent1 the conception 
is warped2 and the same beauty can be   
obtained in all the arts only by        
remembering that those arts are         
different that1 with the material and   
modes of handling1 must change the      
conception4  ,thus we have seen that the
 sculptor of the ,niobe deliberately    
refused to embody his complete mental   
vision of the scene of massacre2 that he

 selected among the attitudes and       
gestures and expressions suggested to   
him by this scene1 rejected those which 
were inherently ugly1 and accepted those
 which were intrinsically beautiful2 and
 that he left out of his representation 
of the incidents its principal actors1  
because he could not have introduced    
them without either violating the nature
 of the whole composition to which he   
was bound1 or violating the nature of   
the material in which he was working1   
and by so doing sacrificing the         
perfection of visible form which1 being 
the only intrinsic quality to which his 
art could independently attain1 was the 
one object of his desires and efforts4  
,such is the logical conclusion which we
 have consciously and perhaps           
wearisomely obtained from our analysis  
of the mode of conception and treatment 
of the ,niobe group2 and such the lesson
 which1 unconsciously1 vaguely1 the     
child of our fairy tale must have       
learned from its marble teachers in the 

,vatican3 ,that the only intrinsic      
perfection of art is the perfection of  
form1 and that such perfection is       
obtainable only by boldly altering1 or  
even casting aside1 the subject with    
which this form is only imaginatively1  
most often arbitrarily1 connected2 and  
by humbly considering and obeying the   
inherent necessities of the material in 
which this form is made visible or      
audible4 ,that by such artistic laws    
they themselves had come into existence1
 and that all other things which had    
come into existence by the same laws1   
were their brethren1 was the secret     
which those statue-demons imparted to   
that child2 the secret which enabled it 
to understand those symphony notes of   
,mozart's1 when they said3 we also1 the 
sounding ones1 are the brethren of the  
statues2 and all we who are brethren1   
whether in stone1 or sound or colour1   
shall to thee speak in such a way that  
thou recognize us1 and distinguish us   
from all others2 and thou shalt love and

 believe only in us and those of our    
kin2 in return we will give thee        
happiness4 ,and this1 as we have told   
you1 came to pass solely because the    
statues took the whim of bewitching that
 child into falling in love with ,rome4 
,,orpheus ,,and ,,eurydice4  ,,the      
,,lesson ,,of ,a ,,bas-,,relief4   ,no  
,greek myth has a greater charm for our 
mind than that of ,orpheus and          
,eurydice4 ,in the first place1 we are  
told by mythologists that it is a myth  
of the dawn1 one of those melancholy1   
subdued interpretations of the eternal1 
hopeless separation of the beautiful    
light of dawn and the beautiful light of
 day1 which forms the constantly        
recurring tragedy of nature1 as the     
tremendous struggle between light and   
darkness forms her never-ending epic1   
her ,iliad and ,nibelungenlied4 ,there  
is more of the purely artistic element  
in these myths of the dawn than in the  
sun myths4 ,those earliest poets1       
primitive peoples1 were interested      

spectators of the great battle between  
day and night4 ,the sun-hero was truly  
their ,achilles1 their ,siegfried4 ,in  
fighting1 he fought for them4 ,when he  
chained up the powers of darkness the   
whole earth was hopeful and triumphant2 
when he sank down dead1 a thousand dark1
 vague1 hideous monsters were let loose 
on the world1 filling men's hearts with 
sickening terror2 the solar warfare was 
waged for and against men4 ,the case is 
quite different with respect to the dawn
 tragedy4 ,if men were moved by that1 it
 was from pure1 disinterested sympathy4 
,the dawn and the day were equally good 
and equally beautiful2 the day loved the
 dawn1 since it pursued her so closely1 
and the dawn must have loved the day in 
return1 since she fled so slowly and    
reluctantly4 ,why1 then1 were they      
forbidden ever to meet8 ,what mysterious
 fate condemned the one to die at the   
touch of the other--the beloved to elude
 the lover1 the lover to kill the       
beloved8 ,this sad1 sympathising        

question1 which the primitive peoples   
repeated vaguely and perhaps scarce     
consciously1 day after day1 century     
after century1 at length received an    
answer4 ,one answer1 then another1 then 
yet another1 as fancy took more definite
 shapes4 ,yes1 the dawn and the morning 
are a pair of lovers over whom hangs an 
irresistible1 inscrutable               
fate--,cephalus and ,procris1 ,alcestis 
and ,admetus1 ,orpheus and ,eurydice4   
,and this myth of ,orpheus and ,eurydice
 is1 to our mind1 the most charming of  
the tales born of that beautiful1       
disinterested sympathy for the dawn and 
the morning1 the one in which the       
subdued1 mysterious pathos of its origin
 is most perfectly preserved2 in which  
no fault of infidelity or jealousy1 no  
final remission of doom1 breaks the     
melancholy unity of the story4 ,in it we
 have the real equivalent of that       
gentle1 melancholy fading away of light 
into light1 of tint into tint4 ,orpheus 
loses ,eurydice as the day loses the    

dawn1 because he loves her2 she has     
issued from ,hades as the dawn has      
issued from darkness2 she melts away    
beneath her lover's look even as the    
dawn vanishes beneath the look of the   
day4  ,the origin of the myth of        
,orpheus and ,eurydice is beautiful2 the
 myth itself1 as evolved by spontaneous 
poetry1 is still more so1 and more      
beautiful still are the forms which have
 successively been lent it by the poet1 
the sculptor1 and the musician4 ,its own
 charm adds to that of its embodiments1 
and the charm of its embodiments adds in
 return to its own2 a complete circle of
 beautiful impressions1 whose           
mysterious1 linked power it is          
impossible to withstand4 ,the first link
 in the chain are those lines of        
,virgil's1 for which we would willingly 
give ten neids1 those grandly simple    
lines1 half-hidden in the sweet         
luxuriance of the fourth book of the    
,georgics1 as the exquisitely chiselled 
fragment of some sylvan altar might lie 

half-hidden among the long grasses and  
flowers1 beneath the flowering bays and 
dark ilexes1 broken shadows of boughs   
and yellow gleams of sunlight flickering
 fantastically across the clear and     
supple forms of the sculptured marble   
,and already upwards returning1 he had  
escaped all mishaps1 and the given-back 
,eurydice was coming into the upper air1
 walking behind him1 for ,proserpina had
 made this condition4 ,when1 of a       
sudden1 a madness seized on the unwily  
lover--pardonable1 surely1 if ghosts but
 knew how to pardon4 ,he stood1 and back
 on his ,eurydice1 already in our       
sunlight1 he looked1 forgetful1 alas6   
and broken of will4 ,then was all the   
work undone1 broken was the compact with
 the unkind lord1 and vainly had he     
thrice heard the waters of hell         
sounding4 ,then she--',what madness has 
ruined me1 wretched one1 and thee1 also1
 ,orpheus8 ,for ,i am called by the     
cruel ,fates to return1 and sleep closes
 my swimming eyes4 ,so1 farewell4 ,i am 

borne away muffled in thick night1      
stretching forth to thee 7alas1 thine no
 longer67 my helpless hands4' ,she      
spoke1 and from his sight suddenly1 even
 as thin smoke mingles with air1        
disappeared2 nor him1 vainly clasping   
the shadows1 and many things wishing to 
say1 did she see again4 ,these lines    
suggest a bas-relief to us1 because a   
real bas-relief is really connected with
 them in our mind1 and this connection  
led to a curious little incident in our 
sthetic life1 which is worth narrating4 
,the bas-relief in question is a        
sufficiently obscure piece of ,greek    
workmanship1 one of those mediocre1     
much-degraded works of art with which   
,roman galleries abound1 and among      
which1 though left unnoticed by the     
crowd that gathers round the ,apollo1 or
 the ,augustus1 or the ,discobolus1 we  
may sometimes divine a repetition of    
some great lost work of antiquity1 some 
feeble reflection of lost perfection4   
,it is let into the wall of a hall of   

the ,villa ,albani1 where people throng 
past it in search of the rigid1         
pseudo-,attic ,antinous4 ,and it is as  
simple as the verses of ,virgil3 merely 
three figures slightly raised out of the
 flat1 blank back-ground1 ,eurydice     
between ,orpheus and ,hermes4 ,the three
 figures stand distinctly apart and in a
 row4 ,orpheus touches ,eurydice's veil1
 and her hand rests on his shoulder1    
while the other hand1 drooping supine1  
is grasped by ,hermes4 ,there is no     
grouping1 no embracing1 no violence of  
gesture--nay1 scarcely any gesture at   
all2 yet for us there is in it a whole  
drama1 the whole pathos of ,virgil's    
lines4 ,eurydice has returned1 she is   
standing beneath our sun--jam luce sub  
ipsa--but for the last time4 ,orpheus   
lets his lyre sink1 his head drooping   
towards her--multa volens dicere--and   
holds her veil1 speechless4 ,eurydice1  
her head slightly bent1 raises her eyes 
full upon him4 ,in that look is her last
 long farewell3--    ,jamque vale1 feror

 ingenti circumdata nocte1   ,invalidas 
tibi tendens1 heu6 non tua1 palmas4     
,behind ,eurydice stands ,hermes1 the   
sad1 though youthful messenger of the   
dead4 ,he gently takes her hand2 it is  
time2 he would fain stay and let the    
parting be delayed for ever1 but he     
cannot4 ,come1 we must go4 ,eurydice    
feels it2 she is looking for the last   
time at ,orpheus1 her head and step are 
prepared to turn away--jamque vale4     
,truly this sad1 sympathising messenger 
of ,hades is a beautiful thought1       
softening the horror of the return to   
death4  ,and we look up again at the    
bas-relief1 the whole story of ,orpheus 
laying firmer hold of our imagination2  
but as our eyes wander wistfully over   
the marble1 they fall1 for the first    
time1 upon a scrap of paper pasted at   
the bottom of it1 a wretched1 unsightly1
 scarce legible rag1 such as insult some
 of the antiques in this gallery1 and on
 it is written3--,antiope coi figli     
,anfione e ,zeto4 ,a sudden1 perplexed  

wonder fills our mind--wonder succeeded 
by amusement4 ,the bunglers1 why1 they  
must have glued the wrong label on the  
bas-relief4 ,of course6 and we turn out 
the number of the piece in the          
catalogue1 the solemn1 portly           
catalogue--full of references to ,fea1  
and ,visconti1 and ,winckelmann4        
,number--yes1 here it is1 here it is4   
,what1 again8  ,antiope urging her sons1
 ,amphion and ,zethus1 to avenge her by 
the murder of ,dirce4  ,we put down the 
catalogue in considerable disgust4      
,what1 they don't see that that is      
,orpheus and ,eurydice6 ,they dare1     
those soulless pedants1 to call that    
,antiope with ,amphion and ,zethus6     
,ah6--and with smothered indignation we 
leave the gallery4 ,passing through the 
little ilex copse near the villa1 the   
colossal bust of ,winckelmann meets our 
eyes1 the heavy1 clear-featured1        
strong-browed head of him who first     
revealed the world of ancient art4 ,and 
such profanation goes on1 as it were1   

under his eyes1 in that very ,villa     
,albani which he so loved1 where he     
first grew intimate with the antique6   
,what would he have said to such        
heartless obtuseness8  ,we have his     
great work1 the work which no amount of 
additional learning can ever supersede1 
because no amount of additional learning
 will ever enable us to feel antique    
beauty more keenly and profoundly than  
he made us feel it--we have his great   
work on our shelf1 and as soon as we are
 back at home1 our mind still working on
 ,orpheus and ,eurydice1 we take it down
 and search for a reference to our      
bas-relief4 ,we search all through the  
index in vain2 then turn over the pages 
where it may possibly be mentioned1     
again in vain2 no ,orpheus and          
,eurydice4 ,ah6 ,a bas-relief at the    
,villa ,albani--let us see what that may
 be4 ,a bas-relief1 c41 c4--horror      
beyond words6 ,the bas-relief--our      
bas-relief--deliberately set down as    
,antiope with ,amphion and ,zethus--set 

down as ,antiope with ,amphion and      
,zethus1 by ,winckelmann himself6  ,yes1
 and he gravely states his reasons for  
so doing4 ,the situation is evidently   
one of great hesitation2 there is       
reluctance on the one hand1 persuasion  
on the other4 ,moreover1 the female     
figure is that of a mourner1 of a       
supplicant1 draped and half-veiled as it
 is2 the figure with the lyre1 in the   
,thracian or ,thessalian costume1 must  
necessarily be ,amphion1 while the other
 in the loose tunic of a shepherd1 must 
as evidently be his brother1 ,zethus2   
and if we put together these facts1 we  
cannot but conclude that the subject of 
the bas-relief is1 as previously stated1
 ,antiope persuading ,amphion and       
,zethus to avenge her on ,dirce4  ,the  
argument is a good one1 there can be no 
denying it1 although it is very strange 
that ,winckelmann should not have       
perceived that the bas-relief           
represented ,orpheus and ,eurydice4     
,but1 after all1 we ask ourselves1 as   

the confusion in our minds gradually    
clears up3 how do we know that this is  
,orpheus and ,eurydice1 and not ,antiope
 and her sons8 ,how6 and the answer     
rises up indignantly1 ,because we see to
 the contrary2 because we know that it  
must be ,orpheus and ,eurydice because  
we feel morally persuaded that it is4   
,but a doubt creeps up4 ,we are morally 
convinced1 but whence this conviction8  
,did we come to the bas-relief not      
knowing what it was1 and did we then cry
 out1 overcome by its internal evidence1
 that it must represent ,orpheus and    
,eurydice8 ,did we ourselves examine and
 weigh the evidence as ,winckelmann did8
 ,and we confess to ourselves that we   
did none of these things4 ,but how1     
then1 explain this intense conviction1  
and the emotion awakened in us by the   
bas-relief8 ,yet that emotion was       
genuine2 and now we have1 little by     
little1 to own that we had read in a    
book1 by ,m4 ,charles ,blanc1 that such 
and such a bas-relief at the ,villa     

,albani represented ,orpheus and        
,eurydice1 and that we had accepted the 
assertion blindly1 unscrutinisingly1 and
 coming to the bas-relief with that     
idea1 did not dream of examining into   
its truth4 ,and did we not then let our 
mind wander off from the bas-relief to  
the story of ,orpheus1 and make a sort  
of variation on ,virgil's poem1 and     
mistake all this for the impression     
received from the bas-relief itself8    
,may this not be the explanation of our 
intense conviction8 ,it seems as if it  
were so4 ,we have not only lost our     
sentimental pleasure in the bas-relief1 
but we have been caught by ourselves    
7most humiliating of all such positions7
 weaving fantastic stories out of       
nothing at all1 decrying great critics  
for want of discernment1 when we        
ourselves had shown none whatever4  ,it 
may have been childish1 but it was      
natural to feel considerable bitterness 
at this discovery2 you may smile1 but we
 had lost something precious1 the idea  

that art was beginning to say more to us
 than to others1 the budding            
satisfaction of being no longer a       
stranger to the antique1 and this loss  
was truly bitter2 nay1 in the first     
bitterness of the discovery1 we had     
almost taken an aversion to the         
bas-relief1 as people will take an      
aversion to the things about which they 
know themselves to have been foolish4   
,however1 as this feeling subsided1 we  
began to reflect that the really worthy 
and dignified course would be to attain 
to real certainty on the subject1 and   
finding that our recollection of the    
bas-relief was not so perfectly distinct
 as to authorise a final decision1 we   
determined coolly to examine the work   
once more1 and to draw our conclusions  
on the spot4  ,the following ,tuesday1  
therefore1 we started betimes for the   
,villa ,albani1 intending to have a good
 hour to ourselves before the arrival of
 the usual gaping visitors4 ,the gallery
 was quite empty2 we drew one of the    

heavy chairs robed in printed leather   
before the bas-relief1 and settled      
ourselves deliberately to examine it4   
,we were now strangely unbiassed on the 
subject1 for the reaction against our   
first positive mood1 and the frequent   
turning over one view1 then the other1  
had left in us only a very strong       
critical curiosity1 the desire to       
unravel the tangled reason of our       
previous unexplained conviction4 ,of    
course we found that our memory had     
failed in one or two particulars1 that  
the image preserved in our mind was not 
absolutely faithful1 but we could       
discover nothing capable of materially  
influencing our views4 ,we looked at the
 bas-relief again and again2 strictly   
speaking1 there is in it nothing beyond 
a woman standing between two men1 of    
whom the one touches her veil1 and the  
other1 to whom she turns her back1      
grasps her right hand1 while her left   
hand rests lightly on the shoulder of   
the first male figure2 so far there is  

reason for saying that the bas-relief   
represents either ,orpheus and          
,eurydice1 or ,antiope and her sons2    
indeed1 all that could fairly be said is
 that it represents a woman between two 
men1 with one of whom she appears to be 
in more or less tender converse1 whereas
 she is paying no attention to the      
other1 who is taking her passively      
drooping hand4 ,there is1 however1 the  
additional circumstance that one of the 
men holds a lyre and is dressed in loose
 trousers and mitre-like head-dress1    
while the other man wears only a short  
tunic1 leaving the arms and legs bare1  
and his head is uncovered and shows     
closely-cut curly locks2 the woman being
 entirely draped1 and her head partially
 covered with a veil4 ,now1 we know that
 this costume of trousers and           
mitre-shaped head-gear was that of      
certain semi-barbarous peoples connected
 with the ,greeks1 amongst others the   
,thracians and ,phrygians1 while the    
simple tunic and the close-cut locks    

were distinctive of ,hellenic youths1   
especially those admitted to gymnastic  
training4 ,moreover1 we happen to know  
that ,orpheus was a ,thracian1 and that 
,hermes on the other hand1 although in  
one capacity conductor of the souls to  
,hades1 was also the patron divinity of 
the ,greek ephebi1 of the youths engaged
 in gymnastic exercises4 ,now1 if we put
 together these several facts1 we       
perceive great likelihood of these two  
figures--the one in the dress of a      
barbarian1 which ,orpheus is known to   
have been1 and holding a lyre1 which    
,orpheus is known to have played1 and   
the other in the dress of a ,greek      
ephebus1 which ,hermes is known to have 
worn--of these two figures really being 
intended for ,orpheus and ,hermes4 ,at  
the same time1 we must recollect that   
,amphion also is known to have worn this
 barbaric costume and to have played the
 lyre1 while his brother1 ,zethus1 is   
equally known to have worn the habit of 
the ephebus2 so that ,winckelmann has   

quite as good grounds for his assertion 
as we have for ours4 ,if only the       
sculptor had taken the trouble to give  
the figure in the tunic a pair of winged
 sandals or a caduceus1 or a winged cap2
 then there could remain no doubt of his
 being ,hermes1 for it is a positive    
fact that no one except ,hermes ever had
 these attributes2 the doubt is owing to
 the choice of insufficiently definite  
and distinctive peculiarities4 ,but it  
now strikes us3 all this is founded upon
 the supposition that we know that the  
barbarians wore trousers and mitres1    
that ,orpheus was a sort of barbarian1  
that ,greek ephebi wore tunics and      
short-cut hair1 that ,hermes was a sort 
of ephebus1 that1 moreover1 he was a    
conductor of souls2 now1 supposing we   
knew none or only some of these facts1  
which we certainly should not1 if       
classical dictionaries had not taught   
them us1 how could we argue that this is
 ,orpheus and that ,hermes8 ,is the     
meaning of a work of ,art to depend on  

,lempriere and ,dr4 ,william ,smith8 ,at
 that rate the sculptor might as well   
have let alone all such distinctions1   
and merely written under one figure     
,orpheus or ,amphion1 whichever it might
 be1 under the other ,hermes or ,zethus2
 this would not have presupposed more   
knowledge on our part1 since it seems   
even easier to learn the ,greek alphabet
 than the precise attributes of various 
antique gods and demi-gods1 and then1   
too1 no mistake would have been         
possible1 we should have had no choice1 
the figure must be either ,orpheus or   
,amphion1 ,hermes or ,zethus1 since the 
artist himself said so4 ,but this would 
be an admission of the incapacity of the
 art or the artist1 like the old device 
of writing--,this is a lion1 ,this is a 
horse2 well1 but1 after all1 how are we 
able to recognise a painted lion or a   
horse8 ,is it not1 thanks to previous   
knowledge1 to our acquaintance with a   
live horse or live lion8 if we had never
 seen either1 could we say1 ,this is a  

lion1 ,that is a horse8 evidently not4  
,but then1 most people can recognise a  
horse or a lion1 while they cannot be   
expected to recognise a person they have
 never seen1 especially a purely        
imaginary one2 the case is evidently one
 of degree2 if we had never seen a cow1 
and did not know that cows are milked1  
we should no more understand the meaning
 of a representation of cow-milking than
 we should understand the meaning of a  
picture of ,achilles in ,scyros if we   
knew nothing about ,achilles4 ,the      
comprehension of the subject of a work  
of art would therefore seem to require  
certain previous information2 the work  
of art would seem to be unable to tell  
its story itself1 unless we have the key
 to that story4 ,now1 this is not the   
case with literature2 given the         
comprehension of the separate words1 no 
further information is required to      
understand the meaning1 the subject of  
prose or verse2 ,virgil's lines         
pre-suppose no knowledge of the story of

 ,orpheus1 they themselves give the     
knowledge of it4 ,the difference1 then1 
between the poem and the bas-relief is  
that the story is absolutely contained  
in the former1 and not absolutely       
contained in the latter2 the story of   
,orpheus is part of the organic whole1  
of the existence of the poem2 the two   
are inseparable1 since the one is formed
 out of the other2 whereas1 the story of
 ,orpheus is separate from the organic  
existence of the bas-relief1 it is      
arbitrarily connected with it1 and they 
need not co-exist4 ,what then is the    
bas-relief8 ,a meaningless thing1 to    
which we have wilfully attached a       
meaning which is not part or parcel of  
it--a blank sheet of paper on which we  
write what comes into our head1 and     
which itself can tell us nothing4  ,as  
we look up perplexedly at the           
bas-relief1 which1 after having been as 
confused1 has now become well nigh as   
blank as our mind1 we are startled by   
hearing our name from a well-known voice

 behind us4 ,a young painter stands by  
our side1 a creature knowing or thinking
 very little beyond his pencils and     
brushes1 serenely unconscious of        
literature and science in his complete  
devotion to art4 ,a few trivial         
sentences are exchanged1 during which we
 catch our friend's eye glancing at the 
bas-relief4 ,i never noticed that       
before1 he remarks1 ,do you know1 ,i    
like it better than anything else in    
this room4 ,strange that ,i should not  
have noticed it before4  ,it is a very  
interesting work1 we answer2 adding1    
with purposely feigned decision1 ,of    
course you see that it represents       
,orpheus and ,eurydice1 not ,antiope and
 her sons4  ,the painter1 whose         
instinctive impression on the point we  
have thus tried to elicit1 seems wholly 
unmoved by this remark2 the fact        
literally passes across his mind without
 in the least touching it4  ,does it8   
,ah1 what a splendid mass of drapery6   
,that grand1 round fold and those small1

 fine vertical ones4 ,i should like to  
make a sketch of that4  ,a sort of veil 
seems suddenly to fall off our mental   
eyes2 these simple1 earnest words1 this 
intense admiration seem to have shed new
 light into our mind4  ,this fellow1 who
 knows or cares apparently nothing      
whatever about either ,orpheus or       
,antiope1 has not found the bas-relief a
 blank2 it has spoken for him1 the      
clear1 unmistakeable language of lines  
and curves1 of light and shade1 a       
language needing no interpreters1 no    
dictionaries2 and it has told him the   
fact1 the fact depending on no previous 
knowledge1 irrefutable and eternal1 that
 it is beautiful4 ,and as our eyes      
follow his1 and we listen to his simple1
 unaffected1 unpoetical exclamations of 
admiration at this combination of lines1
 or that bend of a limb1 we recognise   
that if poetry has its unchangeable     
effects1 its power which1 in order to be
 felt1 requires only the comprehension  
of words2 art also has its unchangeable 

effects1 its power1 its supreme virtue1 
which all can feel who have eyes and    
minds that can see4 ,the bas-relief does
 not necessarily tell us the story of   
,orpheus and ,eurydice1 as ,virgil's    
lines do1 that is not inherent in its   
nature as in theirs2 but it tells us the
 fact of its beauty1 and that fact is   
vital1 eternal1 and indissolubly        
connected with it4  ,to appreciate a    
work of art means1 therefore1 to        
appreciate that work of art itself1 as  
distinguished from appreciating         
something outside it1 something         
accidentally or arbitrarily connected   
with it2 to appreciate ,virgil's lines  
means to appreciate his telling of the  
story of ,orpheus1 his choice of words  
and his metre2 to appreciate the        
bas-relief means to appreciate the      
combination of forms and lights and     
shades2 and a person who cared for      
,virgil's lines because they suggested  
the bas-relief or for the bas-relief    
because it suggested ,virgil's lines1   

would equally be appreciating neither1  
since his pleasure depended on something
 separate from the work of art itself4  
,yet this is what constantly happens1   
and happens on account of two very      
simple and legitimate movements of the  
mind3 that of comparison and that of    
association4 ,let us examine what we    
have called1 for want of a more definite
 word1 the movement of comparison4 ,you 
are enjoying a work of art1 plastic and 
musical2 what you enjoy is the work of  
art itself1 the combination of lines1   
lights and shades and colours in the one
 case1 the combination of modulations   
and harmonies in the other2 now1 as this
 enjoyment means merely the pleasing    
activity of your visual and sthetic1 or 
acoustic and sthetic organism1 you      
instinctively wish to increase the      
activity in order to increase the       
pleasure2 the increase of activity is   
obtained by approximating as much as    
possible to the creative activity of the
 original artist1 by going over every   

step that he has gone over1 by creating 
the work of art over again in the       
intensity of appreciation4 ,if it be a  
plastic work1 you produce your pencil   
and brushes and copy it2 if it be a     
musical composition1 you try and        
reproduce it by means of your voice or  
your instrument2 and you thus obtain the
 highest degree of sthetical activity   
and pleasure compatible with mere       
appreciation4 ,but supposing you can    
neither draw1 nor sing1 nor play2       
supposing you have only another set of  
faculties1 those dealing with thoughts  
and images1 those of the artist in      
words1 of the writer4 ,how will you     
obtain that high degree of sthetical    
activity1 how will you go over the steps
 of the original creator8 ,you will find
 that words cannot copy the work of art1
 plastic or musical2 that lines and     
lights and shades1 or modulations and   
harmonies1 must be seen or heard to be  
appreciated2 that1 in short1 you have no
 means of absolutely reproducing what   

you have seen or heard2--instinctively1 
unintentionally1 unconsciously1 you will
 seek for an equivalent for it2 you will
 try and produce with the means at your 
disposal something analogous to the work
 of art1 you will obtain your sthetic   
activity from another set of faculties2 
not being able to draw or to sing1 you  
will think and feel1 and1 in default of 
producing a copy1 you will produce an   
equivalent4 ,but the same result is not 
obtainable by different means2 a        
painter1 copying a statue1 will produce 
not a statue but a picture2 a sculptor  
copying a picture will produce a model1 
not a sketch2 yet the difference between
 the modus operandi of painting and     
sculpture is as nothing compared with   
that between the modus operandi of art  
which appeals to the eye or the ear1 and
 art which appeals direct to the mind2  
of art which deals with visible or      
audible shapes1 and of art which deals  
with purely abstract thoughts and       
images4 ,how much greater1 then1 must   

not also be the difference in the       
result6 ,instead of a statue you have1  
not a picture1 but a poem1 a work of art
 of totally different nature from the   
one which you originally tried to       
reproduce4 ,instead of visual or audible
 forms1 you have feelings and fancies2  
and if you compare your equivalent with 
the original work of art you will       
probably find that it has little in     
common with it3 you had seen a          
beautifully chiselled head1 and you say 
that you had perceived a beautiful      
emotion2 you had heard a lovely         
modulation1 and you have written that   
you witnessed a pathetic parting2       
instead of your eye and your ear1 your  
imagination and feeling have been       
active1 and the product of their        
activity is a special1 separate one4    
,so1 in your desire to appreciate a work
 of art1 you have1 after a fashion1     
created a new one1 good or bad1 and     
having created it1 there are a hundred  
chances against one that you will       

henceforward perceive your creation and 
not the original work2 that you will no 
longer perceive lines or sounds1 but    
fancies and feelings1 in short1 that    
instead of appreciating the work of art 
itself1 you will appreciate merely your 
intellectual equivalent of it1 that is  
to say1 something which most distinctly 
and emphatically is not the work of art4
  ,the process of association is even   
commoner3 you have taken interest in    
some story1 or some form1 your mind has 
worked upon it2 you are shown a work of 
art whose name1 often nothing more1     
connects it with this story or poem1 and
 your thoughts being full of the latter1
 you apply to the work of art the       
remarks you had made about the story or 
poem2 you see in the work of art the    
details of that story or poem2 you look 
at it as a mere illustration2 very often
 you do not look at it at all2 for      
although your bodily eyes may be fixed  
on the picture or statue1 your          
intellectual eyes are busy with some    

recollection or impression in your mind2
 it is the case of the bas-relief of the
 ,villa ,albani1 the pleasure received  
from ,virgil's lines being re-awakened  
by the mere circumstance of the         
bas-relief being called1 rightly or     
wrongly1 ,orpheus and ,eurydice2 it is  
the story of a hundred interpretations  
of works of art1 of people seeing a     
comic expression in a certain group at  
the ,villa ,ludovisi because they       
imagined it to represent ,papirius and  
his mother1 while other people found the
 same group highly tragic1 because they 
fancied it represented ,electra and     
,orestes2 it is the old story of violent
 emotion1 attributed to wholly          
unemotional music1 because the words to 
which it is arbitrarily connected happen
 to be pathetic2 the endless story of   
delusions of all sorts1 of associations 
of feelings and ideas as accidental as  
those which make certain tunes or sights
 depress us because we happened to be in
 a melancholy mood when we first saw or 

heard them4  ,what becomes of the real1 
inherent effect of the work of art      
itself in the midst of such             
concatenations of fancies and           
associations8 ,how can we listen to its 
own magic speech1 its language of lines 
and colours and sounds1 when our mind is
 full of confused voices telling us of  
different and irrelevant things8 ,where1
 at such times1 is our artistic         
appreciation1 and what is it worth8     
,should we then1 if such a thing were   
possible1 forbid such comparisons1 such 
associations8 ,should we voluntarily    
deprive ourselves of all such pleasure  
as is not given by the work of art      
itself8  ,no1 but we should restrain    
such impressions2 we should1 as far as  
we can1 remain conscious of the fact    
that they are mere effects of comparison
 and association1 that they are not the 
work of art1 but something distinct from
 it1 and that the work of art itself    
exists in the lines1 tints1 lights and  
shades of the picture or statue1 in the 

modulations and harmonies of a          
composition1 and that all the rest is   
gratuitously added by ourselves4 ,nay1  
we should remember that there could not 
even have been that very comparison1    
that very association if there had been 
no previous real artistic perception2   
that unless we had first cared for      
,virgil's ,orpheus for its own sake1 we 
could not afterwards have cared for the 
bas-relief on its account4  ,we confess 
that we have ourselves become           
instinctively jealous of such foreign   
causes of pleasure in art1 jealous      
because we have been pained by their    
constant encroachment2 the feeling may  
be an exaggerated one1 but it is a      
natural reaction4 ,we have thus caught  
ourselves almost regretting that        
pictures should have any subjects2 we   
have sometimes felt that the adaptation 
of music to the drama is a sort of      
profanation2 and all this because we    
have too often observed that the subject
 seemed to engross so much attention as 

to make people forget the picture1 and  
that the drama made people misinterpret 
the music2 and that criticism itself1   
instead of checking this tendency1 has  
done much to further it4 ,yes1 critics1 
grave and emphatic thinkers1 have spoken
 as if the chief merit of the painter   
had consisted in clearly expressing some
 story1 which in all probability was not
 worth expressing1 some dull monkish    
legend which his genius alone could     
render tolerable2 as if the chief aim of
 the composer were to follow the mazes  
of some wretched imbecile libretto1     
which has become endurable thanks only  
to his notes2 as if the immortal were to
 be chained to the mortal1 and          
mediocrity1 inferiority1 mere trumpery  
fact or trumpery utility were to bridle 
and bestride the divine hippogriff of   
art1 and1 like another ,astolfo1 fly up 
on its back into the regions of         
immortality4 ,artists themselves have   
been of this way of thinking1 we cannot 
say of feeling1 for1 as long as they    

were true artists1 their instinctive    
feelings must have propelled them in a  
very different direction4 ,gluck1 that  
great dramatist1 who was greatest when  
least dramatic1 thought that music was  
made for the sake of the drama1 that its
 greatest glory was to express the      
difference1 as he himself wrote1 between
 a princess and a waiting-maid between a
 ,spartan and a ,phrygian1 to follow the
 steps of a play as its humble retainer 
and commentator4 ,gluck composed his    
music for the sake of the dramas2 but1  
,o irony of art6 the dramas are         
recollected only for the sake of his    
music4 ,let the artist be humble1       
mistrustful of his own art1 let him     
believe it to be subservient to         
something outside it1 devote it         
magnanimously to some purpose of        
utility1 or some expression of fact1    
sacrifice it throughout2 it will be all 
in vain2 if his work be excellent1 it   
will subordinate all to itself1 it will 
swallow up every other interest1 throw  

into the shade every other utility4     
,one day the ,pope's banker1 ,agostino  
,chigi1 came to ,master ,rafael of      
,urbino1 and said to him--,i am building
 a little pleasure villa in which to    
entertain my friends4 ,baldassare       
,peruzzi has made the plans1 ,sebastiano
 del ,piombo has designed the           
arabesques1 ,nanni da ,udine will paint 
me the garlands of fruit and flowers2 it
 must be perfection4 ,you shall paint me
 the walls of the open hall looking out 
on the ,tiber1 that it may be a fit     
place wherein to sup and make merry with
 popes and cardinals and princes4 ,very 
good1 answered ,rafael4  ,the object was
 to obtain a dining-hall1 and the fresco
 was to be there merely as an ornament2 
but ,rafael painted his ,galatea1 and   
behold1 the hall could no longer be used
 as a dining-room2 every one crowded    
into it to see the fresco2 the hall has 
now become a gallery1 and the real      
property1 less of its owners1 who cannot
 make use of it1 than of the whole      

world1 who insist on entering it2 the   
room now exists only for the sake of the
 fresco1 yet the fresco was originally  
intended to exist only for it4 ,this is 
the inevitable course of art2 we call in
 beauty as a servant1 and see1 like some
 strange dmon1 it becomes the master2 it
 may answer our call1 but we have to do 
its bidding4  ,we have strayed far away 
from ,orpheus and ,eurydice1 while thus 
following the train of ideas suggested  
by the story of the bas-relief4 ,yet we 
may return to the subject1 and use it as
 an illustration of our last remark4 ,we
 have said much against the common      
tendency towards transporting on to a   
work of art an interest not originally  
due to it1 because1 by this means1 we   
are apt to lose the interest which does 
belong to the work of art4 ,but1 if only
 each could get its due1 each exert its 
power unimpaired1 there could be nothing
 more delightful than thus to enjoy the 
joint effect of several works of art2   
not1 according to the notion of certain 

sthetic visionaries--who do not see that
 singers cannot be living ,greek statues
 nor librettists poets1 nor             
scene-painters ,poussins--in one clumsy 
ambiguous monster spectacle1 but in our 
minds1 in our fancy2 if1 conscious of   
the difference between them1 we could   
unite in one collection the works of    
various arts3 people the glades and     
dingles of ,keats with the divinities we
 have seen in marble1 play upon the reed
 of the ,praxitelian ,faun the woodland 
melodies of ,mozart's ,tamino4 ,it would
 thus be the highest reward for         
self-scrutinising sthetic humility1 for 
honest appreciation of each art for     
itself1 for brave sacrifice of our own  
artistic whimsies and vanities1 to      
enable us to bring up simultaneously the
 recollection of ,virgil's nobly        
pathetic lines1 of the exquisitely      
simple and supple forms of the          
bas-relief1 of the grand and tender     
music of ,gluck1 and to unite them in   
one noble pageant of the imagination1   

evoked by the spell of those two names3 
,orpheus and ,eurydice4     ,,faustus   
,,and ,,helena4  ,,notes ,,on ,,the     
,,supernatural ,,in ,,art4   ,there is a
 story1 well-known throughout the       
sixteenth century1 which tells how      
,doctor ,faustus of ,wittemberg1 having 
made over his soul to the fiend1        
employed him to raise the ghost of      
,helen of ,sparta1 in order that she    
might become his paramour4 ,the story   
has no historic value1 no scientific    
meaning2 it lacks the hoary dignity of  
the tales of heroes and demi-gods1      
wrought1 vague1 and colossal forms1 out 
of cloud and sunbeam1 of those tales    
narrated and heard by generations of men
 deep hidden in the stratified ruins of 
lost civilisation1 carried in the races 
from ,india to ,hellas1 and to          
,scandinavia4 ,compared with them1 this 
tale of ,faustus and ,helena is paltry  
and brand-new2 it is not a myth1 nay1   
scarcely a legend2 it is a mere trifling
 incident added by humanistic pedantry  

to the ever-changing medival story of   
the man who barters his soul for        
knowledge1 the wizard1 alchemist1       
philosopher1 printer1 ,albertus1 ,bacon1
 or ,faustus4 ,it is a part1 an         
unessential1 subordinate fragment1      
valued in its day neither more nor less 
than any other part of the history of   
,doctor ,faustus1 narrated cursorily by 
the biographer of the wizard1 overlooked
 by some of the ballad rhymers1         
alternately used and rejected by the    
playwrights of puppet-shows2 given by   
,marlowe himself no greater importance  
than the other marvellous deeds1 the    
juggling tricks and magic journeys of   
his hero4  ,but for us1 the incident of 
,faustus and ,helena has a meaning1 a   
fascination wholly different from any   
other portion of the story2 the other   
incidents owe everything to artistic    
treatment3 this one owes nothing4 ,the  
wizard ,faustus1 awaiting the hour which
 will give him over to ,hell1 is the    
creation of ,marlowe2 ,gretchen is even 

more completely the creation of ,goethe2
 the fiend of the ,englishman is        
occasionally grand1 the fiend of the    
,german is throughout masterly2 in all  
these cases we are in the presence of   
true artistic work1 of stuff rendered   
valuable solely by the hand of the      
artist1 of figures well defined and     
finite1 and limited also in their power 
over the imagination4 ,but the group of 
,faustus and ,helena is different2 it   
belongs neither to ,marlowe nor to      
,goethe1 it belongs to the legend4 ,it  
does not give the complete and limited  
satisfaction of a work of art2 it has   
the charm of the fantastic and fitful   
shapes formed by the flickering         
firelight or the wreathing mists2 it    
haunts like some vague strain of music1 
drowsily heard in half-sleep4 ,it fills 
the fancy1 it oscillates and transforms 
itself2 the artist may see it1 attempt  
to seize and embody it for evermore in a
 definite and enduring shape1 but it    
vanishes out of his grasp1 and the forms

 which should have inclosed it are mere 
empty sepulchres1 haunted and charmed   
merely by the evoking power of our own  
imagination4 ,if we are fascinated by   
the ,lady ,helen of ,marlowe1 walking1  
like some ,florentine goddess1 with     
embroidered kirtle and madonna face1    
across the study of the old wizard of   
,wittemberg2 if we are pleased by the   
stately pseudo-antique ,helena of       
,goethe1 draped in the drapery of       
,thorwaldsen's statues1 and speaking the
 language of ,goethe's own ,iphigenia1  
as she meets the very modern ,faust1    
gracefully masqued in medival costume2  
if we find in these attempts1 the one   
unthinking and imperfect1 the other     
laboured and abortive1 something which  
delights our fancy1 it is because our   
thoughts wander off from them and evoke 
a ,faustus and ,helena of our own1      
different from the creations of ,marlowe
 and of ,goethe2 it is because in these 
definite and imperfect artistic forms1  
there yet remains the suggestion of the 

subject with all its power over the     
imagination4 ,we forget ,marlowe1 and we
 forget ,goethe1 to follow up the       
infinite suggestion of the legend4 ,we  
cease to see the ,elizabethan and the   
pseudo-antique ,helen2 we lift our      
imagination from the book and see the   
medival street at ,wittemberg1 the      
gabled house of ,faustus1 all sculptured
 with quaint devices and grotesque forms
 of apes and cherubs and flowers2 we    
penetrate through the low brown rooms1  
filled with musty books and mysterious  
ovens and retorts1 redolent with strange
 scents of alchemy1 to that innermost   
secret chamber1 where the old wizard    
hides1 in the depths of his medival     
house1 the immortal woman1 the god-born1
 the fatal1 the beloved of ,theseus and 
,paris and ,achilles2 we are blinded by 
this sunshine of ,antiquity pent up in  
the oaken-panelled chamber1 such as     
,drer might have etched2 and all around 
we hear circulating the mysterious      
rumours of the neighbours1 of the       

burghers and students1 whispering shyly 
of ,dr4 ,faustus and his strange guest1 
in the beer-cellars and in the cloisters
 of the old university town4 ,and gazing
 thus into the fantastic intellectual   
mist which has risen up between us and  
the book we were reading1 be it ,marlowe
 or ,goethe1 we cease1 after a while1 to
 see ,faustus or ,helena1 we perceive   
only a chaotic fluctuation of           
incongruous shapes2 scholars in furred  
robes and caps pulled over their ears1  
burghers wives with high sugar-loaf coif
 and slashed boddices1 with hands       
demurely folded over their prayer-books1
 and knights in armour and immense      
plumes1 and haggling ,jews1 and tonsured
 monks1 descended out of panels of      
,wohlgemuth and the engravings of ,drer1
 mingling with1 changing into           
processions of naked athletes on foaming
 short-maned horses1 of draped ,athenian
 maidens carrying baskets and sickles1  
and priests bearing oil-jars and        
torches1 all melting into each other1   

indistinct1 confused1 like the images in
 a dream2 vague crowds1 phantoms        
following in the wake of the spectre    
woman of ,antiquity1 beautiful1         
unimpassioned1 ever young1 luring to    
,hell the wizard of the ,middle ,ages4  
,why does all this vanish as soon as we 
once more fix our eyes upon the book8   
,why can our fancy show us more than can
 the artistic genius of ,marlowe and of 
,goethe8 ,why does ,marlowe1 believing  
in ,helen as a satanic reality1 and     
,goethe1 striving after her as an       
artistic vision1 equally fail to satisfy
 us8 ,the question is intricate3 it     
requires a threefold answer1 dependent  
on the fact that this tale of ,faustus  
and ,helena is in fact a tale of the    
supernatural--a weird and colossal      
ghost-story1 in which the actors are the
 spectre of ,antiquity1 ever young1     
beautiful1 radiant1 though risen from   
the putrescence of two thousand years2  
and the ,middle ,ages1 alive1 but       
toothless1 palsied1 and tottering4 ,why 

neither ,marlowe nor ,goethe have       
succeeded in giving a satisfactory      
artistic shape to this tale is explained
 by the necessary relations between art 
and the supernatural1 between our       
creative power and our imaginative      
faculty2 why ,marlowe has failed in one 
manner and ,goethe in another is        
explained by the fact that1 as we said1 
for the first the tale was a            
supernatural reality1 for the second a  
supernatural fiction4  ,what are the    
relations between art and the           
supernatural8 ,at first sight the two   
appear closely allied3 like the         
supernatural1 art is born of            
imagination2 the supernatural1 like art1
 conjures up unreal visions4 ,the two   
have been intimately connected during   
the great ages of the supernatural1 when
 instead of existing merely in a few    
disputed traditional dogmas1 and in a   
little discredited traditional folklore1
 it constituted the whole of religion   
and a great part of philosophy4 ,gods   

and demons1 saints and spectres1 have   
afforded at least one-half of the       
subjects for art4 ,the supernatural1 in 
the shape of religious mythology1 had   
art bound in its service in ,antiquity  
and the ,middle ,ages2 the supernatural1
 in the shape of spectral fancies1      
regained its dominion over art with the 
advent of romanticism4 ,from the gods of
 the ,iliad down to the ,commander in   
,don ,giovanni1 from the sylvan         
divinities of ,praxiteles to the fairies
 of ,shakespeare1 from the ,furies of   
schylus to the ,archangels of ,perugino1
 the supernatural and the artistic have 
constantly appeared linked together4    
,yet1 in reality1 the hostility between 
the supernatural and the artistic is    
well-nigh as great as the hostility     
between the supernatural and the        
logical4 ,critical reason is a solvent1 
it reduces the phantoms of the          
imagination to their most prosaic       
elements2 artistic power1 on the other  
hand1 moulds and solidifies them into   

distinct and palpable forms3 the        
synthetical definiteness of art is as   
sceptical as the analytical definiteness
 of logic4 ,for the supernatural is     
necessarily essentially vague1 and art  
is necessarily essentially distinct3    
give shape to the vague and it ceases to
 exist4 ,the task set to the artist by  
the dreamer1 the prophet1 the priest1   
the ghost-seer of all times1 is as      
difficult1 though in the opposite sense1
 as that by which the little girl in the
 ,venetian fairy tale sought to test the
 omnipotence of the emperor4 ,she asked 
him for a very humble dish1 quite simple
 and not costly1 a pat of butter broiled
 on a gridiron4 ,the emperor desired his
 cook to place the butter on the        
gridiron and light the fire2 all was    
going well1 when1 behold6 the butter    
began to melt1 trickled off1 and        
vanished4 ,the artists were asked to    
paint1 or model1 or narrate the         
supernatural2 they set about the work in
 good conscience1 but see1 the          

supernatural became the natural1 the    
gods turned into men1 the madonnas into 
mere mothers1 the angels into armed     
striplings1 the phantoms into mere      
creatures of flesh and blood4  ,there   
are in reality two sorts of             
supernatural1 although only one really  
deserves the name4 ,a great number of   
beliefs in all mythologies are in       
reality mere scientific errors--abortive
 attempts to explain phenomena by causes
 with which they have no connection--the
 imagination plays not more part in them
 than in any other sort of theorising1  
and the notions that unlucky accidents  
are due to a certain man's glance1 that 
certain formul will bring rain or       
sunshine1 that miraculous images will   
dispel pestilence1 and kings of ,england
 cure epilepsy1 must be classed under   
the head of mistaken generalizations1   
not very different in point of fact from
 exploded scientific theories1 such as  
,descartes' vortices1 or the innate     
ideas of scholasticism4 ,that there was 

a time when animals spoke with human    
voice may seem to us a piece of         
fairy-lore1 but it was in its day a     
scientific hypothesis as brilliant and  
satisfying as ,darwin's theory of       
evolution4 ,we must1 therefore1 in      
examining the relations between art and 
the supernatural1 eliminate as far as   
possible this species of scientific     
speculation1 and consider only that     
supernatural which really deserves the  
name1 which is beyond and outside the   
limits of the possible1 the rational1   
the explicable--that supernatural which 
is due not to the logical faculties1    
arguing from wrong premises1 but to the 
imagination wrought upon by certain     
kinds of physical surroundings4 ,the    
divinity of the earlier races is in some
 measure a mistaken scientific          
hypothesis of the sort we have          
described1 an attempt to explain        
phenomena otherwise inexplicable4 ,but  
it is much more3 it is the effect on the
 imagination of certain external        

impressions1 it is those impressions    
brought to a focus1 personified1 but    
personified vaguely1 in a fluctuating   
ever-changing manner2 the               
personification being continually       
altered1 reinforced1 blurred out1       
enlarged1 restricted by new series of   
impressions from without1 even as the   
shape which we puzzle out of congregated
 cloud-masses fluctuates with their     
every movement--a shifting vapour now   
obliterates the form1 now compresses it 
into greater distinctness3 the wings of 
the fantastic monster seem now flapping 
leisurely1 now extending bristling like 
a griffon's2 at one moment it has a beak
 and talons1 at others a mane and hoofs2
 the breeze1 the sunlight1 the moonbeam1
 form1 alter1 and obliterate it4 ,thus  
is it with the supernatural3 the gods1  
moulded out of cloud and sunlight and   
darkness1 are for ever changing1        
fluctuating between a human or animal   
shape1 god or goddess1 cow1 ape1 or     
horse1 and the mere natural phenomenon  

which impresses the fancy4 ,pan is the  
weird1 shaggy1 cloven-footed shape which
 the goat-herd or the huntsman has seen 
gliding among the bushes in the grey    
twilight2 his is the piping heard in the
 tangle of reeds1 marsh lily1 and       
knotted nightshade by the river side3   
but ,pan is also the wood1 with all its 
sights and noises1 the solitude1 the    
gloom1 the infinity of rustling leaves1 
and cracking branches2 he is the        
greenish-yellow light stealing in amid  
the boughs2 he is the breeze in the     
foliage1 the murmur of unseen waters1   
the mist hanging over the damp sward1   
the ferns and grasses which entangle the
 feet1 and the briars which catch in the
 hair and garments are his grasp2 and   
the wanderer dashes through the thickets
 with a sickening fear in his heart1 and
 sinks down on the outskirts of the     
forest1 gasping1 with sweat-clotted     
hair1 overcome by this glimpse of the   
great god4  ,in this constant renewal of
 the impressions on the fancy1 in this  

unceasing shaping and reshaping of its  
creations1 consisted the vitality of the
 myths of paganism1 from the scorching  
and pestilence-bearing gods of ,india to
 the divinities shaped out of tempest   
and snowdrift of ,scandinavia2 they were
 constantly issuing out of the elements1
 renewed1 changed1 ever young1 under the
 exorcism not only of the priest and of 
the poet1 but of the village boor2 and  
on this unceasing renovation depended   
the sway which they maintained1 without 
ethical importance to help them1 despite
 philosophy and ,christianity4          
,christianity1 born in an age of        
speculation and eclecticism1 removed its
 divinities1 its mystic figures1 out of 
the cosmic surroundings of paganism2 it 
forbade the imagination to touch or     
alter them1 it regularised1 defined1    
explained1 placed the ,saviour1 the     
,virgin1 the saints and angels1 into a  
kind of supersensuous world of logic1   
logic adapted to ,heaven1 and different 
therefore from the logic of earth1 but  

logic none the less4 ,christianity      
endowed them with certain definite      
attributes1 not to be found among       
mortals1 but analogous in a manner to   
mortal attributes2 the ,christian       
supernatural system belongs mainly to   
the category of mistaken scientific     
systems2 its peculiarities are due1 not 
to overwrought fancy1 but to overtaxed  
reason4 ,thus the genuine supernatural  
was well-nigh banished by official      
,christianity1 regulated as it was by a 
sort of congress of men of science1 who 
eliminated1 to the best of their powers1
 any vagaries of the imagination which  
might show themselves in their          
mystico-logic system4 ,but the          
imagination did work nevertheless1 and  
the supernatural did reappear1 both     
within and without the ,christian system
 of mythology4 ,the ,heaven of theology 
was too ethical1 too logical1 too       
positive1 too scientific1 in accordance 
with the science of the ,middle ,ages1  
for the minds of humanity at large2 the 

scholars and learned clergy might study 
and expound it1 but it was insufficient 
for the ignorant4 ,the imagination      
reappeared once more4 ,to the monk arose
 out of the silence and gloom of the    
damp1 lichen-grown crypt1 out of the    
foetid emanations of the charnal-house1 
strange forms of horror which lurked in 
his steps and haunted his sleep after   
fasting and scourging and vigils2 devils
 and imps horrible and obscene1 which   
the chisel of the stonecutter vainly    
attempted to reproduce1 in their        
fluctuating abomination1 on the capitals
 and gargoyles of cloister and          
cathedral4 ,to the artisan1 the weaver  
pent up in some dark cellar into which  
the daylight stole grey and faint from  
the narrow strip of blue sky between the
 overhanging eaves1 for him1 the hungry 
and toil-worn and weary of soul1 there  
arose out of the hum of the street      
above1 out of the half-lit dust1 the    
winter damp and summer suffocation of   
the underground workshop1 visions and   

sounds of sweetness and glory1 misty    
clusters of white-robed angels shedding 
radiance around them1 swaying in mystic 
linked dances1 mingling with the sordid 
noises of toil seraphic harmonies1 now  
near1 now dying away into distance1     
voices singing of the sunshine and      
flowers of ,paradise4 ,and for others1  
for the lean and tattered peasant1 with 
the dull1 apathetic resignation of the  
starved and goaded ox or horse1 sleeping
 on the damp clay of his hut and eating 
strange flourless bread1 and stranger   
carrion flesh1 there came a world of the
 supernatural1 different from that of   
the monk or the artisan1 at once        
terrifying and consoling2 the divinities
 cast out by ,christianity1 the         
divinities for ever newly begotten by   
nature1 but begotten of a nature        
miserably changed1 born in exile and    
obloquy and persecution1 fostered by the
 wretched and the brutified2 differing  
from the gods of antiquity as the       
desolate heath1 barren of all save      

stones and prickly furze and thistle1   
differs from the fertile pasture-land2  
as the forests planted over the         
cornfield1 whence issue wolves1 and the 
,baron's harvest-trampling horses1      
differ from the forests which gave their
 oaks and pines to ,tyrian ships2       
divinities warped1 and crippled1 grown  
hideous and malignant and unhappy in the
 likeness of their miserable votaries4  
,this is the real supernatural1 born of 
the imagination and its surroundings1   
the vital1 the fluctuating1 the potent2 
and it is this which the artist of every
 age1 from ,phidias to ,giotto1 from    
,giotto to ,blake1 has been called upon 
to make known to the multitude4 ,and    
there had been artistic work going on   
unnoticed long before the time of any   
painter or sculptor or poet of whom we  
have any record2 mankind longed from the
 first to embody1 to fix its visions of 
wonder1 it set to work with rough       
unskilful fingers moulding into shape   
its divinities4 ,rude work1 ugly1       

barbarous1 blundering scratchings on    
walls1 kneaded clay vessels1 notched    
sticks1 nonsense rhymes2 but work       
nevertheless which already showed that  
art and the supernatural were at        
variance1 the beaked and clawed figures 
outlined on the wall were compromises   
between the man and the beast1 but      
definite compromises1 so much and no    
more of the man1 so much and no more of 
the beast2 the goddess on the clay      
vessels became a mere little owl2 the   
divinities even in the nonsense verses  
were presented now as very distinct     
cows1 now as very distinct clouds1 or   
very distinct men and women2 the vague1 
fluctuating impressions oscillating     
before the imagination like the colours 
of a dove's wing1 or the pattern of a   
shot silk1 interwoven1 unsteady1 never  
completely united into one1 never       
completely separated into several1 were 
rudely seized1 disentangled by art2 part
 was taken1 part thrown aside2 what     
remained was homogeneous1 definite1     

unchanging2 it was what it was and could
 never be aught else4  ,goethe has      
remarked1 with a subjective simplicity  
of irreverence which is almost comical1 
that as ,god created man in his image1  
it was only fair that man1 in his turn1 
should create ,god in his image4 ,but   
the decay of pagan belief was not1 as   
,hegel imagines1 due to the fact that   
,hellenic art was anthropomorphic4 ,the 
gods ceased to be gods not merely       
because they became too like men1 but   
because they became too like anything   
definite4 ,if the ibis on the amulet1 or
 the owl on the terra-cotta1 represents 
a more vital belief in the gods than    
does the ,venus of ,milo or the         
,giustiniani ,minerva1 it is not because
 the idea of divinity is more compatible
 with an ugly bird than with a beautiful
 woman1 but because whereas the         
beautiful woman1 exquisitely wrought by 
a consummate sculptor1 occupied the mind
 of the artist and of the beholder with 
the idea of her beauty1 to the exclusion

 of all else1 the rudely-engraven ibis1 
or the badly-modelled owlet1 on the     
other hand1 served merely as a symbol1  
as the recaller of an idea2 the mind did
 not pause in contemplation of the bird1
 but wandered off in search of the god3 
the goggle eyes of the owl and the beak 
of the ibis were soon forgotten in the  
contemplation of the vague1 ever        
transmuted visions of phenomena of sky  
and light1 of semi-human and            
semi-bestial shapes1 of confused        
half-embodied forces2 in short1 of the  
supernatural4 ,but the human shape did  
most mischief to the supernatural1      
merely because the human shape was the  
most absolute1 the most distinct of all 
shapes3 a god might be symbolised as a  
beast1 but he could only be pourtrayed  
as a man2 and if the portrait was       
correct1 then the god was a man1 and    
nothing more4 ,even the most fantastic  
among pagan supernatural creatures1     
those strange monsters who longest kept 
their original dual nature--the         

centaurs1 satyrs1 and tritons--became1  
beneath the chisel of the artist1 mere  
aberrations from the normal1 rare1 and  
curious types like certain fair-booth   
phenomena1 but perfectly intelligible   
and rational2 the very ,chimra1 she who 
was to give her name to every sort of   
unintelligible fancy1 became1 in the    
bas-reliefs of the story of ,bellerophon
 a mere singular mixture between a lion1
 a dog1 and a bird--a cross-breed which 
happens not to be possible1 but which an
 ancient might well have conceived as   
adorning some distant zoological        
collection4 ,how much more rationalised 
were not the divinities in whom only a  
peculiar shape of the eye1 a certain    
structure of the leg1 or a definite     
fashion of wearing the hair remained of 
their former nature4 ,learned men1      
indeed1 tell us that we need only glance
 at ,hera to see that she is at bottom a
 cow2 at ,apollo1 to recognise that he  
is but a stag in human shape3 or at     
,zeus1 to recognise that he is1 in point

 of fact1 a lion4 ,yet it remains true  
that we need only walk down the nearest 
street to meet ten ordinary men and     
women who look more like various animals
 than do any antique divinities1 and who
 can yet never be said to be in reality 
cows1 stags1 or lions4 ,the same applies
 to the violent efforts which are       
constantly being made to show in the    
,greek and ,latin poets a distinct      
recollection of the cosmic nature of the
 gods1 construing the very human        
movements1 looks1 and dress of          
divinities into meteorological          
phenomena1 as has been done even by ,mr4
 ,ruskin1 in his ,queen of the ,air1    
despite his artist's sense1 which should
 have warned him that no artistic       
figure1 like ,homer's divinities1 can   
possibly be at the same time a woman and
 a whirlwind4 ,the gods did originally  
partake of the character of cosmic      
phenomena1 as they partook of the       
characters of beasts and birds1 and of  
every other species of transformation1  

such as we may watch in dreams2 but as  
soon as they were artistically embodied1
 this transformation ceased1 the nature 
had to be specified in proportion as the
 form became distinct2 and the drapery  
of ,pallas1 although it had inherited   
its purple tint from the storm-cloud1   
was none the less1 when it clad the     
shoulders of the goddess1 not a         
storm-cloud1 but a piece of purple      
linen4 ,what do you want of me8 asks the
 artist4 ,a god1 answers the believer4  
,what is your god to be like8 asks the  
artist4 ,my god is to be a very handsome
 warrior1 a serene heaven1 which is     
occasionally overcast with clouds1 which
 clouds are sometimes very beneficial1  
and become 7and so does the god at those
 moments7 heavy-uddered cows2 at others1
 they are dark1 and cause annoyance1 and
 then they capture the god1 who is the  
light 7but he is also the clouds1       
remember71 and lock him up in a tower1  
and then he frees himself1 and he is a  
neighing horse1 and he is sitting on the

 prancing horse 7which is himself1 you  
know1 and is the sky too71 in the shape 
of two warriors1 and also---- ,may      
,cerberus devour you6 cries the artist4 
,how can ,i represent all this8 ,do you 
want a warrior1 or a cow1 or the        
heavens1 or a horse1 or do you want a   
warrior with the hoofs of a horse and   
the horns of a cow8 ,explain1 for1 by   
,juno1 ,i can give you only one of these
 at a time4  ,thus1 in proportion as the
 gods were subjected to artistic        
manipulation1 whether by sculptor or    
poet1 they lost their supernatural      
powers4 ,a period there doubtless was   
when the gods stood out quite distinct  
from nature1 and yet remained connected 
with it1 as the figures of a high relief
 stand out from the background2 but     
gradually they were freed from the chaos
 of impressions which had given them    
birth1 and then1 little by little1 they 
ceased to be gods2 they were isolated   
from the world of the wonderful1 they   
were respectfully shelved off into the  

region of the ideal1 where they were    
contemplated1 admired1 discussed1 but   
not worshipped even like their statues  
by ,praxiteles and their pictures by    
,parrhasius4 ,the divinities who        
continued to be reverenced were the     
rustic divinities and the foreign gods  
and goddesses2 the divinities which had 
been safe from the artistic desecration 
of the cities1 and the divinities which 
were imported from hieratic1 unartistic 
countries like ,egypt and ,syria2 on the
 one hand1 the gods shaped with the     
pruning-knife out of figwood1 and       
stained with ochre or wine-lees1        
grotesque mannikins1 standing like      
scarecrows1 in orchard or corn-field1 to
 which the peasants crowded in devout   
procession1 leading their               
cleanly-dressed little ones1 and        
carrying gifts of fruit and milk1 while 
the listless ,tibullus1 fresh from      
sceptical ,rome1 looked on from his     
doorstep1 a vague1 childish veneration  
stealing over his mind2 on the other    

hand1 the monstrous goddesses1          
hundred-breasted or ibis-headed1 half   
hidden in the ,syrian and ,egyptian     
temples1 surrounded by mysterious       
priests1 swarthy or effeminate1 in      
mitres and tawny robes1 jangling their  
sistra and clashing their cymbals1      
moving in mystic or frenzied dances1    
weird1 obscene1 and unearthly1 to the   
melancholy drone of ,phrygian or        
,egyptian music1 sending a shudder      
through the atheist ,catullus1 and      
filling his mind with ghastly visions of
 victims of the great goddess1 bleeding1
 fainting1 lashed on to madness by the  
wrath of the terrible divinity4 ,these  
were the last survivors of paganism1 and
 to their protection clung the old gods 
of ,greece and ,rome1 reduced to human  
level by art1 stripped naked by sculptor
 and poet and muffling themselves in the
 homely or barbaric garments of low-born
 or outlandish usurpers2 art had been a 
worse enemy than scepticism3 ,apelles   
and ,scopas had done more mischief than 

,epicurus4  ,christian art was1 perhaps1
 more reverent in intention1 but not    
less desecrating in practice2 even the  
,giottesques turned ,christ1 the        
,virgin1 and the ,saints1 into mere     
,florentine men and women2 even         
,angelico himself1 although a saint1 was
 unable to show ,paradise except as a   
flowery meadow1 under a highly gilded   
sky1 through which moved ladies and     
youths in most artistic but most earthly
 embroidered garments2 and ,hell except 
as a very hot place where men and women 
were being boiled and broiled and baked 
and fried and roasted by very comic     
little weasel-snouted fiends1 which on a
 carnival car would have made           
,florentines roar with laughter4 ,the   
real supernatural was in the cells of   
fever-stricken1 starved visionaries2 it 
was in the contagious awe of the crowd  
sinking down at the sight of the stained
 napkin of ,bolsena2 in that soiled     
piece of linen was ,christ1 and ,god1   
and ,paradise2 in that and not in the   

panels of ,angelico and ,perugino1 or in
 the frescoes of ,signorelli and        
,filippino4  ,why8 ,because the         
supernatural is nothing but ever-renewed
 impressions1 ever-shifting fancies2 and
 that art is the definer1 the embodier1 
the analytic and synthetic force of     
form4 ,every artistic embodiment of     
impressions or fancies implies isolation
 of those impressions or fancies1       
selection1 combination and balancing of 
them2 that is to say1 diminution--nay1  
destruction of their inherent power4    
,as1 in order to be moulded1 the clay   
must be separated from the mound2 as1 in
 order to be carved1 the wood must be   
cut off from the tree2 as1 in order to  
be re-shaped by art1 the mass of atoms  
must be rudely severed2 so also the     
mental elements of art1 the mood1 the   
fancy must be severed from the preceding
 and succeeding moods or fancies2       
artistic manipulation requires that its 
intellectual1 like its tangible         
materials1 cease to be vital1 but the   

materials1 mental or physical1 are not  
only deprived of vitality and power of  
self-alteration2 they are combined in   
given proportions1 the action of the one
 on the other destroys in great part the
 special power of each2 art is          
proportion1 and proportion is           
restriction4 ,last of all1 but most     
important1 these isolated1 no longer    
vital materials1 neutralised by each    
other1 are further reduced to           
insignificance by becoming parts of a   
whole conception2 their separate meaning
 is effaced by the general meaning of   
the work of art2 art bottles lightning  
to use it as white colour1 and measures 
out thunder by the beat of the          
chapel-master's roll of notes4 ,but art 
does not merely restrict impressions and
 fancies within the limits of form2 in  
its days of maturity and independence it
 restricts yet closer within the limits 
of beauty4 ,partially developed art1    
still unconscious of its powers and     
aims1 still in childish submission to   

religion1 sets to work conscientiously1 
with no other object than to embody the 
supernatural2 if the supernatural       
suffers in the act of embodiment1 if the
 fluctuating fancies which are ,zeus or 
,pallas are limited and curtailed1      
rendered logical and prosaic even in the
 wooden pre-historic idol or the roughly
 kneaded clay owlet1 it is by no choice 
of the artist--his attempt is abortive1 
because it is thwarted by the very      
nature of his art4 ,but when art is     
mature1 things are different2 the       
artist1 conscious of his powers1        
instinctively recognising the futility  
of aiming at the embodiment of the      
supernatural1 dragged by an irresistible
 longing to the display of his skill1 to
 the imitation of the existing and to   
the creation of beauty1 ceases to strain
 after the impossible and refuses to    
attempt anything beyond the possible4   
,the art1 which was before a mere       
insufficient means1 is now an           
all-engrossing aim2 unconsciously1      

perhaps1 to himself1 the artist regards 
the subject merely as a pretext for the 
treatment2 and where the subject is     
opposed to such treatment as he desires1
 he sacrifices it4 ,he may be quite as  
conscientious as his earliest           
predecessor1 but his conscience has     
become an artistic conscience1 he sees  
only as much as is within art's limits2 
the gods1 or the saints1 which were     
cloudy and supernatural to the artist of
 immature art1 are definite and artistic
 to the artist of mature art2 he can    
think1 imagine1 feel only in a given    
manner2 his religious conceptions have  
taken the shape of his artistic         
creations2 art has destroyed the        
supernatural1 and the artist has        
swallowed up the believer4 ,the attempts
 at supernatural effects are almost     
always limited to a sort of symbolical  
abbreviation1 which satisfies the artist
 and his public respecting the subject  
of the work1 and lends it a traditional 
association of the supernatural2 a few  

spikes round the head of a young man are
 all that remains of the solar nature of
 ,apollo2 the little budding horns and  
pointed ears of the satyr must suffice  
to recall that he was once a mystic     
fusion of man and beast and forest2 a   
gilded disc behind the head is all that 
shows that ,giotto's figures are        
immortals in glory2 and a pair of wings 
is all that explains that ,perugino's   
,st4 ,michael is not a mere dainty      
mortal warrior2 the highest mysteries of
 ,christianity are despatched with a    
triangle and an open book1 to draw which
 ,raphael might employ his              
colour-grinder1 while he himself drew   
the finely-draped baker's daughter from 
,trastevere4  ,in all these cases the   
artist refused to grapple with the      
supernatural1 and dismissed it with a   
mere stereotyped symbol1 not more       
artistic than the names which he might  
have engraved beneath each figure4      
,religious associations were thus       
awakened without the artist1 whether of 

the time of ,pericles or of the time of 
,leo ,x41 giving himself further        
trouble2 the diffusion of religious     
ideas and feeling spared art from being 
religious4 ,let us1 therefore1 in order 
to judge fairly of what art can or      
cannot do for the supernatural1 seek for
 one of the very rare instances in which
 the artist has had no symbolical       
abbreviations at his disposal1 and has  
been obliged1 if he would awaken any    
idea in the mind of the spectator1 to do
 so by means of his artistic creations4 
,the number of such exceptional         
instances is extremely limited in the   
great art of antiquity and the          
,renaissance1 when artistic subjects    
were almost always traditionally        
religious or plainly realistic1 and     
consequently intelligible at first      
sight4 ,there is1 however1 an example1  
and that example is a masterpiece4 ,it  
is the engraving by ,agostino           
,veneziano1 after a lost drawing by     
,raphael1 generally called ,lo          

,stregozzo1 and representing a witch    
going to the ,sabbath4 ,through a swampy
 country1 amidst rank and barren        
vegetation1 sweeps the triumphal        
procession--strange1 beautiful1 and     
ghastly2 a naked boy dashes headlong in 
front1 bestriding a long-haired he-goat1
 and blowing a horn1 little stolen      
children packed behind on his saddle2 on
 he dashes1 across the tufts of         
marsh-lily and bulrush1 across the      
stagnant-pools of water1 clearing the   
way and announcing his mistress the     
witch4 ,she thrones1 old1 parched1 lank1
 high on the top of an unearthly car1   
made of the spine and ribs of some      
antediluvian creature1 with springs and 
traces of ghastly jaw and collar and    
thigh bones1 supported on either side by
 galloping skeletons1 skeletons made up 
of skeletons1 of all that is strangest  
in the bones and beaks of beasts and    
birds1 on which ride young fauns and    
satyrs4 ,to her chariot1 by a yoke of   
human bones1 are harnessed two stalwart 

naked youths1 and two others sustain its
 plough-like end2 grand1 magnificently  
moving figures1 bounding forward like   
wild horses1 the unearthly carriage     
swinging and creaking as they go4 ,and1 
as they go1 brushing through the high1  
dry1 maremma-grass1 the witch cowers on 
her chariot1 clutching in one hand a    
heap of babies1 in the other a vessel   
filled with fire1 whose smoke1 mingling 
with her long1 dishevelled hair1 floats 
behind1 sweeping through the rank       
vegetation1 curling and eddying into    
vague1 strange semblances of lions1     
apes1 chimras4 ,forward dashes the      
outrunner on his goat1 onward bound the 
naked litter-bearers2 up gallop the     
fauns and satyrs on the fleshless1      
monstrous carcases2 up and down sways   
the creaking1 cracking chariot of bones2
 one moment more1 and the wild1         
splendid1 hideous triumph will have     
swept out of sight1 leaving behind only 
trampled marsh-plants and a trail of    
fantastic1 lurid smoke among the        

ruffled1 moaning reeds and grasses4     
,such is ,raphael's ,stregozzo4 ,it is a
 master-piece of drawing and of         
pictorial fancy1 it is perhaps the      
highest achievement of great art in the 
direction of the supernatural3 for ,drer
 is often hideous1 ,rembrandt always    
obscure1 and the moderns1 like ,blake   
and ,dor1 distinctly run counter to the 
essential nature of art in their        
attempts after vagueness4 ,when once    
told the subject of the print1 by       
,agostino ,veneziano1 our imagination   
easily flies off on to the track of the 
supernatural2 but1 in so doing1 it      
leaves the work behind1 and on return to
 it we experience a return to the       
natural4 ,if1 on the other hand1 we are 
not told the subject of the print1 we   
very possibly see nothing supernatural  
in it3 there are splendid figures worthy
 of ,michael ,angelo1 and grotesque     
fancies1 in the shape of the skeletons  
and coach of bones1 worthy of ,leonardo2
 as a whole1 the print is striking1     

beautiful1 and problematic1 but it falls
 short of the effect which would be     
produced by the mere words a witch      
riding through a marsh on a chariot of  
bones1 if left to insinuate themselves  
into the imagination4 ,of the really    
supernatural1 there is in it but one    
touch3 and that in the only part of the 
drawing which is left vague2 it is the  
confused shapes assumed by the eddying  
smoke among the rushes4 ,all the rest is
 outside the region of the supernatural3
 it is problematic in subject1 but      
clear1 harmonious1 and beautiful in     
treatment2 the imagination may wander   
off from it1 but in its presence it must
 remain passive4 ,with this masterpiece 
we would fain compare a picture which   
seems to deal with a cognate subject2 a 
picture as suggestive as it is          
absolutely artistically worthless4 ,we  
saw it once1 many years ago1 among a    
heap of rubbishy smudges at a           
picture-dealer's in ,rome1 and we have  
never forgotten it--a picture painted by

 some ,german smearer of the early      
sixteenth century2 very ugly1 stupid1   
and unattractive2 ill drawn1 ill        
composed1 of a uniform hard1 vulgar     
brown4 ,it represented1 with no attempt 
at perspective1 a level country spread  
out like a map1 dotted here and there   
with little spired and turretted towns1 
also a castle or two1 a few trees and   
some rivers1 disposed with a child's    
satisfaction with their mere indication1
 as much as to say--here is a town1     
there is a castle4 ,some peasants were  
represented working in the fields1 a    
little train of horsemen coming out of a
 castle1 and near one of the chess-board
 castles a grass plot with half-a-dozen 
lit stakes1 to which tiny figures were  
carrying faggots1 while men-at-arms and 
burghers1 no bigger than flies1 looked  
on4 ,in the foreground of the great flat
 expanse lay a boor1 a fellow dressed   
like a field-labourer1 in heavy sleep on
 the ground4 ,round him on the grass    
were marked curious circles1 and in them

 was moving a strange figure1 in cloak  
and helmet1 with clawed wings and horns1
 leering horridly1 moving round on      
tiptoe1 his arms outstretched1 as if    
gradually encircling the sleeper in     
order to pounce upon him2 despite the   
complete absence of artistic skill1 the 
gradual inevitable approach of the      
demon1 the irresistible network of      
circles with which he was surrounding   
his prey1 was perfectly indicated4      
,above1 in the sky1 two figures1 half   
demon1 half dragon1 floated leisurely1  
like a moored boat1 as if a guard of the
 devil below4 ,what is the exact subject
 of this picture8 ,no one can tell2 but 
its meaning is intense for the          
imagination1 it has the frightful       
suggestiveness of some old book on      
witchcraft1 prosaic and curt2 of a page 
opened at random of ,sprenger's ,malleus
 ,malificarum4 ,yes2 over the plain1 the
 towns1 and castles1 monotonous and     
dull1 the fiends are hovering2 even over
 the stakes where their votaries are    

being burnt2 and see1 the peasant asleep
 in the field1 with his spade and hoe   
beside him1 is being surrounded by magic
 circles1 by the invisible nets of the  
demon1 who prowls round him like a kite 
ready to pounce on to its quarry4  ,why 
is there no need to write the word      
witchcraft beneath this picture8 ,why   
can this nameless smearer succeed where 
,raphael has failed8 ,because he is     
content to suggest to the imagination1  
and lets it create for itself its world 
of the supernatural2 because he is not  
an artist1 and because ,raphael is2     
because he suggests everything and shows
 nothing1 while ,raphael creates1       
defines1 perfects1 gives form to that   
which is by its nature formless4  ,if we
 would bring home to ourselves this     
action of art on the supernatural1 we   
must examine the only species of        
supernatural which still retains        
vitality1 and can still be deprived of  
it by art4 ,that which remains to us of 
the imaginative workings of the past is 

traditional and well-nigh effete3 we    
have poems and pictures1 ,vedic hymns1  
,hebrew psalms1 and ,egyptian symbols2  
we have folklore and dogma2 remnants of 
the supernatural1 some labelled in our  
historic museums1 where they are        
scrutinised1 catalogue and eye-glass in 
hand2 others dusty on altars and in     
chapels1 before which we uncover our    
heads and cast down our eyes3 relics of 
dead and dying faiths1 of which some are
 daily being transferred from the church
 to the museum2 art cannot deprive any  
of these of that imaginative life and   
power which they have long ceased to    
possess4 ,we have forms of the          
supernatural in which we believe from   
acquiescence of habit1 but they are not 
vital2 we have a form of the            
supernatural in which1 from logic and   
habit1 we disbelieve1 but which is      
vital2 and this form of the supernatural
 is the ghostly4 ,we none of us believe 
in ghosts as logical possibilities1 but 
we most of us conceive them as          

imaginative probabilities2 we can still 
feel the ghostly1 and thence it is that 
a ghost is the only thing which can in  
any respect replace for us the          
divinities of old1 and enable us to     
understand1 if only for a minute1 the   
imaginative power which they possessed1 
and of which they were despoiled not    
only by logic1 but by art4 ,by ghost we 
do not mean the vulgar apparition which 
is seen or heard in told or written     
tales2 we mean the ghost which slowly   
rises up in our mind1 the haunter not of
 corridors and staircases1 but of our   
fancies4 ,just as the gods of primitive 
religions were the undulating1 bright   
heat which made mid-day solitary and    
solemn as midnight2 the warm damp1 the  
sap-riser and expander of life2 the sad 
dying away of the summer1 and the       
leaden1 suicidal sterility of winter2 so
 the ghost1 their only modern           
equivalent1 is the damp1 the darkness1  
the silence1 the solitude2 a ghost is   
the sound of our steps through a ruined 

cloister1 where the ivy-berries and     
convolvulus growing in the fissures sway
 up and down among the sculptured       
foliage of the windows1 it is the scent 
of mouldering plaster and mouldering    
bones from beneath the broken pavement2 
a ghost is the bright moonlight against 
which the cypresses stand out like black
 hearse-plumes1 in which the blasted    
grey olives and the gnarled fig-trees   
stretch their branches over the broken  
walls like fantastic1 knotted1 beckoning
 fingers1 and the abandoned villas on   
the outskirts of ,italian towns1 with   
the birds flying in and out of the      
unglazed windows1 loom forth white and  
ghastly2 a ghost is the long-closed room
 of one long dead1 the faint smell of   
withered flowers1 the rustle of         
long-unmoved curtains1 the yellow paper 
and faded ribbons of long-unread letters
 444 each and all of these things1 and a
 hundred others besides1 according to   
our nature1 is a ghost1 a vague feeling 
we can scarcely describe1 a something   

pleasing and terrible which invades our 
whole consciousness1 and which1         
confusedly embodied1 we half dread to   
see behind us1 we know not in what      
shape1 if we look round4  ,call we in   
our artist1 or let us be our own artist2
 embody1 let us see or hear this ghost1 
let it become visible or audible to     
others besides ourselves2 paint us that 
vagueness1 mould into shape that        
darkness1 modulate into chords that     
silence--tell us the character and      
history of those vague beings 444 set to
 work boldly or cunningly4 ,what do we  
obtain8 ,a picture1 a piece of music1 a 
story2 but the ghost is gone4 ,in its   
stead we get oftenest the mere image of 
a human being2 call it a ghost if you   
will1 it is none4 ,and the more complete
 the artistic work1 the less remains of 
the ghost4 ,why do those stories affect 
us most in which the ghost is heard but 
not seen8 ,why do those places affect us
 most of which we merely vaguely know   
that they are haunted8 ,why most of all 

those which look as if they might be    
haunted8 ,why1 as soon as a figure is   
seen1 is the charm half-lost8 ,and why1 
even when there is a figure1 is it kept 
so vague and mist-like8 ,would you know 
,hamlet's father for a ghost unless he  
told you he was one8 and can you        
remember it long while he speaks in     
mortal words8 and what would be         
,hamlet's father without the terrace of 
,elsinore1 the hour1 and the moonlight8 
,do not these embodied ghosts owe what  
little effect they still possess to     
their surroundings1 and are not the     
surroundings the real ghost8  ,throw    
sunshine on to them1 and what remains8  
,thus we have wandered through the realm
 of the supernatural in a manner neither
 logical nor business-like1 for logic   
and business-likeness are rude          
qualities1 and scare away the ghostly2  
very far away do we seem to have rambled
 from ,dr4 ,faustus and ,helen of       
,sparta2 but in this labyrinth of the   
fantastic there are sudden unexpected   

turns--and see1 one of these has        
suddenly brought us back into their     
presence4 ,for we have seen why the     
supernatural is always injured by       
artistic treatment1 why therefore the   
confused images evoked in our mind by   
the mere threadbare tale of ,faustus and
 ,helena are superior in imaginative    
power to the picture carefully          
elaborated and shown us by ,goethe4 ,we 
can now understand why under his hand   
the infinite charm of the weird meeting 
of antiquity and the ,middle ,ages has  
evaporated4 ,we can explain why the     
strange fancy of the classic            
,walpurgis-night1 in the second part of 
,faust1 at once stimulates the          
imagination and gives it nothing4 ,if we
 let our mind dwell on that mysterious  
,pharsalian plain1 with its glimmering  
fires and flamelets alone breaking the  
darkness1 where ,faust and              
,mephistopheles wandering about meet the
 spectres of antiquity1 shadowy in the  
gloom--the sphinxes crouching1 the      

sirens1 the dryads and oreads1 the      
griffons and cranes flapping their      
unseen wings overhead2 where ,faust     
springs on the back of ,chiron1 and as  
he is borne along sickens for sudden joy
 when the centaur tells him that ,helen 
has been carried on that back1 has      
clasped that neck2 when we let our mind 
work on all this1 we are charmed by the 
weird meetings1 the mysterious shapes   
which elbow us2 but let us take up the  
volume and we return to barren prose1   
without colour or perfume4 ,yet ,goethe 
felt the supernatural as we feel it1 as 
it can be felt only in days of          
disbelief1 when the more logical we     
become in our ideas1 the more we view   
nature as a prosaic machine constructed 
by no one in particular1 the more       
poignantly1 on the other hand1 do we    
feel the delight of the transient belief
 in the vague and the impossible2 the   
greater the distinctness with which we  
see and understand all around us1 the   
greater the longing for a momentary     

half-light in which forms may appear    
stranger1 grander1 vaguer than they are4
 ,we moderns seek in the world of the   
supernatural a renewal of the delightful
 semi-obscurity of vision and keenness  
of fancy of our childhood2 when a       
glimpse into fairyland was still        
possible1 when things appeared in false 
lights1 brighter1 more important1 more  
magnificent than now4 ,art indeed can   
afford us calm and clear enjoyment of   
the beautiful--enjoyment serious1       
self-possessed1 wide-awake1 such as     
befits mature intellects2 but no        
picture1 no symphony1 no poem1 can give 
us that delight1 that delusory1         
imaginative pleasure which we received  
as children from a tawdry engraving or a
 hideous doll2 for around that doll     
there was an atmosphere of glory4 ,in   
certain words1 in certain sights1 in    
certain snatches of melody1 words1      
sights1 and sounds which we now         
recognise as trivial1 commonplace1 and  
vulgar1 there was an ineffable meaning2 

they were spells which opened doors into
 realms of wonder2 they were precious in
 proportion as they were misappreciated4
 ,we now appreciate and despise2 we see1
 we no longer imagine4 ,and it is to    
replace this uncertainty of vision1 this
 liberty of seeing in things much more  
than there is1 which belongs to man and 
to mankind in this childhood1 which     
compensated the ,middle ,ages for       
starvation and pestilence1 and          
compensates the child for blows and     
lessons1 it is to replace this that we  
crave after the supernatural1 the       
ghostly--no longer believed1 but still  
felt4 ,it was from this sickness of the 
prosaic1 this turning away from logical 
certainty1 that the men of the end of   
the eighteenth and the beginning of this
 century1 the men who had finally       
destroyed belief in the religious       
supernatural1 who were bringing light   
with new sciences of economy1 philology1
 and history--,schiller1 ,goethe1       
,herder1 ,coleridge--left the           

lecture-room and the laboratory1 and set
 gravely to work on ghostly tales and   
ballads4 ,it was from this rebellion    
against the tyranny of the possible that
 ,goethe was charmed with that          
culmination of all impossibilities1 that
 most daring of ghost stories1 the story
 of ,faustus and ,helena4 ,he felt the  
seduction of the supernatural1 he tried 
to embody it--and he failed4  ,the case 
was different with ,marlowe4 ,the       
bringing together of ,faustus and       
,helena had no special meaning for the  
man of the sixteenth century1 too far   
from antiquity and too near the ,middle 
,ages to perceive as we do the strange  
difference between them2 and the        
supernatural had no fascination in a    
time when it was all permeating and     
everywhere mixed with prose4 ,the whole 
play of ,dr4 ,faustus is conceived in a 
thoroughly realistic fashion2 it is     
tragic1 but not ghostly4 ,to ,marlowe's 
audience1 and probably to ,marlowe      
himself1 despite his atheistic          

reputation1 the story of ,faustus's     
wonders and final damnation was quite   
within the realm of the possible2 the   
intensity of the belief in the tale is  
shown by the total absence of any       
attempt to give it dignity or weirdness4
 ,faustus evokes ,lucifer with a        
pedantic semi-biblical ,latin speech2 he
 goes about playing the most trumpery   
conjuror's tricks--snatching with       
invisible hands the food from people's  
lips1 clapping horns and tails on to    
courtiers for the ,emperor's amusement1 
letting his legs be pulled off like     
boots1 selling wisps of straw as horses1
 doing and saying things which could    
appear tragic and important1 nay1 even  
serious1 only to people who took every  
second cat for a witch1 who burned their
 neighbours for vomiting pins1 who      
suspected devils at every turn1 as the  
great witch-expert ,sprenger shows them 
in his horribly matter-of-fact manual4  
,we moderns1 disbelieving in devilries1 
would require the most elaborately      

romantic and poetic accessories--a      
splendid lurid back-ground1 a           
magnificent ,byronian invocation of the 
fiend4 ,the ,mephistophilis of ,marlowe1
 in those days when devils still dwelt  
in people1 required none of ,goethe's   
wit or poetry2 the mere fact of his     
being a devil1 with the very real       
association of flame and brimstone in   
this world and the next1 was sufficient 
to inspire interest in him2 whereas in  
#ahjj1 with ,voltaire's novels and      
,hume's treatises on the table1 a dull  
devil was no more endurable than any    
other sort of bore4 ,the very           
superiority of ,marlowe is due to this  
absence of weirdness1 to this complete  
realism2 the last scene of the ,english 
play is infinitely above the end of the 
second part of ,faust in tragic         
grandeur1 just because ,goethe made     
abortive attempts1 after a conscious and
 artificial supernatural1 while ,marlowe
 was satisfied with perfect reality of  
situation4 ,the position of ,faustus1   

when the years of his pact have expired1
 and he awaits midnight1 which will give
 him over to ,lucifer1 is as thoroughly 
natural in the eyes of ,marlowe as is in
 the eyes of ,shelley the position of   
,beatrice ,cenci awaiting the moment of 
execution4 ,the conversation between    
,faustus and the scholars1 after he has 
made his will1 is terribly life-like3   
they disbelieve at first1 pooh-pooh his 
danger2 then1 half-convinced1 beg that a
 priest may be fetched2 but ,faustus    
cannot deal with priests4 ,he bids them1
 in agony1 go pray in the next room4    
,aye1 pray for me1 pray for me1 and what
 noise soever you hear1 come not unto   
me1 for nothing can save me4444         
,gentlemen1 farewell2 if ,i live till   
morning1 ,i'll visit you2 if not1       
,faustus is gone to hell4 ,faustus      
remains alone for the one hour which    
separates him from his doom2 he clutches
 at the passing time1 he cries to the   
hours to stop with no rhetorical figure 
of speech1 but with a terrible reality  

of agony3                ,let this hour 
be but   ,a year1 a month1 a week1 a    
natural day1   ,that ,faustus may repent
 and save his soul4  ,time to repent1   
time to recoil from the horrible gulf   
into which he is being sucked2 ,christ1 
will ,christ's blood not save him8 ,he  
would leap up to heaven and cling fast1 
but ,lucifer drags him down4 ,he would  
seek annihilation in nature1 be sucked  
into its senseless1 feelingless mass 444
 and1 meanwhile1 the time is passing1   
the interval of respite is shrinking and
 dwindling4 ,would that he were a       
soulless brute and might perish1 or that
 at least eternal hell were finite--a   
thousand1 a hundred thousand years let  
him suffer1 but not for ever and without
 end6 ,midnight begins striking4 ,with  
convulsive agony he exclaims as the rain
 patters against the window3    ,o soul1
 be changed into small water-drops1     
,and fall into the ocean1 ne'er be      
found4  ,but the twelfth stroke sounds2 
,lucifer and his crew enter2 and when   

next morning the students1 frightened by
 the horrible tempest and ghastly noises
 of the night1 enter his study1 they    
find ,faustus lying dead1 torn and      
mangled by the demon4 ,all this is not  
supernatural in our sense2 such scenes  
as this were real for ,marlowe and his  
audience4 ,such cases were surely not   
unfrequent2 more than one man certainly 
watched through such a night in hopeless
 agony1 conscious1 like ,faustus1 of    
pact with the fiend--awaiting1 with     
earth and heaven shut and bolted against
 him1 eternal hell4  ,in this story of  
,doctor ,faustus1 which1 to ,marlowe and
 his contemporaries1 was not a romance  
but a reality1 the episode of the       
evoking of ,helen is extremely secondary
 in interest4 ,to raise a dead woman was
 not more wonderful than to turn wisps  
of straw into horses1 and it was perhaps
 considered the easier of the two       
miracles2 the sense of the ordinary     
ghostly is absent1 and the sense that   
,helen is the ghost of a whole long-dead

 civilisation1 that sense which is for  
us the whole charm of the tale1 could   
not exist in the sixteenth century4     
,goethe's ,faust feels for ,helen as    
,goethe himself might have felt1 as     
,winckelmann felt for a lost antique    
statue1 as ,schiller felt for the dead  
,olympus3 a passion intensely           
imaginative and poetic1 born of deep    
appreciation of antiquity1 the          
essentially modern1 passionate1         
nostalgic craving for the past4 ,in     
,marlowe's play1 on the contrary1       
,faustus and the students evoke ,helen  
from a confused pedantic impression that
 an ancient lady must be as much        
superior to a modern lady as an ancient 
poem1 be it even by ,statius or         
,claudian1 must be superior to a modern 
poem--it is a humanistic fancy of the   
days of the revival of letters4 ,but1 by
 a strange phenomenon1 ,marlowe1 once   
realising what ,helen means1 that she is
 the fairest of women1 forgets the      
scholarly interest in her4 ,faustus1    

once in presence of the wonderful woman1
 forgets that he had summoned her up to 
gratify his and his friends' pedantry2  
he sees her1 loves her1 and bursts out  
into the splendid tirade full of        
passionate fancy3    ,was this the face 
that launched a thousand ships1   ,and  
burnt the topless towers of ,ilium8     
,sweet ,helen1 make me immortal with a  
kiss6   ,her lips suck forth my soul6   
,see1 where it flies6   ,come1 ,helen1  
come1 give me my soul again4   ,here    
will ,i dwell1 for ,heaven is in these  
lips1   ,and all is dross that is not   
,helena4   ,i will be ,paris1 and for   
love of thee1   ,instead of ,troy shall 
,wittenberg be sacked2   ,and ,i will   
combat with weak ,menelaus1   ,and wear 
thy colours on my plumed crest2   ,yea1 
,i will wound ,achilles in the heel1    
,and then return to ,helen for a kiss4  
,oh6 thou art fairer than the evening   
air   ,clad in the beauty of a thousand 
stars2   ,brighter art thou than flaming
 ,jupiter   ,when he appeared to hapless

 ,semele2   ,more lovely than the       
monarch of the sky   ,in wanton         
,arethusa's azure arms2   ,and none but 
thou shalt be my paramour4  ,this is    
real passion for a real woman1 a woman  
very different from the splendid        
semi-vivified statue of ,goethe1 the    
,helen with only the cold1 bloodless1   
intellectual life which could be infused
 by enthusiastic studies of ancient     
literature and art1 gleaming bright like
 marble or a spectre4 ,this ,helena of  
,marlowe is no antique2 the ,elizabethan
 dramatist1 like the painter of the     
fifteenth century1 could not conceive   
the purely antique1 despite all the     
translating of ancient writers1 and all 
the drawing from ancient marbles4 ,one  
of the prose versions of the story of   
,faustus1 contains a quaint account of  
,helen1 which sheds much light on       
,marlowe's conception3    ,this lady    
appeared before them in a most rich     
gowne of purple   velvet1 costly        
imbrodered2 her haire hanged downe      

loose1 as faire   as the beaten gold1   
and of such length that it reached downe
 to her   hammes2 having most amorous   
cole-black eyes1 a sweet and pleasant   
round face1 with lips as red as a       
cherry2 her cheeks of a rose   colour1  
her mouth small1 her neck white like a  
swan2 tall and   slender of personage2  
in summe1 there was no imperfect place  
in her2   she looked around about with a
 rolling hawk's eye1 a smiling and      
wanton countenance1 which neerehand     
inflamed the hearts of all the          
students1 but that they persuaded       
themselves she was a spirit1 which      
make them lightly passe away such       
fancies4  ,this fair dame in the velvet 
embroidered gown1 with the long1 hanging
 hair1 this ,helen of the original      
,faustus legend1 is antique only in     
name2 she belongs to the race of medival
 and modern women--the ,lauras1         
,fiammettas1 and ,simonettas of         
,petrarch1 ,boccaccio1 and ,lorenzo dei 
,medici2 she is the sister of that slily

 sentimental coquette1 the ,monna ,lisa 
of ,leonardo4 ,the strong and simple    
women of ,homer1 and even of ,euripides1
 majestic and matronly even in shame1   
would repudiate this slender1 smiling1  
ogling beauty2 ,briseis1 though the     
captive of ,achilles' spear1 would turn 
with scorn from her4 ,the antique woman 
has a dignity due to her very           
inferiority and restrictedness of       
position2 she has the simplicity1 the   
completeness1 the absence of everything 
suggestive of degradation1 like that of 
some stately animal1 pure in its animal 
nature4 ,the modern woman1 with more    
freedom and more ideal1 rarely          
approaches to this character2 she is too
 complex to be perfect1 she is frail    
because she has an ideal1 she is dubious
 because she is free1 she may fall      
because she may rise4 ,helen deserted   
,menelaus and brought ruin upon ,troy1  
therefore1 in the eyes of ,antiquity1   
she was the victim of fate1 she might be
 unruffled1 spotless1 majestic2 but to  

the man of the sixteenth century she was
 merely frail and false4 ,the rolling   
hawk's eye and the wanton smile of the  
old legend-monger would have perplexed  
,homer1 but they were necessary for     
,marlowe2 his ,helen was essentially    
modern1 he had probably no inkling that 
an antique ,helen as distinguished from 
a modern could exist4 ,in the paramour  
of ,faustus he saw merely the most      
beautiful woman1 some fair and wanton   
creature1 dressed not in chaste and     
majestic antique drapery1 but in        
fantastic garments of lawn1 like those  
of ,hero in his own poem3    ,the lining
 purple silk1 with gilt stars drawn2    
,her wide sleeves green1 and bordered   
with a grove   ,where ,venus1 in her    
naked glory strove   ,to please the     
careless and disdainful eyes   ,of proud
 ,adonis1 that before her lies2   ,her  
kirtle blue4444   ,upon her head she    
wore a myrtle wreath   ,from whence her 
veil reached to the ground beneath2     
,her veil was artificial flowers and    

leaves   ,whose workmanship both man and
 beast deceives4  ,some slim and dainty 
goddess of ,botticelli1 very mortal     
withal1 long and sinuous1 tightly clad  
in brocaded garments and clinging cobweb
 veils1 beautiful with the delicate1    
diaphanous beauty1 rather emaciated and 
hectic1 of high rank1 and the conscious1
 elaborate fascination of a woman of    
fashion--a creature whom1 like the      
,gioconda1 ,leonardo might have spent   
years in decking and painting1 ever     
changing the ornaments and ever altering
 the portrait2 to whom courtly poets    
like ,bembo and ,castiglione might have 
written scores of sonnets and canzoni to
 her hands1 her eyes1 her hair1 her     
lips1 a fanciful inventory to which she 
listened languidly under the cypresses  
of ,florentine gardens4 ,some such      
being1 even rarer and more dubious for  
being an exotic in the ,england of      
,elizabeth1 was ,marlowe's ,helen2 such1
 and not a ghostly figure1 descended    
from a pedestal1 white and marble-like  

in her unruffled drapery1 walking with  
solid step and unswerving1 placid glance
 through the study1 crammed with books1 
and vials1 and strange instruments1 of  
the medival wizard of ,wittenberg4      
,marlowe deluded himself as well as     
,faustus1 and palmed off on to him a    
mere modern lady4 ,to raise a real      
spectre of the antique is a craving of  
our own century2 ,goethe attempted to do
 it and failed1 for what reasons we have
 seen2 but we have all of us the charm  
wherewith to evoke for ourselves a real 
,helena1 on condition that1 unlike      
,faustus and unlike ,goethe1 we seek not
 to show her to others1 and remain      
satisfied if the weird and glorious     
figure haunt only our own imagination4  
,,chapelmaster ,,kreisler4  ,a ,,study  
,,of ,,musical ,,romanticists4   ,there 
is nothing stranger in the world than   
music3 it exists only as sound1 is born 
of silence and dies away into silence1  
issuing from nothing and relapsing into 
nothing2 it is our own creation1 yet it 

is foreign to ourselves2 we draw it from
 out of the silent wood and the silent  
metal1 it lives in our own breath1 yet  
it seems to come to us from a distant   
land which we shall never see1 and to   
tell us of things we shall never know4  
,it is for ever striving to tell us     
something1 for ever imploring us to     
listen and to understand2 we listen1 we 
strain1 we try to take in its vague     
meaning2 it is telling us sweet and     
mighty secrets1 letting drop precious   
talismanic words2 we guess1 but do not  
understand4 ,and shall we never         
understand8 ,may we never know wherefore
 the joy1 wherefore the sadness8 ,can we
 not subtilise our minds1 go forth with 
our heart and fancy as interpreters1 and
 distinguish in the wreathing melodies  
and entangled chords some words of      
superhuman emotion1 even as the men of  
other ages distinguished in the sighing 
oak woods and the rustling reeds the    
words of the great gods of nature8  ,to 
us music is no longer what it was to our

 grandfathers1 a mere pleasing woof of  
meaningless pattern2 we have left those 
times far behind1 times whose great     
masters were prophets uttering mere     
empty sounds to their contemporaries2 we
 have shaken off the dust of the schools
 of counterpoint1 we have thrown aside  
the mechanical teachings of the art2 for
 us music has become an audible1        
quivering fata morgana of life1 the     
embodiment of the intangible1 the       
expression of the inexplicable1 the     
realisation of the impossible4 ,and it  
has become a riddle1 a something we     
would fain understand but cannot1 a     
spell of our own devising which we      
cannot decipher2 we sit listening to it 
as we sit looking into the deep1 dreamy 
eyes of an animal1 full of some mute    
language1 which we vainly strive to     
comprehend4  ,the animal seems as though
 it could say much if only it could     
speak2 so also music would seem to      
contain far deeper meanings than any    
spoken word1 to be fraught with emotion 

deeper than we can feel3 it could       
confide so much if we could understand4 
,yet the animal is but an animal1 with  
some of our virtues and some of our     
vices1 infinitely more ignorant than we 
are2 dumb1 not because we cannot        
understand1 but because he cannot speak4
 ,and may it not be the same with music8
 ,may not music be intellectually       
inscrutable because it is intellectually
 meaningless8  ,the idea is one from    
which we shrink2 but are we right in    
shrinking from it8 ,cannot music be     
noble in itself apart from any meaning  
it conveys8 ,cannot we be satisfied with
 what it certainly is1 without thinking 
of what it may be8 ,it would seem to be 
so2 it is the spirit of our culture to  
strain restlessly after the unknown1 for
 ever to seek after the hidden1 to      
reject the visible and tangible4 ,we    
yearn to penetrate through the blue of  
the summer evening1 to thread our way   
among the sun-gilded clouds2 yet the    
blue heaven1 if we rise into it1 is mere

 tintless air2 the clouds1 if we can    
touch them1 are mere dull vapour4 ,and  
so also we would fain seek a meaning in 
those fair sounds which are fairer than 
any meaning they could contain2 we would
 break down in rude analysis the        
splendours of ,don ,giovanni only to    
discover beneath them the story of a    
punished ,lovelace2 we would tear to    
shreds a glorious fugue of ,bach for the
 satisfaction of hearing the ,jews      
yelling for ,barabbas4  ,this is our    
tendency1 this our way of enjoying the  
great art of other days3 to care not for
 itself1 but for what it suggests1 nay1 
most often for the suggestion of the    
mere name of the work of art1 for there 
is no punished ,lovelace in ,mozart's   
melodies1 no ,barabbas in ,bach's       
fugues1 there is nothing but beautiful  
forms made out of sounds4 ,the old      
prosaic masters of the past1 who worked 
at a picture or a statue or an opera as 
a cobbler works at a pair of shoes1     
never thought of suggesting anything to 

us3 they gave something substantial1    
something intrinsically valuable1 a     
well-shaped figure1 a richly tinted     
canvas1 a boldly modulated piece of     
music2 to produce that and no more had  
been their object1 it was all they could
 give1 and their contemporaries were    
satisfied with it4 ,their art was their 
trade1 pursued conscientiously1         
diligently1 intelligently1 sometimes    
with that superior degree of            
intelligence we call genius1 but it was 
their trade and no more4 ,they          
themselves were as prosaic as any       
artisan1 and no more saw vague poetry in
 their works1 though these were the     
,olympic ,jove1 the ,school of ,athens1 
or the ,messiah1 than does the potter in
 his pot or the smith in his iron2 all  
they saw was that their works were      
beautiful1 as the potter sees that his  
pot is round and smooth1 and the smith  
that his blade is bright and sharp4 ,for
 the rest they were terribly prosaic1   
terribly given up to the mechanical     

interests of their art and the material 
interests of their lives1 as you may see
 them in ,vasari1 in the lives of       
,handel1 of ,bach1 of ,haydn1 of        
,mozart1 of the last of true1 unpoetic  
musicians1 ,rossini1 and as you would   
doubtless see the unknown sculptors of  
antiquity if you could see them at all4 
,but the time came when the world1 which
 had lived off prose most heartily ever 
since the ,middle ,ages1 grew sick of   
such coarse mental food1 and longed for 
unsubstantial poetic ambrosia2 the fact 
is1 it was morally sick1 and took its   
strong intellectual food in disgust1 and
 fancied and yearned for impossible     
things1 as sick men do4 ,and in its     
loathing for the common1 the simple1 the
 healthy1 the world took to eating the  
intellectual opium of romanticism2 it   
enjoyed and was plunged for awhile in   
ineffable delights1 such as only        
weakness can feel and poison afford2 the
 universe seemed to expand1 the         
imagination to grow colossal1 the       

feelings to become supernaturally       
subtle2 all limits were removed1 all    
impossibilities became possibilities2   
the fancy roamed over endless and ever  
varying tracts1 and soared up into the  
clouds of the unintelligible1 and dived 
into the bottomless abyss of chaos3 all 
things quivered with a strange new life1
 with a life in other lives1 with an    
unceasing1 ever changing life2          
everything was not only itself but      
something else3 all was greater1 higher1
 deeper1 brighter1 darker1 sweeter1     
bitterer1 more ineffable than itself2 it
 was a paradise of ,mahomet1 of ,buddha1
 of ,dante2 it was enjoyment keen1      
subtle1 intoxicating1 which made the    
fancy swim1 the senses ache1 and the    
soul faint4 ,then came the reaction1 the
 inevitable after-effect of the         
drug--depression1 langour1 palsy1       
convulsion4  ,about seventy years ago a 
great humourist1 who frittered away a   
quaint and fantastic genius in etching  
grimacing caricatures1 and scribbling   

gaunt ghost stories1 the once popular1  
now almost forgotten1 ,hoffmann1 looked 
on at this crisis in musical history1 at
 this first intoxication of romanticism2
 sympathised with its poetry1 its       
ludicrousness1 and its sadness2 embodied
 them all in one grotesque1 pathetic    
figure1 and for the first and last time 
in his life produced a masterpiece4 ,the
 masterpiece is his poor1 half-mad      
musician1 ,johannes ,kreisler1          
chapelmaster and cracked musicus par    
excellence1 as he signs his letters1 the
 artist of incomplete genius1 of broken 
career1 of poetic dreams and crazy      
fancies1 who used to go about dressed in
 a coat the colour of ,c sharp minor1   
with an ,e major coloured collar4 ,and  
of all the glimpses ,hoffmann has given 
us of ,chapelmaster ,kreisler1 none is  
so weirdly suggestive as that in which  
we see him improvising on the piano at  
his club of friends4 ,the friends had   
met one evening expressly to hear       
,kreisler's extemporary performance1 and

 he was just on the point of sitting    
down to the instrument1 when one of the 
company recollected that a lever had on 
a previous occasion refused to do its   
duty4 ,he took up a light1 and began his
 search for the refractory lever2 when  
suddenly1 as he leaned over the interior
 of the piano a heavy pair of brass     
snuffers crashed down from the          
candlestick on to the strings1 of which 
half a dozen instantly snapped4 ,the    
company began to exclaim at this unlucky
 accident1 which would deprive them of  
the promised performance2 but           
,chapelmaster ,kreisler bade them be of 
good cheer1 for they should still hear  
what was in his mind1 as the bass       
strings remained intact4    ,kreisler   
put on his little red skull cap and his 
,chinese   dressing-gown1 and sat down  
to the piano1 while a trusty friend     
extinguished all the lights1 so that the
 room remained in utter   darkness4     
,then1 with the muffling pedal down1    
,kreisler struck the   full chord of ,a 

flat major1 and spoke3    ,what is it   
that murmurs so strangely1 so sweetly1  
around me8   ,invisible wings seem to be
 heaving up and down4 ,i am swimming    
in perfume laden air4 ,but the perfume  
shines forth in flaming1   mysteriously 
linked circles4 ,lovely spirits are     
moving their golden   pinions in        
ineffably splendid sounds and harmonies4
    ,chord of ,a flat minor 7mezzo      
forte74 ,ah1 they are bearing me off    
into the land of eternal desire1 but    
even as they carry me1 pain   awakes in 
my heart1 and tries to escape1 tearing  
my bosom with   violence4    ,chord of  
,e major 7third71 forte4 ,they have     
given me a splendid   crown1 but that   
which sparkles and lightens in its      
diamonds are the   thousand tears which 
,i shed2 and in the gold shine the      
flames which   are devouring me4 ,valour
 and power1 strength and faith1 for him 
who   is called on to reign in the      
kingdom of spirits4         99       99 
99       99       99    ,b major        

7accentuato74 ,what a gay life in field 
and woodland in   the sweet springtide6 
,all the flutes and pipes1 which have   
lain   frozen to death in dusty corners 
throughout the winter1 have now         
awakened and remembered their best      
beloved melodies1 which they   trill    
cheerfully like the birds in the air4   
,b major with the diminished seventh    
7smanioso74 ,a warm west wind   comes   
sullenly complaining1 like some         
mysterious secret1 through   the wood1  
and wherever it brushes past1 the fir   
trees murmur1 the   beeches murmur to   
each other3 ',wherefore has our friend  
grown so   sad8'    ,e flat major       
7forte74 ,follow him1 follow him6 ,his  
dress is green   like the dark          
wood--sweet sounds of horns are his     
sighing words4   ,hearest him murmuring 
behind the bushes8 ,hearest thou the    
sound8   ,the sound of horns1 full of   
delight and sadness8 ',tis he6 up and   
meet him4    ,d third1 fourth1 sixth1   
chord 7piano74 ,life plays its mocking  

game in all manner of fashions4         
,wherefore desire8 ,wherefore hope8     
,wherefore demand8    ,c major 7third7  
chord 7fortissimo74 ,let us rather dance
 over the   open graves in wild         
rejoicing4 ,let us shout for joy1 those 
beneath   cannot hear it4 ,hurrah1      
hurrah6 ,dance and jollity2 the devil is
   riding in with drums and trumpets4   
,c minor chords 7ff4 in rapid           
succession74 ,knowest thou him not8     
,knowest thou him not8 ,see1 he         
stretches forth his burning claw to my  
heart6 ,he masks himself in all sorts of
 absurd grimaces--as a free   huntsman1 
as a concert director1 tapeworm doctor1 
ricco mercante2   he pitches snuffers   
into the strings to prevent my playing6 
,kreisler1   ,kreisler1 shake thyself   
up8 ,seest thou it hiding1 the pale     
ghost   with the red burning eyes1      
stretching out its clawy1 bony hand     
from beneath its torn mantle--shaking   
the crown of straw on its   smooth      
bald skull8 ,it is ,madness6 ,johannes1 

be brave6 ,mad1 mad1   witch-revelry of 
life1 wherefore shakest thou me so in   
thy whirling   dance8 ,can ,i not       
escape8 ,is there no grain of dust in   
the universe on   which1 diminished to a
 fly1 ,i can save myself from thee1     
horrible   torturing phantom8 ,desist1  
,desist6 ,i will behave4 ,my manners    
shall be   the very best4 ,hony soit qui
 mal y pense4 ,only let me believe the  
devil to be a galantuomo6 ,i curse song 
and music2 ,i lick thy feet   like the  
drunken ,caliban2 free me only from my  
torments6 ,a6 ,a6   abominable one6     
,thou hast trodden down all my flowers3 
not a blade of   grass still greens in  
the terrible desert--    ,dead6 ,dead6  
,dead6444  ,when ,chapelmaster ,kreisler
 ended1 all were silent2 poetry1        
passionate1 weird1 and grotesque1 had   
poured from their friend's lips2 a      
strange nightmare pageant had swept by  
them1 beautiful and ghastly1 like a mad 
,brocken medley of the triumph of       
,dionysos and the dance of ,death4      

,they were all silent--all save one1 and
 that one said3 ,this is all very fine1 
but ,i was told we were to have music2 a
 good1 sensible sonata of               
,haydn's--would have been much more the 
thing than all this4 ,he was a          
,philistine1 no doubt1 but he was right2
 a good1 sensible sonata of             
,haydn's--nay1 the stiffest1 driest1    
most wooden fugue ever written by the   
most crabbed professor of counterpoint  
would have been far more satisfactory   
for people who expected music4 ,a most  
fantastic rhapsody they had indeed      
heard1 but it had been a spoken one1 and
 the best strings of the piano had      
remained hanging snapped and silent     
during the performance4  ,poor          
,chapelmaster ,kreisler6 ,he has long   
been forgotten by the world in general1 
and even those few that still are       
acquainted with his weird portrait1     
smile at it as at a relic of a far      
distant time1 when life and art and all 
other things looked strangely different 

from how they look now4 ,yet the crazy  
musician of ,hoffmann is but the elder  
brother of all our modern composers4    
,with the great masters of the last     
century1 ,haydn1 ,mozart1 ,cimarosa1 who
 were scarcely in their graves when he  
improvised his great word fantasia1 he  
has no longer any connection with our   
own musicians1 born half a century after
 his end1 he is closely linked1 for1    
like him1 they are romanticists4 ,they  
do not indeed wear ,c sharp minor       
coloured coats1 nor do they improvise in
 the dark on pianos with broken strings2
 they are perfectly sane and conscious  
of all their doings2 yet1 all the same1 
they are but ,kreisler's younger        
brothers4 ,like the poor chapelmaster of
 ,hoffmann1 music itself has a fantastic
 madness in it2 like him1 it has been   
crazed by disappointment1 by jealousy1  
by impotent rage at finding that it     
cannot now do what it once did1 and     
cannot yet do what will never be done2  
like ,kreisler it deals no longer with  

mere sequences of melody and harmony1   
but with thoughts1 feelings1 and images1
 hopes and fears and despair1 with wild 
chaotic visions of splendour and of     
ghastliness4 ,but the position of our   
music differs from that of ,kreisler in 
this much1 that no friendly pair of     
snuffers crashes on to the strings and  
makes them fly asunder2 that1 while     
,kreisler spoke1 our music can only play
 its fancies and whimsies2 and that1    
instead of hearing intelligible spoken  
words1 we hear only musical sounds which
 are gibberish and chaos4  ,for the time
 when men sought in music only for      
music's own loveliness is gone by2 and  
the time has come when all the arts     
trespass on each other's ground1 and1   
worst of all1 when the arts which can   
give and show envy poetry1 the art which
 can neither give nor show but only     
suggest1 and when1 for the sake of such 
suggestion1 they would cheat us of all  
the real gifts--gifts of noble forms of 
line and colour1 and sweet woofs of     

melody and harmony which they once gave 
us4 ,the composer now wishes to make you
 see and feel all that he sees and feels
 in his imagination1 the woods and seas1
 the joys and sorrows1 all the confused 
day-dreams1 sweet and drowsy1 all the   
nightmare orgies which may pass through 
his brain2 the sound has become the mere
 vehicle for this1 the weak1 vague      
language which he can only stammer and  
we can only divine2 the artist breaks   
violently against the restraint of form1
 thinking to attain the unattainable    
beyond its limits1 and sinks down       
baffled and impotent amidst ruin4  ,we  
are apt to think of music as of a sort  
of speech until1 on examination1 we find
 it has no defined meaning either for   
the speaker or for the listener4 ,in    
reality1 music and speech are as        
different and as separate as            
architecture and painting1 as wholly    
opposed to each other as only those two 
things can be which1 having started from
 the same point1 have travelled in      

completely opposite directions1 like the
 two great rivers which1 originating on 
the same alp1 flow respectively to the  
north1 and to the south1 each acquiring 
a separate character on its way--the one
 as the blue river of ,germany1 ending  
amidst the tide-torn sandbanks of the   
,north ,sea2 the other as the green     
river of ,provence1 dying amidst the    
stagnant pools and fever-haunted marshes
 of the ,mediterranean4 ,as long as the 
,rhine and the ,rhone are not yet ,rhine
 and ,rhone1 but merely pools of        
snow-water among the glaciers1 so long  
are they indistinguishable2 but as soon 
as separated into distinct streams1     
their dissimilarity grows with every    
mile of their diverging course4 ,so as  
to speech and music3 as long as both    
exist only in embryo in the confused    
cries and rude imitations of the child  
or of the primitive people1 they cannot 
be distinguished2 but as soon as they   
can be called either speech or music1   
they become unlike and increase in      

dissimilarity in proportion as they     
develop4 ,the cry and the imitative     
sound become1 on the one hand1 a word   
which1 however rude1 begins to have an  
arbitrary meaning1 and1 on the other    
hand1 a song which1 however uncouth1 has
 no positive meaning2 the word1 as it   
develops1 acquires a more precise and   
abstract signification1 becomes more and
 more of a symbol2 the song1 as it      
develops1 loses definite meaning1       
becomes more and more a complete        
unsymbolical form1 until at length the  
word1 having become a thing for use1 a  
mere means of communication1 ceases to  
require vocal utterance1 and turns into 
a written sign2 while the song1 having  
become an object of mere pleasure1      
requires more and more musical          
development1 and is transported from the
 lips of man to the strings of an       
instrument4 ,but while speech and music 
are thus diverging1 while the one is    
becoming more and more of an arbitrary  
symbol conveying an abstract idea1 and  

the other is growing more and more into 
an artistic form conveying no idea1 but 
pleasing the mind merely by its concrete
 form--while this divergence is taking  
place1 a corresponding movement         
accompanies it which removes both speech
 and music farther and farther from     
their common origin3 the cry of passion 
and the imitative sound4 ,the ,rhone and
 the ,rhine are becoming not only less  
like each other1 but as the one becomes 
green and the other blue1 so also are   
both losing all trace of the original   
dull white of the snow water4 ,in the   
word1 the cry and the imitation are     
being effaced by arbitrary1 symbolical  
use1 by that phonetic change which shows
 how little a word as it exists for us  
retains of its original character2 in   
the song they are being subdued by      
constant attempts at obtaining a more   
distinct and symmetrical shape1 by the  
development of the single sounds and    
their arrangement with a view to        
pleasing the ear and mind4 ,yet both    

retain the power of resuming to a       
limited extent their original nature2   
but in proportion as the word or the    
song resumes the characteristics of the 
cry or of the imitation does each lose  
its own slowly elaborated value1 the    
word as a suggester of thought1 the song
 as a presenter of form4 ,now1 in so far
 as the word is a word1 or the song a   
song1 its effect on the emotions is     
comparatively small3 the word can awaken
 emotion only as a symbol1 that is1     
indirectly and merely suggestively2 the 
song can awaken emotion only inasmuch as
 it yet partakes of the nature of the   
brute cry or rude imitation4 ,thus1     
while language owes its emotional       
effects to the ideas arbitrarily        
connected with it1 music owes its power 
over the heart to its sensuous elements 
as given by nature4 ,but music exists as
 an art1 that is to say1 as an          
elaboration of the human mind1 only     
inasmuch as those sensuous brute        
elements are held in check and measure1 

are made the slaves of an intellectual  
conception4 ,the very first step in the 
formation of the art is the subjection  
of the emotional cry or the spontaneous 
imitation to a process of acoustic      
mensuration1 by which the irregular     
sound becomes the regular1 definite     
note2 the second step is the subjection 
of this already artificial sound to     
mensuration of time1 by which it is made
 rhythmical2 the third step is the      
subjection of this rhythmical sound to a
 comparative mensuration with other     
sounds1 by which we obtain harmony2 the 
last step is adjustment of this         
artificially obtained note and rhythm   
and harmony into that symmetrical and   
intellectually appreciable form which   
constitutes the work of art1 for art    
begins only where the physical elements 
are subjected to an intellectual        
process1 and it exists completely only  
where they abdicate their independence  
and become subservient to an            
intellectual design4  ,music is made up 

of two elements3 the intellectual and   
the sensuous on the one hand1 of that   
which is conceived by the mind and      
perceived by the mind 7for our ears     
perceive only the separate constituent  
sounds of a tune1 but not the tune      
itself72 on the other hand1 of that     
which is produced by the merely physical
 and appreciated by the merely physical1
 by the nerves of hearing1 through which
 it may1 but only indirectly1 affect the
 mind4 ,now if1 from an artistic point  
of view1 we must protest against any    
degradation of the merely sensuous part1
 it is because such a degradation would 
involve a corresponding one in the      
intellectual part1 because the physical 
basis must be intact and solid before we
 can build on it an intellectual        
structure1 because the physical element 
through which mentality is perceived    
must be perfect in order that the mental
 manifestation be equally so2 but the   
physical must always remain a mere      
basis1 a mere vehicle for the mental4   

,the enjoyment obtainable from the      
purely physical part may indeed be very 
great and very valuable1 but it is a    
mere physical enjoyment2 and the        
pleasure we derive from a fine voice1 as
 distinguished from a fine piece or a   
fine interpretation1 is as wholly       
unartistic as that which we receive from
 a ripe peach or a cool breeze3 it is a 
purely sensuous pleasure1 given us      
ready-made by nature1 to give or to     
perceive which requires no mentality1 in
 which there is no human intention1 and 
consequently no art4 ,now1 the effect of
 the cry or of the imitation1 and that  
of certain other manifestations of      
sound1 such as tone1 pitch1 volume1     
rhythm1 major or minor intervals1 which 
are cognate with1 but independent of1   
the cry or the imitation--the effect of 
all this is an entirely sensuous one1 an
 effect of unintelligent matter on the  
nerves1 not of calculating intelligence 
on the mind1 and it is to these physical
 effects1 and not to the mentally       

elaborated form1 that music owes its    
peculiar power of awaking or even of    
suggesting emotion4  ,that this is the  
case is shown by various circumstances4 
,the ancients1 who1 as is now proved    
beyond dispute1 possessed very little of
 the intellectual part of music1 little 
of what we should deem its form1 enjoyed
 its emotional effects to a far higher  
degree than could we in our present     
musical condition2 the stories of       
,timotheus1 ,terpander1 and other       
similar ones1 being at least founded on 
fact1 as is evident from the continual  
allusions of ,greek writers to the moral
 or immoral effect of the art1 and their
 violent denunciations of people whose  
only social crime was to have added a   
string to a lyre or a hole to a flute4  
,we ourselves have constant             
opportunities of remarking the intense  
emotional effects due to mere pitch1    
tone1 and rhythm2 that is to say1 to the
 merely physical qualities of number1   
nature1 and repetition of musical       

vibrations4 ,we have all been cheered by
 the trumpet and depressed by the       
hautboy2 we have felt a wistful         
melancholy steal over us while listening
 to the drone of the bagpipe and the    
quaver of the flute of the pifferari at 
the shrine2 we have felt our heart beat 
and our breath halt on catching the     
first notes of an organ as we lifted the
 entrance curtain of some great         
cathedral2 we have known nothing more   
utterly harrowing than a hurdy-gurdy    
playing a cheerful tune1 or a common    
accordion singing out a waltz or a      
polka4 ,nay1 it is worthy of remark that
 the instruments capable of the greatest
 artistic development are just those    
which possess least this power over the 
nerves3 the whole violin and harpsichord
 tribe1 the human voice when sound and  
natural--saying least themselves1 are   
capable of saying most for others2      
whereas the trumpet1 the accordion1 the 
harp1 the zither1 are condemned by their
 very expressiveness to a hopeless      

inferiority2 they produce an effect     
spontaneously by their mere tone2 the   
artist can produce on them but that     
effect1 and can scarcely heighten even  
it4 ,a musical critic of the beginning  
of this century1 ,giuseppe ,carpani1    
wishing to defend ,rossini from the     
accusation of being unemotional1 boldly 
laid down the principle that it never is
 the composer who makes people cry1 but 
the author of the words and the singer4 
,as to the composer1 he can only please1
 but not move4    ,never 7he says7 were 
people more moved than by a certain     
scene in   ,metastasio's ,araserse1 set 
by ,mortellari1 and sung by the famous  
,pacchierotti 7about #aghj72 and do you 
think perhaps that it was   ,mortellari1
 who made them cry8 ,mortellari1 the    
stupidest mediocrity1   ,dio l'abbia in 
gloria6 ,no1 it was ,metastasio and     
,pacchierotti1 the   verse and the      
voice4  ,this was a mere absurd         
exaggeration1 and a mere captious plea  
for ,rossini1 who1 had he only had      

,metastasio to write the words and      
,pacchierotti to sing1 would doubtless  
have moved the whole universe to tears1 
with ,di tanti palpiti4 ,yet in this    
exaggeration1 an important truth has    
been struck out4 ,this truth is that the
 writer of the libretto1 having at his  
disposal the clear1 idea-suggesting     
word1 can bring up a pathetic situation 
before the mind2 that the singer1 having
 at his command the physical apparatus  
for producing an effect on the nerves1  
can sensuously awaken emotion2 while the
 composer1 possessing neither the       
arbitrary idea-suggesting word1 nor the 
nerve-moving sound1 but only the        
artistic form1 can please to the utmost1
 but move only to a limited degree4     
,thus1 there is a once popular but now  
deservedly forgotten air in the ,romeo e
 ,giulietta of ,zingarelli1 which some  
seventy years ago possessed the most    
miraculous power over what people called
 the heart1 and especially over the not 
too sensitive one of ,napoleon1 who1    

whenever it was sung by his favourite   
,crescentini1 invariably burst into     
tears4 ,the extraordinary part of the   
matter is that this air happens to be   
peculiarly insipid1 without any very    
definite expression1 but1 on the whole1 
of a sort of feeble cheerfulness1 and   
certainly is the last piece that we     
should judge capable of such deeply     
emotional effects4 ,but the situation of
 ,romeo is an intensely pathetic one1   
and it is probable that the singer's    
voice may have possessed some strange   
power over the nerves1 something of the 
purely sensuous pathos of an accordion  
or a zither1 especially in the long1    
gradually diminished notes1 fine by     
degrees and beautifully less1 which move
 like an olian harp4 ,but1 if the       
pathetic effect of ,ombra adorata could 
not be ascribed to the composition      
neither could it be ascribed to the     
interpretation4 ,for this sensuous      
pathos1 though enhanced by the singer's 
intellectual qualities1 in no way       

depends upon them2 the intellect can    
make him graduate and improve the form  
of a piece1 all that which is perceived 
by the mind1 but it has no influence on 
the nerves2 ,crescentini's musical      
intelligence may have enabled him to    
make ,ombra adorata a beautiful song1   
but only his physical powers of voice   
could have enabled him to make it a     
pathetic one4  ,as these physical       
elements are the material out of which  
artistic forms are moulded by the       
musician1 he necessarily deals with and 
disposes of those powers over the nerves
 which are inherent in them4 ,when he   
creates a musical form out of minor     
intervals1 he necessarily gives that    
form something of the melancholy effect 
of such intervals2 when he composes a   
piece with the peculiar rhythm of a     
march1 he necessarily gives his piece   
some of the inspiriting power of that   
rhythm2 when he employs a hautboy or a  
trumpet1 he necessarily lends his work  
some of the depressing quality of the   

hautboy or some of the cheering quality 
of the trumpet4 ,thus the intellectually
 conceived and perceived forms are      
invested with the power over the nerves 
peculiar to certain of the physical     
elements of music2 but it is in those   
component physical elements1 and not in 
the forms into which they are disposed1 
that lies the emotional force of the    
art4 ,nor is this all3 the physical     
elements1 inasmuch as they are subdued  
and regulated and neutralized by one    
another in the intellectual form1 are   
inevitably deprived of the full vigour  
of their emotional power2 the artistic  
form has tamed and curbed them1 has     
forbidden their freely influencing the  
nerves1 while at the same time it--the  
form--has exerted its full sway over the
 mind4 ,the mountains have been hewn    
into terraces1 the forests have been    
clipped into gardens1 the waves have    
been constrained into fountains1 the    
thunder has been tuned down into musical
 notes2 nature has submitted to man1 and

 has abdicated her power into his hands4
 ,the stormy reign of instinctive       
feeling has come to an end2 the serene  
reign of art has begun4  ,in order to   
see these sensuous elements of music in 
their unmixed purity1 in their unbridled
 strength1 we must descend to the lowest
 stages of the art1 compared with whose 
emotional effects those of modern music 
are as nothing1 and least of all in the 
classic periods of the art2 but even in 
modern music1 what really strong        
emotional effects there may be are due  
to a momentary suspension of artistic   
activity1 to a momentary return to the  
formless1 physically touching music of  
early ages4 ,the most emotional thing   
ever written by ,mozart is the          
exclamation of ,donna ,elvira1 when1    
after leaving ,don ,giovanni at his     
ill-omened supper1 she is met on the    
staircase by the statue of the          
commander2 this exclamation is but one  
high1 detached note1 formless1          
meaningless1 which pierces the nerves   

like a blade2 submit even this one note 
to artistic action1 bid the singer      
gradually swell and diminish it1 and you
 at once rob it of its terrible power4  
,this is ,mozart's most emotional       
stroke2 but was a ,mozart1 nay1 was any 
musician1 necessary for its conception8 
,would not that cry have been the same  
if surrounded by true music8 ,a contrary
 example1 but to the same effect1 is    
afforded by ,gluck in his great scene of
 ,orpheus at the gate of ,hades1 which  
may have moved our great-grandfathers1  
accustomed to fugues and minuets and    
rigaudons1 but which seems coldly       
beautiful as some white antique group to
 us1 accustomed as we are to romantic   
art4 ,the ,no6 of the ,furies loses all 
its effects by being worked into a      
definite musical form1 by being locked  
into the phrase begun by ,orpheus2 it is
 merely a constituent note and no more1 
until after some time it is repeated    
detached1 and without any reference to  
the main melody sung by ,orpheus3 at    

first it is part of a work of art1 later
 it becomes a mere brute shout1 and     
then1 and then only1 does it obtain a   
really moving character4  ,when these   
potent physical elements are held in    
subjection by artistic form1 emotion may
 be suggested1 more or less vaguely1 but
 only suggested3 we perceive them in the
 fabric which imprisons them1 and we    
perceive their power1 but it is as we   
should perceive the power of a tiger    
chained up behind a grating3 we remember
 and imagine what it has been and might 
be1 but we no longer feel it2 for us to 
again feel it1 the artistic form must be
 torn down2 the physical elements       
unchained1 and then1 and then only1     
shall we tremble once more before them4 
,mozart may be on his door-step as a    
regiment passes3 he may feel the        
inspiring1 courage-awakening effect of  
its rough rhythm and discordant1        
screeching trumpets3 he may go upstairs1
 sit down to his piano1 make use of all 
those sensuous elements1 of the rhythm  

and of the wind instruments1 which have 
stirred him in that regimental music3 he
 may use them in a piece professedly    
suggested by that music2 the piece will 
be ,non pi andrai1 and a masterpiece4   
,we shall be reminded of military music 
by it1 and we shall be aware of the fact
 that its rhythm and accompaniment are  
martial2 we shall even call it a martial
 piece2 but will it stir us1 will it    
make us step out and feel soldier-like  
as would the coarsest regimental        
trumpets8 ,jommelli may enter a         
cathedral as the bells are tolling to   
mass1 and all seems undulating and      
heaving beneath their swing2 he may feel
 the awful effect of those simple1      
shapeless sounds3 he may listen to their
 suggestion and frame the opening of his
 ,mass for the ,dead on that deep       
monotonous sway2 he will produce a      
masterpiece1 the wondrous ,introitus of 
his ,requiem1 in which we shall indeed  
recognize something of the solemn rhythm
 of the bells1 something that will      

awaken in us the recollection of that   
moment when the cathedral towers seemed 
to rock to their movement1 and the      
aisles re-echoed their roar1 and when   
even miles away in the open country the 
clear deep toll floated across the      
silent fields2 but that effect itself we
 shall never hear in the music4 ,the    
artist has used the already existing    
emotional elements for his own purposes1
 but those purposes are artistic ones2  
they aim at delighting the mind1 not at 
tickling the nerves4  ,the composer1    
therefore1 inasmuch as he deprives the  
emotional elements of music of their    
freedom and force of action1 cannot     
possibly produce an effect on the       
emotions at all to be compared with that
 spontaneously afforded by nature2 he   
can imitate the rush of waters or the   
sob of despair only so distantly and    
feebly that the effect of either is     
well-nigh lost1 and even for such an    
imitation he must endanger the artistic 
value of his work1 which is safe only   

when it is the artist's sole aim and    
object4 ,the most that the composer can 
legitimately do is to suggest a given   
emotion by employing in his intellectual
 structure such among the physical      
elements of his art as would in a state 
of complete freedom awaken that given   
emotion2 he may choose such sensuous    
elements as would inspire melancholy1 or
 joy1 or serenity2 he may reject any    
contrary element or any incongruous     
effect1 and he may thus produce what we 
shall call a pathetic piece1 or a       
cheerful piece1 or a solemn piece4  ,but
 this pathetic1 cheerful1 or solemn     
character depends not upon the          
intellectual forms imagined by the      
composer1 but upon the sensuous elements
 afforded by nature2 and the artistic   
activity of the composer consists in the
 conception of those forms1 not in the  
selection of those physical elements4   
,when1 therefore1 a composer is said to 
express the words which he is setting1  
he does so by means not of the creation 

of artistic forms1 but by the selection 
of sensuous materials2 the suggestion of
 an emotion analogous to that conveyed  
by the words is due not to the piece    
itself1 but to its physical             
constituents2 wherefore the artistic    
value of the composition in no way      
depends upon its adaptation to the words
 with which it is linked4 ,there is no  
more common mistake1 nor one which more 
degrades artistic criticism1 than the   
supposition that the merit of ,he was   
despised and rejected of men1 or of ,fin
 ch'an del vino1 depends upon their     
respective suitableness to the words3   
the most inferior musician would        
perceive that such and such physical    
elements were required to suggest a     
mental condition in harmony with either 
of these verbal expressions of feeling2 
the most inferior musician could have   
given us a piece as melancholy as ,he   
was despised1 or as cheerful as ,fin    
ch'an del vino1 but--and here lies the  
unique test of artistic worth--only     

,handel could have given us so beautiful
 a melancholy piece as the one1 and only
 ,mozart so beautiful a cheerful piece  
as the other4 ,as it is with the praise1
 so likewise is it with the blame3 a    
composer who sets a cheerful piece to   
dismal words1 or a dismal piece to      
cheerful words1 may be reprehensible for
 not reflecting that the mind thus      
receives together two contrary          
impressions1 and he may be condemned for
 want of logic and good sense2 but not a
 word can be said against his artistic  
merit1 any more than we could say a word
 against the artistic merit of the great
 iron-worker of the ,renaissance1 who   
closed the holy place where lies the    
,virgin's sacred girdle with a screen of
 passion flowers1 in whose petals hide  
goats and ducks1 on whose tendrils are  
balanced pecking cranes1 and in the     
curling leaves of which little naked    
winged ,cupids are drawing their bows   
and sharpening their arrows even as in  
the bas-reliefs of a pagan sarcophagus4 

,in the free and spontaneous activity of
 musical conception1 the composer may   
forget the words he is setting1 as the  
painter may forget the subject he is    
painting in the fervour of plastic      
imagination2 for the musician conceives 
not emotions1 but modulations2 and the  
painter conceives not actions1 but      
gestures and attitudes4 ,thence it comes
 that ,mozart has made regicide ,romans 
storm and weep as he would have made    
,zerlina and ,cherubino laugh1 just as  
,titian made ,magdalen smite her breast 
in the wilderness with the smile of     
,flora on her feast-day2 hence that     
confusion in all save form1 that        
indifference to all save beauty1 which  
characterises all the great epochs of   
art1 that sublime jumble of times and   
peoples1 of tragic and comic1 that      
motley crowding together of satyrs and  
anchorites1 of ,saracens and ancient    
,romans1 of antique warriors and medival
 burghers1 of ,gothic tracery and       
,grecian arabesque1 of ,theseus and     

,titania1 of ,puck and ,bottom1 that    
great masquerade of art which we1 poor  
critics1 would fain reduce to law and   
rule1 to chronological and ethnological 
propriety4  ,those times are gone by3 we
 wish to make every form correspond with
 an idea2 we wish to be told a story by 
the statue1 by the picture1 most of all 
by that which can least tell it--by     
music4 ,we forget that music is neither 
a symbol which can convey an abstract   
thought1 nor a brute cry which can      
express an instinctive feeling2 we wish 
to barter the power of leaving in the   
mind an indelible image of beauty for   
the miserable privilege of awakening the
 momentary recollection of one of       
nature's sounds1 or the yet more        
miserable one of sending a momentary    
tremor through the body2 we would rather
 compare than enjoy1 and rather weep    
than admire4 ,therefore we try to force 
music to talk a language which it does  
not speak and which we do not           
understand2 and succeed only in making  

it babble like a child or rave like a   
madman1 obtaining nothing but           
unintelligible and incoherent forms in  
our anxiety to obtain intelligible and  
logical thoughts4 ,we forget that great 
fact1 forever overlooked by romanticism1
 that poetry and music are essentially  
distinct in their nature2 that          
,chapelmaster ,kreisler's improvisation 
was not played but spoken2 and that had 
not the snuffers fallen into the piano1 
had not the strings snapped asunder1    
,hoffmann would have had to record1 not 
a grandly grotesque series of images1   
but a succession of formless and        
meaningless chords4     ,,cherubino4  ,a
 ,,psychological ,,art ,,fancy4   ,it is
 a strange and beautiful fact that      
whatsoever is touched by genius1 no     
matter how humble in itself1 becomes    
precious and immortal4 ,this wrinkled   
old woman is merely one of thousands    
like herself1 who have sat and will sit 
by the great porcelain stove of the     
,dutch backshop1 their knitting or their

 bible on their knees4 ,there is nothing
 to make her recollected2 yet we know   
her after two centuries1 even as if we  
had seen her alive1 because1 with a few 
blurred lines and shadows hastily       
scratched on his etching plate1 it      
pleased the whim of ,master ,rembrandt  
to pourtray her4 ,and this little       
commonplace ,frankfurt shopkeeper's     
maiden1 in her stiff little cap and     
starched frill1 who should remember her8
 ,yet she is familiar to us all1 because
 she struck the boyish fancy of ,goethe4
 ,for even as the fact of its once      
having sparkled on the waistcoat of     
,mozart makes us treasure up a tarnished
 brass button2 and as the notion of     
their having been planted by the hand of
 ,michael ,angelo made us mourn the     
cutting down of a clump of sear and     
rusty old cypresses1 so also the fact of
 having been noticed1 noted down by     
genius1 with brush1 or pen1 or chisel1  
makes into relics men and things which  
would else have been forgotten2 because 

the stroke of that pen1 or brush1 or    
chisel removes them from the perishable 
world of reality to the deathless world 
of fancy4 ,nay1 even the beautiful      
things1 the perfect1 physically or      
morally1 of the world1 those which      
called forth admiration and love as long
 as they existed3 ,antinous and ,monna  
,lisa1 ,beatrice and ,laura1 would now  
be but a handful of nameless dust1 were 
it not for the artists and poets who    
have made them live again and for ever3 
the deeds and sufferings of the         
,siegfrieds and ,cids1 of the           
,desdemonas and ,francescas1 would have 
died away had they not been filched out 
of the world of reality into the world  
of fiction4 ,and even as the perishable1
 the humble1 the insignificant reality  
becomes enduring and valuable by the    
touch of genius2 so also in the very    
world of fiction itself the intellectual
 creations of one man may be raised to  
infinitely higher regions by the hand of
 another1 may be transported into the   

kingdom of another and nobler art1 and  
there be seen more universally and      
surrounded by a newly acquired radiance4
 ,in this manner the tale of ,romeo and 
,juliet1 graciously and tenderly        
narrated by the old ,italian            
story-teller1 was transfigured by       
,shakespeare and enshrined in all the   
splendours of ,elizabethan poetry2 the  
figure of ,psyche1 delicately graceful  
in the little romance of ,apuleius1     
reappeared1 enlarged and glorified by   
the hand of ,raphael1 on the walls of   
the ,farnesina2 and thus also our       
,cherubino1 the fanciful and brilliant  
creature of ,beaumarchais1 is known to  
most of us far less in his original     
shape than in the vague form woven out  
of subtle melodies to which ,mozart has 
given the page's name4 ,mozart has1 as  
it were1 taken away ,cherubino from     
,beaumarchais2 he has1 for the world at 
large1 substituted for the page of the  
comedy the page of the opera4           
,beaumarchais could give us clear-spoken

 words1 dialogue and action1 a visible  
and tangible creature2 and ,mozart could
 give only a certain arrangement of     
notes1 a certain amount of rhythm and   
harmony1 a vague1 speechless1 shapeless 
thing2 yet much more than the written   
words do those notes represent to our   
fancy the strange and fascinating little
 figure1 the wayward1 the amorous1 the  
prankish1 the incarnation of            
childishness1 of gallantry1 of grace1 of
 fun1 and of mischief1 the archetype of 
pages--the page ,cherubino4 ,what could 
music do for ,cherubino8 of what means  
could it dispose to reproduce this type1
 this figure8 and how did1 how should   
music have disposed of those means8     
,about this fantastic and brilliant     
little jackanapes of a page centres a   
curious question of artistic anomaly1 of
 artistic power1 and of artistic duty4  
,the part of ,cherubino3 the            
waywardness1 the love1 the levity1 the  
audacity1 the timidity1 the maturity and
 immaturity of the page's feelings1 are 

all concentrated by the admirable       
ingenuity of the ,venetian ,d',aponte1  
who arranged ,beaumarchais's play for   
,mozart's music1 into one air1 the air  
sung by ,cherubino in that very         
equivocal interview with the ,countess  
and ,susanna1 so rudely to be broken by 
the thundering rap of the ,count at the 
door4 ,the air is ,voi che              
sapete--,cherubino's description1 half  
to the noble and sentimental lady1 half 
to the flippant and laughing            
waiting-maid1 of the curious symptoms1  
the mysterious hankerings1 and          
attractions which the boy has of late   
begun to experience--symptoms of which  
he is half ashamed1 as calculated to    
bring down laughter and boxes on the    
ear1 and half proud1 mischievously      
conscious that they make him a personage
 for all this womankind4 ,every one has 
heard ,voi che sapete sung a hundred    
times by dozens of singers in dozens of 
fashions1 till it has become in the     
recollection a sort of typical jumble of

 all these various readings2 but we once
 chanced to hear a reading of ,voi che  
sapete which has remained strangely     
distinct and separate in our            
remembrance2 which made that performance
 of the hackneyed piece remain isolated 
in our mind1 almost as if the air had   
never before or never since been heard  
by us4 ,the scene of the performance has
 remained in our memory as a whole1     
because the look1 the attitude1 the face
 of the performer seemed to form a      
whole1 a unity of expression and        
character1 with the inflexions of the   
voice and the accentuation of the words4
 ,she was standing by the piano3 a      
,spanish ,creole1 but1 instead of the   
precocious1 overblown magnificence of   
tropical natures1 with a something      
almost childlike despite seriousness1   
something inflexible1 unexpanded1 unripe
 about her2 quite small1 slender1       
infinitely slight and delicate2 standing
 perfectly straight and motionless in   
her long1 tight dress of ashy rose      

colour2 her little dark head with its   
tight coils of ebony hair perfectly     
erect2 her great dark violet-circled    
eyes1 with their perfect ellipse of     
curved eyebrow meeting curved eyelash1  
black and clear against the pale1       
ivory-tinted cheek1 looking straight    
before her2 self-unconscious1           
concentrated1 earnest1 dignified1 with  
only a faint fluttering smile1 to       
herself1 not to the audience1 about the 
mouth4 ,she sang the page's song in a   
strange voice1 sweet and crisp1 like a  
,cremonese violin1 with a bloom of      
youth1 scarcely mature yet perfect1 like
 the honey dust of the vine-flower2 sang
 the piece with an unruffled serenity1  
with passion1 no limpness or languor1   
but passion restrained1 or rather       
undeveloped2 with at most a scarcely    
perceptible hesitation and reticence of 
accent1 as of budding youthful emotion2 
her voice seeming in some unaccountable 
manner to move in a higher1 subtler     
stratum of atmosphere1 as it dextrously 

marked1 rounded off1 kissed away each   
delicate little phrase4 ,when she had   
done1 she gave a slight bow with her    
proud little head1 half modestly and    
half contemptuously1 as1 with her rapid1
 quiet movement1 she resumed her seat2  
she probably felt that despite the      
applause1 her performance did not really
 please4 ,no one criticised1 for there  
was something that forbade criticism in 
this solemn little creature2 and every  
one applauded1 for every one felt that  
her singing had been admirable4 ,but    
there was no warmth of admiration1 no   
complete satisfaction3 she had sung with
 wonderful delicacy and taste and       
feeling2 her performance had been       
exquisitely finished1 perfect2 but      
something familiar1 something essential 
had been missing4 ,she had left out     
,cherubino3 she had completely forgotten
 and passed over the page4  ,how was it8
 ,how could it be that the something    
which we felt was the nature of the     
page1 the something which even the      

coarsest1 poorest performers had brought
 out in this piece1 had completely      
disappeared in this wonderfully perfect 
rendering by this subtle little singer8 
,perhaps the rendering had been only    
materially perfect3 perhaps it was      
merely the exquisite tone of the voice1 
the wonderful neatness of execution     
which had given it an appearance of     
completeness2 perhaps the real meaning  
of the music had escaped her2 perhaps   
there was behind all this perfection of 
execution only a stolid dulness of      
nature1 to which the genius of ,mozart  
was not perceptible4 ,none of all these 
possibilities and probabilities3 the    
chief characteristic of the performance 
was exactly the sense of perfect musical
 intuition1 of subtle appreciation of   
every little intonation1 the sense that 
this docile and exquisite physical      
instrument was being played upon by a   
keen and unflinching artistic           
intelligence4 ,the more you thought over
 it1 the more you compared this         

performance with any other performance  
of the piece1 the more also did you feel
 convinced that this was the right1 the 
only right reading of the piece2 that   
this strange1 serious little dark       
creature had given you the whole1 the   
perfection of ,mozart's conception2 no1 
there could be no doubt of it1 this and 
this alone was ,mozart's idea of ,voi   
che sapete4 ,mozart's idea8 the whole of
 ,mozart's conception8 here1 in this    
delicate1 dignified1 idyllic            
performance8 ,the whole8 ,why then1     
where1 if this was the whole of         
,mozart's conception1 where was         
,cherubino1 where was the page8 ,why1   
nowhere4 ,now that the song had been    
presented to us in its untampered       
perfection1 that the thought of the     
composer was clear to us--now that we   
could begin to analyse the difference   
between this performance and the        
performances of other singers--we began 
to see1 vaguely at first and not without
 doubts of our powers of sight1 but to  

see1 and more and more distinctly the   
longer we looked1 that ,cherubino was   
not in ,mozart's work1 but merely in    
,beaumarchais4 ,a very singular         
conclusion to arrive at1 but one not to 
be shirked3 ,cherubino had passed into  
the words of ,mozart's ,italian         
libretto1 he had passed into the dress1 
the face1 the feature1 the action of the
 thousands of performers who had sung   
the ,marriage of ,figaro on the stage2  
but he had not passed into ,mozart's    
notes2 and because he had not entered   
into those notes1 that subtle and       
serious little ,spaniard1 who had seen  
and understood so well the meaning and  
beauty of ,mozart's music1 had known    
nothing of ,cherubino4  ,now1 after all 
this discussion respecting his presence 
and his absence1 let us stay awhile and 
examine into the being of this          
,cherubino1 so familiar and so          
immediately missed by us2 let us look at
 the page1 whom the clever playwright   
,d',aponte transported1 with            

extraordinary success1 out of the       
,french comedy into the ,italian opera  
text4 ,very familiar to all of us1 yet1 
like the things most familiar1 rather   
vaguely2 seen often and in various      
lights1 fluctuating consequently in our 
memory1 as distinguished from the       
distinct and steadfast image of things  
seen only once and printed off at a     
stroke on to our mind4 ,at the first    
glance1 when we see him sitting at the  
feet of the ,countess1 singing her his  
love songs1 he seems a delicate poetic  
exotic1 whose presence takes us quite   
aback in the midst of the rouged and    
pigtailed philosophy1 the stucco and    
tinsel sentimentality of the ,french    
eighteenth century4 ,in these rooms1 all
 decorated by ,boucher and ,fragonard1  
in this society redolent with the       
theories of ,diderot and the jests of   
,voltaire1 this page1 this boy who is   
almost a girl1 with his ribbons and his 
ballads1 his blushes1 his guitar1 and   
his rapier1 appears like a thing of long

 past days1 or of far distant countries2
 a belated brother of ,shakspeare's     
,cesario and ,fletcher's ,bellario1 a   
straggler from the ,spain of ,lope de   
,vega1 who has followed ,m4 ,caron de   
,beaumarchais1 ex-watchmaker and        
ex-musicmaster to ,mesdames the         
daughters of ,louis ,,xv41 from ,madrid1
 and leaped suddenly on to the planks of
 the ,comdie ,franaise 444 a ghost of   
some medival boy page1 some little      
,jehan de ,saintr killed crusading with 
his lady's name on his lips4 ,or is not 
,cherubino rather a solitary forerunner 
of romanticism1 stumbled untimely into  
this ,france of ,marie ,antoinette2 some
 elder brother of ,goethe's ,mignon 444 
nay1 perhaps ,mignon herself1 disguised 
as or metamorphosed into a boy4444 ,but 
let us look well at him3 let him finish 
his song and raise his audacious eyes2  
let him rise and be pulled to and fro1  
bashful with false bashfulness half     
covering his mischievous1 monkish       
impudence1 while ,susanna is mumming him

 up in petticoats and kerchiefs2 let us 
look at him again now1 and we shall see 
that he is no ,jehan de ,saintr1 no male
 ,mignon1 no ,viola in boy's clothes1 no
 sweetly pure little romantic figure1   
but an impertinent1 precocious little   
,lovelace1 a serio-comic little         
jackanapes1 sighing and weeping only to 
giggle and pirouette on his heels the   
next moment4 ,from the ,countess he will
 run to the gardener's daughter1 from   
her to the waiting-maid1 to the duenna1 
to all womankind2 he is a professed     
lady-killer and woman-teaser of         
thirteen4 ,there is indeed something    
graceful and romantic in the idea of    
this pretty child consoling1 with his   
poetical1 absurd love1 the poor1        
neglected1 ill-used lady4 ,but then he  
has been smuggled in by that dubious    
,abigail1 ,susanna2 the sentimental1    
melancholy ,countess is amused by       
dressing him up in women's clothes2 and 
when1 in the midst of the masquerade1   
the voice of the ,count is heard        

without1 the page is huddled away into a
 closet1 his presence is violently      
denied1 and the ,countess admits her    
adored though fickle lord with a        
curious1 conscious1 half-guilty         
embarrassment4 ,we feel vaguely that    
,shakspeare would never have introduced 
his boy ,ganymede or his page ,cesario  
into that dressing-room of the ,countess
 ,almaviva2 that the archly jesting     
,maria would never have dreamed of      
amusing the ,lady ,olivia with such     
mummings2 we miss in this proudly       
sentimental lady1 in this sly           
waiting-woman1 in this calf-loving      
dressed-up boy the frank and boisterous 
merriment of ,portia and ,nerissa in    
their escapades and mystifications2     
there is in all this too much locking of
 doors and drawing of curtains1 too much
 whispered giggling1 too little audible 
laughter2 there hangs an indefinable    
sense of impropriety about the whole    
scene4 ,no1 no1 this is no delicate and 
gracious young creature of the stock of 

,elizabethan pages1 no sweet exotic in  
the ,france of #aghj2 this ,cherubino is
 merely a graceful1 coquettish little   
,greuze figure1 with an equivocal       
simplicity1 an ogling navet1 a smirking 
bashfulness1 a hidden audacity of       
corruption2 a creature of ,sterne or    
,marivaux1 tricked out in imitation     
,medival garb1 with the stolen conscious
 wink of the eye1 the would-be childlike
 smile1 tinged with leer1 of eighteenth 
century gallantry4 ,he is an            
impertinent1 effeminate1 fondled1       
cynical little jackanapes2 the youngest1
 childish1 monkeyish example1 at present
 merely comic and contemptible1 of the  
miserable type of young lovers given to 
,france by the eighteenth century2 the  
enfant du sicle1 externally a splendid1 
brilliant1 triumphant success1          
internally a miserable1 broken1 unmanned
 failure2 the child initiated into life 
by cynicism1 the youth educated to love 
by adultery2 corrupt unripeness2 the    
most miserable type of demoralisation   

ever brought into literature1 the type  
of ,fortunio and ,perdican1 and of their
 author ,alfred de ,musset2 a type which
 the ,elizabethans1 with their ,claudios
 and ,giovannis1 could not have         
conceived2 which the ,spaniards1 with   
their ,don ,juans and ,ludovic ,enios1  
would have despised1 they who had       
brought on to the stage profligacy which
 bearded death and hell1 turning with   
contempt from profligacy which could be 
chastised only with the birch4          
,cherubino is this3 his love is no      
poetic and silly passion for a woman    
much older than himself1 before whom he 
sinks on his knees as before a goddess2 
it is the instinct of the lady-killer1  
the instinct of adventures1 the         
consciousness in this boy of thirteen   
that all womankind is his destined prey1
 his game1 his quarry4 ,and womankind   
instinctively understands and makes the 
,lovelace of thirteen its darling1 its  
toy1 its kitten1 its pet monkey1 all    
whose grimacings and coaxings and       

impertinences may be endured1 enjoyed1  
encouraged4 ,he is the graceful1        
brilliant1 apish ,ariel or ,puck of the 
society whose ,mirandas and ,titanias   
are ,julie and ,manon ,lescaut2 he is   
the page of the ,french eighteenth      
century4  ,such is1 when we analyse him1
 the page ,cherubino2 looking at him    
carelessly1 with the carelessness of    
familiarity1 these various peculiarities
 escape our notice2 they merge into each
 other and into the whole figure4 ,but  
although we do not perceive them        
consciously and in detail1 we take in1  
vaguely and unconsciously1 their total  
effect3 we do not analyse ,cherubino and
 classify his qualities1 we merely take 
him in as a general type4 ,and it is    
this confused and familiar entity which 
we call the page1 and which we expect to
 have brought home to us as soon as we  
hear the first notes1 as we see the     
title of ,voi che sapete4 ,it is this   
entity1 this character thus vaguely     
conceived1 which forms for us an        

essential part of ,mozart's music2 and  
whose absence from that music made us   
feel as if1 despite the greatest musical
 perfection1 ,mozart's idea were not    
completely given to us4 ,yet1 in        
reality1 this psychological combination 
called ,cherubino does not exist in the 
work of ,mozart4 ,it exists only by the 
side of it4 ,we speak of the ,marriage  
of ,figaro as ,mozart's work2 we are    
accustomed to think of the ,countess1 of
 ,figaro1 of ,susanna1 of ,cherubino as 
belonging to ,mozart2 but in reality    
only one half of the thing we call the  
,marriage of ,figaro belongs to         
,mozart--that half which consists in    
melodies and harmonies2 and as it       
happens1 it is not in that1 but in the  
other half belonging to ,beaumarchais   
and ,d',aponte1 the half consisting of  
words and their suggestions of          
character1 of expression and of         
movement1 that really exists1 either the
 ,countess1 or ,figaro1 or ,susanna1 or 
,cherubino4 ,those notes1 which alone   

are ,mozart's and which are nothing more
 than notes1 have been heard by us in   
the mouths of many women dressed and    
acting as ,beaumarchais's characters2   
they have been heard by us associated to
 the words of ,beaumarchais2 they have  
been heard delivered with the dramatic  
inflections suggested not by themselves 
but by those words2 and thus1 by mere   
force of association1 of slovenly       
thought and active fancy1 we are        
accustomed to consider all these        
characters as existing in the music of  
,mozart1 as being part and parcel of    
,mozart's conception2 and when we are   
presented with those notes1 which1 to   
the musician ,mozart1 were merely notes 
without those dramatic inflections      
suggested solely by ,beaumarchais's     
words1 when we hear in ,voi che sapete  
only ,mozart's half of the work1 we are 
disappointed and indignant1 and cry out 
that the composer's idea has been       
imperfectly rendered4  ,cherubino1 we   
say1 is not in ,mozart's half of the    

work2 he is in the words1 not in the    
music4 ,is this a fault or a merit8 is  
it impotence in the art or indifference 
in the artist8 ,could ,mozart have given
 us ,cherubino8 and if able1 ought he to
 have given him8 ,the question is       
double2 a question of artistic dynamics1
 and a question of artistic ethics3 the 
question what can art do2 and the       
question what art ought to do4 ,the     
first has been answered by the          
scientific investigations of our own    
scientific times2 the second has been   
answered by the artistic practice of the
 truly artistic days of music4 ,the     
questions are strangely linked together1
 and yet strangely separate2 and woe    
betide us if we receive the answer to   
the one question as the answer to the   
other2 if we let the knowledge of what  
things are serve us instead of the      
instinct of what things should do2 if we
 let scientific analysis step into the  
place of ethical or sthetical judgment2 
and if1 in the domain of art or of      

morals we think to substitute a system  
of alembics and microscopes for that    
strange intangible mechanism which      
science tells us does not exist1 and    
which indeed science can never see or   
clutch1 our soul4 ,for science has a    
singular contempt for all that is       
without its domain2 it seeks for truth1 
but when truth baffles and eludes it1   
science will turn towards falsehood2 it 
will deny what it cannot prove1 and call
 ,god himself a brain-phantom because he
 cannot be vivisected4 ,so1 when logic1 
which can solve only logical            
propositions1 remains without           
explanation before the dicta of the     
moral and sthetic parts of us1 it simply
 denies the existence of such dicta and 
replaces them by its own formul2 if we  
ask for the aim of things and actions1  
it tells us their origin2 if we         
trustingly ask when we should admire    
beauty and love virtue1 it drops the    
rainbow into its crucible to discover   
its chemical components1 and dissects   

the brain of a saint to examine the     
shape of its convolutions2 it meets     
admiration and love with experiment and 
analysis1 and1 where we are required to 
judge1 tells us we can only examine4    
,thus1 as in ethics1 so also in         
sthetics1 modern philosophy has given us
 the means instead of the aim1 the      
analysis instead of the judgment2 let us
 therefore ask it only how much of human
 character and emotion music can        
express2 the question how much of it    
music ought to express must be answered 
by something else3 by that artistic     
instinct whose composition and mechanism
 and origin scientific psychology may   
perhaps some day explain1 but whose     
unformulated1 inarticulate1             
half-unconscious dicta all the          
scientific and logical formul in the    
world can never replace4 ,as yet1       
however1 we have to deal only with the  
question how much of human character and
 emotion music can express1 and by what 
means it does so2 and here modern       

psychology1 or rather the genius of     
,herbert ,spencer1 is able to answer us4
 ,why does dance music cheer us1 and    
military music inspirit us1 and sacred  
music make us solemn8 ,a vague sense of 
the truth made stheticians answer1 for  
well-nigh two centuries1 by the force of
 association4 ,dance music cheers us    
because we are accustomed to hear it in 
connection with laughing and quips and  
cranks2 military music inspirits us     
because we are accustomed to hear it in 
connection with martial movements and   
martial sights2 sacred music depresses  
us because we are accustomed to hear it 
at moments when we are contemplating our
 weakness and mortality2 'tis a mere    
matter of association4 ,to this         
easy-going way of disposing of the      
problem there was an evident and        
irrefutable objection3 but why should we
 be accustomed to hear a given sort of  
music in connection with these various  
conditions of mind8 ,why should dance   
music1 and martial music1 and sacred    

music all have a perfectly distinct     
character1 which forbade1 from the very 
first1 their being exchangeable8 ,if it 
is a matter of association of ideas1    
tell us why such characters could have  
been kept distinct before the           
association of ideas could have begun to
 exist8 ,to this objection there was no 
reply2 the explanation of musical       
expression by means of association of   
ideas seemed utterly hollow2 yet the    
confused idea of such an association    
persisted4 ,for it was1 after all1 the  
true explanation4 ,if we ask modern     
psychology the reason of the specific   
characters of the various sorts of      
music1 we shall again be answered3 it is
 owing to the association of ideas4 ,but
 the two answers1 though apparently     
identical1 are in fact radically        
different4 ,the habit of association    
existed1 according to the old theory1   
between various mental conditions and   
various sorts of music1 because the two 
were usually found in connection2 hence 

no explanation why1 before habit had    
created the association1 there should   
have been any connection1 and1 there    
being no connection1 no explanation why 
the habit and consequently the mental   
association should ever have been       
formed4 ,according to the modern theory1
 on the contrary1 the habit of          
association is not between the various  
mental conditions and the various styles
 of music2 but between specific mental  
conditions and specific sounds and      
movements1 which sounds and movements1  
being employed as the constituent       
elements of music1 give to the musical  
forms into which they have been         
artistically arranged that inevitable   
suggestion of a given mental condition  
which is due to memory1 and become1 by  
repetition during thousands of years1 an
 instinct ingrained in the race and     
inborn in the individual1 a recognition 
rapid and unconscious1 that certain     
audible movements are the inevitable    
concomitants of certain moral           

conditions4 ,the half-unconscious memory
 become part and parcel of the human    
mind1 that1 just as certain mental      
conditions induce a movement in the     
muscles which brings tears into the eye 
or a knot into the throat1 so also      
certain audible movements are due to the
 muscular tension resulting from mental 
buoyancy1 and certain others to the     
muscular relaxation due to mental       
depression1 this half-unconscious       
memory1 this instinct1 this inevitable  
association of ideas1 generated long    
before music existed even in the most   
rudimentary condition1 carried with the 
various elements of pitch1 movement1    
sonority1 and proportion into the       
musical forms constructed out of these  
elements1 this unconscious association  
of ideas1 this integrated recollection  
of the inevitable connection between    
certain sounds and certain passions is  
the one main cause and explanation of   
the expressiveness of music4 ,and when  
to it we have added the conscious       

perception1 due to actual comparison1 of
 the resemblance between certain modes  
of musical delivery and certain modes of
 ordinary speaking accentuation1 between
 certain musical movements and certain  
movements of the body in gesticulation2 
when we have completed the instinctive  
recognition of passion1 which makes us  
cry or jump1 we know not why1 by the    
rapidly reasoned recognition of         
resemblance between the utterance of the
 art and the utterance of human life1   
which1 when we listen for instance to a 
recitative1 makes us say1 ,this sentence
 is absolutely correct in expression1   
or1 ,no human being ever said such a    
thing in such a manner2 when we have the
 instinctive perception of passion1 and 
the conscious perception of imitation2  
and we have added to these two the power
 of tone and harmony1 neither of them   
connected in any way with the expression
 of emotion1 but both rendering us1 by  
their nervous stimulant1 infinitely more
 sensitive to its expression2 when we   

have all this1 we have all the elements 
which the musician can employ to bring  
home to us a definite state of mind2 all
 the mysterious unspoken1 unwritten     
words by means of which ,mozart can     
describe to us what ,beaumarchais has   
described in clear1 logical1 spoken1    
written words--the page ,cherubino4     
,now let us see how much of ,cherubino  
can be shown us by these mere musical   
means4 ,cherubino is childish1          
coquettish1 sentimental1 amorous1 timid1
 audacious1 fickle2 he is self-conscious
 and self-unconscious1 passionately     
troubled in mind1 impudently cool in    
manner2 he is brazen1 calm1 shy1        
fluttered2 all these things together4   
,sometimes in rapid alternation1        
sometimes all together in the same      
moment2 and in all this he is perfectly 
consistent1 he is always one and the    
same creature4 ,how does the playwright 
contrive to make us see all this8 ,by   
means of combinations of words          
expressing one or more of these various 

characteristics1 by subtle phrases woven
 out of different shades of feeling1    
which glance in irridescent hues like a 
shot silk1 which are both one thing and 
another2 by means also of various       
emotions cunningly adapted to the exact 
situation1 from the timid sentimentality
 before the countess1 down to the       
audacious love-making with the          
waiting-maid2 by means1 in short1 of a  
hundred tiny strokes1 of words spoken by
 the page and of the page1 by means of  
dexterously combined views of the boy   
himself1 and of the reflection of the   
boy in the feelings of those who        
surround him4 ,thus far the mere words  
in the book2 but these words in the book
 suggest a thousand little inflections  
of voice1 looks1 gestures1 movements1   
manners of standing and walking1 flutter
 of lips and sparkle of eyes1 which     
exist clear though imaginary in the mind
 of the reader1 and become clearer1     
visible1 audible in the concrete        
representation of the actor4  ,thus     

,cherubino comes to exist4 ,a phantom of
 the fancy1 a little figure from out of 
the shadow land of imagination1 but     
present to our mind as is this floor    
upon which we tread1 alive as is this   
pulse throbbing within us4 ,ask the     
musician to give us all this with his   
mere pitch1 and rhythm and harmony and  
sonority2 bid him describe all this in  
his language4 ,alas6 in the presence of 
such a piece of work the musician is a  
mere dumb cripple1 stammering           
unintelligible sounds1 tottering through
 abortive gestures1 pointing we know not
 whither1 asking we know not for what4  
,passionate music8 ,and is not ,othello 
passionate8 ,coquettish music8 and is   
not ,susanna coquettish8 ,tender music8 
and is not ,orpheus tender8 ,cool music8
 and is not ,judas ,maccabus cool8      
,impudent music8 ,and is not the snatch 
of dance tune of a ,parisian grisette   
impudent8 ,and which of these sorts of  
music shall fit our ,cherubino1 be our  
page8 ,shall we fuse1 in wonderful      

nameless abomination of nonsense1 all   
these different styles1 these different 
suggestions1 or shall1 as in a          
masquerade1 this dubious ,cherubino     
never seen with his own face and habit1 
appear successively in the musical      
trappings of ,othello1 of ,orpheus1 of  
,susanna1 of ,judas ,maccabus1 and of   
the ,grisette8 ,shall we1 by means of   
this fusion1 or this succession of      
musical incongruities1 have got one inch
 nearer to ,cherubino8 ,shall we1 in    
listening to the mere wordless          
combination of sounds1 be able to say1  
as we should with the book or the actors
 before us1 this is ,cherubino8 ,what1  
then1 can music give us1 with all its   
powers of suggestion and feeling1 if it 
cannot give us this8 ,it can give us one
 thing1 not another3 it can give us     
emotion1 but it cannot give us the      
individual whom the emotion possesses4  
,with its determined relations between  
the audible movement and the psychical  
movement1 it can give us only musical   

gesture1 but never musical portrait2 the
 gesture of composure or of violence1   
the solemn tread of self-possessed      
melody1 the scuffling of frantically    
rushing up and down1 of throbbing1      
quivering1 gasping1 passion-broken      
musical phrases2 it can give us the     
rhythm which prances and tosses in      
victory1 and the rhythm which droops1   
and languishes1 and barely drags itself 
along for utter despair4 ,all this it   
can give us1 even as the painter can    
give the ecstatic bound-forwards of     
,signorelli's ,calling of the ,blessed1 
or the weary1 dreary enfolding in gloomy
 thought of ,michael ,angelo's          
,jeremiah3 this much1 which we can only 
call gesture1 and which expresses only  
one thing1 a mood4 ,let the hopeful     
heroes of ,signorelli1 stretching forth 
impetuous arms towards ,paradise1 only  
lose sight of the stately viol-playing  
angels who guide them1 let them suddenly
 see above them the awful sword of the  
corsleted ,angel of ,judgment1 and they 

will sink1 and grovel1 and writhe and   
their now up-turned faces will be       
draggled in the dust2 let the trumpet of
 warfare and triumph shrill in the ear  
of ,michael ,angelo's ,jeremiah1 and the
 dreary dream will be shaken off2 he    
will leap up1 and the compressed        
hand-gagged mouth will open with the    
yell of battle2 let only the emotion    
change1 and the whole gesture1 the      
attitude1 plastic or musical1 must      
change also2 the already existing1      
finite1 definite work will no longer    
suffice2 we must have a new picture1 or 
statue1 or piece of music4 ,and in these
 inexplicit arts of mere suggestion1 we 
cannot say1 as in the explicit art of   
poetry1 this grovelling wretch is a     
proud and hopeful spirit2 this violent  
soldier is a vague dreamer2 this        
,othello1 who springs on ,desdemona like
 a wild beast1 loves her as tenderly as 
a mother does her child4 ,unliterary    
art1 plastic or musical1 is inexorable3 
the man who grovels is no proud man2 the

 man who fells down to the right and    
left1 is no dreamer2 the man whose whole
 soul is wrath and destruction1 is no   
lover2 the mood is the mood2 art can    
give only it2 and the general character1
 the connection between moods1 the      
homogeneous something which pervades    
every phase of passion1 however various1
 escapes the powers of all save the art 
which can speak and explain4 ,how then  
obtain our ,cherubino1 our shiftiest and
 most fickle of pages8 ,how8 ,why1 by   
selecting just one of his very many     
moods1 the one which is nearest allied  
to fickleness and volubility2 the mood  
which must most commonly be the         
underlying1 the connecting one1 the mood
 into which all his swagger and         
sentiment sooner or later resolve2 the  
tone of voice into which his sobs will  
quickest be lost1 the attitude which    
will soonest replace the defiant strut2 
the frame of mind which1 though one and 
indivisible itself1 is the nearest to   
instability3 levity4  ,let ,cherubino   

sing words of tenderness and passion1 of
 audacity and shyness1 to only one sort 
of music1 to light and careless music2  
let the jackanapes be for ever before   
us1 giggling and pirouetting in melody  
and rhythm2 it will not be ,cherubino1  
the whole ,cherubino2 it will be only a 
miserable fragmentary indication of him1
 but it will be the right indication2   
the psychological powers of music do not
 go far1 but thus far they can go4      
,analysis of the nature of musical      
expression has shown us how much it may 
accomplish2 the choice of the artist    
alone can tell us how much it should    
accomplish2 the scientific investigation
 is at an end1 the artistic judgment    
must begin4 ,chapelmaster ,wolfgang     
,amadeus ,mozart1 here are your means of
 musical expression1 and here is the    
thing to be expressed2 on careful       
examination it appears distinctly that  
the only way in which1 with your        
melodies1 rhythms1 and harmonies1 you   
can give us1 not a copy1 but a faint    

indicative sketch1 something approaching
 the original as much as four lines     
traced in the alley sand of your        
,schloss ,mirabell ,gardens at ,salzburg
 resemble the general aspect of the     
,mirabell ,palace2 that the only way in 
which you can give us such a distantly  
approximative4444  ,signor ,maestro     
,wolfgang ,amadeus ,mozart1             
,vice-,chapelmaster of ,his ,most       
,reverend ,highness the ,prince         
,archbishop of ,salzburg1 has meanwhile 
sat down at his table near his          
thin-legged spinet1 with the bird-cage  
above and the half-emptied beer-glass at
 his side2 and his pen is going scratch1
 scratch1 scratch as loud as possible4  
,the only way in which you can possibly 
give us such a distantly approximative  
copy of the page ,cherubino as shown 444
 7,scratch1 scratch1 scratch goes the   
pen on the rough music paper71 as shown 
in the words of ,beaumarchais and of    
your librettist ,d',aponte1 is to       
compose music of the degree of levity   

required to express the temper          
jackanapes4  ,the ,chapelmaster         
,mozart's pen gives an additional       
triumphant creak as its point bends in  
the final flourish of the word finis2   
,chapelmaster ,mozart looks up--  ,what 
was that you were saying about          
jackanapes8 ,oh1 yes1 to be sure1 you   
were saying that literary folks who try 
to prescribe to musicians are           
jackanapes1 weren't you8 ,now1 do me the
 favour1 when you go out1 just take this
 to the theatre copyist2 they are       
waiting in a hurry for ,cherubino's     
song4444 ,yes1 that was all very        
interesting about the jackanapes and all
 the things music can express4444 ,who  
would have thought that musical         
expression is all that8 ,lord1 ,lord1   
what a fine thing it is to have a       
reasoning head and know all about the   
fundamental moods of people's           
characters6 ,my dear sir1 why don't you 
print a treatise on the musical         
interpretation of the jackanapes and    

send it to the ,university of ,vienna   
for a prize8 that would be a treatise   
for you6 ,only do be a good creature and
 take this song at once to the          
copyist4444 ,i assure you ,i consider   
you the finest musical philosopher in   
,christendom4  ,the blotted1 still      
half-wet sheet of note paper is handed  
across by ,chapelmaster ,wolfgang       
,amadeus ,mozart4 ,it is the manuscript 
of ,voi che sapete4  ,but dearest       
,chapelmaster ,mozart1 the air which you
 have just written appears to be not in 
the least degree light--it is even      
extremely sentimental4 ,how can you1    
with such phrases1 express the          
,cherubino of ,beaumarchais8  ,and who1 
my dear ,mr4 ,music ,philosopher1 who   
the deuce told you that ,i wanted to    
express the ,cherubino of ,beaumarchais8
  ,chapelmaster ,mozart1 rising from his
 table1 walks up and down the room with 
his hands crossed beneath his           
snuff-coloured coat-tails1 humming to   
himself--    ,voi che sapete che cosa   

amor1   ,donne1 vedete s'io l'ho nel    
cor1  and stops before the cage hanging 
in the window1 and twitching the        
chickweed through the wires1 says--     
,twee6 twee6 isn't that a fine air we   
have just composed1 little canary-bird1 
eh8  ,twee6 twee6 answers the canary4   
,mozart has willed it so3 there is no   
possible appeal against his decision2   
his artistic sense would not listen to  
our logic2 our arguments could not      
attain him1 for he simply shook from off
 his feet the dust of logic-land1 and   
calmly laughed defiance from the region 
of artistic form1 where he had it all   
his own way1 and into which we poor     
wretches can never clamber4 ,so here is 
the page's song irrevocably sentimental2
 and ,mozart has been in his grave      
ninety years2 and we know not why1 but  
we do shrink from calling in ,offenbach 
or ,lecocq to rewrite that air in true  
jackanapsian style4 ,what can be done8  
,there still remains another hope4  ,for
 the composer1 as we have seen1 could   

give us--as could the painter or the    
sculptor--only one mood at a time2 for  
he could give us only one homogeneous   
artistic form4 ,but this artistic form  
exists so far only in the abstract1 in  
the composer's brain or on the paper4   
,to render it audible we require the    
performer2 on the performer depends the 
real1 absolute presence of the work2 or1
 rather1 to the performer is given the  
task of creating a second work1 of      
applying on to the abstract composition 
the living inflexions and accentuations 
of the voice4 ,and here1 again1 the     
powers of musical expression1 of awaking
 association by means of sounds or      
manner of giving out sounds such as we  
recognize1 automatically or consciously1
 to accompany the emotion that is to be 
conveyed2 here again these powers are   
given to the artist to do therewith what
 he choose4 ,this second artist1 this   
performer1 is not so free indeed as the 
first artist1 the composer2 he can      
longer choose among the large means of  

expression the forms of melody and      
rhythm1 the concatenation of musical    
phrases2 but there are still left to him
 the minor modes of expression1 the     
particular manner of setting forth these
 musical forms1 of treating this rhythm2
 the notes are there1 and their general 
relations to one another1 but on him    
depends the choice of the relative      
stress on the notes1 of the tightening  
or slackening of their relations2 of the
 degree of importance to be given to the
 various phrases4 ,the great outline    
cartoon is there1 but the cunning lights
 and shades1 transitions1 abrupt or     
insensible1 from tint to tint1 still    
remain to be filled up4 ,a second choice
 of mood is left to the singer4 ,and    
see6 here arises a strange complication3
 the composer having in his work chosen 
one mood1 and the singer another1 we    
obtain in the fusion or juxtaposition of
 the two works1 of the two moods1 that  
very thing we desired1 that very shimmer
 and oscillation of character which the 

poet could give1 that dualism of nature 
required for ,cherubino4 ,what is       
,cherubino8 ,a sentimental jackanapes4  
,mozart in his notes has given us the   
sentiment1 and now we can get the levity
 from the performer--unthought-of       
combination1 in which the very          
irrational1 illogical choice made by the
 composer will help us4 ,here are       
,mozart's phrases1 earnest1 tender1     
noble--,mozart's love song fit for a    
,bellario or a ,romeo2 now let this be  
sung quickly1 lightly1 with perverse    
musical head-tossing and tripping and   
ogling1 let this passion be gabbled out 
flippantly1 impudently--and then1 in    
this perfect mixture of the noble and   
ignoble1 of emotion and levity1 of      
poetry and prose1 we shall have1 at     
last1 the page of ,beaumarchais4 ,a     
brilliant combination1 a combination    
which1 thus reasoned out1 seems so      
difficult to conceive2 yet one which the
 instinct of half1 nay1 of nearly all   
the performers in creation would        

suggest4 ,a page8 ,a jackanapes8 ,sing  
the music as befits him2 giggle and     
ogle1 and pirouette1 and languish out   
,mozart's music3 an universal idea now  
become part and parcel of tradition3 the
 only new version possible being to give
 more or less of the various elements of
 giggling1 ogling1 pirouetting1 and     
languishing2 to slightly vary the style 
of jackanapes4  ,but no1 another version
 did remain possible3 that strange      
version given by that strange solemn    
little ,spanish singer1 after whose     
singing of ,voi che sapete we all felt  
dissatisfied1 and asked each other1     
,what has she done with the page8 ,that 
wonderful reading of the piece in which 
every large outline was so grandly and  
delicately traced1 every transition so  
subtly graduated or marked1 every little
 ornament made to blossom out beneath   
the touch of the singular crisp1 sweet  
voice3 that reading which left out the  
page4 ,was it the blunder of an idealess
 vocal machine8 or the contradictory    

eccentricity of a seeker after          
impossible novelty8 ,was it simply the  
dullness of a sullen1 soulless little   
singer8 ,surely not4 ,she was neither an
 idealess vocal machine1 nor a          
crotchetty seeker for new readings1 nor 
a soulless sullen little creature2 she  
was a power in art4 ,a power1 alas6     
wasted for ever1 of little or no profit 
to others or herself2 a beautiful and   
delicate artistic plant uprooted just as
 it was bursting into blossom1 and      
roughly thrown to wither in the sterile 
dust of common life1 while all around   
the insolent weeds lift up their        
prosperous tawdry heads4 ,of this       
slender little dark creature1 with the  
delicate stern face of the young        
,augustus1 not a soul will ever remember
 the name4 ,she will not even have      
enjoyed the cheap triumphs of her art1  
the applause which endures two seconds1 
and the stalkless flowers which wither  
in a day2 the clapping which interrupts 
the final flourish1 the tight-packed    

nosegays which thump down before the    
feet1 of every fiftieth-rate mediocrity4
 ,yet the artistic power will have been 
there1 though gone to waste in          
obscurity3 and the singer will have     
sung1 though only for a day1 and for    
that day unnoticed4 ,nothing can alter  
that4 ,and nothing can alter the fact   
that1 while the logical heads of all the
 critics1 and the soulless throats of   
all the singers in ,christendom have    
done their best1 and ever will do their 
best to give us a real musical          
,cherubino1 a real sentimental          
whipper-snapper of a page1 this utterly 
unnoticed little singer did persist in  
leaving out the page most completely and
 entirely4 ,why8 ,had you asked her1 she
 would have been the last person in the 
world capable of answering the question4
 ,did she consider the expression of    
such a person as ,cherubino a           
prostitution of the art8 ,had she some  
theory respecting the propriety of      
dramatic effects in music8 ,not in the  

very least2 she considered nothing and  
theorised about nothing3 she probably   
never had such a thing as a thought in  
the whole course of her existence4 ,she 
had only an unswerving artistic         
instinct1 a complete incapacity of      
conceiving the artistically wrong1 an   
imperious unreasoning tendency to do the
 artistically right4 ,she had read      
,mozart's air1 understood its exquisite 
proportions1 created it afresh in her   
appreciation1 and she sang it in such a 
way as to make its beauty more real1    
more complete4 ,she had unconsciously   
carried out the design of the composer1 
fulfilled all that could be fulfilled1  
perfected the mere music of ,mozart's   
air4 ,and as in ,mozart's air there was 
and could be 7inasmuch as it was purely 
beautiful7 no page ,cherubino1 so also  
in her singing of the air there was     
none3 ,mozart had chosen1 and she had   
abided by his choice4  ,such is the     
little circle of fact and argument4 ,we 
have seen what means the inherent nature

 of music afforded to composer and      
performer for the expression of         
,beaumarchais's ,cherubino2 and we have 
seen the composer1 and the performer who
 was true to the composer1 both choose1 
instead of expressing an equivocal      
jackanapes1 to produce and complete a   
beautiful work of art4 ,were they right 
or were they wrong8 ,criticism1         
analysis1 has said all it could1 given  
all its explanations2 artistic feeling  
only remains to judge1 to condemn1 or to
 praise3 this one fact remains1 that in 
the work of the great composer1 we have 
found only certain lovely patterns made 
out of sounds2 but in them1 or behind   
them1 not a vestige of the page         
,cherubino4     ,,in ,,umbria4  ,a      
,,study ,,of ,,artistic ,,personality4  
444 grande1 austera1 verde1   ,da le    
montagne digradanti in cerchio1         
,l',umbria guarda4--,,carducci4   ,the  
autumn sun is declining over the fields 
and oak-woods and vineyards of ,umbria1 
where--in the wide undulating valley1   

inclosed by high rounded hills1 bleak or
 dark with ilex1 each with its strange  
terraced white city1 ,assisi1 ,spello1  
,spoleto1 ,todi--the ,tiber winds lazily
 along1 pale green1 limpid1 scarce      
rippled over its yellow pebbles1        
screened by long rows of reeds1 and     
thinned1 yellowing poplars1 reflecting  
dimly the sky and trees1 the pointed    
medival bridges and the crenelated      
towers on its banks2 so clear and placid
 that you can scarcely bring home to    
yourself that this can really be the    
,tiber of ,rome1 the turbid mass of     
yellow water which eddies sullen and    
mournful round the ship-shaped island1  
along by ,vesta's temple1 beneath the   
cypressed ,aventine1 and away into the  
desolate ,campagna4 ,gradually1 as the  
sun sinks1 the valley of the ,tiber     
fills with golden light moving along1   
little by little1 travelling slowly up  
the wooded hillocks2 covering the bluish
 mountains of ,somma and ,subasio with a
 purple flush1 making the white towns   

rosy on their flanks1 and then dying    
away into the pale amber horizon1 rosy  
where it touches the hill1 pearly1 then 
bluish where it merges imperceptibly    
into the upper sky4 ,bluer and bluer    
become the hills1 deeper and deeper the 
at first faint amber2 the valley is     
filled with grey-blue mist2 the hills   
stand out dark blue1 cold1 and massive2 
the sky above becomes a livid rose      
colour2 there is scarcely a filament of 
cloud1 and only a streak of golden      
orange where the sun has disappeared4   
,there is a sudden stillness1 as when   
the last chords of a great symphony have
 died out4 ,all the way up the hill on  
which stands ,perugia we meet the teams 
of huge oxen1 not merely white1 but     
milky1 with great1 deep1 long-lashed    
eyes1 swaying from side to side with    
their load of wine-vats2 and the        
peasants returning home from ploughing  
up the last corn stubble4 ,all is       
peaceful and very solemn1 more so than  
after sunset in other places1 in this   

sweet and austere ,umbria1 the fit home 
of the ,christian revival of the early  
,middle ,ages4 ,and it makes us think1  
this beautiful and solemn evening1 of   
the little book which epitomises all the
 emotions of this new birth1 of this    
charming new childhood of humanity1 when
 the feelings of men seem to have       
somewhat of the dewy freshness of dawn4 
,the book is the ,fioretti di ,san      
,francesco1 a collection of legends and 
examples relating to the cycle of ,st4  
,francis of ,assisi by some monk or     
monks of the end of the thirteenth      
century4 ,flowerets they may well be    
called--flowers such as might grow1     
green and white-starred and delicately  
pearled with gold1 in the thick grass   
across which dance ,angelico's groups of
 the ,blessed4 ,yet with a certain      
humanness1 a certain reality and        
naturalness of sweetness1 such as the   
great paradise painter1 with his        
fleshless madonnas1 his glory of        
radiant1 unearthly draperies and golden 

skies1 never could have conceived4 ,a   
singular charm of simplicity and        
lucidness in this little book2 no fever 
visions or unhealthy glories2 an        
earnestness not without humour3 there is
 nothing grim or absurd in the credulity
 and asceticism of these ,umbrian       
saints4 ,the asceticism is so gentle and
 tender1 the credulity so childish and  
poetical1 that the ridiculous itself    
ceases to be so4 ,these monks1 so far   
from being engrossed with the care of   
their own souls1 or weighed down by the 
dread of hell1 seemed to have awakened  
with perfect hope and faith in celestial
 goodness1 with perfect desire to love  
all around them in the most literal     
sense3 religion for them is love and    
reliance on love4 ,the gentleness with  
which they admonish the sinning and     
back-sliding1 the confidence in the     
inner goodness of man1 from whose soiled
 surface all evil may be washed1 extends
 in these men to the whole of creation1 
and makes them fraternise with beasts   

and birds1 as is shown1 with a delicate1
 slightly humorous grace1 in the stories
 of ,st4 ,francis and the turtle doves1 
and of the ferocious wolf ,frate ,lupo  
of ,gubbio1 whom rather than kill1 it   
pleased the saint to bring round to     
harmlessness by fair words1             
expostulations1 and faithfully kept     
promises1 expecting from the wolf       
fidelity to his word as much as from a  
human being4 ,there is in this little   
book a vague1 floating1 permeating life 
of affection1 of love unbounded by      
difference of species4 ,communion with  
all men1 with ,christ1 with angels1 with
 doves1 and with wolves2 the force of   
love bringing down ,god and raising up  
brutes to the level of these saints4    
,and as we think over the little book we
 feel in a way as if we1 to whom        
,francis and his companions are mere    
mortal men1 and the tales of the        
,fioretti mere beautiful fancies1 hollow
 and sad for their very sweetness1 were 
looking down upon a sort of holy land1  

as we look down in the white twilight   
upon the misty undulations of this      
solemn and beautiful ,umbria4  ,a serene
 country1 neither rugged and barren1 nor
 flat and fertile1 not the grey1 sharp  
,florentine valley1 whose thin soil must
 be irrigated and ploughed1 and on whose
 hillsides the carefully nurtured olives
 are stunted with winter wind and summer
 scorchings1 where every outline is     
clear and bone-like in that same hard1  
light atmosphere which1 as ,vasari says1
 makes all appear hard and clear and    
logical to the minds of the             
,florentines4 ,not the endless flatness 
and fruitfulness of ,lombardy1 where the
 mists steam up in the evening golden   
round the great misty golden descending 
sun-ball1 and the buildings flush like  
the cheeks of ,correggio's joy-drunken  
seraphs1 and the thin1 clear outline of 
the rows of poplars looks against the   
sky like the outshaken golden hair      
combed into minute filaments of one of  
,lionardo's women4 ,nor the dreary      

wastes of sere oakwoods and livid       
sand-hills of ,orvieto2 nor the sea of  
lush vegetation gilded by the sun1      
merging into the vaporous damp blue sky 
of the plain of ,lucca4 ,none of these  
things is the ,tiber valley1 not harsh  
nor poor nor luxuriant2 sober and       
restrained1 without excess or scantness1
 an undulating country of pale and      
modest tints1 and1 save in the distant  
,apennine tops1 of simple outline1 with 
what glory of colours it may have1 due  
mainly to sky and sunset of cloud1 and  
even in that more chaste than other     
parts of ,italy2 neither poor nor rich2 
without the commerce of ,lombardy or the
 industry of ,tuscany1 wholly without   
any intellectual movement1 rural1       
believing1 with but little of the       
imported influence of reviving          
,paganism1 and still much of the        
clinging moral atmosphere of ,christian 
contemplation and ecstacy of the days of
 ,st4 ,francis4 ,such is this isolated  
,tiber valley1 whose skies and whose    

legends are so perfectly in harmony1 and
 in it was born1 of the country and of  
the traditions1 a special1 isolated     
school of art4  ,is it a school or a    
man8--,a school concentrated in one man1
 or a man radiating into a school4      
,there are a great many men all about   
the one man ,perugino1 masters or       
pupils2 the first seem so many bungled  
attempts to be what he is1 the second so
 many disintegrations of him4 ,even the 
more powerful individualities are lost  
in his presence2 at ,perugia we know    
nothing of the real ,pinturicchio1 the  
bright1 vain1 thoughtless painters of   
the pageant scenes1 brilliant like pages
 of ,boiardo's fairy tales1 on the walls
 of the ,sienese ,library4 ,raphael is  
no separate individual1 has no personal 
qualities before he leaves ,perugia4    
,everything is ,perugino1 in more or    
less degree4 ,the whole town1 nay1 the  
surrounding country1 is one vast studio 
in which his themes are being developed1
 his works being copied1 his tricks     

being imitated4 ,a score of artists of  
talent1 one or two like ,lo ,spagna and 
the young ,raphael1 of first-rate       
powers1 and a host of mere mechanical   
drudges1 give us1 in all ,perugia1      
nothing new1 nothing individual1 no     
impression which we can disentangle from
 the general1 all-pervading impression  
given by the one man ,perugino4 ,the    
country1 physical and moral1 has        
exhausted itself in this one artistic   
manifestation4 ,one not merely1 but     
unique and one-sided4 ,what ,perugino   
has done has been done by no other      
master2 and what ,perugino has done is  
only one thing1 and that to all         
eternity4 ,the sense of complete absence
 of variety1 of difference2 the         
impression of all being reduced to the  
minimum of everything1 the vague        
consciousness that all here is one1     
isolated and indivisible1 which haunts  
us all through the churches and         
galleries of ,perugia1 pursues us       
likewise through all the works of the   

school1 that is to say1 of ,perugino    
himself4 ,this unique school1 consisting
 in reality of a single man1 possesses  
only one theme1 one type1 one idea1 one 
feeling2 it does1 it attempts but one   
thing1 and that one thing means         
isolation1 concentration1 elimination of
 all but one single mood4  ,it is the   
painting of solitude2 of the isolated   
soul1 alone1 unaffected by any other1   
unlinked in any work1 or feeling1 or    
suffering1 with any other soul1 nay even
 with any physical thing4 ,the men and  
women of ,perugino are the most         
completely alone that any artist ever   
painted1 alone though in fours1 or      
fives1 or in crowds4 ,their relations to
 each other are purely architectural3 it
 is a matter of mere symmetry1 even as  
it is with the mouldings or carvings of 
the frame which surrounds them4         
,superficially1 taken merely as so many 
columns1 or half-arches of the pinnacled
 whole of the composition1 they are1 in 
his larger works1 more rigorously       

related to each other than are the      
figures of any other painter of severely
 architectural groups2 compared with    
,perugino1 the figures in ,bellini's or 
,mantegna's most solemn altarpieces are 
irrelevant to each other3 one saint is  
turning too much aside1 another looking 
too much on his neighbour4 ,not so with 
,perugino3 his figures are all in       
relation to one another4 ,the scarf     
floating in strange snakelike           
convolutions1 from the shoulder of the  
one angel flying1 cutting across the    
pale blue air as a skater cuts across   
the ice1 floats and curls in distinct   
reference to the ribbons which twist1   
like lilac or yellow scrolls1 about the 
head and neck of the other angel2 the   
lute1 with down-turned bulb1 of the one 
seraph1 his shimmering purple or        
ultramarine robe clinging in tight      
creases round his feet in the breeze of 
heaven1 is rigorously balanced by the   
viol1 upturned against the stooping     
head1 of his fellow-seraph2 the         

white-bearded anchorite stretches forth 
his right foot in harmony with the      
outstretched left foot of the           
scarlet-robed cardinal2 the dainty      
arch-angelic warrior drolly designated  
as ,scipio1 or ,cincinnatus on the wall 
of the ,money ,changer's ,hall turns his
 delicate1 quaintly-crested head1 and   
raises his vague-looking eyes to match  
the upturned plumed head of the other   
celestial knight4 ,all the figures are  
distinctly connected with each other2   
but they are connected as are the       
pillarets1 various1 but different1 which
 balance each other in length and       
thickness and character1 a twisted with 
a twisted one1 a twin1 strangely linked 
pair with another such1 on the          
symmetrically sloping front of some     
,lombard cathedral2 the connection is   
purely outer1 purely architectural2 and 
the solitude of each figure as a human  
being1 as a body and a mind1 is only the
 more complete4 ,there is no grouping in
 these cunningly balanced altarpieces2  

there is no common employment or        
movement1 no action or reaction4 ,angels
 and warriors and saints and sibyls     
stand separate1 the one never touching  
the other1 apart1 each alone against the
 pale greenish background4 ,they may    
look1 the one towards the other1 but    
they never see each other4 ,they exist  
quite single and isolated1 each         
unconscious that there is any other4    
,another--indeed1 there is no other2 in 
reality1 every one is in complete       
solitude2 it is only the canvas which   
makes them appear in the same place4    
,they are not in the same place1 or     
rather there is no place2 the soft green
 field1 the blue hills1 darkening       
against the greenish evening sky1 the   
spare1 thinly leaved little trees1 the  
white tower in the distance1 this little
 piece of ,umbrian country has nothing  
to do with any of them4 ,they are       
nowhere2 or rather each taken singly is 
nowhere4 ,place1 like subject and       
action1 has been eliminated2 everything 

has1 which possibly could4 ,the very    
bodies seem reduced to the least        
possible3 there is no interest in them3 
all is concentrated upon the delicate   
nervous hands1 on the faces2 in the     
faces1 upon eyes and mouth1 till the    
whole face seems scarcely more than     
tremulous lips1 half parted1 raised     
vividly to kiss1 to suck in the         
impalpable2 than dilating pupils1       
straining vaguely to seize1 to absorb1  
to burn into themselves the invisible4  
,it is the embodiment1 with only as     
little body as is absolutely required1  
of a soul2 and that soul simplified1    
rarefied into only one condition of     
being3 beatitude of contemplation4 ,as  
place and action have been eliminated1  
so also has time3 they will for ever    
remain1 alone1 in the same attitude2    
they will never move1 never change1     
never cease2 there exists for them no   
other occupation or possibility4 ,and as
 the bodies are separate1 isolated from 
all physical objects1 so is the soul3 it

 touches no other human soul1 touches no
 earthly interest3 it is alone1         
motionless1 space and time and change   
have ceased for it3 contemplating1      
absorbing for all eternity that which   
the eye cannot see1 nor the hand touch  
nor the will influence1 the mysterious1 
the ineffable4  ,are they really saints 
and angels1 and prophets and sibyls8    
,surely not--for all such act or suffer2
 for each of these there is a local     
habitation1 and a definite duty4 ,these 
strange creatures of ,perugino's are not
 supernatural beings in the same sense  
as are those robed in iridescent1       
impalpable glory of ,angelico2 or those 
others1 clothed in more than human      
muscle and sinew1 of the vault of the   
,sixtine4 ,what are they8 ,not visions  
become concrete1 but the act of vision  
personified4 ,they are not the objects  
of religious feeling2 they are its most 
abstract1 intense reality4 ,yes1 they   
are reality4 ,they are no far-fetched   
fancies of the artist4 ,they are souls  

and soul-saturated1 soul-moulded bodies 
which he saw around him4 ,for in that   
,umbria of the dying fifteenth          
century--where the old cities1 their old
 freedom and industry and commerce      
well-nigh dwindled to nothing1 had      
shrunk each on its mountain-side into   
mere huge barracks of mercenary troopers
 or strongholds of military bandit      
nobles1 continually besieged and sacked 
and heaped with massacre by rival       
families and rival factions2 where in   
the open country1 the villagers1 pent-up
 in fortified farms and barns1 were     
burnt1 women and children1 with the     
stored-up fodder1 or slaughtered and    
cast in heaps into the ,tiber1 and every
 year the tangled brushwood of ilex and 
oak and briars encroached further upon  
the devastated cornfields and           
oliveyards1 and the wolves and foxes    
roamed nearer and nearer to the         
cities--in this terrible barbarous      
,umbria of the days of ,csar ,borgia1   
the soul developed to strange unearthly 

perfection4 ,it developed by the force  
of antagonism and isolation4 ,this city 
of ,perugia1 which was governed by the  
most ferocious and treacherous little   
mercenary captains2 whose dark          
precipitous streets were full of broil  
and bloodshed1 and whose palaces full of
 evil1 forbidden lust and family        
conspiracy1 was one of the most pious in
 all ,italy4 ,wondrous miraculous       
preachers1 inspired and wild1 were for  
ever preaching in the midst of the      
iniquity2 holy monks and nuns were for  
ever seeing visions and curing the      
incurable2 churches and hospitals were  
being erected throughout town and       
country2 novices crowded the            
ever-increasing convents4 ,sensitive    
souls were sickened by the surrounding  
wickedness1 and terrified lest it should
 triumph over them2 resist it1 bravely  
expose themselves to it1 prevent or     
mitigate the evil of others they dared  
not3 a moral plague was thick in the    
air1 and those who would escape         

infection must needs fly1 take refuge in
 strange spiritual solitude1 in isolated
 heights where the moral air was        
rarefied and icy4 ,of the perfectly     
human1 sociable devotion of the days of 
,st4 ,francis1 of the active benevolence
 and righteousness1 there was now no    
question3 the wolves had become too     
frightfully numerous and ravenous to be 
preached to like that ,brother ,wolf of 
the ,flowerets of ,st4 ,francis4 ,active
 good there could now no longer be3 the 
pure soul became inactive1 passive1     
powerless over the evil around1         
contemplating for ever a distant1       
ineffable excellence2 aspiring1 sterile1
 and meagre1 at being absorbed into that
 glory of perfect virtue at which it was
 for ever gazing4 ,this solitary and    
inactive devotion1 raised far above this
 world1 is the feeling out of which are 
moulded those scarce embodied souls of  
,perugino's4 ,those emaciated hectic    
young faces1 absorbed in one ineffable  
passion1 which in their weakness and    

intensity are so infinitely feminine1   
are indeed mainly the faces of women--of
 those noble and holy ladies like       
,atalanta ,baglioni1 living in moral    
solitude among their turbulent clan of  
evil fathers and brothers and husbands3 
the victims1 or worse1 the passive      
spectators1 the passive accomplices1 of 
iniquity of all sorts1 whom the grand   
old chronicler1 ,matarazzo1 shows by    
glimpses1 walking through the blood and 
lust-soiled houses of the brilliant and 
horrible ,gianpavolos and ,semonettos   
and ,griffones of ,perugia1 pure and    
patient like nuns1 and as secluded in   
mind as in any cloister4 ,theirs are    
these faces1 and at the same time the   
faces which vaguely1 confusedly looked  
down upon them1 glorified reflections of
 their own1 from above4 ,these creatures
 of ,perugino's are what every great    
artist's works must be--at once the     
portrait of those for whom he paints1   
and the portrait of their ideals1 that  
is1 of their intenser selves4 ,he is the

 painter of the city where1 in the      
,italian ,renaissance1 the unmixed      
devotional feeling1 innate in the       
country of ,st4 ,francis1 untroubled by 
,florentine scepticism or ,lombard      
worldly sense1 thrust back and          
concentrated upon itself by surrounding 
brutal wickedness1 existed most intense2
 he is the painter of this kind of      
devotion4 ,the very daintiness of       
accessory1 the delicate embroidered     
robes1 the long fringed scarves1 the    
embossed armour1 light and pliable like 
silk1 which cannot wound the tender     
young archangels1 the carefully waved   
and curled hair--all this is the        
religious luxuriousness of nuns and     
novices1 the one vent for all love of   
beauty and ease and costliness of the   
poor delicate creatures1 worn and galled
 by their shapeless hair cloth1 living  
and sleeping in the dreary whitewashed  
cell4 ,this is unmixed devotion1        
religious contemplation and aspiration  
absolutely separated from any other sort

 of moral feeling2 there is the         
destructive wrath of righteousness in   
the prophets of ,michael ,angelo1 and   
the gentleness of candour and charity in
 the ,florentine virgins of ,raphael2   
there is the serenity and solemnity of  
moral wisdom in ,bellini1 and the       
sweetness and cordiality of domestic    
love in ,titian2 there is even the      
half-animal motherly love in ,correggio2
 there is1 in almost all the schools of 
,italian painting1 some character of    
human goodness2 but in ,perugino there  
is none of these things4 ,nothing but   
the one all-absorbing1 abstract1        
devotional feeling--intense passive     
contemplation of the unattainable good2 
souls purged of every human desire or   
will1 isolated from all human affection 
and action1 raised above the limits of  
time and space2 souls which have long   
ceased to be human beings and can never 
become angels1 hovering1 half pained1   
half joyful1 in a limbo of endless      
spiritual desire4  ,such is the work4   

,let us seek the master4 ,pietro        
,vannucci1 of ,citt della ,pieve1       
surnamed ,perugino1 ,petrus de ,castro  
,plebis1 as he signed himself1 lived1 as
 tradition has it1 in a very good house 
in ,via ,deliziosa4 ,via ,deliziosa is  
one of the many quiet little paved lanes
 of ,perugia1 steep and tortuous1       
looking up at whose rough scarred houses
 you forever see overgrown plants of    
white starred basil or grey marjoram    
bursting out of broken ewers and pipkins
 on the boards before the high windows1 
or trails of mottled red and green      
tomatos1 or long crimson-tasselled      
sprays of carnation dangling along the  
broken1 blackened masonry1 crevassed and
 held together by iron clamps2 where1 at
 every sudden turn1 you get1 through    
some black and oozy archway1 a glimpse  
of green sun-gilded vineyard and distant
 hills1 hazy and blue through the yellow
 summer air4 ,here1 in the best part of 
the town1 ,perugino had his house and   
his workshop4 ,in the house1 full of    

precious stuffs and fine linen and plate
 and everything which a wealthy burgher 
could desire1 lived the handsome wife of
 the master1 for whom he was for ever   
designing and ordering new clothes1 and 
whose beautiful hair he loved himself to
 dress in strange fantastic diadems and 
helmets of minute plaits and waves and  
curls1 that she might go through the    
town as magnificent and quaintly attired
 as any noble lady of the ,baglionis or 
,antinoris or ,della ,staffas4 ,in the  
workshop was the master and a host of   
pupils3 ,giannicola ,manni1 ,doni1 the  
,alfani1 ,tiberio d',assisi2 the        
exquisite anonymous stranger1 of whom we
 know only as ,john the ,spaniard1 and  
perhaps that gentle fair feminine boy   
from ,urbino1 whom1 in half-womanish    
gear and with wonderful delicate        
feathers and jewels in his hair1        
,perugino painted among the prophets in 
the ,money ,changer's ,hall4 ,a workshop
 indeed4 ,not merely the studio of a    
master and his pupils1 but an enormous  

manufactory of works of devotional art2 
the themes of ,perugino1 the same       
saints1 the same madonnas1 the same     
angels1 in the same groups1 for ever    
repeated in large and small1 some mere  
copies1 others slightly varied or       
composed of various incoherent portions1
 by the pupil2 some half by the master1 
half by the pupil1 some possibly touched
 up by him1 one or two wholly from his  
own exquisite hand4 ,things of all      
degrees of merit and execrableness1 to  
suit the richest and the poorest2 all   
could be had at that workshop1 for      
,master ,pietro had the monopoly of the 
art1 good bad1 or indifferent1 of the   
country4 ,you could order designs for   
wood carvings or silver ware2 you could 
hire church banners1 of which store was 
kept to be let out for processions at so
 much the hour4 ,you could obtain men to
 set up triumphal arches of cardboard1  
and invent moulds for ornamental        
sweetmeats1 like those of ,astorre      
,baglioni's wedding2 patterns1 doubtless

 also for embroidery and armour         
embossing2 you could have a young       
,raphael ,santi set to repeating some   
,marriage of the ,virgin for a ,sforza  
or a ,baglioni1 or some tattered smearer
 to copy a copy of some madonna for a   
village church2 or you could commission 
the master himself to go to ,rome and   
paint a wall of ,pope ,sixtus's ,chapel4
 ,for there never was a manufactory of  
art carried on more methodically or     
satisfactorily than this one4 ,there    
never was a commercial speculator who   
knew so well how much good and bad he   
could afford and venture to give2 who   
knew his public so thoroughly4 ,he had1 
in his youth and poverty1 invented1     
discovered 7which shall we call it87 the
 perfection of devotional painting1 that
 which perfectly satisfied his whole    
pious ,umbria1 and every pious man or   
woman of more distant parts3 a certain  
number of types1 a certain expression1 a
 certain mode of grouping1 a certain    
manner of colouring which constituted a 

perfect whole2 a conception to embody   
which most completely he had in his     
youth worked like a slave1 seeking1     
perfecting all that which belonged to   
the style3 the clear1 delicate colour1  
the exquisite1 never excessive finish1  
the infinitely delicate modelling of    
finger and wrist1 of eyelid and lip1 the
 diaphanous sheen of light1 soft1       
scarcely coloured hair on brow and      
temple and cheek2 he had coolly turned  
away from everything else4 ,the problems
 of anatomy1 of perspective1 of light   
and shade1 and of grouping1 at which in 
,florence he had seen men like          
,pollaiolo1 ,ghirlandaio1 ,filippino1   
,lionardo wasting their youth1 he never 
even glanced at4 ,no real bodies were   
required for his saints as long as he   
could give them the right1 wistful      
faces2 no tangible background1 no       
well-defined composition4 ,all this was 
unnecessary2 and he wanted only the     
necessary4 ,when he had got the amount  
and sort of skill required for this     

narrow style1 he stopped2 when he had   
invented the three or four types of     
faces1 attitude1 and composition1 he    
ceased inventing4 ,he had the means of  
making a fortune4 ,all that remained was
 to organise his mechanism1 to arrange  
that splendid system of repeating1      
arranging1 altering1 copying1 on the    
part of himself and his scholars1 by    
which he could1 without further         
enlarging style or ideas1 furnish       
,umbria and ,italy with the pure        
devotional painting it required1 in     
whatever amount and of whatever degree  
of excellence it might wish4 ,he        
succeeded4 ,true1 other artists sneered 
at him1 like that young ,buonarroti1 who
 had called him a blunderer2 true1 the  
,florentines complained that when he    
painted their fresco for them at ,s4    
,maria ,maddalena dei ,pazzi1 he had    
cheated them1 giving mere copies of     
works they had had from him twenty years
 before4 ,about the judgment of other   
painters he cared not a fig2 success was

 the only test2 to the ,florentines he  
calmly answered that as those figures   
had pleased them twenty years before1   
they ought to please them now2 that he  
at least was not going to seek anything 
new as long as the old sufficed4 ,for   
men who grew old in constant attempts   
after new styles1 new muscles1 new      
draperies1 like ,signorelli yonder      
labouring solitary on the rock of       
,orvieto1 spending years in cramming new
 figures into spaces which he1          
,perugino1 would have finished in a     
month with six isolated saints and a bit
 of blue sky2 or frittered away time in 
endless sketches1 endless cooking of new
 paints and trying of new washes1 like  
,lionardo da ,vinci3 or who ruined      
themselves buying bits of old marble to 
copy1 like crazy ,mantegna at ,mantua2  
for all such men as these ,perugino must
 have had a supreme contempt4 ,as long  
as money came in1 all was right2 new    
ideas1 improvements1 all such things    
were mere rubbish4 ,thus he probably    

preached to his pupils1 and kept them   
carefully to their task of multiplying  
his own works1 till his school became   
sterile and imbecile2 and the young     
,raphael1 in disgust1 left him and      
begged the ,lady ,giovanna della ,rovere
 for a letter to the ,gonfaloniere      
,soderini1 which should open to him the 
doors of the ,florentine schools4 ,with 
what contempt must not ,master ,perugino
 have looked after this departing young 
,raphael2 with what cynical amusement he
 must have heard how the young fool1    
once successful1 kept for ever altering 
his style1 wearing his frail life out1  
meditating and working himself into the 
hectic broken creature whom             
,marc-,antonio has etched1 seated1      
fagged and emaciated on the steps before
 his work4 ,we can imagine how ,perugino
 descanted on all this folly to the     
other young men in his workshop4 ,for he
 was a cynical man as well as a         
grasping3 he saw no wisdom beyond the   
desire for money and comfort4 ,he had   

begun life almost a beggar1 sleeping on 
a chest1 going without food1 in tatters1
 giving himself no respite from         
drudgery1 sustained by one idea1 one    
wish6--to be rich4 ,and rich he had     
become2 he had built houses on          
speculation at ,florence1 to let them   
out2 and had farms at ,citt della       
,pieve1 and land near ,perugia4 ,he had 
obtained all he had ever desired or     
could conceive desirable3 safety from   
poverty4 ,in other things he did not    
believe3 not in an after life1 nor in   
,god1 nor in good2 all these ideas1 says
 ,vasari1 could never enter into his    
porphyry hard brain1 ,this ,peter placed
 all his hopes in the good things of    
fortune1 and for money would have made  
any evil bargain4  ,this is how ,vasari 
has shown us ,perugino4 ,the unique     
painter of archangels and seraphs       
appears a base commercial speculator1 a 
cynic1 an atheist3 the sort of man whom 
you could imagine transfigured into a   
shabby pettifogging ,faustus1 triumphing

 over the fiend by making over to him1  
in return for solid ducats1 a bond      
mortgaging a soul which he knew himself 
never to have possessed4 ,some people   
may say1 as learned folk are forever    
saying now-a-days1 that all this is pure
 slander on the part of ,vasari2 and    
indeed1 what satisfactory historical    
villain shall we soon possess1 at the   
rate of present learned rehabilitations8
 ,be this as it may1 there remains for  
the present the typical contrast between
 this man and his works2 and looking at 
it1 other contrasts between noble art   
and grovelling artists vaguely occur to 
us1 and we ask ourselves1 ,can it be8   
,can a pure and exquisite work be       
produced by a base nature8 ,can such    
anomaly exist--must the mental product  
not be stained by the vileness of the   
mind which has conceived it8 ,must we1  
together with a precious and noble gift 
taken from a hand we should shrink from 
touching1 accept the disheartening1 the 
debasing conclusion1 that in art purity 

may spring from foulness1 and the       
excellent be born of the base8 ,it is a 
conclusion from which we instinctively  
shrink1 feeling1 rather than absolutely 
understanding1 that it seems to strip   
the holiness from art1 the worthiness1  
nay1 almost the innocence1 from our     
enjoyment4 ,we feel towards any         
beautiful work of art something akin to 
love3 a sort of desire to absorb it into
 our soul1 to raise ourselves to it1 to 
be with it in some manner united2 and   
thus the mere thought that all this may 
be sprung from out of unworthiness1 that
 this noble century-enduring work may be
 the sister of who knows how many long  
dead base thoughts and desires and      
resolves born together with it in the   
nature of its maker--this idea of       
contamination of origin1 makes us       
shudder and suspect4444 ,alas1 how many 
of us1 of the better and nobler of us1  
have not often sickened for a moment as 
the thought quivered across their mind  
of the foulness out of which the noblest

 of our art has arisen4 ,but            
instinctively we have struck down the   
half-formulated idea as we dash away any
 suspicion against that which we love1  
and which our love tells us must be     
good4 ,and thus1 as a rule1 we have     
persuaded ourselves that1 though by a   
horrible fatality our greatest art--in  
sculpture1 and painting1 and music1 and 
poetry1 has oftenest belonged not to a  
simple and austere state of society1 to 
the strong manly days of ,greece or     
,rome1 to the first times of ,christian 
abnegation and martyrdom1 to the        
childlike angelic revival of medival    
,christianity1 to the solemn            
self-concentration of ,huguenot ,france 
or ,puritan ,england1 that it has not   
sprung out of the straightforward purity
 of periods of moral regeneration1 but  
rather from out of the ferment1 nay1 the
 putrescence1 of many-sided1 perplexed1 
anomalous times of social dissolution4  
,that although our greatest art seems   
thus undeniably to have arisen in       

corrupt times1 yet the individuals to   
whom we proximately owe have been the   
nobler and purer of their day4 ,nay1 we 
almost persuade ourselves that in those 
dubious times of doubt and dissolution1 
the spotless1 the unshaken were in a way
 divinely selected1 like so many vestal 
virgins1 to cherish in isolation the    
holy fire of art4 ,and we call up to our
 minds men noble and pure1 like ,michael
 ,angelo and ,beethoven3 we eagerly     
treasure up like relics anecdotes       
showing the gentleness and generosity of
 men like ,lionardo and ,mozart3        
trifling tales of caged-birds let loose1
 or of poor fellow-workers assisted1    
which1 in our desire to trace art back  
to a noble origin1 seem to shed so much 
light upon the production of a great    
picture or great symphony4 ,and yet1    
even as the words leave our lips1 words 
so sincerely consoling1 we seem to catch
 in our voice an unintentional inflexion
 of deriding scepticism4 ,so much light6
 these tales of mere ordinary goodness1 

such as we might hear 7did we care7 of  
so many a dull and blundering artisan1  
or vacant idler1 these tales shed so    
much light upon the production of great 
works of art6 ,a sort of reasoning devil
 seems to possess us1 to twitch our     
little morsels of unreasoned            
consolation1 of sanctifying1 mystical   
half-reasoning away from our            
peace-hungry souls4 ,and he says3 ,what 
of ,perugino8 ,what of so many          
undeniable realities which this         
,perugino of ours1 even if the purest   
myth1 so completely typifies8 ,how did  
this cynic1 this atheist1 come to paint 
these saints8 ,you say that he was no   
cynic1 no atheist1 that it is all vile  
slander4 ,well1 ,i won't dispute that3  
perhaps he was a saint after all4 ,i    
will even grant that he was4 ,but in    
return for the concession1 let us       
examine whether the saints could not    
have been equally well painted by the   
traditional1 unrehabilitated ,perugino1 
,vasari's ,perugino--not the real one1  

oh no1 ,i will admit not the real       
one--by the typical ,perugino2 the man  
of exceeding little religion1 who could 
never be got to believe in the soul's   
immortality2 nay1 with arguments suited 
to his porphyry intellect1 obstinately  
refused all good paths2 who placed all  
his hopes in the goods of fortune and   
for money would have consented to any   
evil compact4 ,nay1 even by a ,perugino 
a good deal worse4  ,an ugly1           
impertinent little reasoning fiend      
within us2 but now-a-days we have lost  
the formula of exorcism for this kind of
 devil1 and listen we must2 indignantly1
 and with mind well made up to find all 
his arguments completely false4 ,think  
over the matter1 now that idea is once  
started1 we can no longer help4 ,so let 
us discuss it with ourselves1 within    
ourselves1 the place where most         
discussion must ever go on4 ,let us sit 
here on the low-broken brick parapet1   
which seems to prevent all this rough1  
black ,perugia from precipitating       

itself1 a mass of huddled1 strangled    
lanes1 into the ravine below2 sit with  
the grey1 berry-laden olives1 and       
twisted sere-leaved fig-trees with their
 little brown bursting fruit1 pushing   
their branches up from the orchard on   
the steep below1 where the women dawdle 
under the low evening sun1 sickle in    
hand1 mowing up the long juicy grass1   
tearing out wreath after wreath1 of vine
 and clematis1 spray after spray of     
feathery bluish fennel1 till their      
wheel-shaped crammed baskets look as if 
destined for some sylvan god's altar1   
rather than to be emptied out into the  
sweltering darkness before the cows     
mewed up in the thatched hut yonder by  
the straw-stack and the lavender and    
rose-hedged tank4  ,the question which1 
we scarcely know how1 has thus been     
started within us1 and which1 7like all 
similar questions7 develops itself      
almost automatically in our mind1       
without much volition and merely a vague
 feeling of discomfort1 until it have   

finally taken shape and left our        
consciousness for the limbo of decided  
points1 this question is simply3 ,what  
are the relations between the character 
of the work of art and the character of 
the artist who creates it8 ,to what     
extent may we infer from the peculiar   
nature of the one the peculiar nature of
 the other8 ,such1 if we formulate it1  
is the question1 and the answer         
thereunto seems obvious3 that as the    
peculiarity of the fruit depends1 cteris
 paribus1 upon the peculiarity of the   
tree 7itself due in part to soil and    
temperature and similar external        
circumstances71 so also must the        
peculiarity of the spiritual product be 
due to the peculiarities of the         
spiritual whole of which it is born4    
,and thus1 in inverted order of ideas1  
the definite character of the fruit     
proves the character of the tree1 the   
result argues the origin3 there must    
exist a necessary relation between the  
product and that which has produced4 ,if

 then we find a definite quality in the 
works of an artist1 we have a right to  
suppose that corresponding qualities    
existed in the artist himself3 if the   
picture1 or symphony1 or poem be noble1 
and noble moreover with a special sort  
of nobility1 then noble also1 and noble 
with that special sort of nobility must 
be the artistic organism1 the artist1 by
 whom it was painted1 or composed or    
written4 ,and this once granted 7which  
we cannot help granting71 we must       
inevitably conclude that the man        
,perugino1 who painted those wonderful  
intense types of complete renunciation  
of the world1 could not in reality have 
been the worldly1 unconscientious       
atheist described by ,vasari4 ,so1 at   
least1 it would seem4 ,but tarry awhile4
 ,we have decided on analogy1 and by a  
sort of instinct of cause and effect1   
that the work must correspond in its    
main qualities with the main qualities  
of the artist1 of the artistic organism 
by which it is produced4 ,mark what we  

have said3 of the artist1 or artistic   
organism4 ,now what is this artistic    
organism1 this artist8 ,an individual1 a
 man1 surely8 ,yes1 and no4 ,the artist 
and the man are not the same3 the artist
 is only part of the man2 how much of   
him1 depends upon the art in which he is
 a worker4 ,the work is produced by the 
man1 but not by the whole of him2 only  
by that portion which we call the       
artist2 and how much that portion is1   
what relation it bears to the whole man1
 we can ascertain by asking ourselves   
what faculties are required for the     
production of a work of art4 ,and thus  
we soon get to a new question4 ,the     
faculties required for the production of
 a work of art may be divided into two  
classes2 those which directly and       
absolutely produce it1 and those which  
are required to enable the production to
 take place without interference from   
contrary parts of the individual nature4
 ,these secondary qualities1 merely     
protective as it were1 are the moral    

qualities common1 in greater or less    
degree1 to all workers3 concentration1  
patience1 determination1 desire of      
improvement2 they are not artistic in   
themselves1 and are not more requisite  
to the artist than to the thinker1 or   
statesman1 or merchant1 or soldier1 to  
preserve his very different mental      
powers from the disturbing influence of 
laziness1 or fickleness1 or any more    
positive tendencies1 vices or virtues1  
which might interfere with the          
development of his talents4 ,and of     
these purely protective qualities only  
so much need exist as the relative      
strength of the artistic faculty and of 
the unartistic tendencies of the        
individual require in order that the    
former be protected from the latter2 and
 thus it comes that where the artistic  
endowment has been out of all proportion
 large1 as in the case of such a man as 
,rossini1 it has been able to produce   
the most excellent work without much of 
what we should call moral fibre3 the man

 was lazy and voluptuous1 but he was1   
above all1 musical2 it was easier for   
him to be musically active than to be   
merely dissipated and inactive3 the     
artistic instincts were the strongest1  
and were passively followed4 ,when these
 moral qualities1 merely protective and 
secondary in art1 are developed beyond  
the degree requisite for mere protection
 of the artistic faculties 7a degree    
small in proportion to the magnitude of 
the artistic instinct71 they become     
ruling characteristics of the whole     
individual nature1 and influence all the
 actions of the man as distinguished    
from the artist3 they make him as       
inflexible in the pursuit of the        
non-artistic aims of life as in that of 
mere excellence in his own art4 ,the    
timorous and slothful ,andrea del ,sarto
 is quite as complete an artist as the  
eager and inquisitive ,lionardo da      
,vinci2 but1 whereas ,andrea's activity 
stops short at the limits of his powers 
of painting1 the increasing             

laboriousness and never satisfied       
curiosity of ,lionardo extend1 on the   
contrary1 to all manner of subjects     
quite disconnected with his real art4   
,when once the glorious fresco of the   
,virgin1 seated like a happier ,niobe1  
by the mealsack1 has been properly      
finished in the cloister of the         
,servites1 ,andrea goes home and        
crouches beneath the violence of his    
wife1 or to the tavern to seek feeble   
consolation4 ,but when1 after           
never-ending alterations and additional 
touches1 ,lionardo at length permits    
,paolo ,giocondo to carry home the      
portrait of his dubious1 fascinating    
wife1 he sets about mathematical        
problems or chemical experiments1 offers
 to build fortresses for ,csar ,borgia1 
manufactures a wondrous musical         
instrument like the fleshless skull of a
 horse and learns to play thereon1 or   
writes treatises on anatomy3 there is in
 him a desire1 a capacity for work      
greater than even his subtle and        

fantasticating style of art can ever    
fully employ4 ,such are the non-artistic
 qualities required1 merely as          
protectors from interference1 for the   
production of a work of art3 the same   
these1 whatever the art1 as they are the
 same if1 instead of art1 we consider   
science1 or commerce1 or any other      
employment4 ,the artistic1 the really   
directly productive qualities1 differ of
 course according to the art to which   
the work belongs1 differ not only in    
nature but also in number4 ,for there   
are some arts in which the work is      
produced by a very small number of      
faculties2 others where it requires a   
very complex machine1 which we call a   
whole individuality3 and here we find   
ourselves back again before our original
 question1 to what extent the           
personality of an artist influences the 
character of his work4 ,we have got back
 to the anomaly typified by ,perugino2  
back to it1 and as completely without an
 answer to the problem as we were on    

starting4 ,we have been losing our time1
 going round and round a question merely
 to find ourselves at our original      
starting-point4 ,not so3 going round the
 question indeed1 but in constantly     
narrowing circles1 which will dwindle1  
let us hope1 till we find ourselves on  
the only indivisible centre1 which is   
the solution of the problem4 ,for there 
are many questions which are like the   
towns of this same ,umbria of ,perugino3
 built upon the brink of a precipice1   
walled round with a wall of unhewn rock1
 seeming so near if we look up at them  
from the ravine below1 and see every    
roof1 and cypress-tree1 and pillared    
balcony2 but which we cannot approach by
 scaling the unscalable1 sheer          
precipice1 but must slowly wind round   
from below1 circling up and down endless
 undulations of vineyard and oakwood1   
coming for ever upon a tantalising      
glimpse of towers and walls1 for ever   
seemingly close above us1 and yet       
forever equally distant2 till at last1  

by a sharp turn of the gradually        
ascending road1 we find ourselves before
 the unexpected gates of the city4 ,and 
thus we have approached a little nearer 
to the solution of the question4 ,we    
have1 in our wanderings1 left behind one
 part of the ground4 ,we have admitted  
that the work of art is produced not by 
the man1 but merely by that portion of  
him which we call the artist2 we have   
even dimly foreseen that the case may be
 that in one art the artist1 that is to 
say1 the art-producing organism1        
comprises nearly the whole of the mere  
individual3 that the artistic part is   
very nearly the complete human whole4   
,now1 in order to approach nearer our   
final conclusion1 namely1 whether the   
man ,perugino could have painted those  
saints and those angels had he really   
been the mercenary atheist of ,vasari1  
we must set afresh to examine what1 in  
the various arts1 are the portions of an
 individual necessary to constitute the 
mere artist1 that is to say1 the        

producer of a work of art4  ,but stop   
again4 ,are we quite sure that we know  
what we mean when we say a work of art8 
,are we quite sure that we may not1     
without knowing it1 be talking of two   
things under one name8 ,surely not3 when
 we apply the word to one of ,perugino's
 archangels1 we certainly refer to one  
whole object4 ,so far1 certainly1 we    
mean 7let us put it in the crudest way7 
a certain amount of colour laid on to a 
canvas in such a manner1 and with such  
arrangements of tints and shadows1 that 
it presents to our eyes and mind a      
certain form1 a form which we define1   
from its resemblance to other forms made
 out of flesh and bone1 the face and    
body of a young man2 a form which1 owing
 to certain constitutional peculiarities
 and engrained habits of our mind1 we   
also declare to a given extent          
beautiful4 ,this form1 moreover1        
distinctly recalls to our mind real     
forms which experience has taught us to 
associate with the idea of moral purity1

 self-forgetfulness1 piety2 simply      
because we have noticed or been told    
since our infancy that persons with such
 bodily aspects are usually pure1       
self-forgetful and pious2 because1      
without our knowing it1 thousands of    
painters have accustomed us by giving us
 such forms as the portraits of saints  
to consider this physical type as       
distinctly saintly4 ,this perception1   
that the form into which the colours on 
,perugino's canvas have been combined is
 such as we are accustomed to think of  
in connection with saintliness1         
immediately awakens in our mind a whole 
train of associations3 we not merely see
 with our physical eyes the combination 
of colours and lines constituting the   
form1 but with our mental eyes we       
rapidly and half unconsciously glance   
over all the occupations1 aspirations1  
habits of such a creature as we conceive
 this form to belong to4 ,we not merely 
see the delicate1 thin1 pale lips1      
thrown back head and neck1 and the      

wide-opened1 dilated1 greyish eyes2 we  
imagine in our mind the vague delights  
after which those lips are thirsting as 
the half-closed pale flowers thirst for 
the rain-drops1 the ecstasy of fulfilled
 hope which makes the veins of the neck 
pulse and the head fall back in         
weariness of inner quivering2 the       
confused glory of heaven after which    
those wide-opened eyes are straining2   
while our bodily sight is resting on the
 mere coloured surface of ,perugino's   
picture1 our mental sight is wandering  
across all the past and future of this  
strange being whose bodily semblance the
 artist has suddenly thrust upon us4    
,all this is what we vaguely think of   
when we speak of a work of art4 ,perhaps
 we can so little disentangle our       
impressions and our fancies that their  
combination may thus be treated as a    
unity4 ,but this unity is a dualism3 the
 mere colour arrangement constituting   
the form which we see with our bodily   
eyes1 and with our bodily eyes find     

beautiful1 is one half2 and the whole   
moral apparition1 conjured up by        
association and imagination1 is the     
other4 ,and1 as far as so infinitely    
interwoven a dualism can be divided1    
coarsely1 and leaving or taking too much
 on one side or the other1 we can divide
 this dual existence into that which has
 been given to us by the artist1 the    
visible1 material form2 and that which  
association1 recollection1 fancy1 has   
been added by ourselves to the artist's 
work4 ,of this dualism1 therefore1 of   
impression and fancy1 only that portion 
of the work of art which is absolutely  
visible and concrete2 the form1 whether 
it exist in combined colour and shadow1 
or marble mass1 as in the plastic arts1 
or in partially combined and partially  
successive sounds1 as in music1 only    
this form is really given by the artist1
 is that which1 with reference to his   
productive power1 we can call the work  
of art4 ,he may1 it is true1 have       
deliberately chosen that form which     

should lead us to such associations of  
ideas1 but in so far he has been acting 
not as the artist1 but as a sort of     
foreshadowed spectator or listener2 he  
has1 before taking up his own work with 
the mere material1 visible1 tangible1   
audible realities of the art1 stepped   
into the place to be occupied by        
ourselves1 and foreseen1 by his         
knowledge of the effects which he can   
produce1 by his experience of what      
associations are awakened by each of his
 various forms1 the imaginative         
activities which his yet unfinished work
 will call for in those who see or hear 
it4 ,but he will1 in so doing1 be       
deliberately or unconsciously leaving   
his own work1 forestalling ours3 nay1   
the artist who says to himself1 ,now ,i 
will paint a soul in a condition of     
ecstasy1 is in reality transforming     
himself into the customer who would     
enter his workshop and say1 ,paint me a 
figure such as your experience tells you
 suggests to beholders the idea of      

religious enthusiasm2 copy the features 
of any religious enthusiast of your     
acquaintance1 or put together such      
dispersed features as seem to you       
indicative of that temper of mind4 ,all 
this1 while the real artistic work has  
not begun2 for that begins when the     
artist first places before his easel the
 model for his archangel3 either the    
delicate1 hectic1 little girlish        
novice-boy1 or the distinct outline of  
the armed young angel existing in his   
mind and requiring only to be printed   
off into concrete existence4 ,thus1 in  
our examination of the amount of an     
artist's personality which can go into  
his work1 we must remember that this    
work is merely the externally existing1 
definite1 finite form1 and not the ideas
 of emotions which1 by the power of     
association1 that form may awaken in    
ourselves4 ,what the artist gives is    
merely the arrangement of lines and     
colours in a given manner1 which may1 as
 in painting1 resemble an already       

existing natural object2 or1 as in      
architecture and pattern decoration1    
resemble no already existing natural    
object2 the arrangement of sounds which 
may1 as in a dramatic air1 recall the   
inflexions proper to a given emotion1   
or1 as in a formal fugue1 recall no     
emotional inflexions whatever4 ,this1   
and not any train of thoughts awakened  
by this possibly but not necessarily    
existing resemblance to an already known
 natural object1 or to an already known 
sort of emotional voice inflexion1 is   
what is given by the artist1 and this is
 artistic form1 the absolutely1         
objectively existing work of art4 ,and  
now we may examine what mental          
faculties1 in the various arts1 are     
required for the production of this     
work3 what portions of the whole        
individual man are included or excluded 
in that smaller1 more limited individual
 whom we call the artist4 ,let us       
investigate the point by a sort of      
experiment3 by stripping away1 one by   

one1 those qualities of an ideal        
individual which are not necessary for  
the production of the various kinds of  
artistic work2 let us separate and      
afterwards1 if need be1 select and      
reunite the qualities which are required
 and those which are not required to    
make up a poet1 a painter1 a sculptor1  
or a musician4  ,and first we must      
create our ideal man1 who contains      
within him the stuff of every kind of   
artist1 the faculties of producing every
 kind of artistic work4 ,first1 a word  
about this ideal man1 and about the     
manner in which he differs from other   
men4 ,he differs in completeness1 in    
balance1 in intensity4 ,for almost every
 one of us has some mental faculty so   
imperfectly developed that we may say   
that it does not exist3 it exists       
indeed1 and perhaps not without a       
certain necessary effect1 but as with a 
single solitary instrument in a powerful
 orchestra of dozens of every other kind
 of instruments1 this effect is not     

consciously perceived4 ,and the         
faculties which we do possess are rarely
 of very remarkable strength and        
intensity3 we have enough of them for   
our ordinary wants of life1 but not     
necessarily more4 ,our sense of hearing 
is sufficient to distinguish the voice  
of one friend from another1 but not     
always sufficient to be able to enjoy   
music1 still less often to perform1     
least often of all to compose4 ,and     
similarly with every other mental       
faculty3 most men can follow a simple   
argument1 some a more complex one1 but  
few can reason out unaided a complicated
 proposition4 ,now the creative degree  
in any faculty is the most intense in   
its development4 ,the painter is the man
 who receives the largest number of most
 delicately complete visional           
impressions2 the musician the man who   
receives the largest number of most     
delicately complete audible impressions3
 to the painter everything is a shape1 a
 colour2 to the musician everything is a

 sound2 the whole universe1 to the      
thinker1 is but a concatenation of      
logical propositions4 ,thus1 our ideal  
man must1 at starting1 possess every    
higher faculty1 developed to the most   
intense degree1 and every one of them   
developed equally3 for out of him is to 
be made every kind of artist4 ,here1    
then1 we have our ideal man3 he         
possesses in the highest degree1 and in 
the most perfect balance1 all the       
emotional1 logical1 and perceptive      
powers of the mind2 he is1 if you       
choose1 the abstract creature 7never    
existing1 and never1 alas6 to exist71   
the all beautiful1 all powerful1 perfect
 fiction1 which we call humanity2 and   
with him is our work4 ,he is perfectly  
balanced1 he is a mere abstraction3 for 
these two reasons he is1 so far1        
inactive2 we cannot1 with the best will 
in the world1 imagine his doing anything
 as long as he can do everything3 he    
will1 in all probability1 merely        
passively enjoy4 ,before he can create1 

we must alter him4 ,and he is to create1
 remember1 not as a statesman or a      
handicraftsman1 but as an artist3 he is 
to deal not with realities1 but with    
fictions2 he is not to touch our        
material interests1 he is merely to     
evoke for us a series of phantom sights 
or sounds1 of phantom men and women4    
,therefore1 our first act must be to    
diminish1 by at least a half1 all the   
practical sides of his nature1 so that  
no practical activities divert him from 
his purely ideal field4 ,so that it be  
for him infinitely more natural to      
think1 to feel1 to imitate1 to combine  
impressions1 than to be of any immediate
 use in the world2 so that the mere     
employment of his powers be his furthest
 aim1 without thinking what effect that 
employment will have upon the real      
condition of himself or of others4 ,this
 much we have done3 we have obtained a  
creature whose interest is never purely 
practical4 ,but this will not suffice4  
,we must diminish by at least a quarter 

his mere logical powers1 thus rendering 
him far more inclined to view things as 
concrete1 living manifestations1 than as
 logical abstractions4 ,this has served 
to prevent his being diverted into      
metaphysic or scientific speculations3  
there is now no longer any fear of his  
becoming a psychologist instead of a    
poet1 a mathematician or physicist      
instead of a painter or a composer3     
things now interest him no longer for   
their practical bearing1 nor for their  
abstract meaning3 he cares for them not 
as forces1 nor as ideas1 but as forms1  
as visions4 ,and this time we have1 as  
it were1 rough-hewn our artist4 ,but    
what artist8 ,he is1 it is true1 mainly 
attracted by the mere contemplation of  
things apart from practical or          
scientific interests1 but he is equally 
attracted by all sorts of visions3 he   
receives every kind of impression4 ,this
 time1 again1 he will1 from perfect     
balance1 remain inactive4 ,we must throw
 his faculties a little into disorder1  

we must1 at random1 diminish here in    
order 7relatively7 to increase there3   
let us1 for instance1 diminish by a     
trifle his faculty for manipulating     
colours or masses of stone1 his faculty 
for conceiving sounds in succession and 
in combination2 let us1 in short1 make  
it a little difficult for him to be a   
painter or sculptor or musician4  ,what 
will he be1 this first made artist of   
ours8 this creature1 clipped in all the 
mere practically scientific instincts1  
only that his whole intense personality 
may be given more completely1 more      
absolutely to the world of artistic     
phantoms8 ,before breaking up this huge 
psychological snow-man1 this ungainly   
monster roughly moulded into caricature 
shape by awkward removing of material   
here and adding on there1 before dashing
 it back into the limbo of used up and  
unformed similes1 let us ask ourselves  
what artist he vaguely resembles3 what  
is the artist thus formed1 it would     
seem1 of a mere intense human being2 of 

all the faculties of our nature1 only   
more subtle and powerful1 and working   
not in the world of practical realities1
 nor of abstract truths1 but in that of 
imaginary forms8 ,the answer comes      
instinctively1 unhesitatingly to all of 
us3 this universal artist1 this artistic
 organism which contains the whole      
intensified individual1 is the poet4    
,nay3 why call him poet8 why reserve    
this supreme place of artist not of     
colours or sounds1 but of spoken        
emotion1 and perception1 and action1 for
 the man whose words are grouped into   
metrical shape8 ,is it this metrical    
shape1 this mere enveloping form        
perceived merely by the ear1 this       
monotonous1 rudimentary music1 so paltry
 by the side of the musician's real     
music1 is it this which requires for its
 production that wondrous combination of
 faculties1 that whole intensified human
 individuality8 ,for those same         
faculties1 that same intensified        
individuality1 will act and bear fruit  

in the man who lets his words drift on1 
unmetrical1 in mere spoken manner4 ,and 
yet he shall be accounted less1 and     
shall cede to the other1 who can measure
 his words into verses1 and couple them 
into rhyme4 ,surely there is injustice  
in this4 ,wherefore1 ,i pray you1 should
 you1 my friend1 my beloved little child
 poet1 with the keen eyes and eager lips
 of ,keats1 who sit 7in fancy at least7 
here by my side on the rough wall       
overlooking the orchard ravine at       
,perugia1 drowsily listening 7as poets  
listen to prose7 to our discussion1     
wherefore should you1 the poet1 be worth
 more than ,i1 the prose writer1 merely 
inasmuch as you are the one and ,i am   
the other8 ,why be surrounded1 even in  
my eyes1 by a sort of ideal halo2 why   
pointed out by my own secret instinct as
 the artist8 ,all this must be mere     
folly1 prejudice1 dried old forms of    
thought handed down from the days when  
poets were priests and lawgivers and    
prophets1 when their very credit        

depended upon their not being solely    
what you modern poets are2 all this is a
 mere historic myth1 in which the world 
continues foolishly to believe1 letting 
itself be told from generation to       
generation1 till the idea has become    
engrained in its mode of thinking1 that 
the poet is a special creature1 a thing 
of finer mould1 in whose life1 and      
movements1 and feelings it expects      
something different from the rest of    
humanity2 in whose eyes it seeks a dim  
reflection1 in whose voice a distant    
echo of the colours and sounds of that  
fairyland out of which he has come as a 
changeling into the world of realities4 
,infatuation and injustice4 ,but no6    
mankind at large is right in its ideas1 
but as it usually is1 without knowing   
why it has them3 right in giving        
instinctively this place of artist of   
the merely suggested1 as distinguished  
from the absolutely seen or heard forms 
of other arts1 to the poet alone4 ,for  
the poet is1 in the kingdom of words1   

the real1 complete artist4 ,the artistic
 external form which he gives to his    
creations removes them out of the domain
 of the practically useful1 or the      
scientifically interesting4 ,this       
metrical setting enables the poet to    
show a part1 to make perfect the tiniest
 thing2 to give complete significance1  
complete beauty1 and eternal life to a  
perception1 an emotion1 an image which  
cannot be expanded beyond the fourteen  
lines of a sonnet2 while the poor prose 
writer1 reduced to being a mere smith or
 mechanist1 can do nothing with any     
stray gem he may cut1 knows not how to  
set it1 and is forced in despair to     
stick it clumsily into some unwieldy    
utensil or implement1 some pot out of   
which to drink knowledge1 or some shield
 to ward off disaster4 ,the prose writer
 is for ever being driven to seek       
employment outside the land of pure art4
 ,therefore1 the poet is truly the      
exclusive artist in words2 or rather the
 exclusive artist in words must needs   

become the poet2 if the man feel that he
 cannot hammer wearily at some clumsy   
ornamented piece of furniture1 some     
bastard of artistic uselessness and     
practical utility1 that he cannot write 
histories1 or ethical disquisitions or  
psychological studies 7waxworks of      
spiritual pathology1 technically called 
novels71 in order to bury in them the   
delicate artistic fragments which he    
spontaneously produces2 then that man   
will assuredly learn the manner of      
making metrical settings2 that man1 that
 word artist will infallibly become a   
poet3 nay1 he is one4 ,thus1 the poet is
 in reality the artist who suggests     
emotions1 and actions1 and sights1 and  
sounds1 as the painter is the artist who
 shows coloured shapes1 and the musician
 the artist who creates forms made of   
sounds4 ,the poet1 therefore1 is the    
artist into whose work there enters1 or 
can enter1 the greatest number of       
fragments of his whole personality3 for 
his works are made up of all that which 

his nature perceives and evolves and    
desires3 of the forests and fields1 and 
sea and skies which have printed their  
likenesses on his mind2 of the faces and
 movements of the men and women whom he 
has known1 nay1 of whom once perhaps1   
only once in his life1 he has caught a  
never forgotten glimpse2 of the events  
which have taken place before his eyes1 
or of which he has been told2 of the    
emotions and passions which he has felt 
hidden in himself or seen burst out in  
others2 of all that he can see1 feel1   
hear1 conceive1 imagine4 ,he is the man 
who assimilates most1 initiates most1   
perceives most of all that passes within
 and without him1 and unites it all in a
 homogeneous outer shape3 nothing for   
him is waste3 not the hard1 scaly first 
shoot of the reed1 pale green1 which    
catches his feet as he walks on the     
riverside1 across the grass1 half sere1 
half renovated by spring2 not the scent 
of first raindrops on the upturned mould
 of the fields2 not the sentence read at

 random in a book opened by accident2   
not the sudden1 never-recurring look in 
the eyes of one beloved2 not the base   
appetite which he has hidden away1      
trampled back out of sight of his own   
consciousness2 not the preposterous     
ideal which his vanity may have shown   
him for one second2 not anything1       
however small or however large1 however 
common or however rare1 not anything    
inanimate or feeling1 not anything in   
life or in death1 not anything which can
 be seen1 or heard1 or felt1 or         
understood1 which may not be moulded by 
the poet into some form which will have 
meaning and charm1 and eternal value for
 all men4 ,the poet is the man who      
receives a greater number of more       
intense impressions than any other man2 
he is1 of all creatures1 the most       
sensitive in the whole of his being2 for
 the whole of his being is at once the  
raw material1 and the forming mechanism 
of the work of art4 ,this is the ideal1 
the universal poet1 the type3 of him    

every individual poet represents a      
limited portion1 and is a fresh         
repartition of faculties1 a fresh       
combination and proportion of material  
and mechanism1 due to the accident of   
race1 of time1 of birth1 of education4  
,the typical poet assimilates and       
reproduces everything2 and each fragment
 of this type1 each individual1 differs 
from every other individual in that     
which is assimilated and reproduced by  
him3 the one feels more1 the other sees 
more1 the third imagines more2 and each 
feels1 sees1 and imagines1 according to 
what external things have been put      
within reach of his feelings1 his sight1
 his fancy4 ,as1 therefore1 the typical 
poet is the whole type of humanity      
affording material and acting as        
manipulative apparatus to produce the   
work of art1 so also the individual poet
 is the individual man1 moulding into   
shape all the qualities which are       
strongest in his nature4 ,all the       
qualities1 let us however mark1 which   

are indisputedly dominant2 often1       
therefore1 only the better1 and in only 
the lowest tempers the worst4 ,for1     
remembering what we noticed about moral 
faculties of will which protect the     
artistic workings from the interference 
of other parts of our nature1 we may see
 that it must often happen that a noble 
spirit may be able to keep out of his   
mere abstract creations those baser     
instincts 7which though recognized with 
shame7 he is unable to subdue in        
practice2 his works show him as he would
 desire himself to be1 as he1 alas6 has 
not the strength to be in reality2 let  
us not1 therefore1 complain of those who
 are unable to live up to their         
conceptions1 for they have given to us  
their better part1 and kept for         
themselves1 with bitterness and shame1  
their worse4  ,the poet1 therefore1 is  
the artist into whose work there enters 
the greatest proportion of his          
individual nature2 if he be flippant in 
temper his works cannot be earnest2 if  

he be impure his writings cannot be     
actively pure2 the distinctive features 
of his nature must be reflected in his  
work1 since his work is made out of and 
by his nature4 ,now let us proceed4 ,we 
had constructed a sort of typical giant1
 promising all the powers and qualities 
of all humanity2 and this1 by the       
gradually stripping away of some of     
these human powers1 we had reduced to   
the condition of typical poet4 ,now let 
us continue our work4 ,of course there  
are kinds of poetry which form links    
with other intellectual work2 and to    
obtain these we must remove such        
faculties as do not enter into them3    
separate from the artist those qualities
 which belong only to the man4 ,there is
 first of all that great poetical       
anomaly the drama1 for which1 it would  
seem1 that less of the writer's own     
personality is required than for any    
other form2 for the dramatist stands    
half way between the artist and the     
psychologist2 he can obtain innumerable 

varieties of character and feeling      
merely by his reasoning powers1 not by  
any personal experience4 ,he is a sort  
of synthetic metaphysician1 who can     
construct the saint1 the villain1 the   
simpleton1 the knave1 not out of        
anything within himself1 but out of the 
very elements of these characters which 
he has obtained by analysis2 hence it is
 that1 while we can from their works    
reconstruct the character of poets like 
,milton1 or ,wordsworth1 or ,leopardi1  
or ,musset1 we remain wholly ignorant of
 the personality of ,shakespeare2 he    
cannot be all that he shows us1 and in  
the doubt he remains none of it at all4 
,let us put aside therefore this        
anomalous artist1 and continue stripping
 away some of the purely emotional      
characters of our typical colossus4 ,we 
shall soon meet the last and simplest   
form of poet--the mere describer2 of his
 aspirations and emotions we know but   
little2 we know only of his tastes1 his 
preferences for certain sights and      

sounds4 ,he cares for the sea1 or the   
woods1 or the fields1 or the skies2 he  
is very near being a mere thing of eyes 
and ears4 ,yet not wholly2 for he       
perceives not only the colour and       
movement of the waves1 but their sound1 
their briny scent2 he perceives not only
 the green and tawny tints of leaves and
 moss1 he hears the crackling of the    
brushwood1 the rustling of the boughs1  
the confused hum of bees1 the faint     
murmur of waters2 nay1 in the waves and 
in the woods he perceives something     
more1 vague resemblances to other       
things2 vague expressions of mood and   
feeling which1 when the waters rush in1 
make his heart leap2 when the grey light
 steals in among the branches1 sends a  
sadness throughout him4 ,nay1 in this   
artist1 in this simplest1 least human   
sort of poet1 there remains yet an      
infinite amount of the human            
individuality1 of its passions and      
desires4 ,let us tear away1 throw aside 
this last amount of human feeling1      

reduce our typical artist to mere       
intense powers of seeing4 ,shall we     
still have wherewith to obtain any work 
at all8 will this rarified1 simplified  
mentality be much above a mere          
feelingless optic machine8 ,let us see4 
,here we have a creature out of which we
 have removed as much as possible of all
 human qualities3 a creature which can  
perceive with infinite keenness and     
reproduce with the most perfect         
exactitude1 every little subtle line and
 tint and shadow which escapes other    
men2 a creature whose delicate          
perception vibrates with delight at     
every harmonious combination1 and       
writhes1 as if it would shatter to      
atoms1 at every displeasing mixture of  
lines or colours4 ,a living and most    
sensitive organism which feels1 thinks  
everything as form and colour1 fostered 
with the utmost care by other such      
organisms1 themselves nurtured into     
intensity more intense than that with   
which they were born2 for ever put in   

contact with the visual objects which   
are1 let us remember1 the air it        
breathes1 the food it assimilates until 
this visual organism becomes beyond     
compare perfect in its power of         
perceiving and reproducing4 ,then1      
imagine this abstract being1 this       
quivering thing of sight1 placed in the 
midst of a country of austere1 delicate 
lines1 and solemn yet diaphanous tints2 
among the undulating fields and         
oakwoods1 beneath the pearly sky of     
,umbria2 imagine that before it are     
placed1 as the creatures most precious  
and lovely1 the creatures whose likeness
 must for ever be copied in all its     
intensity1 youths1 young women1 old men1
 delicate and emaciate with solitude and
 maceration1 with eyes grown dilated and
 bright from straining to see the       
glorious visions1 the celestial         
day-dreams which flit across their mind2
 with lips grown tremulous and eager    
with passionate longing for constantly  
expected1 never-coming bliss2 always    

alone1 inactive1 with listless limbs and
 workless hands1 in the bare1 unadorned 
cell or oratory2 or if1 coming forth1   
walking through the streets1 passing    
through the crowd 7giving way with awe71
 erect1 self-engrossed1 seeing and      
hearing nothing around1 like one        
entranced4 ,let us imagine this         
organism1 thus perfect for perceiving   
and reproducing all that it sees1 for   
ever in the presence of such lines and  
colours1 such faces and figures as      
these2 and then let us ask ourselves    
what this quite abstract1 unhuman power 
will produce1 what this artist1 who is  
completely divested of all that which   
belongs merely to the man1 would paint4 
,what would that be1 that work thus     
produced8 ,what save those delicate1 wan
 angels and saints and apostles1        
standing in solitary contemplation and  
ecstasy1 those scarcely embodied souls1 
raised beyond the bounds of time and    
space1 concentrated1 absorbed in longing
 for heavenly perfection8 ,and if this  

subtle visual organism1 nurtured among  
these sights1 should happen to be lodged
 in the same body with a sordid1 base1  
cynical temper1 can it be altered       
thereby8 ,surely not4 ,the eye has seen1
 the hand has reproduced--seen and      
reproduced that which surrounds         
them--and inevitably1 fatally1 although 
eye and hand belonged to the man who    
placed all his hopes in the good things 
of fortune1 into whose porphyry brain no
 idea of good could enter1 who for money
 would have concluded any evil bargain1 
the work thus produced by this          
commonplace1 grasping atheist1 ,peter   
,perugino1 must be the ideal of all     
purely devotional art4 ,he was an       
atheist and a cynic1 but he was a great 
painter1 and lived in ,umbria1 in the   
country of sweet and austere hills and  
valleys1 in the country whose moral air 
was still scented by the flowerets of   
,st4 ,francis4  ,this is the end of our 
long wandering up and down1 round and   
round1 the question of artistic         

personality1 even as we must wander up  
and down1 round and round1 before we can
 reach any of these strange ,umbrian    
towns4 ,and1 as after long journeying1  
when we enter the city1 and find that   
that which seemed a castle1 a grand1    
princely town1 all walled and towered   
and battlemented1 is in reality only a  
large1 rough village1 with blackened    
houses and fissured church steeples1 a  
place containing nothing of any         
interest3 so also in this case1 when we 
have finally reached our paltry         
conclusion that this painter of saints  
was no saint himself1 we must admit to  
ourselves that to arrive at this        
conclusion was scarcely our real object2
 even as while travelling through this  
country of ,perugino we make our guide  
confess that what1 in all this          
expedition1 we were meant to see and    
enjoy1 was not the paltry1 deceptive    
hill-top village1 but the sere-brown    
oakwoods1 tinged russet by the sun1 the 
grey olive hills through which we have  

slowly ascended1 and the glimpses of    
undulating grey-green country and       
distant wave-blue mountains which we    
have had at every new turn of our long  
and up-hill road4     ,,ruskinism4      
,,the ,,would-,,be ,,study ,,of ,a      
,,conscience   ,i give a place to the   
following pages1 because1 for all the   
difference of form1 this essay is of the
 same sort1 has had the same kind of    
origin1 as the so seemingly incongruous 
studies with which it is bound up4 ,for 
this also is the rough putting together 
of notes made at various times and in   
various phases of study2 it is a series 
of self-questionings and answers1 of    
problems1 perhaps only half-formulated  
and half-solved1 which have arisen round
 one man1 one artist1 one art           
philosophy1 even as in the adjoining    
essays they have arisen around some one 
statue1 or song1 or picture2            
self-questionings and problems1 these   
present ones1 not of sthetic right and  
wrong suggested by a given work of art1 

but of moral fitness and unfitness      
suggested by the doubts1 the divisions1 
the mistakes1 by the comprehension 7or1 
if you prefer1 the misapprehension7 of  
the conscience of perhaps the greatest  
and strangest artist of our days4       
99       99       99       99       99  
,john ,ruskin stands quite isolated     
among writers on art4 ,his truths and   
his errors are alike of a far higher    
sort than the truths and errors of his  
fellow-workers3 they are truths and     
errors not of mere fact1 nor of mere    
reasoning1 but of tendency1 of moral    
attitude2 and his philosophy is of far  
greater importance than any other system
 of sthetics1 because it is not the     
philosophy of the genius1 evolution or  
meaning of any art or of all art1 but   
the philosophy of the legitimacy or     
illegitimacy of all and every art4 ,in  
the case of every other writer on art   
the evils due to a false system are1 in 
proportion to the great interests of our
 lives and of the life around1 but very 

paltry evils3 the evils of misconceiving
 the relations between various masters  
and various schools1 and the causes of  
various artistic phenomena2 the evils of
 misappreciating a work or a form of    
art1 of preferring an inferior picture1 
or statue or piece of music1 to a       
superior one2 the evils of buying       
fluttering ,st4 ,theresas of ,bernini   
rather than noble goddesses of ,scopas2 
of ornamenting our houses with plaster  
dragons1 grimacing toothless masks1 and 
meagre lines of lintel and clumsy       
agglomerations of columns1 rather than  
with the leaf and flower moulding1 the  
noble arches and dainty cornices of     
medival art2 the evils in short of not  
understanding quite well or of not      
appreciating quite correctly4 ,very     
important evils within the limited      
sphere of our artistic interests1 and   
which we must not neglect to eradicate2 
but evils such as cannot deeply trouble 
our whole nature1 or seriously damage   
our whole lives4 ,such is the case with 

the sthetic systems1 with the truths and
 errors of men like ,winckelmann1       
,lessing1 ,hegel1 or ,taine2 but it is  
not so with the sthetic system of       
,ruskin4 ,for the theories of all other 
writers on art deal only with the       
meaning and value of one work or school 
of art compared with another work or    
school2 they deal only with the question
 how much of our liking or disliking    
should we give to this art or to that2  
they are all true or false within the   
region allotted to art4 ,but the        
theories of ,ruskin deal with the       
comparative importance of artistic      
concerns and the other concerns of our  
lives3 they deal with the problem1 how  
much of our thoughts and our energies we
 have a right to give to art1 and for   
what reasons we may give any portion of 
them3 it deals with the question of the 
legitimacy not of one kind of artistic  
enjoyment more than another1 but of the 
enjoyment of art at all4  ,the question 
may at first sight seem futile from its 

very magnitude3 unnecessary because it  
has so long been answered4 ,in the first
 moment many of us may answer with      
contempt that the thinking men and women
 of to-day are not ascetics of the      
,middle ,ages1 nor utilitarians of the  
#ahth century1 nor ,scotch ,calvinists1 
that they should require to be taught   
that beauty is neither sinful nor       
useless1 that enjoyment of art is not   
foul self-indulgence nor childish       
pastime4 ,and so at first it seems4 ,the
 thinking men and women of our day are  
not any of these things1 and do not     
require to be answered these questions4 
,but though these scruples and doubts no
 longer trouble us1 we1 in our          
nineteenth century1 are yet not entirely
 at peace in our hearts4 ,for1 just in  
proportion as the old religious faith is
 dying out1 we are feeling the necessity
 to create a new2 as the old vocations  
of belief are becoming fewer and further
 between1 the new vocations of duty are 
becoming commoner2 as the old           

restrictions of the written law are     
melting away1 so there appears the new  
restriction of the unwritten law1 the   
law of our emancipated conscience2 and  
the less we go to our priests1 the more 
do we go to our own inner selves to know
 what we may do and what we should      
sacrifice3 with our daily growing       
liberty1 grows and must grow1 to all the
 nobler among us1 our responsibility4   
,nay1 the more we realise that we have  
but this one brief life wherein to act  
and to expiate1 the more earnestly do we
 ask ourselves to what use we should put
 the little that is vouchsafed us4 ,and 
thus it comes to pass that there exist  
among us many who1 seeing the evil      
around them1 seeing the infinitude of   
falsehood which requires to be dispelled
 and of pain which requires to be       
alleviated1 and of injustice which      
requires to be destroyed1 must          
occasionally pause and ask themselves   
what right they have to give all1 or    
any1 of their limited time and thought  

and energy to the mere enjoyment of the 
beautiful1 when there exists on all     
sides evil which it seems to require    
unlimited effort to quell4 ,many there  
must be1 and every day more1 who are    
harried by their love of art and their  
sense of duty1 who daily ask themselves 
the question which first arose1 nearly  
forty years ago1 in the mind of ,john   
,ruskin2 and which1 settled by false    
answers1 has recurred to him ever and   
anon1 and has shaken and shattered the  
very system which was intended to answer
 it for ever4  ,john ,ruskin has been   
endowed as have been very few men as an 
artist1 a critic1 and a moralist2 in the
 immense chaotic mass1 the constantly   
altered and constantly propped up ruins 
of an impossible system1 which          
constitute the bulk of his writings1 he 
has taught us more of the subtle reasons
 of art1 he has reproduced with his pen 
more of the beauty of physical nature1  
and he has made us feel more profoundly 
the beauty of moral nature1 than has1   

perhaps1 been done separately by any    
critic1 or artist1 or moralist of his   
day4 ,he has possessed within himself   
two very perfect characters1 has been   
fitted out for two very noble           
missions3--the creation of beauty and   
the destruction of evil2 and of these   
two halves each has been warped2 of     
these two missions each has been        
hampered2 warped and hampered by the    
very nobility of the man's nature3 by   
his obstinate refusal to compromise with
 the reality of things1 by his perpetual
 resistance to the evidence of his      
reason1 by his heroic and lamentable    
clinging to his own belief in harmony   
where there is discord1 in perfection   
where there is imperfection4 ,there are 
natures which cannot be coldly or       
resignedly reasonable1 which1 despite   
all possible demonstration1 cannot      
accept evil as a necessity and injustice
 as a fact2 which must believe their own
 heart rather than their own reason2 and
 when we meet such natures1 we in our   

cold wisdom must look upon them with    
pity1 perhaps1 and regret1 but with     
admiration and awe and envy4 ,such a    
nature is that of ,john ,ruskin4 ,he    
belongs1 it is true1 to a generation    
which is rapidly passing away2 he is the
 almost isolated champion of creeds and 
ideas which have ceased even to be      
discussed among the thinking part of our
 nation2 he is a believer not only in   
,good and in ,god1 but in ,christianity1
 in the ,bible1 in ,protestantism2 he   
is1 in many respects1 a man left far    
behind by the current of modern thought2
 but he is1 nevertheless1 and           
unconsciously1 perhaps1 to himself1 the 
greatest representative of the highly   
developed and conflicting ethical and   
sthetical nature which is becoming more 
common in proportion as men are taking  
to think and feel for themselves2 his is
 the greatest example of the strange    
battles and compromises which are daily 
taking place between our moral and our  
artistic halves2 and the history of his 

aspirations and his errors is the type  
of the inner history of many a humbler  
thinker and humbler artist around us4   
,when1 nearly forty years ago1 ,ruskin  
first came before the world with the    
wonderful book--wonderful in sustained  
argument and description1 and in        
obscure1 half crazy1 half prophetic     
utterances--called ,modern ,painters1 it
 was felt that a totally new power had  
entered the region of artistic analysis4
 ,it was not the subtle sympathy with   
line and curve1 with leaf and moulding1 
nor the wondrous power of reproducing   
with mere words the depths of sky and   
sea1 the radiancies of light and the    
flame and smoulder of cloud2 it was not 
his critical insight nor his artistic   
faculty which drew to him at once the   
souls of a public so different1 in its  
universality1 from the small eclectic   
bands which surround other stheticians2 
it was the feeling1 in all who read his 
books1 that this man was giving a soul  
to the skies and seas2 that he was      

breathing human feeling into every      
carved stone and painted canvas2 that he
 was bidding capital and mosaic1 nay1   
every rudest ornament hewn by the       
humblest workman1 to speak to men with  
the voice of their own heart2 that for  
the first time there had been brought   
into the serene and egotistic world of  
art the passion1 the love1 and the wrath
 of righteousness4 ,he came into it as  
an apostle and a reformer1 but as an    
apostle and a reformer strangely        
different from ,winckelmann and         
,schlegel1 from ,lessing and ,goethe4   
,for1 while attacking the architecture  
of ,palladio and the painting of        
,salvator ,rosa2 while expounding the   
landscapes of ,turner and the churches  
of ,verona1 he was not merely           
demolishing false classicism and false  
realism1 not merely vindicating a       
neglected artist or a wronged school3 he
 was come to sweep usurping evil out of 
the kingdom of art1 and to reinstate as 
its sole sovereign no human craftsman1  

but ,god himself4  ,god or ,good3 for to
 ,ruskin the two words have but one     
meaning4 ,god and ,good must receive the
 whole domain of art2 it must become the
 holy of holies1 the temple and citadel 
of righteousness4 ,to do this was the   
avowed mission of this strange          
successor1 haughty and humble1 and      
tender and wrathful1 of the pagan       
,winckelmann1 of the coldly serene      
,goethe4 ,how came ,john ,ruskin by this
 mission1 or why should his mission     
differ so completely from that of all   
his fellows8 ,why should he insist upon 
the necessity of morally sanctifying    
art1 instead of merely sthetically      
reforming it8 ,why was it not enough for
 him that artistic pleasure should be   
innocent1 without trying to make it     
holy8 ,because1 for ,ruskin's nature1   
compounded of artist and moralist1      
artistic engagement was a moral danger1 
a distraction from his duty--for ,ruskin
 was not the mere artist1 who1 powerless
 outside his art1 may1 because he can   

only1 give his whole energies to it2 he 
was not the mere moralist who1          
indifferent to art1 can give it a       
passing glance without interrupting for 
a moment his work of good2 he felt      
himself endowed to struggle for         
righteousness and bound to do so1 and he
 felt himself also irresistibly         
attracted by mere beauty4 ,to the moral 
nature of the man this mere beauty1     
which threatened to absorb his          
existence1 became positively sinful2    
while he knew that evil was raging      
without requiring all his energies to   
quell it1 every minute1 every thought   
diverted from the cause of good was so  
much gain for the cause of evil2        
innocence1 mere negative good1 there    
could not be1 as long as there remained 
positive evil4 ,thus it appeared to     
,ruskin4 ,this strange knight-errant of 
righteousness1 conscious of his heaven  
endowed strength1 felt that during every
 half-hour of delay in the ,armida's    
garden of art1 new rootlets were being  

put forth1 new leaves were being        
unfolded by the enchanted forest of     
error which overshadowed and poisoned   
the earth1 and which it was his work to 
hew and burn down2 that every moment of 
reluctant farewell from the weird witch 
of beauty meant a fresh outrage1 an     
additional defiling of the holy of      
holies to rescue which he had received  
his strong muscle and his sharp weapons4
 ,thus1 refusing to divide his time and 
thoughts between his moral work and his 
artistic1 ,ruskin must absolutely and   
completely abandon the latter2 if art   
seemed to him not merely a waste of     
power1 but an absolute danger for his   
nobler side1 there evidently was no     
alternative but to abjure it for ever4  
,but a man cannot thus abandon his own  
field1 abjure the work for which he is  
specially fitted2 he may mortify1 and   
mutilate and imprison his body1 but he  
cannot mortify or mutilate his mind1 he 
cannot imprison his thoughts4 ,john     
,ruskin was drawn irresistibly towards  

art because he was specially organised  
for it4 ,the impossible cannot be done3 
nature must find a vent1 and the        
artistic half of ,ruskin's mind found   
its way of eluding the apparently       
insoluble difficulty3 his desire        
reasoned1 and his desire was persuaded4 
,a revelation came to him3 he was       
neither to compromise with sin nor to   
renounce his own nature4 ,for it struck 
him suddenly that this irresistible     
craving for the beautiful1 which he     
would have silenced as a temptation of  
evil1 was in reality the call to his    
mission2 that this domain of art1 which 
he had felt bound to abandon1 was in    
reality the destined field for his moral
 combats1 the realm which he must       
reconquer for ,god and for ,good4       
,ruskin had considered art as sinful as 
long as it was only negatively innocent3
 by the strange logic of desire he made 
it positively righteous1 actively holy2 
what he had been afraid to touch1 he    
suddenly perceived that he was commanded

 to handle4 ,he had sought for a        
solution of his own doubts1 and the     
solution was the very gospel which he   
was to preach to others2 the truth which
 had saved him was the truth which he   
must proclaim4 ,and that truth1 which   
had ended ,ruskin's own scruples1 was   
that the basis of art is moral2 that art
 cannot be merely pleasant or           
unpleasant1 but must be lawful or       
unlawful1 that every legitimate artistic
 enjoyment is due to the perception of  
moral propriety1 that every artistic    
excellence is a moral virtue1 every     
artistic fault is a moral vice2 that    
noble art can spring only from noble    
feeling1 that the whole system of the   
beautiful is a system of moral emotions1
 moral selections1 and moral            
appreciation2 and that the aim and end  
of art is the expression of man's       
obedience to ,god's will1 and of his    
recognition of ,god's goodness4  ,such  
was the solution of ,ruskin's scruples  
respecting his right of giving to art   

the time and energies he might have     
given to moral improvement2 and such the
 sthetical creed which he felt bound1 by
 conviction and by the necessity of     
self-justification1 to develop into a   
system and to apply to every single     
case4 ,the notion of making beauty not  
merely a vague emanation from the       
divinity1 as in the old platonic        
philosophies1 but a direct result1 an   
infallible concomitant of moral         
excellence2 of making the physical the  
mere reflexion of the moral1 is indeed a
 very beautiful and noble idea2 but it  
is a false idea4 ,for--and this is one  
of the points which ,ruskin will not    
admit--the true state of things is by no
 means always the noblest or the most   
beautiful2 our longing for ineffable    
harmony is no proof that such harmony   
exists3 the phantom of perfection which 
hovers before us is often not the mirage
 of some distant reality1 but a mere    
vain shadow projected by our own        
desires1 which we must follow1 but may  

never obtain4 ,in the soul of all of us 
exists1 oftenest fragmentary and        
blurred1 a plan of harmony and          
perfection which must serve us as guide 
in our workings1 in our altering and    
rebuilding of things2 but we must not   
expect that with this plan should       
coincide the actual arrangements of     
nature2 we must beware lest we use as a 
map of the earth into which we have been
 created the map of the heaven which we 
seek to create2 for we shall find that  
the ways are different1 we shall go     
astray bewildered and in bitterness1 we 
shall sit down in despair in this       
country which is evil where it should   
have been good1 arid where it should    
have been fruitful1 and we shall        
uselessly weep or rage until all the    
time for our journeyings and workings is
 over1 and death has come to ask how    
much we have done4 ,sin and ,pain and   
,injustice are realities1 and what is   
worse1 they are necessities3 they are   
not despite ,nature1 but through        

,nature2 destructive forces perhaps1 but
 which ,nature requires for her endless 
work of construction2 punished perhaps  
in the individual wretch devoted to     
them1 but ordered nevertheless by that  
same punishing power which requires     
them4 ,and worse still1 evil and good   
are not opponents1 they are not for ever
 destroying each other's work1 for ever 
marshalled in battle against each other2
 they are combined though hostile1 used 
in the same great work of action and    
reaction3 together they build and       
destroy1 together they are knit in      
closest and most twisted bonds of cause 
and effect2 bonds so close1 so          
inextricably crossed and recrossed that 
severing one of them1 tearing and       
cutting them asunder1 it seems as if the
 whole universe would crash down upon   
us4 ,in this world of reality where evil
 leads to good and life to death2 where 
harmonies are imperfect1 there is no    
unvarying correspondence between things1
 no necessary genesis of good from good1

 and evil from evil4 ,there is much     
conflict and much isolation4 ,and thus  
the world of the physically beautiful is
 isolated from the world of the morally 
excellent3 there is sometimes           
correspondence between them1 and        
sometimes conflict1 but both accidental 
and due to no inner affinity1 but only  
to exterior causes3 most often there is 
no relation at all4 ,for the qualities  
of right and wrong1 and of beautiful and
 ugly1 and our perceptions of them1     
belong to different parts of our being1 
even as to a yet different part of our  
being belong our perception of true and 
false1 that is1 of existing and         
non-existing4 ,a true thing need by no  
means be a good or a beautiful thing3   
that generations of men are doomed to   
sin and misery is no good fact2 that    
millions of putrifying bodies lie       
beneath the ground is no beautiful fact1
 but both are nevertheless true facts1  
true with that truth of which science1  
had it perception of good and of beauty 

as well as mere perception of truth1    
should say1 ,i recognize1 but ,i        
shudder--,and thus also is it with the  
good and the beautiful3 they have no    
connection except that1 each in its     
kingdom1 is the best1 the desirable1    
that for which we should all strive1    
that for which the whole of nature1     
despite its inextricable evils1 seems to
 crave and to struggle4 ,a pure state of
 soul is like a pure state of body3 a   
morbid craving is like a disease2 a     
noble moral attitude is like a noble    
physical attitude3 moral excellence and 
physical beauty are both the healthy1   
the perfect2 but they are the healthy1  
the perfect1 in two totally different   
halves of nature1 and we perceive and   
judge them by totally different         
organisms4 ,whence our moral instincts  
have come1 or how they ever entered into
 the scheme of a world in which there is
 so much to shock them2 how the         
preference for the good of others was   
ever evolved out of the preference for  

the good of self is a question most     
speedily solved by the men of science   
who seek the reasons why ,christ is good
 and the thinned gold-leaved poplars by 
the river are beautiful1 in the living  
nerves of ripped-up beasts2 this much is
 evident that moral instinct judges that
 part of actions which is neither to be 
felt with our hands1 nor to be seen with
 our eyes1 nor to be tasted or heard or 
smelt3 it judges and finds good or evil 
certain qualities or combinations of    
qualities which do not materially exist3
 things which though they have as real  
an existence as anything which can be   
tasted or sniffed or fingered1 have yet 
a purely intellectual existence1 can be 
found only by those mysterious senses   
which1 even as touch and hearing1 and   
smell and taste and sight1 put us in    
communication with the physical world   
outside us1 put us far more wonderfully 
in communication with the moral world   
within us4 ,the qualities constituting  
physical beauty1 on the other hand1 are1

 to a large extent at least1 perceived  
by our physical senses3 there is indeed 
a point where the mere nerve sensations 
no longer serve to explain sthetical    
likings or dislikings1 where1 on the    
other hand1 the addition of mere logical
 considerations of fitness seem         
insufficient to account for phenomena1  
where1 in short1 we are forced to have  
recourse to a very confused and at      
present untenable idea of inherited     
habits and love of proportion1 but it   
nevertheless remains evident that       
physical beauty is a thing perceived    
through the physical senses and         
concretely extant in the world around   
us4 ,we say that a character is morally 
good because certain actions or words   
reveal to us the existence of certain   
tendencies and habits of feeling which  
7no matter how instituted7 satisfy and  
delight our moral nature1 because there 
is between these tendencies of feeling  
and our moral nature a mysterious       
affinity1 which may depend on nerve     

cells or on logical arguments1 but does 
not in the least resemble either4 ,but  
when we say that a tree is beautiful1 it
 is because1 in the first instance1 its 
mere sensation-giving qualities1 taken  
separately1 affect us agreeably in our  
various physical parts3 the colour      
stimulating or soothing our colour      
nerves1 the size1 enabling our visual   
nerves to take in its shape agreeably2  
its shadyness1 which even as a mere     
suggestion1 pleases our tactile nerves1 
its rustle1 which pleasantly moves our  
nerves of hearing2 and even if we admit 
that the perception that the tree as a  
whole is beautiful1 as distinguished    
from certain of its qualities being     
agreeable1 depends upon something higher
 and more recondite than mere nerve     
tickle1 even then it remains that       
whatever abstract instinct of beauty we 
may possess1 it is only through physical
 sensations that this instinct is       
reached2 and that a man born blind      
cannot perceive beauty of colours nor a 

man born deaf beauty of sounds1 simply  
because the physical receptive organs of
 sight and sound are wanting4 ,thus1 in 
short1 beauty is a physical quality1 as 
goodness is a moral quality3 and if they
 are in a way equivalents1 beauty being 
physical goodness1 and goodness moral   
beauty1 it is exactly because each has a
 separate sphere in which each          
respectively1 represents the best4 ,that
 beauty is in itself physical1 is a     
point which few have denied3 that       
beautiful curves and harmonies are moral
 qualities very few have asserted4 ,but 
few have as yet been willing to admit   
that beauty is a quality independent of 
goodness1 independent sometimes to the  
extent of hostility3 that it is as      
independent of moral excellence as is   
logical correctness4 ,yet thus it is2   
and thus all of us must vaguely feel2   
all those who think1 must closely       
perceive it to be4 ,there is no justice1
 no charity1 no moral excellence in     
physical beauty4 ,it is a negative      

thing4 ,if it refuses to associate with 
evil1 to dwell in the putrid corpse or  
in the face of the murderer1 it is      
because physical beauty is a concomitant
 of physical purity and health1 and     
decaying corpses are always unhealthy1  
while evil souls nearly always leave    
ugly marks on the bodies3 but the       
putrescent corpse and the murderer's    
face are both ugly because they are     
physically wrong1 not because they are  
morally abominable4 ,beauty1 in itself1 
is neither morally good nor morally bad3
 it is sthetically good1 even as virtue 
is neither sthetically good nor         
sthetically bad1 but morally good4      
,beauty is pure1 complete1 egotistic3 it
 has no other value than its being      
beautiful4 ,this is a bitter thing to   
say1 a cruel confession on the part of  
one whose love and whose chief interest 
is the beautiful1 to make to himself3   
this that his beloved and much studied  
,beautiful1 which is his happiness and  
his study1 has no moral value3 that     

above this superb and fascinating thing1
 there are things which are better1     
nobler1 more necessary1 and for whose   
sake1 in case of conflict1 this adored  
quality must be trampled under foot4 ,a 
bitter confession2 but the truth is the 
truth1 and must be admitted2 to         
ourselves first of all4 ,it is1 as we   
have said1 one of the wicked anomalies  
of this world that the true1 the        
existing1 is at variance with that which
 we should wish to exist3 we cannot     
replace with impunity the ugly1 the     
cruel1 the mean truth by the charming1  
the generous fancy2 if we do so1 we must
 be prepared to break with all truth1 or
 to compromise with all falsehood3 we   
shall create an evil a hundredfold worse
 than the one we wished to avoid4 ,we   
are afraid of a truth which jars upon   
our sense of the morally desirable3 we  
invent and accept a lie1 plausible and  
noble2 and behold6 in a moment we are   
surrounded by a logical work of         
falsehood1 which must be for ever torn  

and for ever patched up if any portion  
of truth is to enter4  ,such has been   
the case with ,john ,ruskin2 he shrank  
from owning to himself what we have just
 recognized1 with reluctance1 indeed1   
and sorrow1 that the beautiful to whose 
study and creation he was so            
irresistibly drawn1 had no moral value2 
that in the great battle between good   
and evil1 beauty remained neutral1      
passive1 serenely egotistic4 ,it was    
necessary for him that beauty should be 
more than passively innocent3 he must   
make it actively holy4 ,only a moral    
meaning could make art noble2 and as1 in
 the deep-rooted convictions of ,ruskin1
 art was noble1 a moral meaning must be 
found4 ,the whole of the philosophy of  
art must be remodelled upon an ethical  
basis2 a moral value must everywhere    
sanction the artistic attraction4 ,and  
thus ,ruskin came to construct a strange
 system of falsehood1 in which moral    
motives applied to purely physical      
actions1 moral meanings given to the    

merely sthetically significant1 moral   
consequences drawn from absolutely      
unethical decisions2 even the merest    
coincidences in historical and artistic 
phenomena1 nay1 even in the mere growth 
of various sorts of plants1 nay1 even   
the most ludicrously applied biblical   
texts1 were all dragged forward and     
combined into a wondrous legal          
summing-up for the beatification of art2
 the sense of the impossibility of      
rationally referring certain sthetical  
phenomena to ethical causes producing in
 this lucid and noble thinker a sort of 
frenzy1 a wild impulse to solve         
irrational questions by direct appeals  
for an oracular judgment of ,god1 to be 
sought for in the most trumpery         
coincidences of accidents2 so that the  
man who has understood most of the      
subtle reasons of artistic beauty1 who  
has grasped most completely the         
psychological causes of great art and   
poor art1 is often reduced to answer his
 perplexities by a sort of              

sthetico-moral key and bible divination1
 or heads-win tails-lose1 toss-up       
decision4 ,the main pivots of ,ruskin's 
system are1 however1 but few3 first1 the
 assertion that all legitimate artistic 
action is governed by moral             
considerations1 is the direct putting in
 practice of the commandments of ,god2  
and secondly1 that all pleasure in the  
beautiful is the act of appreciating the
 goodness and wisdom of ,god4 ,these two
 main theories completely balance one   
another2 between them1 and with the     
occasional addition of mystic symbolism1
 they must explain the whole question of
 artistic right and wrong4 ,now for     
,ruskin artistic right and wrong is not 
only a very complex1 but1 in many       
respects1 a very fluctuating question2  
in order to see how complex and how     
fluctuating1 we must remember what      
,ruskin is1 and what are his aims4      
,ruskin is no ordinary sthetician1      
interested in art only inasmuch as it is
 a subject for thought1 untroubled in   

the framing of histories1 psychological 
systems of art philosophy by any        
personal likings and dislikings2 ,ruskin
 is essentially an artist1 he thinks    
about art because he feels about art1   
and his sole object is morally to       
justify his artistic sympathies and     
aversions1 morally to justify his caring
 about art at all4 ,with him the        
instinctive likings and dislikings are  
the original motor1 the system is there 
only for their sake4 ,he cannot1        
therefore1 like ,lessing1 or ,hegel1 or 
,taine1 quietly shove aside any         
phenomenon of artistic preference which 
does not happen to fit into his system2 
he could1 like ,hegel1 assign an        
inferior rank to painting1 because      
painting has to fall into the category  
assigned to romantic1 that is to say1   
imperfect art2 he could not1 like       
,taine1 deliberately stigmatise music as
 a morbid art because it had arisen1    
according to his theory1 in a morbid    
state of society2 with ,ruskin          

everything must finally yield to the    
testimony of his artistic sense3        
everything which he likes must be       
legitimated1 everything which he        
dislikes must be condemned2 and for this
 purpose the system of artistic morality
 must for ever be altered1 annotated1   
provided with endless saving-clauses1   
and special cases4 ,and all this the    
more especially as1 in the course of his
 studies1 ,ruskin frequently perceives  
that things which on superficial        
acquaintance displeased him1 are in     
reality delightful1 in consequence of   
which discovery a new legislation is    
required to annul their previous        
condemnation and provide for their due  
honour4 ,thus1 having conceived a       
perhaps exaggerated aversion 7due1 in   
great part1 to the injustice of his     
adversaries7 to the manner of           
representing the nature of certain      
,dutch painters of the #agth century1   
,ruskin immediately formulated a theory 
that minute imitation of nature was base

 and sinful2 and when he conceived a    
perhaps equally exaggerated admiration  
for the works of certain extremely      
careful and even servile ,english       
painters of our own times1 he was forced
 to formulate an explanatory theory that
 minuteness of work was conscientious1  
appreciative1 and distinctly holy4 ,had 
he been satisfied with mere artistic    
value1 he need only have said that the  
,dutch pictures were ugly1 and the      
,english pictures beautiful2 but having 
once established all artistic judgment  
upon an ethical basis1 it became urgent 
that he should invent a more or less    
casuistic reason1 something not unlike  
the distinguo by means of which the     
,jesuit moralists rendered innocent in  
their powerful penitents what they had  
declared sinful in less privileged      
people1 to explain that1 under certain  
circumstances1 minute imitation was the 
result of insolence and apathy1 and in  
other cases the sign of humility and    
appreciation4 ,again1 having been       

instinctively impressed by the coldness 
and insipidity of the schools of art    
which ostensibly refused to copy        
individual nature1 and professed to     
reproduce only the more important and   
essential character of things1 ,ruskin  
annihilated these idealistic            
conventionalists by a charge of impious 
contempt for the details of individual  
peculiarities which ,god had been       
pleased to put into his work2 and when1 
on the other hand1 his growing love for 
medival art and for mysticism began to  
draw him towards the ,giottesque and    
even the pre-,giottesque artists1 who   
left out of their work all except the   
absolutely essential and typical traits1
 ,ruskin sanctified their               
conventionalism as the result of        
preference for the merely spiritual and 
morally interesting portion of the      
subject4 ,the fact that the over        
refinement of the idealists of the #afth
 century ended in insipidity because it 
was due to a general organic decline in 

the art1 and that the rudeness of the   
conventional artists of the #adth       
century possessed a certain nobility    
because it was merely a momentary       
incapacity in a rapidly progressing art2
 this fact1 and with it the knowledge   
that the development and decline of     
every art is due to certain necessities 
of general change1 all that explains the
 life of any and every art1 completely  
escapes ,ruskin on account of his       
explanation by moral motives4 ,in this  
way ,ruskin has constructed a whole     
system of artistic ethics1 extremely    
contradictory and1 as we have remarked1 
bearing as great a resemblance to the   
text book1 full of distinguos and       
directions of the intention of one of   
,pascal's ,jesuits as a very morally    
pure and noble work can bear to a very  
base and depraved one4 ,and throughout  
this system scattered fragmentarily     
throughout his various books1 every     
artistic merit or demerit is disposed of
 as a virtuous action or a crime2 the   

moral principle established for the     
explanation of one case naturally       
involving the prejudgment of another    
case2 and the whole system explaining by
 moral delinquencies the artistic       
inferiority of a given time or people1  
and1 on the other hand1 attributing the 
moral and social ruin of a century or a 
nation to the artistic abominations it  
had perpetrated4 ,the arrangements of   
lintels and columns1 the amount of      
incrustation of coloured marble on to   
brick1 the degree to which window       
traceries may be legitimately attenuated
 and curled1 the value of ,greek        
honeysuckle patterns as compared with   
,gothic hedge-rose ornaments1 all these 
and a thousand other questions of mere  
excellence of artistic effect1 are      
discussed on the score of their morality
 or baseness1 of their truthfulness1 or 
justice1 or humility2 and ,ruskin's     
madness against any kind of cheating or 
deception goes to the length1 in one    
memorable passage in the ,seven ,lamps  

of ,architecture1 of condemning         
,correggio's ceiling of ,st4 ,paolo at  
,parma because1 as real children might  
be climbing in a real vine trellise     
above our heads1 there is possibility of
 deception and of sin2 whereas1 as none 
of us expect to see the heavens open    
above us1 there is no possibility of    
deception1 and consequently no sin in   
,correggio's glory of angels in the     
,parma ,cathedral2 thus absolving on the
 score of morality a rather confused and
 sprawling composition1 and condemning  
as immoral one of the most graceful and 
childlike works of the ,renaissance4    
,the result of this system of explaining
 all artistic phenomena by ethical      
causes is1 as we have remarked1 that the
 real cause of any phenomenon1 the      
explanation afforded us by history1 is  
entirely overlooked or even             
ignominiously rejected4 ,thus ,ruskin   
attributes the decay of ,gothic         
architecture to one endeavour to assume1
 in excessive flimsiness of tracery1 the

 semblance of what it was not--to its   
having sacrificed a single truth4 ,now  
the violation of the nature and         
possibilities of the material1 what     
,ruskin in ethical language calls the   
endeavour to trick1 was not the cause   
but the effect of a gradual decline in  
the art4 ,the lace work of #aeth century
 ,gothic is not a lie1 it is an effete  
form4 ,the perfect forms had been       
obtained1 and as the growth of the art  
could not be checked1 imperfect ones    
naturally succeeded them2 the workman   
had hewn enough1 had diminished the     
stone surfaces sufficiently1 had carved 
the leafage as much as was compatible   
with beauty2 the succeeding generations 
of workmen continued to work1 and what  
happened8 ,they hewed away too much1    
they diminished the stone surface too   
much1 they carved the leafage too deep1 
each generation cutting away more and   
more1 until the whole fabric had reached
 such a degree of flimsiness that1 had  
not the ,renaissance swept its cobwebs  

away1 they would have been torn to      
shreds by the ,gothic artists           
themselves4 ,an art corrupts and dies of
 its own vital principles1 as does every
 other living and changing thing1 as a  
flower withers of its own life3 you     
begin by chipping1 you end1 as in       
,gothic architecture1 by chipping into  
nothingness4 ,you begin with grouping3  
you end with grouping1 like             
,michelangiolo and ,parmegianno1 into   
knots and lumps2 you begin by raising   
your figures out of the background3 you 
end1 like ,ghiberti1 by tying them on   
with the narrowest slip of bronze2 you  
begin with modulating3 you end1 like    
,raff1 ,brahms1 and other ,wagnerists1  
by modulating into chaos4 ,art1 if it   
lives1 must grow1 and if it grows it    
must grow old and die4 ,and this fact   
gradually1 though instinctively1        
beginning to be felt by all thinkers on 
art1 ,ruskin1 with his theory of moral  
sthetics1 could never recognize4 ,for   
him the corruption of the art is due to 

the moral corruption of the artist3 if  
the artist remained truthfully modest1  
the perfection of the art would continue
 indefinitely4  ,again1 the necessity of
 referring all good art to morality and 
all bad art to immorality1 obliges      
,ruskin to postulate that every period  
which has produced bad art has been a   
period of moral decay4 ,the artistic    
habits which displease him must be a    
direct result of a vicious way of       
feeling and acting in all things3 the   
decay of ,venetian architecture and     
sculpture must be distinctly referable  
to the decay of ,venetian morality in   
the #aeth century2 and the final        
corruption and ruin of the state must be
 traced to the moral obliquity which    
caused ,venetians to adopt              
pseudo-classic forms in the ,riva faade 
of the ,ducal palace2 moral degradation 
and artistic degradation1 acting and    
re-acting on each other1 bring about1   
according to ,ruskin1 political ruin2   
the iniquities of the men who became    

apostates to ,gothic architecture are   
visited upon their distant descendants1 
upon the ,venetians of the days of      
,campo ,formio4 ,now here again the     
ethical basis induces a complete        
historical misconception1 a             
misconception not only in the history of
 art1 but also in the history of        
civilization4 ,for1 just as his system  
of moral sin and artistic punishment    
blinds ,ruskin to the necessities of    
change and decay in art1 so1 also1 it   
prevents his seeing the inevitable      
necessity of political growth and       
decline4 ,ruskin seeks the cause of the 
fall of ,venice in moral corruption     
manifested1 or supposed to be           
manifested1 in art2 but the cause of the
 fall of ,venice must be sought         
elsewhere4 ,look at this lagoon1 this   
,adriatic1 this ,mediterranean3 in the  
#adth century they are the source of the
 greatness of the ,zenos and ,pisanis2  
three or four hundred years later they  
will be the cause of the pettiness of   

the ,morosinis and ,emos4 ,in the       
present1 in this time of ,dandolo1 into 
which ,ruskin has led us1 it is to them 
that ,venice owes the humiliation of    
,barbarossa in the porch of ,st4        
,mark's2 to them in the future will be  
owed the triumph of ,bonaparte and the  
tricolour waving from the flagstaff of  
the square4 ,for in the middle ages the 
sea means the ,mediterranean and the    
,baltic1 the two great navigable1       
wealth-yielding lakes1 and around them  
arises prosperity3 ,amalfi1 ,pisa1      
,genoa1 ,venice1 ,lbeck1 ,dantzig1      
,brehmen2 the men who live on the shores
 of the ,mediterranean take the riches  
of the ,east and of ,india1 and conquer 
,greece and the islands1 and grow rich2 
and on this strip of marshland keep     
armies which can cope with the united   
forces of ,europe4 ,such is the sea of  
the middle ages4 ,but the sea of modern 
times is the ocean2 give the means of   
navigating that1 give to the barbarians 
who inhabit its coasts just enough      

civilization to build a ship and steer  
it1 and those barbarians1 yes1 the boors
 of ,frisia1 the savages of ,england1   
and of ,normandy1 and of ,portugal1 will
 become the masters of the world1 and   
,venetians and ,genoese shall be their  
puppets1 and the ,mediterranean their   
pond4 ,since to the commerce of the     
,mediterranean they will oppose the     
commerce of the ocean1 to the riches of 
,greece1 of ,asia ,minor1 ,persia1 and  
,egypt1 the riches of ,mexico and ,peru1
 of ,india and of ,china1 which will    
flow into the banks of ,london1 of      
,lisbon1 of ,antwerp1 and which will    
create armies to sweep all ,italy out of
 the field4 ,the ,ocean has superseded  
the ,mediterranean1 the boundless the   
bounded2 this is the explanation of the 
fall of ,venice1 of her political torpor
 and her consequent vices4 ,it is a law 
of nature that the small and sheltered  
spots shall suffice while civilization  
is small1 but that as it grows it will  
seek a wider field1 and its original    

homes be abandoned4 ,a small country1 a 
small sea1 made ,greece and ,italy      
greatest in antiquity and the middle    
ages2 a small country1 a narrow sea1    
make them smallest in modern times4 ,and
 when the first galley of ,prince       
,henry1 the first pinnace of ,amsterdam 
or ,london1 nay1 the first little       
,norman craft set sail for ,st4         
,brandan's ,isle1 the fate of ,venice   
was sealed2 ,lodovico ,manin1 and       
,casanova1 and ,bonaparte1 and ,campo   
,formio1 all that in ,venetian history  
can mean corruption and disgrace1 all   
was irrevocably fixed2 the geographical 
chance which had raised the palaces of  
,venice has also caused them to moulder2
 time which made has also unmade1 for   
life is movement and movement is change4
 ,that immorality is not the cause but  
the effect of political decline is as   
little conceived by ,ruskin as that     
neither the one nor the other can be    
produced by artistic degradation2 in his
 system which makes artistic inferiority

 the visible expression of moral        
corruption1 and national misfortune its 
direct punishment1 there can be no room 
for any of the great laws of development
 and decay which historical science is  
now beginning to perceive4 ,all things  
must be carried on upon the miraculous  
system of ,sunday school books1 where   
planks of bridges give way from the     
cogent mechanical reason that the little
 boys passing over them have just been  
telling lies or stealing apples2 ,god is
 for ever busy unbolting trapdoors      
beneath the feet of the iniquitous and  
rolling stones down on the heads of     
blasphemers4 ,and this same necessity of
 condemning morally a period whose      
artistic work in any particular line is 
sthetically worthless in ,ruskin's      
judgment1 not only leads him into the   
most absurd misappreciation of the moral
 value of a time1 but entirely forbids  
his recognizing the fact that the decay 
of one art is frequently coincident     
with1 and in some measure due to1 the   

efflorescence of another4 ,the          
independent development of painting     
required the decay of the architecture  
of the middle ages1 whose symbolical1   
purely decorative tendency condemned    
painting to be a sort of allegorical or 
narrative ,arabesque2 whose well defined
 arches might not be broken through by  
daring perspective1 whose delicate      
cornices might not enclose more than a  
mere rigid and simply tinted mosaic1 or 
mosaic-like fresco4 ,when1 therefore1   
painting arose mature in the #afth      
century1 architecture was necessarily   
crumbling4 ,but to ,ruskin the #afth    
century1 being the century of bad       
architecture1 is hopelessly immoral1 and
 being immoral1 its painting1 ,raphael1 
,michel ,angelo1 ,correggio1 all except 
a few privileged ,venetians1 must needs 
be swept away as so much rubbish2 while 
the very imperfect painting of the      
,giottesques1 because it belongs to a   
time whose morality must be high since  
its architecture is good1 is considered 

as the ideal of pictorial art4 ,again1  
,ruskin perceives that the whole plastic
 art of the #ahth century1 architecture1
 sculpture1 and painting1 are as bad as 
bad can be2 the cause must necessarily  
be found not in the inevitable decline  
of all plastic art since the            
,renaissance1 but in the fiendish       
wickedness of the #ahth century1 that   
abominable age which first taught men   
the meaning of justice as distinguished 
from mercy1 of humanity as distinguished
 from charity3 which first taught us not
 to shrink from evil but to combat it4  
,and thus1 because the #ahth century is 
proved by its smirking furbelowed       
goddesses and handkerchief-cravatted    
urns to be utterly1 morally1 abominable1
 the one great art which flourished in  
this period1 the glorious music of      
,bach1 and ,gluck1 and ,marcello1 and   
,mozart1 must necessarily be silently   
carted off to the dust heap of artistic 
baseness4  ,thus the radical falsehood  
of the ethical system of sthetics warps 

the whole of ,ruskin's view of the      
genius and evolution of art1 of its     
relations with national morality and    
political supremacy4 ,but it does more  
than this4 ,it warps also ,ruskin's view
 of art itself2 its sophisms force him  
to contradict1 to stifle his own        
artistic instincts4 ,for if1 as ,ruskin 
has established1 we are not permitted to
 love the beautiful for its own sake1   
but only because it is supposed to      
represent a certain moral excellence1   
that moral excellence must be the sole  
valuable portion1 and equally           
artistically valuable when separated    
from the beautiful2 while the beautiful 
must in itself be worthless1 and        
consequently dangerous4 ,the absolutely 
ugly must1 if it awaken virtuous        
emotion1 have a greater artistic value  
than the beautiful if it awaken none2   
the macerated hermits1 the lepers and   
cripples of the middle ages must be     
artistically preferable to the healthy  
and beautiful athletes of antiquity2    

compassion for the physically horrible  
is more virtuous than the desire for the
 physically beautiful1 therefore ,ruskin
 would replace the one by the other2    
forgetting1 even as the middle ages     
forgot1 that the beautiful1 the healthy1
 are the best and happiest for all of   
us2 that we are given sympathy with the 
physically evil only that we may endure 
its contact long enough to transform it 
into the physically good3 that we       
compassionate disease only that we may  
cure it4  ,thus this sophisticated sense
 of duty1 which1 applied to artistic    
interests where it has no place1 has    
merely caused injustice of all sorts1   
and falsehood and unceasing             
contradiction3 which has condemned the  
artistically pure for its juxta-position
 with the morally impure3 which has     
preferred the inferior in art because it
 answered to the definition of the      
superior in morals3 which has placed    
,giotto above ,michel ,angelo because   
the second could paint and the first    

only imagine3 which has condemned ,greek
 art as long as it seemed beautiful and 
acquitted it when it appeared ugly3     
which has legitimated colour art with   
one verse of the bible and anathematised
 linear art with another3 which has so  
often rejected the excellent in art     
because it wanted the excellent in      
conduct3 which has come to the point of 
preferring that disease and putrefaction
 which1 in the physical world1 are      
equivalent to sin and corruption in the 
moral--this sophisticated sense of      
morality1 originally intended to        
sanction all that which in art is       
sanctioned by its mere innocence and    
delightfulness1 has at length destroyed 
the very artistic system which it was to
 sustain4 ,for the divine elements of   
justice1 and mercy1 and honour1 cannot  
be wasted in this world2 entrapped and  
imprisoned in order to consecrate by    
their presence the already holy1        
rendered sterile and useless among those
 artistic things with which they have no

 concern1 they have at last sought for  
their field of action1 for their        
legitimate objects1 and have burst      
forth1 shattering the whole edifice of  
art philosophy in which they were       
enclosed1 mere useless talismans4 ,and  
it has come home to ,ruskin1 once and   
again1 that this virtue thus expended   
upon cornices and lintels1 upon lines   
and colours1 while evil raged outside1  
is no virtue3 that this sanctified art  
is not holy2 that1 direct our intentions
 as we may1 think of ,god as much as we 
like1 we cannot make art one whit the   
less passive and egotistic2 it has come 
home to him1 and with the noble candour 
of doubt which is his logical weakness  
and his moral strength1 he has confessed
 that he had never known one man really 
and exclusively devoted to mere moral   
good1 who cared for art at all4 ,the    
elaborate system of ethical sthetics1   
the ingeniously far-fetched explanations
 of physical beauty by moral excellence1
 the triumphant decision that art is the

 kingdom of ,god1 has1 after all and at 
last1 failed to redeem the beautiful in 
the eyes of ,ruskin4 ,he has seen a     
ragged creature die of starvation on a  
dung heap2 and all the cathedrals of    
,christendom1 all the resplendent       
,turners and saintly ,giottos in the    
world have seemed to him black and      
hideous4 ,he has argued and stormed1 and
 patched up once more his tattered      
theories1 and talked more than ever of  
beauty being virtue1 and its            
appreciation religion1 and ,god being in
 all fair things2 but all this latter   
talk has been vain2 into the midst of   
art discussions have for ever crept     
doubts whether art should be at all4    
,the placid paradise of art1 whose every
 flower and grass blade is a generous   
thought1 whose every fruit is a noble   
action1 where every bubbling of waters  
and every bird's song is a hymn to the  
goodness of ,god1 has become suspicious 
to its own creator now that he realises 
by what it is surrounded2 to live in    

this sweet and noble impossible         
paradise1 where beauty is the mere      
visible expression of virtue1 while the 
foul world-swamp is stealthily being    
eaten into1 washed away1 absorbed by the
 surrounding flood of hell3 is this not 
a sin1 this quiet dwelling in holiness1 
and a worse sin than any being committed
 in the darkness and jostle below8  ,in 
this way has ,ruskin1 one of the        
greatest thinkers on art and on ethics1 
made morality sterile and art base in   
his desire to sanctify the one by the   
other4 ,sterile and base1 indeed1 only  
theoretically3 for the instinct of the  
artist and of the moralist has ever     
broken out in noble self-contradiction1 
in beautiful irrelevancies2 in those    
wonderful1 almost prophetic passages    
which seem to make our souls more keen  
towards beauty and more hardy for good4 
,but all this is incidental1 this which 
is in reality ,ruskin's great and useful
 work4 ,he has made art more beautiful  
and men better without knowing          

it--accidentally1 without premeditation1
 in words which are like the eternal    
truths1 grand and exquisite1 which lie  
fragmentary and embedded in every system
 of theology2 the complete and          
systematic is worthless and even        
dangerous1 for it is false2 the         
irrelevant1 the contradictory1 is       
precious1 because it is true to our     
better part4 ,ruskin has loved art      
instinctively1 fervently1 for its own   
sake2 but he has constantly feared lest 
this love should be sinful or at least  
base4 ,like ,augustine1 he dreads that  
the ,devil maybe lurking in the         
beautiful sunshine2 lest evil be hidden 
in those beautiful shapes which distract
 his thoughts from higher subjects of   
good and ,god2 he trembles lest the     
beautiful should trouble his senses and 
his fancy1 and make him forget his      
promises to the ,almighty4 ,he perceives
 that pleasure in art is more or less   
sensuous and selfish2 he is afraid lest 
some day he be called upon to account   

for the moments he has not given to     
others1 and be chastised for having     
permitted his mind to follow the        
guidance of his senses2 he trembles and 
repeats the praise of ,god1 the anathema
 of pride1 he mumbles confused words    
about corrupt earth--and sinful         
man1--even while looking at his works of
 art1 as some anchorite of old may      
instinctively have passed his fingers   
across his beads and stammered out an   
,ave when some sight of beauty crossed  
his path and made his heart leap with   
unwonted pleasure4 ,ruskin must         
tranquillize his conscience about art2  
he must persuade himself that he is     
justified in employing his thoughts     
about it2 and lest it be a snare of the 
demon1 he must make it a service of     
,god4 ,he must persuade himself that all
 the pleasure he derives from art is the
 pleasure in obeying ,god1 in perceiving
 his goodness3 that the pleasure he     
derives from a flower is pleasure not in
 its curves and colours and scent1 but  

in its adaptation to its work1 in its   
enjoyment of existence2 that the        
enjoyment he derives from a grand view  
is enjoyment of the kindness of ,god1   
and the enjoyment in the sight of a     
noble face is enjoyment of the          
expression of harmony with ,god's will2 
in short1 all artistic pleasure must    
become an act of adoration1 otherwise1 a
 jealous ,god1 or a jealous conscience1 
will smite him for abandoning the true  
altar for some golden calf fashioned by 
man and inhabited by ,satan4 ,and to    
this constant moralising1 hallowing1    
nay1 purifying of art1 are due1 as we   
have seen1 the greater number of        
,ruskin's errors2 his system is false1  
and only evil can spring from it2 it is 
a pretence at a perfection which does   
not exist1 and which1 like the pretence 
at the superhuman virtue of the         
anchorite and mystic1 must end in       
lamentable folly3 in making men lie to  
their own heart because they have sought
 to clothe all that is really pure in a 

false garb of sanctity and have blushed 
at its naked reality2 because it makes a
 return to nature a return to sin1 since
 what is natural has been forbidden and 
what is innocent has been crookedly     
obtained2 because it tries to make us   
think we are nothing but soul1 and      
therefore turns us to brutes when we    
remember that we are also body1 and     
devils when we perceive that we are also
 reason4 ,because1 in short1 it is a    
lie1 and only falsehood can be born of  
it4 ,for1 in his constant reference to a
 spiritual meaning1 ,ruskin has not only
 wasted and sterilised our moral        
impulses1 but has reduced art to mere   
foulness2 in his constant sanctifying of
 beauty he makes it appear impure4      
,above all1 in his unceasing attempt to 
attach a moral meaning to physical      
beauty1 he has lost sight of1 he has    
denied1 the great truth that all that   
which is innocent is moral2 that the    
morality of art is an independent       
quality equivalent to1 but separate     

from1 the morality of action2 that      
beauty is the morality of the physical1 
as morality is the beauty of the        
spiritual2 that as the moral sense      
hallows the otherwise egotistic         
relations of man to man1 so also the    
sthetic sense hallows the otherwise     
brutish relations of man to matter2 that
 separately but in harmony1 equally but 
differently1 these two faculties make   
our lives pure and noble4 ,all this     
,ruskin has forgotten3 he has made the  
enjoyment of mere beauty a base         
pleasure1 requiring a moral object to   
purify it1 and in so doing he has       
destroyed its own purifying power2 he   
has sanctified the already holy1 and    
defiled with holy water1 which implies  
foulness1 the dwelling of holiness4     
,this is the lesson to be derived from  
the attempt at noble self-delusion which
 ,ruskin has practised upon himself4    
,there is not in the world that harmony 
and perfection1 nay1 that analogy of    
good to good and evil to evil for which 

our higher nature seeks4 ,as we have    
said1 there is contradiction and        
anomaly3 anomaly the most horrible1     
since our logical sense must accept it1 
and our moral sense cannot3 anomaly of  
good springing from evil1 and evil from 
good1 of pollution of the noble and     
hallowing of the foul by the force of   
inevitable sequence4 ,there is also     
isolation of one sort of good from the  
other1 and clashing of their interests4 
,all this there is1 and against it all  
our moral sense must for ever protest1  
and against it1 whether free in our     
endeavour or merely pushed on by the    
universal necessity1 we must struggle4  
,we must seek for ever to resolve the   
discord between good and good1 to       
disentangle the meshes of good and evil1
 to destroy the dreadful anomaly of     
things4 ,but we can do so1 however      
partially1 we can really wish to do so1 
only if we have the courage to see that 
the lamentable discord and the horrible 
tangle do exist3 only if we do not      

shrink from the battlefield of reality  
into an enervating ,capua of moral      
idealism4 ,and thus we should admit that
 only morality is really moral1 and only
 virtue really virtuous2 that physical  
beauty intrinsically possesses but an   
sthetic value quite separate from all   
moral value2 that above it must always  
remain a more generous world of feeling 
and endeavour4 ,if we do not shrink from
 this painful truth we shall see that   
physical beauty and its egotistic       
enjoyment have yet a moral value of     
their own3 the value of being1 in the   
lives of others1 absolute pleasure1 the 
giving of which is positive good4 ,for  
in this world all is not completed when 
we have destroyed evil2 it must be      
replaced by good4 ,we must all of us    
work1 but we must work in different     
ways4 ,one half of us are the destroyers
 of evil1 the wrestlers with all that is
 wrong in itself or begets wrong1       
falsehood1 injustice1 disease1 misery2  
sent to extirpate the bad1 laboriously  

to weed it out blade by blade1 or boldly
 to plough and burn it up by the sheaf1 
the field1 the acre4 ,but when this half
 of active mankind has done its work1   
what would remain8 ,a mere joyless      
desert of painless vacuity2 and the     
other half of the workers must come and 
sow and plant absolute good1 positive   
joy in this redeemed life soil2 nay1    
even while the work of destruction is   
far from completed1 and most of all1    
perhaps1 then1 do we require that in the
 very shadow of the yet deep-rooted     
evil1 the little tufts of good should   
rise up1 and console and strengthen us  
with their sight and their scent4 ,and  
of all these kinds of egotistic good    
which we must needs sow while evil is   
being cleared away1 art is one of the   
noblest and most necessary2 and woe     
betide those who1 having the power of   
creating beauty1 would leave their      
allotted work and join the destroyers of
 falsehood and of evil4 ,the amount of  
absolute good in the world is           

comparatively small1 and we must seek to
 increase it for ever2 but increased it 
cannot be except by the full employment 
of our activities1 and our activities   
can be fully employed only in their own 
proper sphere4 ,in every artist there is
 a man1 and the moral perfection of the 
man is more important than the artistic 
perfection of the artist2 but1 in as far
 as the artist is an artist1 he must be 
satisfied to do well in his art4 ,for1  
though art has no moral meaning1 it has 
a moral value2 art is happiness1 and to 
bestow happiness is to create good4     
,a ,,dialogue ,,on ,,poetic ,,morality4 
,god sent a poet to reform ,his         
earth4--,a4 ,,mary ,f4 ,,robinson4      
,and meanwhile1 what have you written8  
asked ,baldwin1 tickling the flies with 
his whip from off the horse's head1 as  
they slowly ascended1 in the autumn     
afternoon1 the hill of ,montetramito1   
which with its ilex and myrtle-grown    
black rocks1 and its crumbling mounds1  
where the bright green spruce pine      

clings to the washed-away scarlet sand1 
separates the green and fertile plain of
 ,lucca from the marshes of the ,pisan  
sea-shore4 ,the two friends had met only
 an hour or so before at the foot of the
 ,apennine pass1 and would part in not  
much more again4 ,and what have you     
written8 repeated ,baldwin4  ,nothing1  
answered the younger man1 drearily1     
leaning back languidly in the rickety   
little carriage4 ,nothing1 or rather too
 much2 ,i don't know which4 ,is trash   
too much or too little8 ,anyhow1 there's
 none of it remaining4 ,i thrust all my 
manuscripts into my stove at ,dresden1  
and the chimney took fire in            
consequence4 ,that's the tragic history 
of all my poetical labours of the last  
two years4 ,and ,cyril1 lying back in   
the carriage with his arms folded       
beneath his head1 smiled half-sadly1    
half whimsically in the face of his     
friend4  ,but ,baldwin did not laugh4   
,cyril1 he answered1 do you remember on 
a birthday of yours--you were a tiny    

boy1 brought up like a girl1 with curls 
and beautiful hands--one of your sisters
 dared you to throw your presents into  
the garden well1 and you did it1 before 
a number of admiring little girls3 you  
felt quite a hero or a little saint1    
didn't you8 ,and then my little hero was
 suddenly collared by a big boy fresh   
from school1 who was his friend         
,baldwin1 and who pulled his ears       
soundly and told him to respect people's
 presents a little more4 ,do you        
remember that8 ,well2 ,i now see that1  
with all your growing up1 and writing1  
and philosophising1 and talking about   
duty and self-sacrifice1 you are just   
the self-same womanish and uncontrolled 
poseur1 the same romantic braggadoccio  
that you were at seven4 ,i have no      
patience with you6 ,and ,baldwin whisked
 the whip angrily at the flies4  ,mere  
conceit3 effeminate heroics again6 he   
went on4 ,oh no1 we must do the very    
best6 ,be ,shakespeare at least6        
,anything short of that would be        

derogatory to our kingly nature6 no idea
 of selecting the good 7because in      
whatever you do there must be talent71  
and trying to develop it2 no idea of    
doing the best with what gifts you have6
 ,for you are not going to tell me that 
two years of your work was mere         
rubbish--contained nothing of value4    
,but1 in point of fact1 you don't care  
sufficiently for your art to be         
satisfied to be the most you can2 'tis  
mere vanity with you4  ,cyril became    
very red1 but did not interrupt4  ,i am 
sorry you think so ill of me1 he said   
sadly1 and ,i dare say ,i have given you
 good cause4 ,i dare say ,i am all the  
things you say--vain1 and womanish1 and 
insolently dissatisfied with myself1 and
 idiotically heroic4 ,but not in this   
case1 ,i assure you4 ,i will explain why
 ,i thought it right to do that4 ,you   
see ,i know myself very well now4 ,i    
know my dangers2 ,i am not like you--,i 
am easily swayed4 ,had those poems      
remained in existence1 had ,i taken them

 to ,england1 ,i am sure ,i should not  
have resisted the temptation of showing 
them to my old encouragers1 of          
publishing them probably2 and then1     
after the success of my other book1 and 
all their grand prophecies1 the critics 
would have had to praise up this one    
too2 and ,i should have been drifted    
back again into being a poet4 ,now1 as  
,i wrote you several times--only1 of    
course1 you thought it all humbug and   
affectation--such a poet as ,i could be 
,i am determined ,i will not be4 ,it was
 an act of self-defence--defence of     
whatever of good there may be in me4    
,baldwin groaned4 ,defence of           
fiddlesticks6 ,defence of your vanity6  
,i don't think so1 replied ,cyril1 and  
,i don't think you understand me at all 
in this instance4 ,there was no vanity  
in this matter4 ,you know that since    
some time ,i have been asking myself    
what moral right a man has to consume   
his life writing verses1 when there is  
so much evil to remove1 and every drop  

of thought or feeling we have is needed 
to make the great river which is to wash
 out this ,augean stable of a world4 ,i 
tried to put the doubt behind me1 and to
 believe in ,art for ,art's own sake1   
and such bosh4 ,but the doubt pricked   
me4 ,and when suddenly my uncle left me 
all he had1 ,i felt ,i must decide4 ,as 
long as ,i was a mere penniless creature
 ,i might write poetry1 because there   
seemed nothing else for me to do4 ,but  
now it is different4 ,this money and the
 power it gives are mine only as long as
 ,i live2 after my death they may go to 
some blackguard2 so1 while ,i have them1
 ,i must give all my energies to doing  
with them all the good that ,i possibly 
can4  ,in that case better give them    
over to people who know best what to do 
with them--societies or hospitals1 or   
that sort of thing--and write your      
verses as before4 ,for ,i don't think   
your thoughts will add much to the value
 of your money1 ,cyril4 ,you've not a   
bit of practical head4 ,of course you   

may1 if you choose1 look on idly while  
other people are using your money4 ,but 
,i don't think it is specially worth    
doing4  ,cyril sighed1 hesitated1 and   
then burst out rapidly--  ,but it is the
 only thing ,i can do--do you           
understand8 ,i can't write poetry any   
more4 ,perhaps that may be the only     
thing for which ,i was ever fit1 but ,i 
am fit for it no longer4 ,i cannot do   
what ,i have got to despise and detest4 
,for ,i do despise and detest the sort  
of poetry which ,i should write--mere   
ornamental uselessness1 so much tapestry
 work or inlaid upholstery4 ,you believe
 in ,art for ,art's own                 
sake--,goethianism--that sort of thing1 
,i know4 ,it is all very well for you1  
who have an active practical life with  
your ,maremma drainings and mine        
diggings1 a life in which art1 beauty1  
so forth1 have only their due share1 as 
repose and refreshment4 ,it was all very
 well in former days also1 when the     
people for whom artists worked had a    

deal of struggle and misery1 and        
required some pure pleasure to make life
 endurable2 but now-a-days1 and with the
 people for whom ,i should write1 things
 are different4 ,what is wanted         
now-a-days is not art1 but life4 ,by    
whom do you think1 would all the        
beautiful useful things ,i could write1 
all the fiddle-faddle about trees and   
streams and statues and love and        
aspiration 7fine aspiration1 which never
 takes a practical shape67 be read8 ,by 
wretched overworked creatures1 into     
whose life they might bring a moment of 
sweetness1 like a spray of apple blossom
 or a bunch of sweet-peas into some     
black garret8 ,nothing of the kind4     
,they would be read by a lot of         
intellectual ,sybarites1 shutting       
themselves out1 with their abominable   
artistic religion1 from all crude real  
life2 they would be merely so much more 
hothouse scents or exotic music 7con    
sordino71 to make them snooze their     
lives away4 ,of course it is something  

to be a poet like those of former days2 
something to be ,tasso1 and be read by  
that poor devil of a fever-stricken     
watchmaker whom we met down in the plain
 of ,lucca2 but to be a poet for the    
cultured world of to-day--oh1 ,i would  
rather be a ,french cook1 and invent    
indigestible dishes for epicures without
 any appetite remaining to them4  ,so   
saying1 ,cyril jumped out of the gig1   
and ran up the steep last ascent of the 
hill4 ,he had persuaded himself of his  
moral rightness and felt quite happy4   
,suddenly the road made a sharp bend    
between the overhanging rocks1 grown in 
all their fissures with dark ilex tufts 
and yellow broom and pale pink cyclamen2
 it turned1 and widened into a flat     
grass-grown place1 surrounded by        
cypresses on the top and ridge of the   
hill4 ,cyril ran to the edge and gave a 
cry of pleasure4 ,below was stretched a 
wide strip of ,maremma swamp-land1      
mottled green and brown--green where the
 grass was under water1 brown where it  

was burned into cinders by the sun2 with
 here and there a patch of shining pond 
or canal2 and at the extremity of this1 
distinguishable from the greyish amber  
sky only by its superior and intense    
luminousness1 the sea--not blue nor     
green1 but grey1 silvery1 steel-like1 as
 a mirror in the full sunshine4 ,baldwin
 stopped the gig beneath the cypresses4 
,look there1 he said1 pointing with his 
whip to a dark greenish band1 scarcely  
visible1 which separated the land from  
the sea3 those are the pine woods of    
,viareggio4 ,it was into their sand and 
weeds that the sea washed ,shelley's    
body4 ,do you think we should be any the
 better off if he had taken to practical
 work which he could not do1 and        
declared that poetry was a sort of      
,french cookery8  ,baldwin tied the     
reins to the stem of a cypress1 and     
threw himself down on the warm sere     
grass on the brow of the hill1          
overlooking the tangle of olive and vine
 and fig-trees of the slopes below4  ,in

 ,shelley's time1 answered ,cyril1      
leaning his head and shoulders against  
one of the cypresses1 and looking up    
into its dark branches1 compact in the  
centre1 but delicate like feather and   
sparkling like jet where their          
extremities stood out against the pale  
blue sky--in ,shelley's time1 things    
were rather different from what they are
 now4 ,there was a religion of progress 
to preach and be stoned for2 there was a
 cause of liberty to fight for--there   
were ,bourbons and ,lord ,eldons1 and   
there was ,greece and ,spain and ,italy4
 ,there was ,italy still when ,mrs4     
,browning wrote3 had she looked out of  
,casa ,guidi windows now1 on to the     
hum-drum1 shoulder-shrugging1           
penny-haggling1 professorial1           
municipal-councillorish ,italy of to-day
 she could scarcely have felt in the    
vein4 ,the heroic has been done--       
,there is ,servia and ,montenegro1 and  
there are ,nihilists and ,democrats1    
answered ,baldwin4  ,i know--but we     

can't sing about barbarous ruffians1 nor
 about half-besotten1 half-knavish      
regicides2 we can't be ,democrats       
now-a-days--at least ,i can't4 ,would   
you have a man sing parliamentary       
debates1 or ,high ,church squabbles1 or 
,disestablishment1 or ,woman's rights1  
or anti-communism8 sing the superb      
conquests of man over nature1 c41 like  
your ,italian friends1 your steam-engine
 and mammoth poet ,zanella8 ,the wonders
 of science6--six or seven thousand dogs
 and cats being flayed1 roasted1 baked1 
disembowelled1 artificially ulcerated1  
galvanized on ripped-up nerves1 at      
,government expense1 in all the         
laboratories of ,christendom1 in order  
to discover the soul-secreting          
apparatus1 and how to cure old maids of 
liver complaint6 ,thank you4 ,my muse   
aspires not thereunto4 ,what then8      
,progress8 ,but it is assured4 ,why1    
man1 we can't even sing of despair1 like
 the good people of the year '#bj1 since
 we all know that 7bating a few myriads 

of sufferers and a few centuries of     
agony7 all is going to come quite right1
 to be quite comfortable in this best of
 all possible worlds4 ,what then        
remains1 again8 ,look around you4 ,there
 remains the poetry of beauty--oh yes1  
of pure beauty1 to match the newest     
artistic chintzes2 the poetry of        
artistic nirvana1 of the blissful sleep 
of all manliness and energy1 to the     
faint sound 7heard through dreams7 of   
paradisiac mysticism sung to golden     
lutes1 or of imaginary amorous          
hysterics1 or of symphonies in          
alliteration4 ,and this when there is so
 much error1 so much doubt1 so much     
suffering1 when all our forces are      
required to push away a corner of the   
load of evil still weighing on the      
world3 this sort of thing ,i cannot take
 to4 ,and ,cyril fiercely plucked out a 
tuft of lilac-flowered thyme1 and threw 
it into the precipice below1 as if it   
had been the poetry of which he was     
speaking4  ,do you know1 ,baldwin1 went 

on ,cyril1 you have destroyed           
successively all my gods2 you have shown
 me that my ,holy ,grails1 in whose     
service1 one after another ,i felt happy
 and peaceful to live1 like another     
,parzival1 or ,galahaso1 are not the    
sacred life-giving cup brought down by  
angels1 but mere ordinary vessels of    
brittle earth or stinking pewter1 mere  
more or less useful1 but by no means    
holy things2 ordinary pots and pans1    
barber's basins like ,mambrino's helmet1
 or blue china teapots 7worst           
degradation of all7 like the            
,cimabue-,browns'4 ,i believed in the   
religion of ,nature1 and you showed me  
that ,nature was sometimes good and     
sometimes bad2 that she produced the    
very foulness1 physical and moral1 which
 she herself chastised men for2 you     
showed me whole races destined          
inevitably to moral perversion1 and then
 punished for it4 ,so ,i gave up        
,nature4 ,then ,i took up the           
fashionable religion of ,science1 and   

you showed me that it was the religion  
of a sort of ,moloch1 since it          
accustomed us to acquiesce in all the   
evil which is part and parcel of        
,nature1 since it made us passive       
investigators into wrong when we ought  
to be judges4 ,after the positive1 ,i   
threw myself into the mystic--into the  
religion of all manner of mysterious    
connections and redemptions2 you showed 
me that the connections did not exist1  
and that all attempted sanctification of
 things through mysticism was an        
abomination1 since it could not alter   
evil1 and taught us to think it might be
 good4 ,o my poor ,holy ,grails6 ,then  
,i took up the religion of love2 and you
 proceeded to expound to me that if love
 was restricted to a few worthy         
individuals1 it meant neglect of the    
world at large2 and that if it meant    
love of the world at large1 it meant    
love of a great many utterly unworthy   
and beastly people4 ,you deprived me of 
humanitarianism1 of positivism1 of      

mysticism2 and then you did not even let
 me rest peaceably in pessimism1 telling
 me that to say that all was for the    
worst was as unjust as to say that all  
was for the best4 ,with a few of your   
curt sentences you showed me that all   
these religions of mine were mere       
idolatries1 and that to rest in them for
 the sake of peace was to be utterly    
base4 ,you left me nothing but a vague  
religion of duty1 of good2 but you gave 
me no means of seeing where my duty lay1
 of distinguishing good from evil4 ,you 
are a very useful rooter up of error1   
,baldwin2 but you leave one's soul as   
dry and barren and useless as sea       
shingle4 ,you have taken away all the   
falsehoods from my life1 but you have   
not replaced them by truths4  ,baldwin  
listened quietly4  ,would you like to   
have the falsehoods back1 ,cyril8 he    
asked4 ,would you now like to be the    
holy knight1 adoring and defending the  
pewter basin or blue china teapot of    
humanitarianism1 or positivism1 or      

mysticism1 or stheticism8 ,and what     
becomes of the only religion which ,i   
told you was the true one--the religion 
of good1 of right8 ,do you think it     
worthless now8  ,i think it is the      
religion of the ,unknown ,god4 ,where   
shall ,i find ,him8  ,in yourself1 if   
you will look1 ,cyril4  ,cyril was      
silent for a moment4 ,what is right8 he 
said4 ,in the abstract--7oh1 and it is  
so easy to find out in the abstract1    
compared to the concrete67--in the      
abstract1 right is to improve things in 
the world1 to make it better for man and
 beast2 never to steal justice1 and     
always to give mercy2 to do all we can  
which can increase happiness1 and       
refrain from doing all which can        
diminish it4 ,that is the only          
definition ,i can see4 ,but how         
vague6--and who is to tell me what ,i am
 to do8 ,and when ,i see a faint glimmer
 of certainty1 when ,i perceive what    
seems to me the right which ,i must do1 
who again interferes8 ,my friend        

,baldwin1 who1 after preaching to me    
that the only true religion is the      
religion of diminishing evil and        
increasing good for the sake of so      
doing1 coolly writes to me1 in          
half-a-dozen letters1 that the sole duty
 of the artist is to produce good art1  
and that good art is art which has no   
aim beyond its own perfection4 ,why1 it 
is a return to my old sthetic fetish    
worship1 when ,i thought abstract ideas 
of beauty would set the world right1 as 
,amphion's harp set the stones building 
themselves4444 ,am ,i justified in      
saying that you merely upset my beliefs1
 without helping me to build up any2    
yes1 even when ,i am striving after that
 religion of right doing which you      
nominally call yours--8  ,you always    
rush to extremes1 ,cyril4 ,if you would 
listen to1 or read1 my words without    
letting your mind whirl off while so    
doing--  ,i listen to you far too much1 
,baldwin1 interrupted ,cyril1 who would 
not break the thread of his own ideas2  

and first ,i want to read you a sonnet4 
,baldwin burst out laughing4 ,a sonnet6 
one of those burnt at ,dresden--or      
written in commemoration of your        
decision to write no more8  ,it is not  
by me at all1 so there's an end to your 
amusement4 ,i want you to hear it       
because it embodies1 and very nobly1    
what ,i have felt4 ,i have never even   
seen the author1 and know nothing about 
her except that she is a woman4  ,a     
woman6 and ,baldwin's tone was          
disagreeably expressive4  ,i know you   
don't believe in women poets or women   
artists4  ,not much1 so far1 excepting  
,sappho and ,mrs4 ,browning1 certainly4 
,but1 come1 let's hear the sonnet4 ,i do
 abominate women's verses1 ,i confess2  
but there are such multitudes of        
poetesses that ,nature may sometimes    
blunder in their production1 and make   
one of them of the stuff intended for a 
poet4  ,well then1 listen1 and ,cyril   
drew a notebook from his pocket1 and    
read as follows3--    ,god sent a poet  

to reform ,his earth    ,but when he    
came and found it cold and poor         
,harsh and unlovely1 where each         
prosperous boor    ,held poets light for
 all their heavenly birth1    ,he       
thought--,myself can make one better    
worth    ,the living in than this--full 
of old lore1    ,music and light and    
love1 where saints adore    ,and angels1
 all within mine own soul's girth4      
,but when at last he came to die1 his   
soul    ,saw ,earth 7flying past to     
,heaven7 with new love1    ,and all the 
unused passion in him cried3    ',o     
,god1 your ,heaven ,i know and weary of1
    ,give me this world to work in and  
make whole4'    ,god spoke3 ',therein1  
fool1 thou hast lived and died4'  ,cyril
 paused for a moment4 ,do you           
understand1 ,baldwin1 how that expresses
 my state of feeling8 he then asked4  ,i
 do1 answered the other1 and ,i         
understand that both you and the author 
of the sonnet seem not to have          
understood in what manner ,god intended 

that poets should improve the earth4    
,and here ,i return to my former remark1
 that when ,i said that the only true   
religion was the religion not of nature1
 nor of mankind1 nor of science1 nor of 
art1 but the religion of good1 and that 
the creation of perfect beauty is the   
highest aim of the artist1 ,i was not   
contradicting myself1 but merely stating
 two parts--a general and a             
particular--of the same proposition4 ,i 
don't know what your definition of right
 living may be2 mine1 the more ,i think 
over the subject1 has come to be        
this3--the destruction of the greatest  
possible amount of evil and the creation
 of the greatest possible amount of good
 in the world4 ,and this is possible    
only by the greatest amount of the best 
and most complete activity1 and the     
greatest amount of the best activity is 
possible only when everything is seen in
 its right light1 in order that         
everything may be used in its right     
place4 ,i have always preached to you   

that life must be activity2 but activity
 defeats itself if misapplied2 it       
becomes a mere ,danaides' work of       
filling bottomless casks--pour and pour 
and pour in as much as you will1 the    
cask will always be empty4 ,now1 in this
 world there are two things to be done1 
and two distinct sets of people to do   
them3 the one work is the destruction of
 evil1 the other the creation of good4  
,mind1 ,i say the creation of good1 for 
,i consider that to do good--that is to 
say1 to act rightly--is not necessarily 
the same as to create good4 ,every one  
who does his allotted work is doing     
good2 but the man who tends the sick1 or
 defends the oppressed1 or discovers new
 truths1 is not creating good1 but      
destroying evil--destroying evil in one 
of a hundred shapes1 as sickness1 or    
injustice1 or falsehood4 ,but he merely 
removes1 he does not give2 he leaves men
 as poor or as rich as they would have  
been1 had not disease1 or injustice1 or 
error stolen away some of their life4   

,the man who creates good is the one who
 not merely removes pain1 but adds      
pleasure to our lives4 ,through him we  
are absolutely the richer4 ,and this    
creator of good1 as distinguished from  
destroyer of evil1 is1 above all other  
men1 the artist4 ,the scientific thinker
 may add pleasure to our lives1 but in  
reality this truth of his is valuable1  
not for the pleasure it gives1 but for  
the pain it removes4 ,science is        
warfare2 we may consider it as a kind of
 sport1 but in reality it is a hunting  
down of the most dangerous kind of wild 
animal--falsehood4 ,a great many other  
things may give pleasure to our         
lives--all our healthy activities1 upper
 or lower1 must2 but the lower ones are 
already fully exercised1 and1 if        
anything1 require restraint2 so that    
,french cooks and erotic poets ought    
rather to be exterminated as productive 
of evil than encouraged as creative of  
good4 ,and moral satisfaction and love  
give us the best pleasures of all2 but  

these are pleasures which are not due to
 any special class created on purpose   
for their production4 ,oh1 ,i don't say 
that any artist can give you the        
pleasure you have in knowing yourself to
 be acting rightly1 or in sympathizing  
and receiving sympathy2 but the artist  
is the instrument1 the machine          
constructed to produce the only         
pleasures which can come near these4    
,every one of us can destroy evil and   
create pleasure1 in a sort of           
incidental1 amateurish way1 within our  
own immediate circle2 but as the men of 
thought and of action are the           
professional destroyers of evil1 so the 
artists are the professional creators of
 good--they work not for those          
immediately around them1 but for the    
world at large4 ,so your artist is your 
typical professional creator of         
pleasure2 he is fitted out1 as other men
 are not1 to do this work2 he is made of
 infinitely finer stuff than other men1 
not as a whole man1 but as an artist3 he

 has much more delicate hearing1 much   
keener sight1 much defter fingers1 much 
farther-reaching voice than other men2  
he is specially prepared to receive and 
transmit impressions which would be as  
wasted on other creatures1 as the image 
in the camera on unprepared1 ordinary   
paper4 ,now1 what ,i maintain is simply 
this1 that if1 according to my          
definition1 the object of destroying as 
much evil and creating as much good can 
be attained only by the greatest        
activity rightly applied1 it is evident 
that a man endowed to be an artist--that
 is to say1 a creator of good for the   
whole world--is simply failing in his   
duty by becoming a practical worker2    
that is to say1 an amateur destroyer of 
evil4 ,what shall we say of this artist8
 ,we shall say that1 in order to indulge
 in the moral luxury1 the moral         
amusement1 of removing an imperceptible 
amount of pain1 he has defrauded the    
world of the immense and long-lasting   
pleasure placed in his charge to give2  

we shall say that1 in order to feel     
himself a little virtuous1 this man has 
simply acted like a cheat and a thief4  
,baldwin had spoken rapidly and         
earnestly1 with a sort of uniform or    
only gradually rising warmth1 very      
different from the hesitating1          
fluctuating sort of passion of his      
companion4 ,there was a short silence2  
,cyril was still seated under the tall1 
straight cypress1 whose fallen fruit1   
like carved balls of wood1 strewed the  
sere grass1 and whose compact hairy     
trunk gave out a resinous scent1 more   
precious and strange than that of the   
fir3 he felt that he was momentarily    
crushed1 but had a vague sense that     
there lurked somewhere reasons1 and very
 potent ones1 which prevented his friend
 being completely victorious2 and       
,baldwin was patiently waiting for him  
to muster his ideas into order before   
continuing the discussion4 ,a slight    
breeze from the over-clouded sea sent a 
shiver across the olives into the ravine

 below1 turning their feathery tops into
 a silver ripple1 as of a breaking wave2
 the last belated cicalas1 invisible in 
the thick plumy branches of the         
cypresses1 sawed slowly and languidly in
 the languid late afternoon2 and from   
the farms hidden in the olive yards of  
the slope came faint sounds of calling  
voices and barking dogs--just sound     
enough to make the stillness more       
complete4 ,all that is very true1 said  
,cyril at last1 and yet--,i don't know  
how to express it--,i feel that there is
 still remaining to me all my reason for
 doubt and dissatisfaction4 ,you say    
that artistic work is morally           
justifiable to the artist1 since he is  
giving pleasure to others4 ,from this   
point of view you are perfectly right4  
,but what ,i feel is1 that the pleasure 
which the artist thus gives is not      
morally valuable to those who enjoy it4 
,do you follow8 ,i mean that the artist 
may be nobly and generously employed1   
and yet1 by some fatal contradiction1   

the men and women who receive his gifts 
are merely selfishly gratified4 ,he     
might not1 perhaps1 be better employed  
than in giving pleasure1 but they might 
surely be better employed than in merely
 receiving it2 and thus the selfishness 
of the enjoyment of the gift seems to   
diminish the moral value of giving it4  
,when an artist gives to other men an   
hour of mere enjoyment1 ,i don't know   
whether he ought to be quite proud or   
not4  ,baldwin merely laughed4 ,it is   
droll to see what sort of hypermoral    
scruples some people indulge in         
now-a-days4 ,so1 your sense of the      
necessity of doing good is so keen that 
you actually feel wretched at the notion
 of your neighbours being simply happy1 
and no more1 for an hour4 ,you are not  
sure whether1 by thus taking them away  
for a moment from the struggle with     
evil1 letting them breathe and rest in  
the middle of the battle1 you may not be
 making them sin and be sinning         
yourself6 ,why1 my dear ,cyril1 if you  

condemn humanity to uninterrupted       
struggle with evil1 you create evil     
instead of destroying it2 if mankind    
could be persuaded to give up all of    
what you would call useless and selfish 
pleasure1 it would very soon become so  
utterly worn out and disheartened as to 
be quite powerless to resist evil4 ,if  
this is the system on which poets would 
reform the world1 it is very fortunate  
that they don't think of it till they   
are flying to heaven4  ,i can't make it 
out4 ,you seem to be in the right1      
,baldwin1 and yet ,i still seem to be   
justified in sticking to my ideas1 said 
,cyril4 ,do you see1 he went on1 you    
have always preached to me that the     
highest aim of the artist is the        
perfection of his own work2 you have    
always told me that art cannot be as    
much as it should if any extra-artistic 
purpose be given to it4 ,and while      
listening to you ,i have felt persuaded 
that all this was most perfectly true4  
,but then1 an hour later1 ,i have met   

the same idea--the eternal phrase of art
 for art's own sake--in the mouths and  
the books of men ,i completely despised2
 men who seemed to lose sight of all the
 earnestness and duty of life1 who had  
even what seemed to me very base ideas  
about art itself1 and at all events     
debased it by associating it with       
effeminate1 selfish1 sensual mysticism4 
,so that the idea of art for art's own  
sake has come to have a disgusting      
meaning to me4  ,baldwin had risen from 
the grass1 and untied the horse from the
 trunk of the cypress4  ,there is a     
storm gathering1 he said1 pointing to   
the grey masses of cloud1               
half-dissolved1 which were gathering    
everywhere2 if we can get to one of the 
villages on the coast without being     
half-drowned while crossing the swamps1 
we shall be lucky4 ,get in1 and we can  
discuss art for art's own sake1 and     
anything else you please1 on the way4   
,in a minute the gig was rattling down  
the hill1 among the great blasted grey  

olives1 and the vines with reddening    
foliage1 and the farm-houses with their 
fig and orange trees1 their great tawny 
pumpkins lying in heaps on the          
threshing-floor1 and their autumn       
tapestry of strung-together maize       
hanging massy and golden from the eaves 
to the ground4  ,baldwin resumed the    
subject where they had left it3 ,my own 
experience is1 that the men who go in   
for art for art's own sake1 do so mainly
 from a morbid shrinking from all the   
practical and moral objects which other 
folk are apt to set up as the aim of    
art2 in reality1 they do not want art1  
nor the legitimate pleasures of art3    
they want the sterile pleasure of       
perceiving mere ingenuity and dexterity 
of handling2 they hanker vaguely after  
imaginary sensuous stimulation1 spiced  
with all manner of mystical rubbish1    
after some ineffable half-nauseous      
pleasure in strange mixtures of beauty  
and nastiness2 they enjoy above all     
things dabbling and dipping alternately 

in virtue and vice1 as in the steam and 
iced water of a ,turkish bath4444 ,in   
short1 these creatures want art not for 
its own sake1 but for the sake of       
excitement which the respectabilities of
 society do not permit their obtaining1 
except in imaginative form4 ,as to art1 
real art1 they treat it much worse than 
the most determined utilitarian3 the    
utilitarians turn art into a drudge2    
these sthetic folk make her into a      
pander and a prostitute4 ,my reason for 
restricting art to artistic aims is     
simply my principle that if things are  
to be fully useful they must be         
restricted to their real use1 according 
to the idea of ,goethe's ,duke of       
,ferrara3--    ',nicht alles dienet uns 
auf gleiche ,weise2    ,wer vieles      
brauchen will1 gebrauche jedes    ,in   
seiner ,art1 so ist er wohl bedient4'   
,i want art in general not to meddle    
with the work of any of our other       
energies1 for the same reason that ,i   
want each art in particular not to      

meddle with the work of any other art4  
,sculpture cannot do the same as        
painting1 nor painting the same as      
music1 nor music the same as poetry2 and
 by attempting anything beyond its      
legitimate sphere each sacrifices what  
it1 and no other1 can do4 ,so1 also1 art
 in general has a definite function in  
our lives2 and if it attempts to perform
 the work of philosophy1 or practical   
benevolence1 or science1 or moralizing1 
or anything not itself1 it will merely  
fail in that1 and neglect what it could 
do4  ,oh yes1 continued ,baldwin after a
 minute1 as they passed into the        
twilight of a wood of old olives1 grey1 
silvery1 mysterious1 rising tier above  
tier on either side of the road1 a faint
 flicker of yellow light between their  
feathery branches4 ,oh yes1 ,i don't    
doubt that were ,i a writer1 and were ,i
 to expound my life-and-art philosophy  
to the world1 the world would tax me    
with great narrowness6 ,things are      
always too narrow for people when they  

are kept in their place--kept within    
duty and reason4 ,of course there is an 
infinite grandeur in chaos--in a general
 wandering among the ,unknown1 in an    
universal straining and hankering after 
the ,impossible2 it is grand to see the 
arts writhing and shivering to atoms1   
like caged vipers1 in their impotence to
 do what they cannot4 ,only it would be 
simpler to let those do it who can2 and 
my system is the only one which can     
work4 ,despair is fine1 and ,nirvna is  
fine2 but successful and useful activity
 is a good deal finer4 ,wherefore ,i    
shall always say--',each in his place   
and to his work2' and you1 therefore1 my
 dear ,cyril1 to yours1 which is poetry4
  ,i think your philosophy is quite     
right1 ,baldwin1 only--only1 somehow1 ,i
 can't get it to suit my moral          
condition1 answered ,cyril4 ,i do feel  
quite persuaded that sculptors must not 
try to be painters1 nor musicians try to
 be poets1 nor any of them try to be    
anything beyond what they are4 ,it is   

all quite rational1 and right1 and      
moral1 but still ,i am not satisfied    
about poetry4 ,you see a poet is not    
quite in the same case as any other sort
 of artist4 ,the musician1 inasmuch as  
musician1 knows only notes1 has power   
only over sounds2 and the painter       
similarly as to form and colours2 if    
either be something more1 it is inasmuch
 as he is a mere man1 not an artist4    
,but a poet1 inasmuch as he is a poet1  
knows1 sees1 feels a great many things  
which have a practical and moral        
meaning3 just because he is a poet1 he  
knows that there is something beyond    
poetry2 he knows that there are in the  
world such things as justice and        
injustice1 good and evil1 purity and    
foulness3 he knows all this1 which the  
mere musician1 the mere painter1 does   
not--and knowing it1 perceiving1        
feeling1 understanding it1 with more    
intensity than other men1 is he to sweep
 it all out of his sight8 is he to say  
to justice and injustice1 good and evil1

 purity and foulness1 ',i know you1 but 
my work lies not with you8' ,is he to do
 this8 ,oh1 ,baldwin1 if he be a man and
 an honest one1 he surely cannot3 he    
cannot set aside these ideas and devote 
himself to his art for its own sake4    
,baldwin listened attentively to the    
passionate words of his companion1 and  
twitching at a sprig of olive as a      
branch swept across their heads in their
 rapid movement through the wood1 he    
answered quietly3  ,he will not set     
aside the ideas of justice and          
injustice1 of good and evil1 of purity  
and impurity1 ,cyril4 ,he will make use 
of them even as the musician uses his   
sounds1 or the painter uses his colours4
 ,such ideas are at least one-half of   
the poet's material1 of the stuff out of
 which he creates--the half which       
belongs exclusively to him1 which he    
does not share with any other artist2   
the half which gives poetry a character 
in many respects different from that of 
painting or music4 ,i have always       

laughed at the ,ruskinian idea of       
morality or immorality in architecture1 
or painting1 or music1 and said that    
their morality and immorality were      
beauty and ugliness4 ,i have done so    
because moral ideas don't enter into the
 arts of line1 or colour1 or sound1 but 
only into the subjects to which their   
visible and audible works are 7usually  
arbitrarily7 attached4 ,but with poetry 
the case is different2 and if the poet  
has got a keener perception 7or ought to
 have7 of right and wrong than other    
men1 it is because a sense of moral     
right and wrong is required in his art1 
as a sense of colour is required in     
painting4 ,i have said 'art for art's   
own sake1' but ,i should have been more 
precise in saying 'art for beauty's     
sake4' ,now1 in poetry1 one half of     
beauty and ugliness is purely ethical1  
and if the poet who deals with this     
half1 the half which comprises human    
emotion and action1 has no sense of     
right and wrong1 he will fail as        

signally as some very dexterous         
draughtsman1 who should have no sense of
 physical beauty and ugliness1 and spend
 his time making wonderful drawings of  
all manner of diseased growths4 ,of     
course1 you may be a poet who does not  
deal with the human element1 who writes 
only about trees and rivers1 and in this
 case your notions of right and wrong   
are as unnecessary to you as an artist  
as they would be to a landscape painter4
 ,you use them in your life1 but not in 
your art4 ,but as soon as a poet deals  
with human beings1 and their feelings   
and doings1 he must have a correct sense
 of what1 in such feelings and doings1  
is right and what is wrong4 ,and if he  
have not this sense1 he will not be in  
the same case as the painter or musician
 who is deficient in the sense of       
pictorial or musical right and wrong4   
,the wise folk who have examined into   
our visual and acoustic nerves seem to  
think1 what to me seems extremely       
probable1 that the impression of sthetic

 repulsion which we get from badly      
combined lines1 or colours1 or sounds1  
is a sort of admonition that such       
combinations are more or less           
destructive to our nerves of sight or of
 hearing2 so1 similarly1 the quite      
abstract aversion which we feel to an   
immoral effect in literature1 seems to  
me to be the admonition 7while we are   
still ,platonically viewing the matter1 
and have not yet come personally into   
contact with it7 that our moral         
sense--what ,i may call our nerves of   
right and wrong--is being disintegrated 
by this purely intellectual contact with
 evil4 ,and1 moreover1 our nerves of    
right and wrong are1 somehow1 much less 
well protected than our visual or       
acoustic nerves3 they seem to be more on
 the surface of our nature1 and they are
 much more easily injured3 it takes a   
good deal of bad painting and bad music 
to deprave a man's eye or ear1 and more 
than we can well conceive to make him   
blind or deaf2 but it takes less than we

 think of base literature to injure a   
man's moral perception1 to make him see 
and hear moral things completely wrong4 
,you see the good1 simple1 physical     
senses look after themselves--are in a  
way isolated2 but the moral sense is a  
very complex matter1 and interfered with
 in every possible manner by the reason1
 the imagination1 the bodily senses--so 
that injuring it through any of these is
 extremely easy4 ,and the people whom   
bad painting or bad music had made      
half-blind or half-deaf would be less   
dangerous to themselves and to others   
than those who had been made            
half-immoral by poetry4  ,but at that   
rate1 said ,cyril1 we should never be   
permitted to write except about moral   
action2 if the morally right is the same
 for the poet as the pictorially right  
for the painter4 ,baldwin1 ,i think1 ,i 
fear1 that all these are mere           
extemporized arguments for the purpose  
of making me satisfied with poetry1     
which ,i never shall be again1 ,i feel  

persuaded4  ,not at all1 answered       
,baldwin4 ,i mean that the moral right  
or wrong of poetry is not exactly what  
you mean4 ,if we were bound never to    
write except about good people1 there   
would be an end to half the literature  
of the world4  ,that is exactly what ,i 
saw1 and what showed me the hollowness  
of your theory1 ,baldwin4  ,because you 
mistook my theory4 ,there could be no   
human action or interest if literature  
were to avoid all representation of     
evil3 no more tragedy1 at any rate1 and 
no more novels4 ,but you must remember  
that the impression given by a play or a
 poem is not the same as that given by a
 picture or statue4 ,the picture or     
statue is all we see2 if it be ugly1 the
 impression is ugly4 ,but in a work of  
literature we see not only the actors   
and their actions1 but the manner in    
which they are regarded by the author2  
and in this manner of regarding them    
lies the morality or immorality4 ,you   
may have as many villains as you please1

 and the impression may still be moral2 
and you may have as many saints as you  
please1 and the impression may still be 
immoral4  ,the road had suddenly emerged
 out of the olive woods covering the    
lowest hill ranges1 and in a few minutes
 they were driving through a perfect    
desert4 ,the road1 a narrow white       
ribbon1 stretched across a great flat   
tract of country3 field after field of  
,indian corn1 stripped of its leaves and
 looking like regiments of spindles1 and
 of yellowish green grass1 half under   
water2 on either side a ditch full of   
water-lilies1 widening into             
sedge-fringed canals1 in which the hay  
of coarse long grass was stacked in     
boats for sheer want of dry soil1 or    
expanding into shallow patches of water 
scarcely covering the grass1 and        
reflecting1 against the green of the    
meadow below1 the boldly peaked marble  
mountains of ,carrara1 bare1 intensely  
ribbed1 veined1 and the blue sky and    
rainy black clouds4 ,green brown fields1

 tufts of reed1 hill and sky reflected  
in the inundated grass--nothing more1   
not a house1 or shed1 or tree for miles 
around--in front only the stormy horizon
 where it touched the sea4  ,this is    
beautiful1 cried ,cyril4 ,i should like 
to come and live here4 ,it is much      
lovelier and more peaceful than all the 
woods and valleys in creation4  ,baldwin
 laughed4 ,it might be a good beginning 
for final ,nirvna1 he said4 ,these are  
the sea-swamps1 the padule1 where the   
serene ,republic of ,lucca sent its     
political offenders4 ,you were locked up
 in a tower1 the door bricked up1 with  
food enough to last till your keeper    
came back once a fortnight2 the malaria 
did the rest4  ,it is like some of our  
modern literature1 answered ,cyril1 with
 a shudder2 ,maremma poetry--we have    
that sort of thing1 too4  ,by the way1  
went on ,baldwin2 ,i don't think we     
quite came to the end of our discussion 
about what a poet ought to do with his  
moral instincts1 if he has any4  ,i     

know1 answered ,cyril1 and ,i have      
meanwhile returned to my previous       
conclusion that1 now that all great     
singable strifes are at an end1 poetry  
cannot satisfy the moral cravings of a  
man4  ,you think so8 asked ,baldwin1    
looking rather contemptuously at his    
companion4 ,you think so8 ,well1 therein
 lies your mistake4 ,i think1 on the    
contrary1 that poetry requires more     
moral sense and energy than most men can
 or will give to it4 ,do you know what a
 poet has to deal with1 at least a poet 
who does not confine himself to mere    
description of inanimate things8 ,he has
 to deal with the passions and actions  
of mankind--that is to say1 with a      
hundred problems of right and wrong4 ,of
 course1 men who have deliberately made 
up their mind on any question of right  
and wrong1 are not shaken by anything in
 a book2 nay1 they probably scarcely    
remark it4 ,but if you remember that in 
the inner life of every man there must  
be moments of doubt and hesitation1     

there must be problems vaguely knocking 
about1 you will understand that for     
every man there is the danger that in   
such a moment of doubt his eyes may fall
 upon a sentence in a book--a sentence  
to other men trivial--which will settle 
that doubt for ever1 rightly or wrongly4
 ,there are few of us so strong that the
 moment does not come when we would ask1
 as a good ,catholic does of a          
confessor1 what is right and what is    
wrong1 and take the answer which is one 
of the two that have been struggling    
within himself1 as definite2 and to us1 
who do not go to confession1 a book1 any
 book casually taken up1 may be this    
terribly powerful spiritual director4   
,people used to exaggerate the influence
 of books1 because they imagined that   
they could alter already settled        
opinions2 now-a-days ,i deliberately    
think that they underrate this          
influence1 because they forget how it   
may settle fluctuating opinion4 ,the    
power of literature is in this way very 

great4  ,it has been formerly--yes1 ,i  
grant it1 answered ,cyril2 but it is no 
longer what it was2 in our cut-and-dry  
days it is necessarily smaller4  ,on the
 contrary1 much greater now than perhaps
 almost at any other time4 ,these are   
not cut-and-dry days1 ,cyril1 but the   
very reverse2 you must not let yourself 
be deceived by a certain superficial    
regularity1 by railway journeys and     
newspapers1 and a general civilization  
of hand-books and classes4 ,in reality  
there is more room for indirect moral   
perversion or enervation in our days    
than there has been for a good while2   
for the upsetting of ideas1 the         
infiltration of effete or foreign modes 
of thought and feeling1 is much greater 
in this quiet nineteenth century than it
 was1 for instance1 in the ,renaissance 
or the eighteenth century4 ,with all    
their scepticism1 the people of those   
days had a great fund of tradition about
 everything2 they were floating about a 
good deal1 ,i admit1 but they were fully

 persuaded of the existence of certain  
very solid moral rocks1 to which they   
might always tie their boat when it grew
 over-rough2 rocks of religion or       
deistic mysticism1 or of social         
convenances1 which we have now          
discovered to be by no means granite1   
but some sort of sea deposit1 of        
hardened sand1 whose formation we       
understand and no longer rely upon4 ,the
 most arrant sceptics of the past had   
always one great safety1 that they were 
in a groove2 they saw1 understood1      
sympathized with only their own         
civilization4 ,what they thought right  
they had never seen questioned--they    
never imagined any one could regard as  
wrong2 hence the most liberal thinkers  
of former days always strike us1 with   
their blindness to all but their own    
civilization1 as such ,philistines4     
,things have changed since then2 they   
began to change already1 as soon as men 
began to look at other civilizations2   
and the suggestive first-fruit of this  

early ethnographic eclecticism may be   
seen in ,diderot's very beastly books3  
he found that the ,south ,sea ,islanders
 had not1 on the subject of incest1 the 
same views as ,christian folk2 whereupon
 it struck him that those views might be
 due to prejudice4 ,it was not the      
development of the natural sciences1 but
 rather of the historic and             
ethnographic1 which upset people's      
ideas2 it was the discovery of how our  
institutions1 moral and social 7hitherto
 regarded as come straight from heaven71
 had formed themselves1 and how they    
were subject to variation4 ,speaking of 
poets1 look at a pure man1 ,i believe a 
very pure man1 ,shelley1 if you want to 
understand the necessity of poets having
 a greater solidity of moral judgment   
than the mere ,jones and ,browns who    
stick to their shop1 and are not        
troubled with theories4 ,add to the     
influence of scientific doubt1 of the   
doubt created by books on the origin of 
ideas and institutions 7showing of what 

moonshine they are often made71 the     
utterly confusing effect of our modern  
literary eclecticism1 our comprehension 
and sympathy with so many and hostile   
states of civilization1 our jumbling    
together of antique and medival1 of     
barbarous and over-ripe and effete      
civilizations1 our intellectual and     
moral absorption of incompatible past   
stages of thought and feeling1 with the 
follies and vices inherent in each2--sum
 up all this1 and you will see that1    
with our science and our culture1 our   
self-swamping with other folk's ideas1  
we are infinitely less morally steady   
than the good sceptics of the days of   
,voltaire1 who always believed in the   
supremacy of their own century1 their   
own country1 their own institutions1    
their own conventionalities2 who were in
 danger only from their own follies and 
uncertainties1 while we are in danger   
from the follies and uncertainties of   
every past century from which we have   
inherited4 ,and you will see1 if you    

look1 that that sceptical eighteenth    
century1 which was very much more       
credulous and conservative than ours1   
was very little divided and upset in its
 ideas2 certain things were universally 
admitted1 and certain other things      
universally rejected2 in that day there 
was always the master of the            
ceremonies--,propriety4 ,he knew exactly
 what could be permitted3 in the        
dining-room1 drunkards yelling filthy   
jests2 in the drawing-room1 polite      
gentlemen stalking or tripping through  
their minuets4 ,it is different         
now-a-days4  ,cyril nodded4 ,i          
understand what you mean1 he said2 but  
,i don't see the application yet4       
,well1 answered ,baldwin1 ,i will show  
you one instance of the application4    
,have you ever thought over the question
 of--how shall ,i call it8--the ethics  
of the indecent8  ,cyril stared4 ,no1 it
 never struck me that there were any4 ,i
 don't write indecent things1 it doesn't
 amuse me4 ,i feel not the smallest     

desire to do so2 if anything1 ,i feel   
rather sick at such things2 that is all4
  ,that is all for you1 but not all for 
other people4 ,you don't feel attracted 
to write on some subjects2 well1 other  
people not only feel attracted1 but     
imagine that it is their duty even if   
they are not4  ,they are swine2 ,i have 
nothing to do with them4 ,and ,cyril    
looked as if he had settled the matter4 
,but they are not swine2 at least1 not  
all of them2 or they are not entirely   
swine1 by any means1 insisted ,baldwin4 
,you are not going to tell me that a man
 like ,walt ,whitman is a mere pig4     
,still there are things of his which to 
you are simply piggish4 ,either ,whitman
 is a beast or you are a prude4  ,that  
depends upon difference of nature1 said 
,cyril quickly1 vaguely desirous of     
putting an end to a discussion which    
brought forward an anomaly4  ,that is   
merely repeating what ,i said1 replied  
,baldwin4 ,but in reality ,i think it is
 not a difference of nature4 ,i think it

 depends on a difference of reasoned    
opinion2 in short1 upon a sophistication
 of ideas on the part of ,whitman4 ,i   
think it depends in him and the really  
pure men who uphold his abominations    
upon a simple logical misconception2 a  
confusion of the fact that certain      
phenomena have been inevitable1 with the
 supposition that those same certain    
phenomena are therefore desirable--a    
confusion between what has been1 and    
could not help being1 and what may be   
and ought to be4 ,it is the attempt to  
solve a moral problem by an historical  
test4  ,i don't understand in the least1
 ,baldwin4  ,why1 thus3 our modern      
familiarity with the intellectual work  
of all times and races has made people  
perceive that in past days indecency was
 always part and parcel of literature1  
and that to try to weed it out is to    
completely alter the character of at    
least a good half of the literature of  
the past4 ,hence1 some of us moderns1   
shaken as we are in all our conventional

 ideas1 have argued that this so-called 
indecency is a legitimate portion of all
 literature1 and that the sooner it is  
re-introduced into that of the present  
the better1 if our literature is to be  
really vital and honest4 ,now1 these    
people do not perceive that the         
literature of the past contained        
indecencies1 merely because1 being      
infinitely less self-conscious1 less    
responsible than now1 the literature of 
those days contained fragments of every 
portion of the civilization which       
produced it4 ,for besides what ,i might 
call absolute indecency1 in the sense of
 pruriency1 the literature of the past  
is full of filth pure and simple1 like  
some ,eastern town2 a sure proof this1  
that if certain subjects which we taboo 
were not tabooed then1 it was not from  
any conscious notion of their           
legitimacy1 but from a general habit of 
making literature1 like the street of   
some ,oriental or medival town1 the     
scene of every sort of human action1    

important or trifling1 noble or vile2   
regarding it as the place for which the 
finest works were painted or carved1 and
 into which all the slops were emptied4 
,hence1 in our wanderings through the   
literature of the past1 our feet are for
 ever stumbling into pools of filth1    
while our eyes are seeking for the      
splendid traceries1 the gorgeous colours
 above2 our stomachs are turned by      
stenches even while we are peeping in at
 some wonderful rose garden or fruit    
orchard4 ,i think you might almost count
 on your fingers the books up to the    
year #afej1 in which you are sure of    
encountering no beastliness--choice     
gardens or bowers of the soul1 or sacred
 chapels kept carefully tidy and        
pure--viz41 ,milton1 ,spenser1 the ,vita
 ,nuova1 ,petrarch1 ,tasso--things1 you 
see1 mainly sacred or                   
spiritualistic--sort of churches where  
only devotion of some sort goes on2 but 
if we go out to where there is real     
life1 life complete and                 

thoughtless--,shakspeare1 ,rabelais1    
,molire1 ,ariosto1 ,cervantes1          
,aristophanes1 ,horace--the evil odours 
meet us again at every step4 ,well1     
now-a-days this has all been            
misunderstood4 ,people have imagined    
that an inevitable nuisance of the past 
ought also to be a deliberately chosen  
nuisance of the present3 a line of      
argument which appears to me to be      
similar to that of a man1 who1 because  
the people of ,lisbon used1 in the days 
of my grandfather1 to practise a very   
primitive system of sewerage1 should    
recommend that the inhabitants of modern
 ,london should habitually empty their  
slops on to the heads of passers-by4 ,i 
am crude8 ,well1 it is by calling nasty 
things by beautiful names that we are   
able to endure their existence4 ,i think
 that people who should attempt such    
literary revivals ought to be fined1 as 
the more practical revivers of old      
traditions certainly would be4  ,cyril  
paused a moment4 ,i think that these    

sort of offenders1 like ,whitman1 are   
not evil-doers1 but merely snobs3 they  
offend not good morals1 but good taste4 
,that's just such an artistic and       
well-bred distinction as ,i should      
expect from you1 answered ,baldwin1     
rather contemptuously4 ,i wonder what   
that word 'good taste' signifies to your
 mind8 ,everything and nothing4 ,they   
are offenders against good taste1 you   
say4 ,well1 let us see how4 ,if ,i hang 
a bright green curtain close to a bright
 blue wall-paper1 you will say it is bad
 taste2 if ,i set ,gray's ',elegy' to   
one of ,strauss's waltzes1 that is bad  
taste also2 and if ,i display all my    
grand furniture and plate 7supposing ,i 
had it7 to my poor neighbour1 whose     
chintz chair is all torn1 and who       
breakfasts out of a cup without a       
handle1 that also is bad taste4 ,each   
for a good reason1 and a different one2 
in each case ,i am inflicting an injury1
 too slight and inadvertent to be sin1  
against something3 the green curtain and

 blue paper combination pains your eye2 
the ,gray's ',elegy' and ,strauss's     
waltz combination annoys your common    
sense2 the contrast between my riches   
and your poverty inflicts a wound on    
your feelings2 you see that all sins    
against taste are merely a hurting of   
something in somebody4 ,so that1 if     
writing indecent poems is an offence    
against good taste1 it means that it    
also inflicts some such injury4 ,that   
injury is simply1 as the world has      
vaguely felt all along1 an injury to    
your neighbour's morals4  ,but1 put in  
,cyril1 such a man as ,whitman has no   
immoral intention1 nor is he immoral in 
the sense that ,ariosto and ,byron are  
sometimes immoral4 ,the man is not a    
libertine1 but a realist4 ,he wishes    
people to live clean lives2 all he says 
is1 that everything which is legitimate1
 innocent1 necessary in life1 is also   
legitimate and innocent in literature4  
,and although ,i should rather select   
other subjects to write about1 and would

 rather he did so likewise1 ,i cannot   
deny that there is logic in saying that 
there can be no harm in speaking of that
 which there is no harm in doing4  ,yes1
 said ,baldwin1 that is just the        
argument of such men4 ,and the answer is
 simply that there are things which are 
intended to be done and not to be spoken
 about4 ,what you call logic is no logic
 at all1 but a mere appeal to ignorance4
 ,it so happens that the case is exactly
 reversed--that there are a great many  
things which there is not the smallest  
immorality in speaking about1 and which 
it would be the most glaring immorality 
to do4 ,no one shrinks from talking     
about murder or treachery2 nay1 even in 
the very domain of sexual relations     
there need not be the smallest          
immorality1 nothing at all perverting1  
in a play which1 like the whole ,orestes
 trilogy1 or ,othello1 or ,faust1 turns 
upon adultery or seduction2 no one also 
has the slightest instinct of immorality
 in talking about the most fearful      

wholesale massacres4 ,yet the world at  
large1 ever since it has had any ideas  
of good and evil1 has had an instinct of
 immorality in talking of that without  
which not one of us would exist1 that   
which society sanctions and the church  
blesses4 ,and this exactly because it is
 as natural as murder--of which we speak
 freely--is the contrary4 ,for1 exactly 
because certain instincts are so        
essential and indispensable1 ,nature has
 made them so powerful and excitable2   
there is no fear of their being too     
dormant1 but there is fear of their     
being too active1 and the consequences  
of their excess are so hideously        
dangerous to ,nature itself1 so         
destructive of all the higher powers1 of
 all the institutions of humanity2 the  
over-activity of the impulses to which  
we owe our birth is so ruinous of all   
that for which we are born1 social1     
domestic1 and intellectual good1 nay1 to
 physical existence itself1 that ,nature
 even has found it necessary to restrain

 them by a counter-instinct--purity1    
chastity--such as has not been given us 
to counteract the other physical        
instincts1 as that of eating1 which can 
at most injure an individual glutton1   
but not affect the general social order4
 ,hence1 the slightest artificial       
stimulus is a danger to mankind1 and the
 giving thereof a crime2 for the        
experience of all times tells us what   
modern psychology is beginning to       
explain--viz41 the strange connection   
between the imagination and the senses1 
the hitherto mysterious power of        
awakening physical desires1 of almost   
reproducing sensation1 possessed by the 
mind1 even as the mention of dainty food
 is said to make the mouth water1 and   
the description of a surgical operation 
to make the nerves wince4 ,so that the  
old intuition1 now called               
conventionalism1 which connects         
indecency with immorality1 is entirely  
justified4 ,crime may be spoken of just 
because it is crime1 and our nature     

recoils therefrom2 indeed1 ,i think that
 now-a-days1 when our destructive       
instinct 7except in small boys and      
professors of physiology7 is becoming   
effete1 there has ceased to be any very 
demoralizing influence in talking even  
of horrors4 ,but the immorality of      
indecency is quite unlike the immorality
 of--how shall ,i distinguish8--of      
ordinary immorality4 ,in the case of the
 latter the mischief lies in the        
sophistication of the reason or the     
perversion of the sympathies2 as1 for   
instance1 in ,machiavel's ',prince1' or 
any of a hundred ,french novels4 ,in the
 former case1 that of indecency1 the    
immorality lies in the risk of inducing 
a mood which may lead to excess--that   
is1 to evil4 ,and1 as a rule1 ,i think  
this inducing of a mood is the commonest
 source of moral danger1 whether the    
mood be a sensual or a destructive one4 
,i don't see how you make that out2     
although ,i now understand what at first
 seemed to me mere inexplicable         

instincts--founded on nothing4  ,some   
things are inexplicable1 perhaps1 but be
 sure instincts are not founded on      
nothing4 ,misconceptions are mere false 
conceptions2 but a good half of what    
people call social convention is based  
upon a perfectly correct conception1    
only mankind has forgotten what that    
conception was4 ,well1 ,i should place  
the various sorts of demoralization of  
which literature is capable in this     
order3 ,no4 #a1 and least dangerous1    
sophistication of judgment2 ,no4 #b1 and
 more dangerous1 perversion of sympathy2
 ,no4 #c1 and most dangerous1 inducement
 of questionable frame of mind4 ,and ,i 
place them thus because it seems to me  
that this is the order of facility1 and1
 consequently1 universality2 ,i mean    
that fewest people can be found who     
depend sufficiently on their deliberate 
ideas1 and most effort is required to   
sophisticate them2 whereas1 least effort
 is required1 and most effect produced1 
in the matter of inducing a mood2 the   

perversion of sympathy is half-way4 ,of 
course1 if we could imagine 7as once or 
twice has actually been the case7 that  
the moral ideas of a whole people were  
sophisticated1 that would be the worst1 
because the least remediable2 but1 in   
the first place1 people act but little  
from ideas1 or few persons do1 and it is
 difficult to alter people's ideas2 and1
 in the second place1 the sophistication
 of conscience of single individuals is 
kept in check by the steadfastness of   
the mass of mankind1 and1 consequently1 
as in such men as ,diderot1 reduced to  
mere talk1 without corresponding action4
 ,but a mood is easily induced without  
the reason even perceiving it1 and the  
more necessary the mood is to nature1   
the more easily it will be aroused--the 
more unnatural an evil1 the less danger 
of it2 the more an evil is the mere     
excess of the necessary1 the more danger
 there is of it4  ,it is curious how you
 marshal ideas into their right places1 
said ,cyril4 ,there remains one thing to

 be said about the ethics of            
impropriety4 ,the people who go in for  
writing upon subjects which thirty years
 ago would have distinctly been         
forbidden1 do not all of them write as  
,whitman does3 they are not all what ,i 
should call openly beastly4 ,they do    
their best1 on the contrary1 to         
spiritualize the merely animal4  ,that  
is just the most mischievous thing they 
could possibly do1 interrupted ,baldwin4
 ,i know the sort of poets you mean4    
,they are the folk who say that things  
are pure or impure1 holy or foul1       
according as we view them4 ,they are not
 the brutal1 straightforward1           
naturalistic school2 they are the       
mystico-sensual4 ,of the two1 they are  
infinitely the worse4 ,for the          
straightforward naturalistic hogs       
generally turn your stomach before they 
have had a chance of doing you any harm2
 but these persuade themselves and you  
that1 while you are just gloating over  
sensual images1 you are improving your  

soul4 ,they call brute desire passion1  
and love lust1 and prostitution         
marriage1 and the body the soul4 ,oh6 ,i
 know them2 they are the worst pests we 
have in literature4  ,but ,i don't think
 they are intentionally immoral1        
,baldwin4  ,do you think any writer ever
 was intentionally immoral1 ,cyril8     
,well1 ,i mean that these men really    
intend doing good4 ,they think that if  
only some subjects be treated seriously1
 without any sniggering or grimacing1   
there ceases to be any harm in them4    
,they say that they wish to rescue from 
out of the mire where prudery has thrown
 it1 that which is clean in itself2 they
 wish to show that the whole of ,nature 
is holy2 they wish to purify by         
sanctifying4  ,baldwin listened with a  
smile of contempt4 ,of course such words
 seem very fine1 he said2 but a thing is
 either holy or is not holy3 all the    
incense of poetry and all the           
hocus-pocus words of mysticism cannot   
alter its nature by a title4 ,and woe   

betide us if we once think that any such
 ceremony of sanctification can take    
place2 woe betide us if we disguise the 
foul as the innocent1 or the merely     
indifferent as the holy6 ,there is in   
,nature a great deal which is foul3 in  
that which men are pleased to call      
unnatural1 because ,nature herself      
chastises it after having produced it3  
there is in ,nature an infinite amount  
of abominable necessity and abominable  
possibility1 which we have reason and   
conscience to separate from that which  
within ,nature itself is innocent or    
holy4 ,mind1 ,i say innocent or holy2   
for innocence and holiness are very     
different things4 ,all our appetites1   
within due limits1 are innocent1 but    
they are not therefore holy2 and that is
 just what mystico-sensual poetry fails 
to perceive1 and in giving innocence the
 rank of holiness it makes it sinful4   
,do you know what is the really holy8   
,it is that of which the world possesses
 too little1 and can never possess too  

much3 it is justice1 charity1 heroism1  
self-command1 truthfulness1 lovingness1 
beauty1 genius--these things are holy4  
,place them1 if you will1 on a poetic   
altar1 that all men may see them1 and   
know them1 and love them1 and seek after
 them life-long without ever wearying4  
,but do not enshrine in poetic          
splendours the merely innocent2 that    
which bestows no merit on its possessor1
 that which we share with every         
scoundrel and every animal1 that which  
is so universal that it must for ever be
 kept in check1 and which1 unless thus  
checked by that in ourselves which is   
truly holy1 will degrade us lower than  
beasts4 ,for in so doing--in thus       
attempting to glorify that in which     
there is nothing glorious--you make men 
think that self-indulgence is sanctity1 
you let them consume their lives in mere
 acquiescence with their lusts and      
laziness1 while all around is raging the
 great battle between good and evil4    
,worst of all1 in giving them this      

worship of a mystic ,ashtaroth or       
,belial1 you hide from them the         
knowledge of the true ,god1 of the      
really and exclusively holy1 of good1   
truth1 beauty1 to know and receive which
 into our soul we must struggle lifelong
 with the world and with ourselves2 yes1
 struggle for the sake of the really    
holy with that mere innocence which is  
for ever threatening to become guilt4   
,baldwin paused2 then resumed after a   
moment3 ,i believe that mankind as it   
exists1 with whatever noble qualities it
 possesses1 has been gradually evolved  
out of a very inferior sort of mankind  
or brutekind1 and will1 ,i hope1 be     
evolved into a very superior sort of    
mankind4 ,and ,i believe1 as science    
teaches us1 that this has been so far   
effected1 and will be further effected  
henceforward1 by an increased activity  
of those nobler portions of us which    
have been developed as it were by their 
own activity2 ,i believe1 in short1 that
 we can improve only by becoming more   

and more different from the original    
brutes that we were4 ,i have said this  
to explain to you my feelings towards a 
young poet of my acquaintance1 who is   
very sincerely smitten with the desire  
to improve mankind2 and has deliberately
 determined to devote a very fine talent
 to the glorification of what he calls  
pure passion1 pure in the sense that it 
can be studied in its greatest purity   
from the cats on the house tops4  ,cyril
 made a grimace of disgust4  ,no1       
indeed1 continued ,baldwin1 that poet is
 not one of the sthetic-sensual lot you 
seem to think4 ,he is pure1             
conscientious1 philanthropic2 but he is 
eminently unreasoning4 ,he is painfully 
impressed by the want of seriousness and
 holiness with which mankind regards    
marriage1 and his ambition is to set    
mankind right on this subject1 even as  
another young poet-philanthropist tried 
to improve family relations in his      
',laon and ,cythna4' ,now1 if you were  
required to use your poetical talents in

 order to raise the general view of     
marriage1 in order to show the sanctity 
of the love of a man and a woman1 how   
would you proceed8  ,i have often       
thought about that1 answered ,cyril2 but
 it has been done over and over again1  
and ,i think with most deliberate       
solemnity and beauty by ,schiller and   
,goethe in the ',song of the ,bell' and 
in ',hermann and ,dorothea4' ,well1 ,i  
think that poetry can do good work in   
this line only if the poet see where the
 real holiness of such love lies2 in the
 love not of the male and the female1   
but of the man and the woman4 ,for there
 is nowhere1 ,i think1 greater room for 
moral beauty and dignity than in the    
choosing by a man of the one creature   
from whom only death can separate him2  
of the one friend1 not of a phase of his
 life1 but of his whole life2 of the one
 soul which will grow and mature always 
by the side of his1 and having blossomed
 and borne fruit of good1 will gently   
fade and droop together with his4 ,but  

this is not the most holy part of the   
choice1 for he is choosing also the     
mother of his children1 the woman who is
 to give half their nature1 half their  
training1 to what children must mean to 
every honest man3 the one chance he     
possesses of living as he would have    
wished to have lived1 of being what he  
should wish to have been1 his one chance
 of redeeming his errors1 of fulfilling 
his hopes1 of realizing in a measure his
 own ideals4 ,and to me such a choice1  
and love in the sense of such a choice1 
become not merely coldly deliberate1 but
 passionately instinctive1 are holy with
 the holiness that1 as you say1 is the  
only real one2 holy in all it implies of
 recognized beauty and goodness1 of     
trust and hope1 of all the excellence of
 which it is at least the supposed      
forerunner2 and its holiness is that    
upon which all other holiness1 all the  
truthfulness and justice and beauty and 
goodness of mankind1 depends4 ,this is  
how ,i view the sanctity of the love    

between man and woman2 how all the      
greatest poets1 from ,homer to          
,schiller1 and from ,schiller to ,mrs4  
,browning1 have viewed it2 and it is the
 only possible view that ,i can         
conceive4  ,baldwin nodded4 ,this is how
 ,i also see the question4 ,but my young
 poet is not satisfied with this3 he    
wishes to make men believe in the       
holiness of that which is no more holy1 
and far oftener tends to be unholy1 than
 eating or drinking2 and in order to    
make mankind adore1 he lavishes all his 
artistic powers on the construction of  
an sthetical temple wherein to enshrine1
 on the preparation of poetic incense   
with which to surround1 this species of 
holiness1 carefully separated from any  
extraneous holiness1 such as family     
affection1 intellectual appreciation1   
moral sympathy2 left in its complete    
unmixed simplicity of brute appetite and
 physical longing and physical rapture2 
and the temple which he constructs out  
of all that is beautiful in the world is

 a harlot's chamber2 and the incense    
which he cunningly distils out of all   
the sights and sounds of ,nature are    
filthy narcotics1 which leave the moral 
eyes dim1 and the moral nerves          
tremulous1 and the moral muscle         
unstrung4 ,in his desire to moralize he 
demoralizes2 in his desire to sanctify  
one item of life1 he casts aside1 he    
overlooks1 forgets1 all that which in   
life is already possessed of holiness4  
,thus my young poet1 in wishing to      
improve mankind1 to raise it1 undoes for
 the time being that weary work of the  
hundreds of centuries which have slowly 
changed lust into love1 the male and    
female into a man and a woman1 the life 
of the body into the life of the soul2  
poetry1 one of the highest human        
products1 has1 as it were1 undone the   
work of evolution2 poetry1 which is     
essentially a thing of the              
self-conscient intellect1 has taken us  
back to the time when creatures with two
 legs and no tail could not speak1 but  

only whine and yell and sob--a mode of  
converse1 by the way1 more than         
sufficient for the intercourse of what  
he is pleased to call the typical ,bride
 and ,bridegroom4  ,they had got out of 
the strange expanse of brown and green  
swamp1 and after traversing a strip of  
meagre redeemed land1 with stunted trees
 and yellowish vines1 had reached the   
long narrow line of pine woods which met
 the beach4 ,they passed slowly through 
the midst of the woods1 brushing the    
rain-drops off the short1 bright1 green 
pines1 their wheels creaking over the   
slippery fallen needles embedded in the 
sand2 while the setting sun fell in hazy
 yellow beams through the brushwood1    
making the crisp tree-tufts sparkle like
 green spun-glass1 and their scaly      
trunks flush rosy2 and the stormy sea   
roared on the sands close by4  ,i think 
your young poet ought to be birched1    
remarked ,cyril2 and if anything could  
add to my aversion1 not for poetry1 but 
for the poetic profession1 this would   

which you have just told me4 ,you see   
how right ,i was in saying that ,i would
 have more moral satisfaction in being a
 ,french cook than in being a poet4  ,by
 no means1 answered ,baldwin4 ,in the   
first place1 my young poet ought not to 
be birched2 he ought to be made to      
reflect1 to ask himself seriously and   
simply1 in plain prose1 what ideal of   
life he has been setting before his     
readers4 ,he ought to be shown that a   
poet1 inasmuch as he is the artist whose
 material is human feeling and action1  
is not as free an artist as the mere    
painter1 or sculptor1 or composer2 he   
ought to be made to understand that     
now-a-days1 when the old rules of       
conduct1 religious and social1 are for  
ever being questioned1 every man who    
writes of human conduct is required1 is 
bound1 to have sound ideas on the       
subject3 that1 because now-a-days1 for  
better or for worse1 poetry is no longer
 the irresponsible1 uncontrolled1       
helter-skelter performance of former    

times1 but a very self-conscious1       
wide-awake1 deliberate matter1 it can do
 both much more harm and much more good 
than it could do before4  ,they were    
slowly driving along the beach1 among   
the stunted pine shoots and the rough   
grass and the yellow bindweed half      
buried in the sand1 and the heaps of    
sea-blackened branches1 and bits of wood
 and uncouth floating rubbish which the 
waves had deposited1 with a sort of     
ironical regularity1 in a neat band upon
 the shore2 down here on the coast the  
storm had already broken1 and the last  
thin rain was still falling1 dimpling   
the grey sand4 ,the sun was just going  
to emerge from amidst the thick         
blue-black storm-clouds and descend into
 a clear space1 like molten amber1 above
 the black1 white-crested1 roaring sea2 
it descended slowly1 an immense pale    
luminous globe1 gilding the borders of  
the piled-up clouds above it1 gilding   
the sheen of the waves and the wet sand 
of the shore2 and as it descended1 the  

clouds gathered above it into a vast    
canopy1 a tawny orange diadem or reef of
 peaked vapours encircling the liquid   
topaz in which the sun moved2 tawnier   
became this garland1 larger the free    
sky1 redder the black storm masses      
above2 till at last the reddening rays  
of the sun enlarged and divided into    
immense beams of rosy light1 cutting    
away the dark and leaving uncovered a   
rent of purest blue4 ,at last the yellow
 globe touched the black line of the    
horizon1 gilding the waters2 then sank  
behind it and disappeared4 ,the wreath  
of vapours glowed golden1 the pall of   
heaped-up storm-clouds flushed purple1  
and bright yellow veinings1 like        
filaments of gold1 streaked the pale    
amber where the sun had disappeared4    
,the amber grew orange1 the tawny       
purple1 the purple a lurid red1 as of   
masses of flame-lit smoke2 all around1  
the sky blackened1 until at last there  
remained only one pile of livid purple  
clouds hanging over a streak of yellow  

sky1 and gradually dying away into      
black1 with but here and there a        
death-like rosy patch1 mirrored deadlier
 red in the wet sand of the beach4 ,the 
two friends remained silent1 like men   
listening to the last bars1 rolling out 
in broad succession of massy1 gradually 
resolving chords1 of some great requiem 
mass--silent even for a while after all 
was over4 ,then ,cyril asked1 pointing  
to a row of houses glimmering white     
along the dark lines of coast1 below the
 great marble crags of ,carrara1 rising 
dim in the twilight--  ,is that the     
place where my friends will pick me up8 
,yes1 answered ,baldwin1 that's the     
place4 ,you will be picked up there if  
you choose4  ,i must1 you know4 ,and    
,cyril looked astonished1 as if for the 
first time it struck him that there     
might be no must in the matter4 ,i      
must--at least1 ,i suppose ,i ought     
to--go back to ,england with them4  ,you
 know that best1 replied ,baldwin1      
shortly4 ,but before we get there ,i    

want to finish what we were saying about
 the moral value of poetry1 if you don't
 mind4 ,i gave you the instance of      
,whitman and the mystico-sensual school 
merely because it is one of the most    
evident2 but it is only one of many ,i  
could give you of the truth of what ,i  
said1 that if a poet1 inasmuch as he is 
a poet1 has--what the painter1 or       
sculptor1 or musician1 inasmuch as they 
are such1 have not--a keener sense of   
moral right and wrong than other men1 it
 is because his art requires it4        
,consider what it is deliberately to    
treat of human character and emotion and
 action2 consider what a strange chaos1 
an often inextricable confusion of clean
 and foul1 of healthy and pestilent1 you
 get among1 in penetrating into the life
 of the human soul2 consider that the   
poet must pick his way through all this1
 amidst very loathsome dangers which he 
often cannot foresee2 and not alone1 but
 carrying in his moral arms the soul of 
his reader--of each of his thousands of 

readers--a soul which1 if he see not    
clearly his way1 if he miss his footing1
 or tread in the soft1 sinking soil     
7soft with filthy bogs71 may be         
bespattered and soiled1 perhaps for     
ever--may be sucked into the swamp pool 
or poisoned by the swamp air2 and that  
he must thus carry1 not one soul1 but   
thousands of souls1 unknown to          
him--souls in many cases weak1 sometimes
 already predisposed to some loathsome  
moral malady1 and which1 by a certain   
amount of contact with what to the poet 
himself might be innocuous1 may be      
condemned to life-long disease4 ,i do   
not think that the poet's object is to  
moralize mankind2 but ,i think that the 
materials with which he must work are   
such that1 while practising his art1 he 
may unconsciously do more mischief than 
all the professed moralists in          
,christendom can consciously do good4   
,the poet is the artist1 remember1 who  
deliberately chooses as material for his
 art the feelings and actions of man2 he

 is the artist who plays his melodies1  
not on catgut strings or metal stops1   
but upon human passions2 and whose      
playing touches not a mere mechanism of 
fibres and membranes like the ear1 but  
the human soul1 which in its turn feels 
and acts2 he is the artist who1 if he   
blunders1 does not merely fatigue a     
nerve1 or paralyze for a moment a       
physical sense1 but injures the whole   
texture of our sympathies and deafens   
our conscience4 ,and ,i ask you1 does   
such an artist1 playing on such an      
instrument1 not require moral feeling   
far stronger and keener than that of any
 other man1 who1 if he mistake evil for 
good1 injures only himself and the few  
around him8 ,you have been doubting1    
,cyril1 whether poetry is sufficient    
work for a man who feels the difference 
between good and evil2 you might more   
worthily doubt whether any man knows    
good from evil with instinct sure enough
 to suffice him as a poet4 ,you thought 
poetry morally below you3 are you       

certain that you are morally up to its  
level8  ,cyril looked vaguely about him3
 at the black sea breaking on the       
twilight sands1 at the dark outline of  
pine-wood against the pale sky1 at the  
distant village lights--vaguely1 and as 
if he saw nothing of it all4 ,the damp  
sea breeze blew in their faces1 the     
waves moaned sullenly1 the pines creaked
 in the wind2 the moon1 hidden behind   
clouds1 slowly silvered into light their
 looser1 outer folds1 then emerged1     
spreading a broad white sheen on the    
sands and the water4  ,are you still too
 good for poetry8 asked ,baldwin2       
or--has poetry become too good for you8 
,i don't know1 answered ,cyril1 in the  
tone of a man before whose mental eyes  
things are taking a new shape4 ,i don't 
know--perhaps4     ,,postscript ,,or    
,,apology4   ,i have had the sense that 
now1 before these foregoing pages be    
definitely printed--before what have    
been living thoughts and feelings be    
irrevocably composed and stiffened1     

embalmed1 distinctly and unmistakably   
prepared to last1 as things are         
permitted to last1 only in death--,i    
have had the sense that while yet ,i    
can1 ,i must say one or two more things4
 ,but now1 ,i can scarcely tell why1 it 
seems to me as if there could by no     
means be anything to say4 ,it is a mood1
 due to the moment and place4 ,all about
 me there is broad1 scarce-flickering   
shadow on the grass1 and stirring of    
sunlit tree-tops and vague buzzing of   
bees in the limes2 and across the low   
ivied wall comes from the black1        
crumbly-stoned chapel faint music of    
organ and white-sounding voices1 which  
swells and pierces through the silence  
7as a green reed bud swells and pierces 
its soft scaly core7 and dies away1     
making you suddenly very conscious of   
twitter of sparrows and chucking of     
jackdaws2 bringing suddenly close home  
to you1 with the silence1 a sense of    
solid reality4 ,so1 instead of saying   
what ,i wished1 it seems to me most     

evident that there is nothing to say1   
that there scarcely could have been     
anything worth saying4 ,it is enervate1 
,i suppose2 but so it is4 ,i wonder how 
any one can ever have felt inclined to  
write about art--how art can ever have  
been worth writing about4 ,everything   
around seems so incomparably more       
interesting does it not1 than art2 so   
entirely beyond the power of writing to 
convey or imitate4 ,above1 high up1     
there are two great branches of lime1   
apparently printed distinctly on to the 
pale blue sky1 black wood dividing and  
subdividing and projecting1 green leaves
 and light yellow blossom1 the sun      
shining straight through2 it seems so   
simple4 ,but try and paint it3 those two
 branches1 which seem at first so       
well-defined1 so close together1 so     
closely clapped against the sky1 do you 
now see how far apart they really are1  
how separated by a gulf of luminous air1
 how freely suspended1 poised1 at       
infinite distance1 in the far receding  

pale blue2 those green leaves and yellow
 blossoms1 which are not green nor      
yellow1 but something shadowy and at the
 same time luminous1 are clearly defined
 and yet undefinable2 the sunshine which
 we thought at first one plain beam of  
light is now a white1 vague sheen1 a    
shimmer2 now one light spark1 one       
tremulous star between the leaves1 or a 
waving network of rays1 long1 then      
short1 white1 coloured1 iridescent1     
shaking1 shifting1 dancing4 ,paint it1  
describe it if you have a mind to1 my   
friend the poet1 my friend the painter2 
,i have not4  ,this is one of those     
moments when reality1 and the enjoyment 
thereof1 fill one with a sense1         
self-contemptuous1 sceptical1 almost    
cynical1 and yet pleasureable and       
stoically self-flattering in the        
recognition of our own importance1 a    
pervading illogical sense of the        
futility1 the unreality1 the            
museum-glass-case uselessness of art4   
,it seems as if art were enjoyed because

 it has been produced1 not produced     
because it is to be enjoyed2 as if      
mankind had acquired an elaborate       
pleasure in its own works because they  
are its own works2 as if all of us1     
instead of passively receiving the      
impression of beauty in the same way    
that we passively perceive the rustle of
 the branches1 the twitter of the birds1
 the light upon the grass1 our soul     
staying quietly1 as it were1 at home1   
and receiving these things as visits    
from nature2 went forth1 when art       
appeals to us1 on a sort of journey or  
grand tour1 well provided with          
guide-book knowledge1 schooled          
beforehand which road to take1 what     
turnings of feeling to expect1 what     
baggage of poetic and historic          
association to lug with us1 what little 
mole-hill eminences of thought and      
feeling to stand upon1 morally on       
tiptoe1 looking down upon an artistic   
scene upon which we have never before   
set eyes1 and which is yet as           

well-known1 as drearily familiar to us  
as is the inside of our pocket4  ,such  
is my present mood2 fickle1             
contradictory1 unworthy1 slightly       
apostatising and blasphemous to my own  
deeper convictions1 to my own written   
ideas1 you say2 you1 my friend1 the     
poet1 who insist upon people being      
steadfast1 unchangeable in all their    
feelings1 because you poets keep your   
own moods quite steady1 as photographers
 keep their victims1 until you have     
taken the concentrated likeness1 and can
 shift your souls into another equally  
steadfast1 unchangeable pose4 ,such is  
my present mood1 and you may call me    
what names you please for having it4    
,all that concerns me is that most      
certainly this present mood of mine     
happens to be the one1 of all others1 in
 which ,i am least likely to be able to 
muster up those two or three remarks    
upon art with which ,i ought to         
conclude1 and finally despatch into the 
limbo of things printed this collection 

of studies4 ,the things must be said4   
,if ,i carry my papers home1 sit down at
 my table1 fix my eyes upon the         
patterned wall-paper1 ,i shall1 in all  
probability1 get back within five       
minutes all that the usual ideas1 the   
usual feelings about art1 in the        
contemplation of that patterned         
blankness2 all that phantasmagoria of   
art appreciation for which we carry all 
the necessary mechanism1                
self-manufactured 7yet very neat7 out of
 fragments of culture and philosophy1 in
 a sort of little travelling case       
appended to our soul4 ,a fact this1     
which is suggestive2 for does not our   
modern1 imaginative appreciation of art1
 do not all those wondrous beautiful and
 horrible dreams and nightmares1        
suggested to us by a quite plain and    
unsuggestive picture1 statue1 or piece  
of music1 depend a little upon our      
contemplation of the methodical1 zig-zag
 and twirligig patterned vacuity of     
modern life8 ,for ,i suspect that1 in   

former days 7,i confess ,i do not know  
exactly when71 art may have been        
perceived pretty much in the same manner
 in which we perceive nature3 that the  
enjoyed perception of a beautiful       
statue1 of a picture1 of a grand song1  
may have come interrupting1 with        
pleasant interludes of quiet            
self-unconscious pleasure1 the          
matter-of-fact1 but not monotonous      
business of life2 even as my work now1  
my conscientious1 deliberate1 attempted 
work1 is for ever being interrupted by  
the flicker of the lime-leaf shadows1   
light and clear1 on my paper1 by the    
breeze which sweeps the branches and    
carries away the drying manuscript on   
the grass4  ,now it seems to me quite   
evident that art cannot be any such     
thing1 as long as its enjoyment or      
supposed enjoyment is a sort of         
deliberate mental gymnastics1 which our 
desire for well-balanced activity1 or   
our wish to display a certain           
unnecessary gracefulness of intellectual

 motions1 impose upon us2 setting aside 
a certain portion of our time for       
counteracting1 in the artistic          
gymnasiums 7rows of soaped poles1 and   
hurdles1 and ladders1 and expanses of   
padded floor1 quite as unlike as may be 
from the climbable trees and jumpable   
brooks which we ought to meet in our    
walks71 called galleries1 concerts1     
etc41 the direful slackening of our     
muscles and stiffening of our joints1   
almost inevitable in our cramped        
intellectual shop life of to-day4 ,we   
writhe1 clinging with arms and legs1 up 
the soaped poles of sthetic feeling1    
slipping and rising again1 straining and
 twisting1 to plop down at last on to   
the padding and the sawdust2 we dangle1 
with constrained grace1 high in sthetic 
contemplation1 flying1 with a clutching 
swing1 from idea to idea3 distant1      
oscillating in mid air1 like so many    
trapeze acrobats2 and then we think that
 an hour or so1 every now and then1 of  
such exercise is all 7except brutal     

slumber7 that can be required as repose 
in our intellectual life4 ,for we are   
all of us getting more and more into the
 habit of enjoying1 not so much art1 as 
the feelings and thoughts1 the theories 
and passions1 for which we make it the  
excuse4 ,nay1 you will say you yourself 
have written1 are printing1 correcting1 
and publishing a whole volume of whims  
and ideas about art1 you yourself are   
for ever theorising and becoming angry  
on the subject--what right have you to  
object thereto in others8  ,none1       
perhaps2 ,i have never pretended that ,i
 am not as bad as my neighbours2 but the
 whole gist of these my theorisings is  
that people should try and take art more
 simply than they do2 that1 if not      
called upon to try and persuade others  
to simpler courses1 they should not     
theorise themselves4 ,by theorising1 ,i 
mean1 incorrectly perhaps1 all manner of
 irrelevant fantasticating1 whether it  
take the shape of seeking in art for    
hidden psychological meanings or moral  

values1 or of using art merely as a     
suggestion of images and emotions1 the  
perception of which infallibly          
interferes with1 and sometimes entirely 
replaces1 the perception of the art     
itself4 ,to you1 ,i know1 all that ,i   
have written seems extremely narrow1    
seems to limit excessively the powers of
 art1 the enjoyments we can derive      
therefrom4 ,but ,i think otherwise2 ,i  
understand fully that1 in the first     
place1 there is included1 under the     
general name of art1 the result of ever 
so many intellectual activities3        
activities of mere psychological        
perception1 of mere mechanical imitation
 and handling1 which1 though belonging  
quite equally to other concerns1 such as
 science or handicraft1 are yet         
pleasurable both to him who exerts and  
to him who perceives them2 ,i understand
 that there are so many different sorts 
of pictures1 statues1 and poems1 and so 
many different kinds of minds to see and
 read them2 ,i see that so many         

questions of mental and physical why and
 how are connected with every sort of   
visible or audible thing1 that there is 
nothing1 however utterly bad and idiotic
 and abortive1 among the productions of 
mankind 7and1 consequently1 among the   
things called works of art71 out of     
which some sort of intellect may not    
derive very keen enjoyment4 ,the        
enjoyment1 however1 may be merely       
similar to that with which a            
physiologist studies a disease1 or a    
psychologist a form of vice2 and1 to my 
mind1 this sort of enjoyment1 which does
 not depend upon any perception of      
beauty1 is no more artistic than would  
be that of such men of science4 ,and my 
wish is merely that such pleasure be not
 substituted where there is an object to
 afford1 or a mind to receive1 the mere 
simple1 honest pleasure in beauty4      
,moreover1 with regard to your          
imputation of narrowness1 ,i think1 on  
the contrary1 that1 could we break      
ourselves of our habit of replacing or  

alloying real artistic interests with   
irrelevant matters1 we should 7and this 
is to my mind a great reason for so     
doing7 be ridding ourselves of a great  
number of imaginary restrictions to our 
enjoyment4 ,for in many1 nay1 most      
artistic things there is1 in greater or 
less degree1 beauty and enjoyableness2  
nor should we always despise the less1  
since we cannot always obtain the       
greater4 ,i do not mean that all art is 
equally valuable2 such intellectual     
democracy1 ,walt4 ,whitmanish assertion 
of the equality of body and soul1 good  
and evil1 high and low1 being just the  
most brutal rob-,peter-to-pay-,paul     
dishonesty that ,i know2 but ,i think   
that in most art there is something     
valuable1 and that we ought to make the 
most of it1 and doubtless should1 did   
not our eternal theorising interfere1   
with its arbitrary standard and         
requirements4 ,were we guided solely by 
our feelings1 we should not be ashamed  
of taking a certain pleasure in the     

half-dapper1 half-grotesque stone nymphs
 and tritons1 with golden-lichened      
tresses and beards of green pond ooze1  
who smirk among the ill-clipped hedges1 
and puff at their horns among the flags 
and lilies of every abandoned           
,prince-,bishop or ,margrave's garden1  
where the apricots ripen against the    
palace wall1 and the old portraits fade 
behind the blistered palace shutters2 we
 should not be ashamed of being just a  
little the better pleased for some      
common dance tune1 heard vaguely1 and   
between our work1 from the neighbouring 
houses2 we should not be ashamed of     
liking our village church all the more  
for the atrocious stained glass which we
 have decried as vandalism1 when the    
sunlight falls rosy1 and golden1 and    
green1 through its monstrosities on to  
the extremely chaste1 but excessively   
dreary1 grey arches and pillars4 ,we    
should not be so hypocritical to        
ourselves1 so exclusive in our adoration
 of only the best pictures1 and statues1

 and music1 to appreciate rightly whose 
great merit we ought 7but do not71 to   
appreciate also the small1 more         
appreciable merit of the less perfect   
things of art4 ,when1 instead of        
enjoying1 we fantasticate in theory1 we 
not only remove a proportion of our     
attention from the work in hand1 but    
also exclude ourselves from getting the 
good we might from other things2 one man
 will positively whip his soul out of   
enjoying the sweet solemnity of         
,claude's sea sunsets1 the tragedy pomp 
of ,poussin's black rustling            
ilex-groves1 and ominous green evening  
skies1 because he seeks in painting a   
moral sincerity which is incompatible   
with a false shadow or a lumpishly      
rendered cloud4 ,another man thinks     
music ought to be the expression of     
dramatic passion1 and closes his ears to
 the splendours of poor ,rossini's vocal
 arabesques1 theory-blinded to the sense
 that the powers of creating beauty of  
the composer of ,tristram1 is after all 

akin to the beauty making genius of the 
composer of ,semiramis4 ,meanwhile1 he  
who merely enjoys is able to enjoy2 is  
able 7oh wonder of wonders7 to be what  
the man of theories never can be3 just1 
because he can be grateful for every    
amount of bestowed good4  ,there is     
another objection which you may make1   
which 7though perhaps unformulated7 you 
certainly will feel1 against me and my  
book4 ,you have an uncomfortable sense  
that in some way1 although our artistic 
life may gain1 a certain amount of life 
which goes on in or about art--we do not
 clearly know which--is being cramped3 a
 life of the fancy and feelings1 which  
weave between ourselves and the things  
which surround us and the things which  
are absent1 between the present moment  
and the long-gone past1 strange crossed 
and recrossed threads1 webs of          
association1 infinitely fine1           
iridescently connected by almost        
invisible filaments1 floating and       
oscillating in the vacuum of our lives1 

for ever changing1 breaking2 reknotting 
their sensitive filaments4 ,for in most 
of the things which we see and hear with
 free1 unpractical mind in the moments  
when we belong to ourselves and to the  
present1 there exists a capacity for    
importance1 nay for fascination1 quite  
independent of beauty and of the        
pleasures which beauty can give4 ,there 
is in such things more than what they   
can give alike to every one2 there is   
also what they can give to each         
separate2 they have1 besides the clear  
language of form1 which is equally      
intelligible to all men1 a half         
articulate language for every individual
 man1 a language of associations1 vague1
 poor1 if you will1 broken by something 
which might be a laugh or a sob2 an     
imperfect irrational language1 which is 
yet1 even when spoken by some trifling  
thing1 by a bar or two of trivial       
melody1 by a door such as we have many  
times passed through1 or a chair such as
 we have looked at when not1 as now1    

empty2 by a mere scent or touch2 is yet1
 this mumble-jumble language1 more dear 
to us than all the eloquence and poetry 
which our soul hears from a great work  
of art4 ,i grant you all this4 ,but ,i  
do not think that such things need be   
interfered with by looking at art simply
 and with straightforwardness2          
interfered with they cannot be4 ,nor    
could ,i wish it to be otherwise4 ,for  
in some ways ,i do think that almost    
better than the mere perception of the  
work of another1 than the mere          
perception of statue or picture or poem1
 is this evolving from out of ourselves 
of vague beauty and goodness3 our fancy 
and our feelings do not create anything 
enduring1 but they are active1 they     
create4 ,you artists1 you poets must be 
broad awake1 for you can and are bound  
to give to us the sober realities of    
beauty2 but we who cannot1 we can yet   
sometimes dream1 if but for a moment1 of
 an intangible1 vague fairyland2 and of 
this we must not be cheated4 ,out of the

 broken1 fragmentary realities of life  
there must arise1 ever and again for all
 of us1 strange involuntary visions1    
which have greater power over us1 more  
charm for us1 than all the art in the   
world4 ,and of such things art has no   
right to be jealous2 they are beyond it4
 ,and thus1 ,i will confess to you1 as  
,i fasten together these last pages of  
my book1 and rise from the grass1 sere  
in the sunshine1 and sprinkled with     
daisies in the shadow of each tree1 ,i  
will confess to you that more nearly    
appealing to me1 dearer also1 than      
antique bas-relief or song of ,mozart1  
has been the vague remembrance1 evoked  
by trivial word or sight1 of that early 
winter afternoon on the ilex girded     
battlements of ,belcaro1 looking down   
upon the sere oak-woods1 flushed by the 
low sun1 upon the hazy olive slopes and 
walls and towers of ,siena4 ,and1       
moreover1 ,i will even confess 7as      
severest self-chastisement to a writer  
on art1 as complete expiation of sthetic

 dogmatism and fantastications71 while  
we walk across the warm grass and out   
through the low archway of black and    
flakewise crumbling stone1 that ,i      
foresee that many a time in the future  
there will arise between me and the     
fresco or picture at which ,i am        
looking1 a vision of this old world     
garden1 of the ivied chapel buttress1   
the flowering lime1 the daisied grass1  
the copper beech leaves1 ruddy and      
diaphanous1 against the pale1 moist     
,english sky2 that1 sometimes1 there    
will come into my head                  
something--something ill-defined1       
pleasurable1 painful--which will make me
 read only with my eyes2 which will make
 me 7worst humiliation7 lose the thread 
of my theories1 of my thoughts1 of my   
sentence4 ,and1 after this confession1  
,i think ,i can say no more4            
,,oxford1 ,july #ba1 #ahha4     ,s4     
,cowan and ,co41 ,strathmore ,press1    
,perth4     ,,transcriber',s ,,note  ,in
 a very few cases1 missing punctuation  

has been added1 mainly full stops4      
,obvious typographical errors have been 
corrected4  ,on the whole1 ,vernon      
,lee's quirky spellings have been       
retained2 they include1 but are not     
limited to1 words like spirt1 feretting1
 devine1 charnal1 langour1 irridescent1 
crenelated1 crotchetty1 tomatos1        
boddices1 putrifying1 braggadoccio1     
,monna ,lisa1 trellise1 ,lionardo1      
,lorenzo dei ,medici4  ,the following   
changes were made to the text3  statutes
 became statues in the sentence3  ,what 
like are these statues8  ,the name      
,wohlgemuth was misspelled as ,wohlgemth
 and has been corrected2 similarly1     
,walprgisnacht was changed to           
,walpurgisnacht4  ,a superfluous or was 
deleted from the phrase more or or less 
in the passage3  74447he should invent a
 more or less casuistic reason 74447  ,a
 quotation from ,goethe's play ,torquato
 ,tasso was corrected in keeping with   
the ,german original4 ,lee quotes it as 
follows1 presumably from memory3        

',nicht alles dienet uns auf gleicher   
,weise3   ,wer viel gebrauchen will1    
gebrauche jedes   ,nach seiner ,art3 so 
ist er wohl bedient4'