,transcriber's ,notes3     ,the original
 spelling and minor inconsistencies in  
the spelling and   formatting have been 
retained4 ,unusual and alternative      
spellings have   been retained as they  
appear on the original publication4     
,hyphenated   words have been           
standardized4    ,contractions in the   
stylized ,latin script on page #abe have
 been   expanded and included in curly  
brackets  by the transcriber3   jahes   
has been shown as jahannes and scpsi as 
scripsi4    ,minor typographical changes
 are listed at the bottom of this text4 
99       99       99       99       99  
99       99       99                    
,library ,edition                       
,,the ,,complete ,,works                
,,of                              ,,john
 ,,ruskin                               
,,modern ,,painters                     
,,volume ,,ii--,,of ,,truth ,,and       
,,theoretic ,,faculties                 
,,volume ,,iii--,,of ,,many ,,things    
,,national ,,library ,,association      

,,new ,,york             ,,chicago      
,,modern ,,painters4                    
,,vol4 ,,iii41                          
,,containing                            
,,part ,,iv41                           
,,of ,,many ,,things4                   
,,table ,,of ,,contents4                
,,part ,,iv4 ,,of ,,many ,,things4      
,,page   ,,chapter  ,i4--,of the        
received ,opinions touching the ,grand  
,style     #a          ,,ii4--,of       
,realization                            
#af         ,,iii4--,of the ,real       
,nature of ,greatness of ,style         
#bc          ,,iv4--,of the ,false      
,ideal3--,first1 ,religious             
#dd           ,v4--,of the ,false       
,ideal3--,secondly1 ,profane            
#fa          ,,vi4--,of the ,true       
,ideal3--,first1 ,purist                
#gj         ,,vii4--,of the ,true       
,ideal3--,secondly1 ,naturalist         
#gg        ,,viii4--,of the ,true       
,ideal3--,thirdly1 ,grotesque           
#ib          ,,ix4--,of ,finish         

#ajh           ,x4--,of the ,use of     
,pictures                               
#abd          ,,xi4--,of the ,novelty of
 ,landscape                             
#add         ,,xii4--,of the ,pathetic  
,fallacy                                
#aeb        ,,xiii4--,of ,classical     
,landscape                              
#afh         ,,xiv4--,of ,mediaeval     
,landscape3--,first1 the ,fields        
#aia          ,,xv4--,of ,mediaeval     
,landscape3--,secondly1 the ,rocks      
#bbi         ,,xvi4--,of ,modern        
,landscape                              
#bdh        ,,xvii4--,the ,moral of     
,landscape                              
#bhj       ,,xviii4--,of the ,teachers  
of ,turner                              
#cjh                                    
,,appendix4       ,i4--,claude's        
,tree-drawing                           
#ccc    ,,ii4--,german ,philosophy      
#ccf   ,,iii4--,plagiarism              
#cch                          ,,list    
,,of ,,plates ,,to ,,vol4 ,,iii4        

,drawn by            ,engraved by       
,frontispiece4 ,lake1 ,land1     ,the   
,author        ,j4 ,c4 ,,armytage4      
and ,cloud4                             
,facing    ,plate                       
page     #a4 ,true and ,false ,griffins 
,the ,author       ,r4 ,p4 ,,cuff       
#ajf     #b4 ,drawing of ,tree-bark     
,various          ,j4 ,h4 ,,le ,,keux   
#aad     #c4 ,strength of old ,pine     
,the ,author       ,j4 ,h4 ,,le ,,keux  
#aaf     #d4 ,ramification according    
,claude           ,j4 ,h4 ,,le ,,keux   
#aag       to ,claude     #e4 ,good and 
,bad               ,turner and          
,j4 ,,cousen        #aah                
,tree-drawing               ,constable  
#f4 ,foreground ,leafage         ,the   
,author       ,j4 ,c4 ,,armytage   #aba 
#g4 ,botany of the ,thirteenth          
,missal-,painters  ,,henry ,,shaw       
#bjc       ,century     #h4 ,the ,growth
 of ,leaves       ,the ,author       ,r4
 ,p4 ,,cuff       #bjd     #i4 ,botany  
of the ,fourteenth   ,missal-,painters  

,,cuff2 ,h4 ,,swan    #bjg              
,century    #aj4 ,geology of the ,middle
      ,leonardo1 etc4   ,r4 ,p4 ,,cuff  
#bch       ,ages    #aa4 ,latest ,purism
              ,raphael          ,j4 ,c4 
,,armytage   #cac    #ab4 ,the ,shores  
of ,wharfe       ,j4 ,w4 ,m4 ,turner    
,,the ,,author       #cad    #ac4 ,first
 ,mountain-,naturalism  ,masaccio       
,j4 ,h4 ,,le ,,keux    #cae    #ad4 ,the
 ,lombard ,apennine       ,the ,author  
,,thos4 ,,lupton     #cae    #ae4 ,st4  
,george of the ,seaweed  ,the ,author   
,,thos4 ,,lupton     #cae    #af4 ,early
 ,naturalism           ,titian          
,j4 ,c4 ,,armytage   #caf    #ag4       
,advanced ,naturalism        ,tintoret  
,j4 ,c4 ,,armytage   #caf     ,,preface4
   ,as this preface is nearly all about 
myself1 no one need take the trouble of 
reading it1 unless he happens to be     
desirous of knowing-- what ,i1 at least1
 am bound to state1--the circumstances  
which have caused the long delay of the 
work1 as well as the alterations which  

will be noticed in its form4  ,the first
 and second volumes were written to     
check1 as far as ,i could1 the attacks  
upon ,turner which prevented the public 
from honoring his genius1 at the time   
when his power was greatest4 ,the check 
was partially given1 but too late2      
,turner was seized by painful illness   
not long after the second volume        
appeared2 his works1 towards the close  
of the year #ahde1 showed a conclusive  
failure of power2 and ,i saw that       
nothing remained for me to write1 but   
his epitaph4  ,the critics had done     
their proper and appointed work2 they   
had embittered1 more than those who did 
not know ,turner intimately could have  
believed possible1 the closing years of 
his life2 and had blinded the world in  
general 7as it appears ordained by ,fate
 that the world always shall be blinded7
 to the presence of a great spirit among
 them1 till the hour of its departure4  
,with them1 and their successful work1  
,i had nothing more to do2 the account  

of gain and loss1 of gifts and          
gratitude1 between ,turner and his      
countrymen1 was for ever closed4 ,he    
could only be left to his quiet death at
 ,chelsea1--the sun upon his face2 they 
to dispose a length of funeral through  
,ludgate1 and bury1 with threefold      
honor1 his body in ,st4 ,paul's1 his    
pictures at ,charing ,cross1 and his    
purposes in ,chancery4 ,but with respect
 to the illustration and preservation of
 those of his works which remained      
unburied1 ,i felt that much might yet be
 done1 if ,i could at all succeed in    
proving that these works had some       
nobleness in them1 and were worth       
preservation4 ,i pursued my task1       
therefore1 as ,i had at first proposed1 
with this only difference in            
method1--that instead of writing in     
continued haste1 such as ,i had been    
forced into at first by the urgency of  
the occasion1 ,i set myself to do the   
work as well as ,i could1 and to collect
 materials for the complete examination 

of the canons of art received among us4 
,i have now given ten years of my life  
to the single purpose of enabling myself
 to judge rightly of art1 and spent them
 in labor as earnest and continuous as  
men usually undertake to gain position1 
or accumulate fortune4 ,it is true1 that
 the public still call me an amateur2   
nor have ,i ever been able to persuade  
them that it was possible to work       
steadily and hard with any other motive 
than that of gaining bread1 or to give  
up a fixed number of hours every day to 
the furtherance of an object unconnected
 with personal interests4 ,i have1      
however1 given up so much of life to    
this object2 earnestly desiring to      
ascertain1 and be able to teach1 the    
truth respecting art2 and also knowing  
that this truth was1 by time and labor1 
definitely ascertainable4  ,it is an    
idea too frequently entertained1 by     
persons who are not much interested in  
art1 that there are no laws of right or 
wrong concerning it2 and that the best  

art is that which pleases most widely4  
,hence the constant allegation of       
dogmatism against any one who states    
unhesitatingly either preference or     
principle1 respecting pictures4 ,there  
are1 however1 laws of truth and right in
 painting1 just as fixed as those of    
harmony in music1 or of affinity in     
chemistry4 ,those laws are perfectly    
ascertainable by labor1 and             
ascertainable no other way4 ,it is as   
ridiculous for any one to speak         
positively about painting who has not   
given a great part of his life to its   
study1 as it would be for a person who  
had never studied chemistry to give a   
lecture on affinities of elements2 but  
it is also as ridiculous for a person to
 speak hesitatingly about laws of       
painting who has conscientiously given  
his time to their ascertainment1 as it  
would be for ,mr4 ,faraday to announce  
in a dubious manner that iron had an    
affinity for oxygen1 and to put the     
question to the vote of his audience    

whether it had or not4 ,of course there 
are many things1 in all stages of       
knowledge1 which cannot be dogmatically 
stated2 and it will be found1 by any    
candid reader1 either of what ,i have   
before written1 or of this book1 that in
 many cases1 ,i am not dogmatic4 ,the   
phrase1 ,i think so1 or1 it seems so to 
me1 will be met with continually2 and ,i
 pray the reader to believe that ,i use 
such expression always in seriousness1  
never as matter of form4  ,it may       
perhaps be thought that1 considering the
 not very elaborate structure of the    
following volumes1 they might have been 
finished sooner4 ,but it will be found1 
on reflection1 that the ranges of       
inquiry engaged in demanded1 even for   
their slight investigation1 time and    
pains which are quite unrepresented in  
the result4 ,it often required a week or
 two's hard walking to determine some   
geological problem1 now dismissed in an 
unnoticed sentence2 and it constantly   
needed examination and thought1         

prolonged during many days in the       
picture gallery1 to form opinions which 
the reader may suppose to be dictated by
 caprice1 and will hear only to dispute4
  ,a more serious disadvantage1         
resulting from the necessary breadth of 
subject1 was the chance of making       
mistakes in minor and accessory points4 
,for the labor of a critic who sincerely
 desires to be just1 extends into more  
fields than it is possible for any      
single hand to furrow straightly4 ,he   
has to take some note of many physical  
sciences2 of optics1 geometry1 geology1 
botany1 and anatomy2 he must acquaint   
himself with the works of all great     
artists1 and with the temper and history
 of the times in which they lived2 he   
must be a fair metaphysician1 and a     
careful observer of the phenomena of    
natural scenery4 ,it is not possible to 
extend the range of work thus widely1   
without running the chance of           
occasionally making mistakes2 and if ,i 
carefully guarded against that chance1  

,i should be compelled both to shorten  
my powers of usefulness in many         
directions1 and to lose much time over  
what work ,i undertook4 ,all that ,i can
 secure1 therefore1 is rightness in main
 points and main tendencies2 for it is  
perfectly possible to protect oneself   
against small errors1 and yet to make   
great and final error in the sum of     
work3 on the other hand1 it is equally  
possible to fall into many small errors1
 and yet be right in tendency all the   
while1 and entirely right in the end4   
,in this respect1 some men may be       
compared to careful travellers1 who     
neither stumble at stones1 nor slip in  
sloughs1 but have1 from the beginning of
 their journey to its close1 chosen the 
wrong road2 and others to those who1    
however slipping or stumbling at the    
wayside1 have yet their eyes fixed on   
the true gate and goal 7stumbling1      
perhaps1 even the more because they     
have71 and will not fail of reaching    
them4 ,such are assuredly the safer     

guides3 he who follows them may avoid   
their slips1 and be their companion in  
attainment4  ,although1 therefore1 it is
 not possible but that1 in the          
discussion of so many subjects as are   
necessarily introduced in the following 
pages1 here and there a chance should   
arise of minor mistake or misconception1
 the reader need not be disturbed by the
 detection of any such4 ,he will find   
always that they do not affect the      
matter mainly in hand4  ,i refer        
especially in these remarks to the      
chapters on ,classical and ,mediaeval   
,landscape4 ,it is certain1 that in many
 respects1 the views there stated must  
be inaccurate or incomplete2 for how    
should it be otherwise when the subject 
is one whose proper discussion would    
require knowledge of the entire history 
of two great ages of the world8 ,but ,i 
am well assured that the suggestions in 
those chapters are useful2 and that even
 if1 after farther study of the subject1
 the reader should find cause to differ 

with me in this or the other speciality1
 he will yet thank me for helping him to
 a certain length in the investigation1 
and confess1 perhaps1 that he could not 
at last have been right1 if ,i had not  
first ventured to be wrong4  ,and of one
 thing he may be certified1 that any    
error ,i fall into will not be in an    
illogical deduction3 ,i may mistake the 
meaning of a symbol1 or the angle of a  
rock-cleavage1 but not draw an          
inconsequent conclusion4 ,i state this1 
because it has often been said that ,i  
am not logical1 by persons who do not so
 much as know what logic means4 ,next to
 imagination1 the power of perceiving   
logical relation is one of the rarest   
among men2 certainly1 of those with whom
 ,i have conversed1 ,i have found always
 ten who had deep feeling1 quick wit1 or
 extended knowledge1 for one who could  
set down a syllogism without a flaw2 and
 for ten who could set down a syllogism1
 only one who could entirely understand 
that a square has four sides4 ,even as  

,i am sending these sheets to press1 a  
work is put into my hand1 written to    
prove 7,i would1 from the depth of my   
heart1 it could prove7 that there was no
 ground for what ,i said in the ,stones 
of ,venice respecting the logical       
probability of the continuity of evil4  
,it seems learned1 temperate1           
thoughtful1 everything in feeling and   
aim that a book should be1 and yet it   
begins with this sentence3      ,the    
question cited in our preface1 ',why not
 infinite good out     of infinite      
evil8' must be taken to imply--for it   
else can     have no weight1--that in   
order to the production of infinite     
good1 the existence of infinite evil is 
indispensable4  ,so1 if ,i had said that
 there was no reason why honey should   
not be sucked out of a rock1 and oil out
 of a flinty rock1 the writer would have
 told me this sentence must be taken to 
imply--for it else could have no        
weight1--that in order to the production
 of honey1 the existence of rocks is    

indispensable4 ,no less intense and     
marvellous are the logical errors into  
which our best writers are continually  
falling1 owing to the notion that laws  
of logic will help them better than     
common sense4 ,whereas any man who can  
reason at all1 does it instinctively1   
and takes leaps over intermediate       
syllogisms by the score1 yet never      
misses his footing at the end of the    
leap2 but he who cannot instinctively   
argue1 might as well1 with the gout in  
both feet1 try to follow a chamois      
hunter by the help of crutches1 as to   
follow1 by the help of syllogism1 a     
person who has the right use of his     
reason4 ,i should not1 however1 have    
thought it necessary to allude to this  
common charge against my writings1 but  
that it happens to confirm some views ,i
 have long entertained1 and which the   
reader will find glanced at in their    
proper place1 respecting the necessity  
of a more practically logical education 
for our youth4 ,of other various charges

 ,i need take no note1 because they are 
always answered the one by the other4   
,the complaint made against me to-day   
for being narrow and exclusive1 is met  
to-morrow by indignation that ,i should 
admire schools whose characters cannot  
be reconciled2 and the assertion of one 
critic1 that ,i am always contradicting 
myself1 is balanced by the vexation of  
another1 at my ten years' obstinacies in
 error4  ,i once intended the           
illustrations to these volumes to be    
more numerous and elaborate1 but the art
 of photography now enables any reader  
to obtain as many memoranda of the facts
 of nature as he needs2 and1 in the     
course of my ten years' pause1 ,i have  
formed plans for the representation of  
some of the works of ,turner on their   
own scale2 so that it would have been   
quite useless to spend time in reducing 
drawings to the size of this page1 which
 were afterwards to be engraved of their
 own size4#a ,i have therefore here only
 given illustrations enough to enable   

the reader1 who has not access to the   
works of ,turner1 to understand the     
principles laid down in the text1 and   
apply them to such art as may be within 
his reach4 ,and ,i owe sincere thanks to
 the various engravers who have worked  
with me1 for the zeal and care with     
which they have carried out the         
requirements in each case1 and overcome 
difficulties of a nature often widely   
differing from those involved by their  
habitual practice4 ,i would not make    
invidious distinction1 where all have   
done well2 but may perhaps be permitted 
to point1 as examples of what ,i mean1  
to the #crd and #fth ,plates in this    
volume 7the #fth being left unlettered  
in order not to injure the effect of its
 ground71 in which ,mr4 ,le ,keux and   
,mr4 ,armytage have exactly facsimiled1 
in line engraving1 drawings of mine made
 on a grey ground touched with white1   
and have given even the loaded look of  
the body color4 ,the power of thus      
imitating actual touches of color with  

pure lines will be1 ,i believe1 of great
 future importance in rendering         
,turner's work on a large scale4 ,as for
 the merit or demerit of these or other 
drawings of my own1 which ,i am obliged 
now for the sake of illustration often  
to engrave1 ,i believe ,i could speak of
 it impartially1 and should             
unreluctantly do so2 but ,i leave1 as   
most readers will think ,i ought1 such  
judgment to them1 merely begging them to
 remember that there are two general    
principles to be kept in mind in        
examining the drawings of any writer on 
art3 the first1 that they ought at least
 to show such ordinary skill in         
draughtsmanship1 as to prove that the   
writer knows what the good qualities of 
drawing are2 the second1 that they are  
never to be expected to equal1 in either
 execution or conception1 the work of   
accomplished artists1--for the simple   
reason1 that in order to do anything    
thoroughly well1 the whole mind1 and the
 whole available time1 must be given to 

that single art4 ,it is probable1 for   
reasons which will be noted in the      
following pages1 that the critical and  
executive faculties are in great part   
independent of each other2 so that it is
 nearly as great an absurdity to require
 of any critic that he should equal in  
execution even the work which he        
condemns1 as to require of the audience 
which hisses a piece of vocal music that
 they should instantly chant it in truer
 harmony themselves4 ,but whether this  
be true or not 7it is at least untrue to
 this extent1 that a certain power of   
drawing is indispensable to the critic  
of art71 and supposing that the         
executive and critical powers always    
exist in some correspondent degree in   
the same person1 still they cannot be   
cultivated to the same extent4 ,the     
attention required for the development  
of a theory is necessarily withdrawn    
from the design of a drawing1 and the   
time devoted to the realization of a    
form is lost to the solution of a       

problem4 ,choice must at last be made   
between one and the other power1 as the 
principal aim of life2 and if the       
painter should find it necessary        
sometimes to explain one of his pictures
 in words1 or the writer to illustrate  
his meaning with a drawing1 the skill of
 the one need not be doubted because his
 logic is feeble1 nor the sense of the  
other because his pencil is listless4   
,as1 however1 it is sometimes alleged by
 the opponents of my principles1 that ,i
 have never done anything1 it is proper 
that the reader should know exactly the 
amount of work for which ,i am          
answerable in these illustrations4 ,when
 an example is given from any of the    
works of ,turner1 it is either etched by
 myself from the original drawing1 or   
engraved from a drawing of mine1        
translating ,turner's work out of color 
into black and white1 as for instance1  
the frontispiece to the fourth volume4  
,when a plate is inscribed as after such
 and such a master1 ,i have always      

myself made the drawing1 in black and   
white1 from the original picture2 as1   
for instance1 ,plate #aa1 in this       
volume4 ,if it has been made from a     
previously existing engraving1 it is    
inscribed with the name of the first    
engraver at the left-hand lowest corner2
 as1 for instance1 ,plate #ah1 in ,vol4 
,,iv4 ,outline etchings are either by my
 own hand on the steel1 as ,plate #ab1  
here1 and #bj1 #ba1 in ,vol4 ,,iv42 or  
copies from my pen drawings1 etched by  
,mr4 ,boys1 with a fidelity for which ,i
 sincerely thank him2 one1 ,plate #bb1  
,vol4 ,,iv41 is both drawn and etched by
 ,mr4 ,boys from an old engraving4 ,most
 of the other illustrations are engraved
 from my own studies from nature4 ,the  
colored ,plate 7#g1 in this volume7 is  
from a drawing executed with great skill
 by my assistant1 ,mr4 ,j4 ,j4 ,laing1  
from ,,mss4 in the ,british ,museum2 and
 the lithography of it has been kindly  
superintended by ,mr4 ,henry ,shaw1     
whose renderings of mediaeval ornaments 

stand1 as far as ,i know1 quite         
unrivalled in modern art4 ,the two      
woodcuts of mediaeval design1 ,figs4 #a 
and #c1 are also from drawings by ,mr4  
,laing1 admirably cut by ,miss ,byfield4
 ,i use this word admirably1 not with   
reference to mere delicacy of execution1
 which can usually be had for money1 but
 to the perfect fidelity of facsimile1  
which is in general not to be had for   
money1 and by which ,miss ,byfield has  
saved me all trouble with respect to the
 numerous woodcuts in the fourth volume2
 first1 by her excellent renderings of  
various portions of ,albert ,durer's    
woodcuts2 and1 secondly1 by reproducing1
 to their last dot or scratch1 my own   
pen diagrams1 drawn in general so       
roughly that few wood-engravers would   
have condescended to cut them with care1
 and yet always involving some points in
 which care was indispensable4 ,one or  
two changes have been permitted in the  
arrangement of the book1 which make the 
text in these volumes not altogether a  

symmetrical continuation of that in     
former ones4 ,thus1 ,i thought it better
 to put the numbers of paragraphs always
 at the left-hand side of the page2 and 
as the summaries1 in small type1        
appeared to me for the most part        
cumbrous and useless1 ,i have banished  
them1 except where there were           
complicated divisions of subject which  
it seemed convenient to indicate at the 
margin4 ,i am not sorry thus to carry   
out my own principle of the sacrifice of
 architectural or constructive symmetry 
to practical service4 ,the plates are1  
in a somewhat unusual way1 numbered     
consecutively through the two volumes1  
as ,i intend them to be also through the
 fifth4 ,this plan saves much trouble in
 references4  ,i have only to express1  
in conclusion1 my regret that it has    
been impossible to finish the work      
within the limits first proposed4       
,having1 of late1 found my designs      
always requiring enlargement in process 
of execution1 ,i will take care1 in     

future1 to set no limits whatsoever to  
any good intentions4 ,in the present    
instance ,i trust the reader will pardon
 me1 as the later efforts of our schools
 of art have necessarily introduced many
 new topics of discussion4  ,and so ,i  
wish him heartily a happy ,new ,year4   
,denmark ,hill1 ,jan4 #ahef4    #a ,i   
should be very grateful to the          
proprietors of pictures or              
drawings by ,turner1 if they would send 
me lists of the works       in their    
possession2 as ,i am desirous of forming
 a systematic       catalogue of all his
 works4     ,illustration3 ,lake1 ,land1
 and ,cloud4 7near ,como47              
,,modern ,,painters4                    
,,part ,,iv4                            
,,of ,,many ,,things4     ,,chapter ,i4 
,,of ,,the ,,received ,,opinions        
,,touching ,,the ,,grand ,,style4       
,sec4 #a4 ,in taking up the clue of an  
inquiry1 now intermitted for nearly ten 
years1 it may be well to do as a        
traveller would1 who had to recommence  

an interrupted journey in a guideless   
country2 and1 ascending1 as it were1    
some little hill beside our road1 note  
how far we have already advanced1 and   
what pleasantest ways we may choose for 
farther progress4  ,i endeavored1 in the
 beginning of the first volume1 to      
divide the sources of pleasure open to  
us in ,art into certain groups1 which   
might conveniently be studied in        
succession4 ,after some preliminary     
discussion1 it was concluded 7,part ,i4 
,chap4 ,,iii4 ,sec4 #hf71 that these    
groups were1 in the main1 three2        
consisting1 first1 of the pleasures     
taken in perceiving simple resemblance  
to ,nature 7,ideas of ,truth72 secondly1
 of the pleasures taken in the beauty of
 the things chosen to be painted 7,ideas
 of ,beauty72 and1 lastly1 of pleasures 
taken in the meanings and relations of  
these things 7,ideas of ,relation74     
,the first volume1 treating of the ideas
 of ,truth1 was chiefly occupied with an
 inquiry into the various success with  

which different artists had represented 
the facts of ,nature1--an inquiry       
necessarily conducted very imperfectly1 
owing to the want of pictorial          
illustration4  ,the second volume nearly
 opened the inquiry into the nature of  
ideas of ,beauty and ,relation1 by      
analysing 7as far as ,i was able to do  
so7 the two faculties of the human mind 
which mainly seized such ideas2 namely1 
the contemplative and imaginative       
faculties4  ,it remains for us to       
examine the various success of artists1 
especially of the great                 
landscape-painter whose works have been 
throughout our principal subject1 in    
addressing these faculties of the human 
mind1 and to consider who among them has
 conveyed the noblest ideas of beauty1  
and touched the deepest sources of      
thought4  ,sec4 #b4 ,i do not intend1   
however1 now to pursue the inquiry in a 
method so laboriously systematic2 for   
the subject may1 it seems to me1 be more
 usefully treated by pursuing the       

different questions which rise out of it
 just as they occur to us1 without too  
great scrupulousness in marking         
connections1 or insisting on sequences4 
,much time is wasted by human beings1 in
 general1 on establishment of systems2  
and it often takes more labor to master 
the intricacies of an artificial        
connection1 than to remember the        
separate facts which are so carefully   
connected4 ,i suspect that              
system-makers1 in general1 are not of   
much more use1 each in his own domain1  
than1 in that of ,pomona1 the old women 
who tie cherries upon sticks1 for the   
more convenient portableness of the     
same4 ,to cultivate well1 and choose    
well1 your cherries1 is of some         
importance2 but if they can be had in   
their own wild way of clustering about  
their crabbed stalk1 it is a better     
connection for them than any other2 and1
 if they cannot1 then1 so that they be  
not bruised1 it makes to a boy of a     
practical disposition1 not much         

difference whether he gets them by      
handfuls1 or in beaded symmetry on the  
exalting stick4 ,i purpose1 therefore1  
henceforward to trouble myself little   
with sticks or twine1 but to arrange my 
chapters with a view to convenient      
reference1 rather than to any careful   
division of subjects1 and to follow out1
 in any by-ways that may open1 on right 
hand or left1 whatever question it seems
 useful at any moment to settle4  ,sec4 
#c4 ,and1 in the outset1 ,i find myself 
met by one which ,i ought to have       
touched upon before--one of especial    
interest in the present state of the    
,arts4 ,i have said that the art is     
greatest which includes the greatest    
ideas2 but ,i have not endeavored to    
define the nature of this greatness in  
the ideas themselves4 ,we speak of great
 truths1 of great beauties1 great       
thoughts4 ,what is it which makes one   
truth greater than another1 one thought 
greater than another8 ,this question is1
 ,i repeat1 of peculiar importance at   

the present time2 for1 during a period  
now of some hundred and fifty years1 all
 writers on ,art who have pretended to  
eminence1 have insisted much on a       
supposed distinction between what they  
call the ,great and the ,low ,schools2  
using the terms ,high ,art1 ,great or   
,ideal ,style1 and other such1 as       
descriptive of a certain noble manner of
 painting1 which it was desirable that  
all students of ,art should be early led
 to reverence and adopt2 and            
characterising as vulgar1 or low1 or    
realist1 another manner of painting and 
conceiving1 which it was equally        
necessary that all students should be   
taught to avoid4  ,but lately this      
established teaching1 never very        
intelligible1 has been gravely called in
 question4 ,the advocates and           
self-supposed practisers of ,high ,art  
are beginning to be looked upon with    
doubt1 and their peculiar phraseology to
 be treated with even a certain degree  
of ridicule4 ,and other forms of ,art   

are partly developed among us1 which do 
not pretend to be high1 but rather to be
 strong1 healthy1 and humble4 ,this     
matter of highness in ,art1 therefore   
deserves our most careful consideration4
 ,has it been1 or is it1 a true         
highness1 a true princeliness1 or only a
 show of it1 consisting in courtly      
manners and robes of state8 ,is it rocky
 height or cloudy height1 adamant or    
vapor1 on which the sun of praise so    
long has risen and set8 ,it will be well
 at once to consider this4  ,sec4 #d4   
,and first1 let us get1 as quickly as   
may be1 at the exact meaning with which 
the advocates of ,high ,art use that    
somewhat obscure and figurative term4   
,i do not know that the principles in   
question are anywhere more distinctly   
expressed than in two papers in the     
,idler1 written by ,sir ,joshua         
,reynolds1 of course under the immediate
 sanction of ,johnson2 and which may    
thus be considered as the utterance of  
the views then held upon the subject by 

the artists of chief skill1 and critics 
of most sense1 arranged in a form so    
brief and clear1 as to admit of their   
being brought before the public for a   
morning's entertainment4 ,i cannot1     
therefore1 it seems to me1 do better    
than quote these two letters1 or at     
least the important parts of them1      
examining the exact meaning of each     
passage as it occurs4 ,there are1 in    
all1 in the ,idler three letters on     
painting1 ,nos4 #gf1 #gi1 and #hb2 of   
these1 the first is directed only       
against the impertinences of pretended  
connoisseurs1 and is as notable for its 
faithfulness1 as for its wit1 in the    
description of the several modes of     
criticism in an artificial and ignorant 
state of society2 it is only1 therefore1
 in the two last papers that we find the
 expression of the doctrines which it is
 our business to examine4  ,no4 #gi     
7,saturday1 ,oct4 #bjth1 #agei7 begins1 
after a short preamble1 with the        
following passage3--      ,amongst the  

painters1 and the writers on painting1  
there is one     maxim universally      
admitted and continually inculcated4    
,imitate     nature is the invariable   
rule2 but ,i know none who have         
explained in what manner this rule is to
 be understood2 the     sequence of     
which is1 that every one takes it in the
 most     obvious sense1 that objects   
are represented naturally when they     
have such relief that they seem real4   
,it may appear strange1     perhaps1 to 
hear this sense of the rule disputed2   
but it must be     considered1 that1 if 
the excellency of a painter consisted   
only     in this kind of imitation1     
,painting must lose its rank1 and be    
no longer considered as a liberal art1  
and sister to ,poetry1     this         
imitation being nearly mechanical1 in   
which the slowest     intellect is      
always sure to succeed best2 for the    
painter of     genius cannot stoop to   
drudgery1 in which the understanding has
     no part2 and what pretence has the 

art to claim kindred with     poetry but
 by its power over the imagination8 ,to 
this power the     painter of genius    
directs him2 in this sense he studies   
nature1     and often arrives at his    
end1 even by being unnatural in the     
confined sense of the word4      ,the   
grand style of painting requires this   
minute attention to be     carefully    
avoided1 and must be kept as separate   
from it as the     style of poetry from 
that of history4 7,poetical ornaments   
destroy     that air of truth and       
plainness which ought to characterise   
history2 but the very being of poetry   
consists in departing from     this     
plain narrative1 and adopting every     
ornament that will warm     the         
imagination4#b7 ,to desire to see the   
excellencies of each     style          
united--to mingle the ,dutch with the   
,italian school1 is to     join         
contrarieties1 which cannot subsist     
together1 and which     destroy the     
efficacy of each other4  ,sec4 #e4 ,we  

find1 first1 from this interesting      
passage1 that the writer considers the  
,dutch and ,italian masters as severally
 representative of the low and high     
schools2 next1 that he considers the    
,dutch painters as excelling in a       
mechanical imitation1 in which the      
slowest intellect is always sure to     
succeed best2 and1 thirdly1 that he     
considers the ,italian painters as      
excelling in a style which corresponds  
to that of imaginative poetry in        
literature1 and which has an exclusive  
right to be called the grand style4  ,i 
wish that it were in my power entirely  
to concur with the writer1 and to       
enforce this opinion thus distinctly    
stated4 ,i have never been a zealous    
partisan of the ,dutch ,school1 and     
should rejoice in claiming ,reynolds's  
authority for the assertion1 that their 
manner was one in which the slowest     
intellect was always sure to succeed    
best4 ,but before his authority can be  
so claimed1 we must observe exactly the 

meaning of the assertion itself1 and    
separate it from the company of some    
others not perhaps so admissible4       
,first1 ,i say1 we must observe         
,reynolds's exact meaning1 for 7though  
the assertion may at first appear       
singular7 a man who uses accurate       
language is always more liable to       
misinterpretation than one who is       
careless in his expressions4 ,we may    
assume that the latter means very nearly
 what we at first suppose him to mean1  
for words which have been uttered       
without thought may be received without 
examination4 ,but when a writer or      
speaker may be fairly supposed to have  
considered his expressions carefully1   
and1 after having revolved a number of  
terms in his mind1 to have chosen the   
one which exactly means the thing he    
intends to say1 we may be assured that  
what costs him time to select1 will     
require from us time to understand1 and 
that we shall do him wrong1 unless we   
pause to reflect how the word which he  

has actually employed differs from other
 words which it seems he might have     
employed4 ,it thus constantly happens   
that persons themselves unaccustomed to 
think clearly1 or speak correctly1      
misunderstand a logical and careful     
writer1 and are actually in more danger 
of being misled by language which is    
measured and precise1 than by that which
 is loose and inaccurate4  ,sec4 #f4    
,now1 in the instance before us1 a      
person not accustomed to good writing   
might very rashly conclude1 that when   
,reynolds spoke of the ,dutch ,school as
 one in which the slowest intellect was 
sure to succeed best1 he meant to say   
that every successful ,dutch painter was
 a fool4 ,we have no right to take his  
assertion in that sense4 ,he says1 the  
slowest intellect4 ,we have no right to 
assume that he meant the weakest4 ,for  
it is true1 that in order to succeed in 
the ,dutch style1 a man has need of     
qualities of mind eminently deliberate  
and sustained4 ,he must be possessed of 

patience rather than of power2 and must 
feel no weariness in contemplating the  
expression of a single thought for      
several months together4 ,as opposed to 
the changeful energies of the           
imagination1 these mental characters may
 be properly spoken of as under the     
general term--slowness of intellect4    
,but it by no means follows that they   
are necessarily those of weak or foolish
 men4  ,we observe however1 farther1    
that the imitation which ,reynolds      
supposes to be characteristic of the    
,dutch ,school is that which gives to   
objects such relief that they seem real1
 and that he then speaks of this art of 
realistic imitation as corresponding to 
history in literature4  ,sec4 #g4       
,reynolds1 therefore1 seems to class    
these dull works of the ,dutch ,school  
under a general head1 to which they are 
not commonly referred--that of          
,historical painting2 while he speaks of
 the works of the ,italian ,school not  
as historical1 but as poetical painting4

 ,his next sentence will farther        
manifest his meaning4      ,the ,italian
 attends only to the invariable1 the    
great and     general ideas which are   
fixed and inherent in universal         
nature2 the ,dutch1 on the contrary1 to 
literal truth and     minute exactness  
in the detail1 as ,i may say1 of nature 
modified by accident4 ,the attention to 
these petty     peculiarities is the    
very cause of this naturalness so much  
admired in the ,dutch pictures1 which1  
if we suppose it to be a     beauty1 is 
certainly of a lower order1 which ought 
to give     place to a beauty of a      
superior kind1 since one cannot be      
obtained but by departing from the      
other4      ,if my opinion was asked    
concerning the works of ,michael        
,angelo1 whether they would receive any 
advantage from     possessing this      
mechanical merit1 ,i should not scruple 
to say1     they would not only receive 
no advantage1 but would lose1 in a      
great measure1 the effect which they now

 have on every mind     susceptible of  
great and noble ideas4 ,his works may be
 said to     be all genius and soul2 and
 why should they be loaded with         
heavy matter1 which can only counteract 
his purpose by     retarding the        
progress of the imagination8  ,examining
 carefully this and the preceding       
passage1 we find the author's           
unmistakable meaning to be1 that ,dutch 
painting is history2 attending to       
literal truth and minute exactness in   
the details of nature modified by       
accident4 ,that ,italian painting is    
poetry1 attending only to the           
invariable2 and that works which attend 
only to the invariable are full of      
genius and soul2 but that literal truth 
and exact detail are heavy matter which 
retards the progress of the imagination4
  ,sec4 #h4 ,this being then            
indisputably what ,reynolds means to    
tell us1 let us think a little whether  
he is in all respects right4 ,and first1
 as he compares his two kinds of        

painting to history and poetry1 let us  
see how poetry and history themselves   
differ1 in their use of variable and    
invariable details4 ,i am writing at a  
window which commands a view of the head
 of the ,lake of ,geneva2 and as ,i look
 up from my paper1 to consider this     
point1 ,i see1 beyond it1 a blue breadth
 of softly moving water1 and the outline
 of the mountains above ,chillon1 bathed
 in morning mist4 ,the first verses     
which naturally come into my mind are-- 
,a thousand feet in depth below         
,the massy waters meet and flow2        
,so far the fathom line was sent        
,from ,chillon's snow-white battlement4 
,let us see in what manner this poetical
 statement is distinguished from a      
historical one4  ,it is distinguished   
from a truly historical statement1      
first1 in being simply false4 ,the water
 under the castle of ,chillon is not a  
thousand feet deep1 nor anything like   
it4#c ,herein1 certainly1 these lines   
fulfil ,reynolds's first requirement in 

poetry1 that it should be inattentive to
 literal truth and minute exactness in  
detail4 ,in order1 however1 to make our 
comparison more closely in other points1
 let us assume that what is stated is   
indeed a fact1 and that it was to be    
recorded1 first historically1 and then  
poetically4  ,historically stating it1  
then1 we should say3 ,the lake was      
sounded from the walls of the castle of 
,chillon1 and found to be a thousand    
feet deep4  ,now1 if ,reynolds be right 
in his idea of the difference between   
history and poetry1 we shall find that  
,byron leaves out of this statement     
certain unnecessary details1 and retains
 only the invariable1--that is to say1  
the points which the ,lake of ,geneva   
and castle of ,chillon have in common   
with all other lakes and castles4  ,let 
us hear1 therefore4        ,a thousand  
feet in depth below4  ,below8 ,here is1 
at all events1 a word added 7instead of 
anything being taken away72 invariable1 
certainly in the case of lakes1 but not 

absolutely necessary4        ,the massy 
waters meet and flow4  ,massy6 why      
massy8 ,because deep water is heavy4    
,the word is a good word1 but it is     
assuredly an added detail1 and expresses
 a character1 not which the ,lake of    
,geneva has in common with all other    
lakes1 but which it has in distinction  
from those which are narrow or shallow4 
,sec4 #i4 ,meet and flow4 ,why meet and 
flow8 ,partly to make up a rhyme2 partly
 to tell us that the waters are forceful
 as well as massy1 and changeful as well
 as deep4 ,observe1 a farther addition  
of details1 and of details more or less 
peculiar to the spot1 or1 according to  
,reynolds's definition1 of heavy matter1
 retarding the progress of the          
imagination4        ,so far the fathom  
line was sent4  ,why fathom line8 ,all  
lines for sounding are not fathom lines4
 ,if the lake was ever sounded from     
,chillon1 it was probably sounded in    
metres1 not fathoms4 ,this is an        
addition of another particular detail1  

in which the only compliance with       
,reynolds's requirement is1 that there  
is some chance of its being an          
inaccurate one4        ,from ,chillon's 
snow-white battlement4  ,why snow-white8
 ,because castle battlements are not    
usually snow-white4 ,this is another    
added detail1 and a detail quite        
peculiar to ,chillon1 and therefore     
exactly the most striking word in the   
whole passage4  ,battlement6 why        
battlement8 ,because all walls have not 
battlements1 and the addition of the    
term marks the castle to be not merely a
 prison1 but a fortress4  ,this is a    
curious result4 ,instead of finding1 as 
we expected1 the poetry distinguished   
from the history by the omission of     
details1 we find it consist entirely in 
the addition of details2 and instead of 
being characterized by regard only of   
the invariable1 we find its whole power 
to consist in the clear expression of   
what is singular and particular6  ,sec4 
#aj4 ,the reader may pursue the         

investigation for himself in other      
instances4 ,he will find in every case  
that a poetical is distinguished from a 
merely historical statement1 not by     
being more vague1 but more specific1 and
 it might1 therefore1 at first appear   
that our author's comparison should be  
simply reversed1 and that the ,dutch    
,school should be called poetical1 and  
the ,italian historical4 ,but the term  
poetical does not appear very applicable
 to the generality of ,dutch painting2  
and a little reflection will show us1   
that if the ,italians represent only the
 invariable1 they cannot be properly    
compared even to historians4 ,for that  
which is incapable of change has no     
history1 and records which state only   
the invariable need not be written1 and 
could not be read4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,it is   
evident1 therefore1 that our author has 
entangled himself in some grave fallacy1
 by introducing this idea of            
invariableness as forming a distinction 
between poetical and historical art4    

,what the fallacy is1 we shall discover 
as we proceed2 but as an invading army  
should not leave an untaken fortress in 
its rear1 we must not go on with our    
inquiry into the views of ,reynolds     
until we have settled satisfactorily the
 question already suggested to us1 in   
what the essence of poetical treatment  
really consists4 ,for though1 as we have
 seen1 it certainly involves the        
addition of specific details1 it cannot 
be simply that addition which turns the 
history into poetry4 ,for it is         
perfectly possible to add any number of 
details to a historical statement1 and  
to make it more prosaic with every added
 word4 ,as1 for instance1 ,the lake was 
sounded out of a flat-bottomed boat1    
near the crab tree at the corner of the 
kitchen-garden1 and was found to be a   
thousand feet nine inches deep1 with a  
muddy bottom4 ,it thus appears that it  
is not the multiplication of details    
which constitutes poetry2 nor their     
subtraction which constitutes history2  

but that there must be something either 
in the nature of the details themselves1
 or the method of using them1 which     
invests them with poetical power or     
historical propriety4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,it   
seems to me1 and may seem to the reader1
 strange that we should need to ask the 
question1 ,what is poetry8 ,here is a   
word we have been using all our lives1  
and1 ,i suppose1 with a very distinct   
idea attached to it2 and when ,i am now 
called upon to give a definition of this
 idea1 ,i find myself at a pause4 ,what 
is more singular1 ,i do not at present  
recollect hearing the question often    
asked1 though surely it is a very       
natural one2 and ,i never recollect     
hearing it answered1 or even attempted  
to be answered4 ,in general1 people     
shelter themselves under metaphors1 and 
while we hear poetry described as an    
utterance of the soul1 an effusion of   
,divinity1 or voice of nature1 or in    
other terms equally elevated and        
obscure1 we never attain anything like a

 definite explanation of the character  
which actually distinguishes it from    
prose4  ,sec4 #ac4 ,i come1 after some  
embarrassment1 to the conclusion1 that  
poetry is the suggestion1 by the        
imagination1 of noble grounds for the   
noble emotions4 ,i mean1 by the noble   
emotions1 those four principal sacred   
passions--,love1 ,veneration1           
,admiration1 and ,joy 7this latter      
especially1 if unselfish72 and their    
opposites--,hatred1 ,indignation 7or    
,scorn71 ,horror1 and ,grief1--this     
last1 when unselfish1 becoming          
,compassion4 ,these passions in their   
various combinations constitute what is 
called poetical feeling1 when they are  
felt on noble grounds1 that is1 on great
 and true grounds4 ,indignation1 for    
instance1 is a poetical feeling1 if     
excited by serious injury2 but it is not
 a poetical feeling if entertained on   
being cheated out of a small sum of     
money4 ,it is very possible the manner  
of the cheat may have been such as to   

justify considerable indignation2 but   
the feeling is nevertheless not poetical
 unless the grounds of it be large as   
well as just4 ,in like manner1 energetic
 admiration may be excited in certain   
minds by a display of fireworks1 or a   
street of handsome shops2 but the       
feeling is not poetical1 because the    
grounds of it are false1 and therefore  
ignoble4 ,there is in reality nothing to
 deserve admiration either in the firing
 of packets of gunpowder1 or in the     
display of the stocks of ware-houses4   
,but admiration excited by the budding  
of a flower is a poetical feeling1      
because it is impossible that this      
manifestation of spiritual power and    
vital beauty can ever be enough admired4
  ,sec4 #ad4 ,farther1 it is necessary  
to the existence of poetry that the     
grounds of these feelings should be     
furnished by the imagination4 ,poetical 
feeling1 that is to say1 mere noble     
emotion1 is not poetry4 ,it is happily  
inherent in all human nature deserving  

the name1 and is found often to be      
purest in the least sophisticated4 ,but 
the power of assembling1 by the help of 
the imagination1 such images as will    
excite these feelings1 is the power of  
the poet or literally of the ,maker4#d  
,now this power of exciting the emotions
 depends of course on the richness of   
the imagination1 and on its choice of   
those images which1 in combination1 will
 be most effective1 or1 for the         
particular work to be done1 most fit4   
,and it is altogether impossible for a  
writer not endowed with invention to    
conceive what tools a true poet will    
make use of1 or in what way he will     
apply them1 or what unexpected results  
he will bring out by them2 so that it is
 vain to say that the details of poetry 
ought to possess1 or ever do possess1   
any definite character4 ,generally      
speaking1 poetry runs into finer and    
more delicate details than prose2 but   
the details are not poetical because    
they are more delicate1 but because they

 are employed so as to bring out an     
affecting result4 ,for instance1 no one 
but a true poet would have thought of   
exciting our pity for a bereaved father 
by describing his way of locking the    
door of his house3        ,perhaps to   
himself1 at that moment he said1        
,the key ,i must take1 for my ,ellen is 
dead2       ,but of this in my ears not 
a word did he speak1       ,and he went 
to the chase with a tear on his cheek4  
,in like manner1 in painting1 it is     
altogether impossible to say beforehand 
what details a great painter may make   
poetical by his use of them to excite   
noble emotions3 and we shall1 therefore1
 find presently that a painting is to be
 classed in the great or inferior       
schools1 not according to the kind of   
details which it represents1 but        
according to the uses for which it      
employs them4  ,sec4 #ae4 ,it is only   
farther to be noticed1 that infinite    
confusion has been introduced into this 
subject by the careless and illogical   

custom of opposing painting to poetry1  
instead of regarding poetry as          
consisting in a noble use1 whether of   
colors or words4 ,painting is properly  
to be opposed to speaking or writing1   
but not to poetry4 ,both painting and   
speaking are methods of expression4     
,poetry is the employment of either for 
the noblest purposes4  ,sec4 #af4 ,this 
question being thus far determined1 we  
may proceed with our paper in the       
,idler4      ,it is very difficult to   
determine the exact degree of           
enthusiasm that the arts of painting and
 poetry may admit4     ,there may1      
perhaps1 be too great indulgence as well
 as too     great a restraint of        
imagination2 if the one produces        
incoherent monsters1 the other produces 
what is full as bad1     lifeless       
insipidity4 ,an intimate knowledge of   
the passions1     and good sense1 but   
not common sense1 must at last determine
     its limits4 ,it has been thought1  
and ,i believe with reason1     that    

,michael ,angelo sometimes transgressed 
those limits2 and1     ,i think1 ,i have
 seen figures of him of which it was    
very     difficult to determine whether 
they were in the highest degree         
sublime or extremely ridiculous4 ,such  
faults may be said to be     the        
ebullitions of genius2 but at least he  
had this merit1     that he never was   
insipid1 and whatever passion his works 
may     excite1 they will always escape 
contempt4      ,what ,i have had under  
consideration is the sublimest style1   
particularly that of ,michael ,angelo1  
the ,homer of painting4     ,other kinds
 may admit of this naturalness1 which of
 the lowest     kind is the chief merit2
 but in painting1 as in poetry1 the     
highest style has the least of common   
nature4  ,from this passage we gather   
three important indications of the      
supposed nature of the ,great ,style4   
,that it is the work of men in a state  
of enthusiasm4 ,that it is like the     
writing of ,homer2 and that it has as   

little as possible of common nature in  
it4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,first1 it is produced  
by men in a state of enthusiasm4 ,that  
is1 by men who feel strongly and nobly2 
for we do not call a strong feeling of  
envy1 jealousy1 or ambition1 enthusiasm4
 ,that is1 therefore1 by men who feel   
poetically4 ,this much we may admit1 ,i 
think1 with perfect safety4 ,great art  
is produced by men who feel acutely and 
nobly2 and it is in some sort an        
expression of this personal feeling4 ,we
 can easily conceive that there may be a
 sufficiently marked distinction between
 such art1 and that which is produced by
 men who do not feel at all1 but who    
reproduce1 though ever so accurately1   
yet coldly1 like human mirrors1 the     
scenes which pass before their eyes4    
,sec4 #ah4 ,secondly1 ,great ,art is    
like the writing of ,homer1 and this    
chiefly because it has little of common 
nature in it4 ,we are not clearly       
informed what is meant by common nature 
in this passage4 ,homer seems to        

describe a great deal of what is        
common2--cookery1 for instance1 very    
carefully in all its processes4 ,i      
suppose the passage in the ,iliad which1
 on the whole1 has excited most         
admiration1 is that which describes a   
wife's sorrow at parting from her       
husband1 and a child's fright at its    
father's helmet2 and ,i hope1 at least1 
the former feeling may be considered    
common nature4 ,but the true greatness  
of ,homer's style is1 doubtless1 held by
 our author to consist in his           
imaginations of things not only uncommon
 but impossible 7such as spirits in     
brazen armor1 or monsters with heads of 
men and bodies of beasts71 and in his   
occasional delineations of the human    
character and form in their utmost1 or  
heroic1 strength and beauty4 ,we gather 
then on the whole1 that a painter in the
 ,great ,style must be enthusiastic1 or 
full of emotion1 and must paint the     
human form in its utmost strength and   
beauty1 and perhaps certain impossible  

forms besides1 liable by persons not in 
an equally enthusiastic state of mind to
 be looked upon as in some degree       
absurd4 ,this ,i presume to be          
,reynolds's meaning1 and to be all that 
he intends us to gather from his        
comparison of the ,great ,style with the
 writings of ,homer4 ,but if that       
comparison be a just one in all         
respects1 surely two other corollaries  
ought to be drawn from it1              
namely1--first1 that these ,heroic or   
,impossible images are to be mingled    
with others very unheroic and very      
possible2 and1 secondly1 that in the    
representation of the ,heroic or        
,impossible forms1 the greatest care    
must be taken in finishing the details1 
so that a painter must not be satisfied 
with painting well the countenance and  
the body of his hero1 but ought to spend
 the greatest part of his time 7as      
,homer the greatest number of verses7 in
 elaborating the sculptured pattern on  
his shield4  ,sec4 #ai4 ,let us1        

however1 proceed with our paper4        
,one may very safely recommend a little 
more enthusiasm to the     modern       
painters2 too much is certainly not the 
vice of the     present age4 ,the       
,italians seem to have been continually 
declining in this respect1 from the time
 of ,michael ,angelo to     that of     
,carlo ,maratti1 and from thence to the 
very bathos of     insipidity to which  
they are now sunk1 so that there is no  
need of remarking1 that where ,i        
mentioned the ,italian painters     in  
opposition to the ,dutch1 ,i mean not   
the moderns1 but the     heads of the   
old ,roman and ,bolognian schools2 nor  
did ,i mean     to include1 in my idea  
of an ,italian painter1 the ,venetian   
school1 which may be said to be the     
,dutch part of the ,italian     genius4 
,i have only to add a word of advice to 
the painters1     that1 however         
excellent they may be in painting       
naturally1     they would not flatter   
themselves very much upon it2 and to    

the connoisseurs1 that when they see a  
cat or a fiddle painted     so finely1  
that1 as the phrase is1 it looks as if  
you could     take it up1 they would not
 for that reason immediately compare    
the painter to ,raffaelle and ,michael  
,angelo4  ,in this passage there are    
four points chiefly to be remarked4 ,the
 first1 that in the year #agei1 the     
,italian painters were1 in our author's 
opinion1 sunk in the very bathos of     
insipidity4 ,the second1 that the       
,venetian painters1 i4e4 ,titian1       
,tintoret1 and ,veronese1 are1 in our   
author's opinion1 to be classed with the
 ,dutch2 that is to say1 are painters in
 a style in which the slowest intellect 
is always sure to succeed best4         
,thirdly1 that painting naturally is not
 a difficult thing1 nor one on which a  
painter should pride himself4 ,and1     
finally1 that connoisseurs1 seeing a cat
 or a fiddle successfully painted1 ought
 not therefore immediately to compare   
the painter to ,raphael or ,michael     

,angelo4  ,yet ,raphael painted fiddles 
very carefully in the foreground of his 
,st4 ,cecilia1--so carefully1 that they 
quite look as if they might be taken up4
 ,so carefully1 that ,i never yet looked
 at the picture without wishing that    
somebody would take them up1 and out of 
the way4 ,and ,i am under a very strong 
persuasion that ,raphael did not think  
painting naturally an easy thing4 ,it   
will be well to examine into this point 
a little2 and for the present1 with the 
reader's permission1 we will pass over  
the first two statements in this passage
 7touching the character of ,italian art
 in #agei1 and of ,venetian art in      
general71 and immediately examine some  
of the evidence existing as to the real 
dignity of natural painting--that is to 
say1 of painting carried to the point at
 which it reaches a deceptive appearance
 of reality4    #b ,i have put this     
sentence in a parenthesis1 because it is
       inconsistent with the rest of the
 statement1 and with the       general  

teaching of the paper2 since that which 
attends only       to the invariable    
cannot certainly adopt every ornament   
that       will warm the imagination4   
#c ,,mm4 ,mallet et ,pictet1 se trouvant
 sur le lac aupres du       chateau de  
,chillon1 le #f ,aout1 #aggd1 plongerent
 a la       profondeur de #cab pieds de 
un thermometre1 c4--,,saussure1         
,voyages dans les ,alpes1 chap4 ii4     
,sec4 #cc4 ,it appears from the         
next paragraph1 that the thermometer was
 au fond du lac4    #d ,take1 for       
instance1 the beautiful stanza in the   
,affliction of       ,margaret3         
,i look for ghosts1 but none will force 
,their way to me4 ',tis falsely said    
,that ever there was intercourse        
,between the living and the dead2       
,for1 surely then1 ,i should have sight 
,of him ,i wait for1 day and night1     
,with love and longing infinite4        
,this we call ,poetry1 because it is    
invented or made by the       writer1   
entering into the mind of a supposed    

person4 ,next1       take an instance of
 the actual feeling truly experienced   
and       simply expressed by a real    
person4        ,nothing surprised me    
more than a woman of ,argentiere1 whose 
cottage ,i went into to ask for milk1 as
 ,i came down from the       glacier of 
,argentiere1 in the month of ,march1    
#agfd4 ,an epidemic       dysentery had 
prevailed in the village1 and1 a few    
months       before1 had taken away from
 her1 her father1 her husband1 and      
her brothers1 so that she was left      
alone1 with three children in       the 
cradle4 ,her face had something noble in
 it1 and its       expression bore the  
seal of a calm and profound sorrow4     
,after       having given me milk1 she  
asked me whence ,i came1 and what ,i    
came there to do1 so early in the year4 
,when she knew that ,i was       of     
,geneva1 she said to me1 'she could not 
believe that all       ,protestants were
 lost souls2 that there were many honest
 people       among us1 and that ,god   

was too good and too great to condemn   
all       without distinction4' ,then1  
after a moment of reflection1 she       
added1 in shaking her head1 ',but1 that 
which is very strange1 is       that of 
so many who have gone away1 none have   
ever returned4 ,i1'       she added1    
with an expression of grief1 'who have  
so mourned my       husband and my      
brothers1 who have never ceased to think
 of them1       who every night conjure 
them with beseechings to tell me where  
they are1 and in what state they are6   
,ah1 surely1 if they lived              
anywhere1 they would not leave me thus6 
,but1 perhaps1' she       added1 ',i am 
not worthy of this kindness1 perhaps the
 pure and       innocent spirits of     
these children1' and she looked at the  
cradle1 'may have their presence1 and   
the joy which is denied to              
me4'--,,saussure1 ,voyages dans les     
,alpes1 chap4 xxiv4        ,this we do  
not call ,poetry1 merely because it is  
not invented1       but the true        

utterance of a real person4             
,,chapter ,,ii4  ,,of ,,realization4    
,sec4 #a4 ,in the outset of this        
inquiry1 the reader must thoroughly     
understand that we are not now          
considering what is to be painted1 but  
how far it is to be painted4 ,not       
whether ,raphael does right in          
representing angels playing upon        
violins1 or whether ,veronese does right
 in allowing cats and monkeys to join   
the company of kings3 but whether1      
supposing the subjects rightly chosen1  
they ought on the canvas to look like   
real angels with real violins1 and      
substantial cats looking at veritable   
kings2 or only like imaginary angels    
with soundless violins1 ideal cats1 and 
unsubstantial kings4  ,now1 from the    
first moment when painting began to be a
 subject of literary inquiry and general
 criticism1 ,i cannot remember any      
writer1 not professedly artistical1 who 
has not1 more or less1 in one part of   
his book or another1 countenanced the   

idea that the great end of art is to    
produce a deceptive resemblance of      
reality4 ,it may be1 indeed1 that we    
shall find the writers1 through many    
pages1 explaining principles of ideal   
beauty1 and professing great delight in 
the evidences of imagination4 ,but      
whenever a picture is to be definitely  
described1--whenever the writer desires 
to convey to others some impression of  
an extraordinary excellence1 all praise 
is wound up with some such statements as
 these3 ,it was so exquisitely painted  
that you expected the figures to move   
and speak2 you approached the flowers to
 enjoy their smell1 and stretched your  
hand towards the fruit which had fallen 
from the branches4 ,you shrunk back lest
 the sword of the warrior should indeed 
descend1 and turned away your head that 
you might not witness the agonies of the
 expiring martyr6  ,sec4 #b4 ,in a large
 number of instances1 language such as  
this will be found to be merely a clumsy
 effort to convey to others a sense of  

the admiration1 of which the writer does
 not understand the real cause in       
himself4 ,a person is attracted to a    
picture by the beauty of its color1     
interested by the liveliness of its     
story1 and touched by certain           
countenances or details which remind him
 of friends whom he loved1 for scenes in
 which he delighted4 ,he naturally      
supposes that what gives him so much    
pleasure must be a notable example of   
the painter's skill2 but he is ashamed  
to confess1 or perhaps does not know1   
that he is so much a child as to be fond
 of bright colors and amusing incidents2
 and he is quite unconscious of the     
associations which have so secret and   
inevitable a power over his heart4 ,he  
casts about for the cause of his        
delight1 and can discover no other than 
that he thought the picture like        
reality4  ,sec4 #c4 ,in another1 perhaps
 a still larger number of cases1 such   
language will be found to be that of    
simple ignorance--the ignorance of      

persons whose position in life compels  
them to speak of art1 without having any
 real enjoyment of it4 ,it is           
inexcusably required from people of the 
world1 that they should see merit in    
,claudes and ,titians2 and the only     
merit which many persons can either see 
or conceive in them is1 that they must  
be like nature4  ,sec4 #d4 ,in other    
cases1 the deceptive power of the art is
 really felt to be a source of interest 
and amusement4 ,this is the case with a 
large number of the collectors of ,dutch
 pictures4 ,they enjoy seeing what is   
flat made to look round1 exactly as a   
child enjoys a trick of legerdemain2    
they rejoice in flies which the         
spectator vainly attempts to brush away1
 and in dew which he endeavors to dry by
 putting the picture in the sun4 ,they  
take it for the greatest compliment to  
their treasures that they should be     
mistaken for windows2 and think the     
parting of ,abraham and ,hagar          
adequately represented1 if ,hagar seems 

to be really crying4  ,it is against    
critics and connoisseurs of this latter 
stamp 7of whom1 in the year #agei1 the  
juries of art were for the most part    
composed7 that the essay of ,reynolds1  
which we have been examining1 was justly
 directed4 ,but ,reynolds had not       
sufficiently considered that neither the
 men of this class1 nor of the two other
 classes above described1 constitute the
 entire body of those who praise ,art   
for its realization2 and that the       
holding of this apparently shallow and  
vulgar opinion cannot1 in all cases1 be 
attributed to the want either of        
penetration1 sincerity1 or sense4 ,the  
collectors of ,gerard ,dows and         
,hobbimas may be passed by with a smile2
 and the affectations of ,walpole and   
simplicities of ,vasari dismissed with  
contempt or with compassion4 ,but very  
different men from these have held      
precisely the same language2 and1 one   
amongst the rest1 whose authority is    
absolutely1 and in all points1          

overwhelming4  ,sec4 #e4 ,there was     
probably never a period in which the    
influence of art over the minds of men  
seemed to depend less on its merely     
imitative power1 than the close of the  
thirteenth century4 ,no painting or     
sculpture at that time reached more than
 a rude resemblance of reality4 ,its    
despised perspective1 imperfect         
chiaroscuro1 and unrestrained flights of
 fantastic imagination1 separated the   
artist's work from nature by an interval
 which there was no attempt to disguise1
 and little to diminish4 ,and yet1 at   
this very period1 the greatest poet of  
that1 or perhaps of any other age1 and  
the attached friend of its greatest     
painter1 who must over and over again   
have held full and free conversation    
with him respecting the objects of his  
art1 speaks in the following terms of   
painting1 supposed to be carried to its 
highest perfection3--        ,qual di   
pennel fu maestro1 e di stile           
,che ritraesse l' ombre1 e i tratti1 ch'

 ivi         ,mirar farieno uno ingegno 
sottile4       ,morti li morti1 e i vivi
 parean vivi3         ,non vide me' di  
me1 chi vide il vero1         ,quant' io
 calcai1 fin che chinato givi4          
,,dante1 ,purgatorio1 canto xii4 #a4 #fd
        ',what master of the pencil1 or 
the style1       ,had traced the shades 
and lines that might have made          
,the subtlest workman wonder8 ,dead1 the
 dead1       ,the living seemed alive2  
with clearer view       ,his eye beheld 
not1 who beheld the truth4       ,than  
mine what ,i did tread on1 while ,i     
went1       ,low bending4'              
,,carey4  ,dante has here clearly no    
other idea of the highest art than that 
it should bring back1 as in a mirror or 
vision1 the aspect of things passed or  
absent4 ,the scenes of which he speaks  
are1 on the pavement1 for ever          
represented by angelic power1 so that   
the souls which traverse this circle of 
the rock may see them1 as if the years  
of the world had been rolled back1 and  

they again stood beside the actors in   
the moment of action4 ,nor do ,i think  
that ,dante's authority is absolutely   
necessary to compel us to admit that    
such art as this might indeed be the    
highest possible4 ,whatever delight we  
may have been in the habit of taking in 
pictures1 if it were but truly offered  
to us1 to remove at our will the canvas 
from the frame1 and in lieu of it to    
behold1 fixed for ever1 the image of    
some of those mighty scenes which it has
 been our way to make mere themes for   
the artist's fancy2 if1 for instance1 we
 could again behold the ,magdalene      
receiving her pardon at ,christ's feet1 
or the disciples sitting with ,him at   
the table of ,emmaus2 and this not      
feebly nor fancifully1 but as if some   
silver mirror1 that had leaned against  
the wall of the chamber1 had been       
miraculously commanded to retain for    
ever the colors that had flashed upon it
 for an instant1--would we not part with
 our picture--,titian's or ,veronese's  

though it might be8  ,sec4 #f4 ,yes1 the
 reader answers1 in the instance of such
 scenes as these1 but not if the scene  
represented were uninteresting4 ,not1   
indeed1 if it were utterly vulgar or    
painful2 but we are not yet certain that
 the art which represents what is vulgar
 or painful is itself of much value2 and
 with respect to the art whose aim is   
beauty1 even of an inferior order1 it   
seems that ,dante's idea of its         
perfection has still much evidence in   
its favor4 ,for among persons of native 
good sense1 and courage enough to speak 
their minds1 we shall often find a      
considerable degree of doubt as to the  
use of art1 in consequence of their     
habitual comparison of it with reality4 
,what is the use1 to me1 of the painted 
landscape8 they will ask3 ,i see more   
beautiful and perfect landscapes every  
day of my life in my forenoon walk4     
,what is the use1 to me1 of the painted 
effigy of hero or beauty8 ,i can see a  
stamp of higher heroism1 and light of   

purer beauty1 on the faces around me1   
utterly inexpressible by the highest    
human skill4 ,now1 it is evident that to
 persons of this temper the only        
valuable pictures would indeed be       
mirrors1 reflecting permanently the     
images of the things in which they took 
delight1 and of the faces that they     
loved4 ,nay1 but the reader interrupts1 
7if he is of the ,idealist school7 ,i   
deny that more beautiful things are to  
be seen in nature than in art2 on the   
contrary1 everything in nature is       
faulty1 and art represents nature as    
perfected4 ,be it so4 ,must1 therefore1 
this perfected nature be imperfectly    
represented8 ,is it absolutely required 
of the painter1 who has conceived       
perfection1 that he should so paint it  
as to look only like a picture8 ,or is  
not ,dante's view of the matter right   
even here1 and would it not be well that
 the perfect conception of ,pallas      
should be so given as to look like      
,pallas herself1 rather than merely like

 the picture of ,pallas8  ,sec4 #g4 ,it 
is not easy for us to answer this       
question rightly1 owing to the          
difficulty of imagining any art which   
should reach the perfection supposed4   
,our actual powers of imitation are so  
feeble that wherever deception is       
attempted1 a subject of a comparatively 
low or confined order must be chosen4 ,i
 do not enter at present into the       
inquiry how far the powers of imitation 
extend2 but assuredly up to the present 
period they have been so limited that it
 is hardly possible for us to conceive a
 deceptive art embracing a high range of
 subject4 ,but let the reader make the  
effort1 and consider seriously what he  
would give at any moment to have the    
power of arresting the fairest scenes1  
those which so often rise before him    
only to vanish2 to stay the cloud in its
 fading1 the leaf in its trembling1 and 
the shadows in their changing2 to bid   
the fitful foam be fixed upon the river1
 and the ripples be everlasting upon the

 lake2 and then to bear away with him no
 darkened or feeble sun-stain 7though   
even that is beautiful71 but a          
counterfeit which should seem no        
counterfeit--the true and perfect image 
of life indeed4 ,or rather 7for the full
 majesty of such a power is not thus    
sufficiently expressed7 let him consider
 that it would be in effect nothing else
 than a capacity of transporting himself
 at any moment into any scene--a gift as
 great as can be possessed by a         
disembodied spirit'3 and suppose1 also1 
this necromancy embracing not only the  
present but the past1 and enabling us   
seemingly to enter into the very bodily 
presence of men long since gathered to  
the dust2 to behold them in act as they 
lived1 but--with greater privilege than 
ever was granted to the companions of   
those transient acts of life1--to see   
them fastened at our will in the gesture
 and expression of an instant1 and      
stayed1 on the eve of some great deed1  
in immortality of burning purpose4      

,conceive1 so far as it is possible1    
such power as this1 and then say whether
 the art which conferred it is to be    
spoken lightly of1 or whether we should 
not rather reverence1 as half divine1 a 
gift which would go so far as to raise  
us into the rank1 and invest us with the
 felicities1 of angels8  ,yet such would
 imitative art be in its perfection4    
,not by any means an easy thing1 as     
,reynolds supposes it4 ,far from being  
easy1 it is so utterly beyond all human 
power that we have difficulty even in   
conceiving its nature or results--the   
best art we as yet possess comes so far 
short of it4  ,sec4 #h4 ,but we must not
 rashly come to the conclusion that such
 art would1 indeed1 be the highest      
possible4 ,there is much to be          
considered hereafter on the other side2 
the only conclusion we are as yet       
warranted in forming is1 that ,reynolds 
had no right to speak lightly or        
contemptuously of imitative art2 that in
 fact1 when he did so1 he had not       

conceived its entire nature1 but was    
thinking of some vulgar conditions of   
it1 which were the only ones known to   
him1 and that1 therefore1 his whole     
endeavor to explain the difference      
between great and mean art has been     
disappointed2 that he has involved      
himself in a crowd of theories1 whose   
issue he had not foreseen1 and committed
 himself to conclusions which he never  
intended4 ,there is an instinctive      
consciousness in his own mind of the    
difference between high and low art2 but
 he is utterly incapable of explaining  
it1 and every effort which he makes to  
do so involves him in unexpected fallacy
 and absurdity4 ,it is not true that    
,poetry does not concern herself with   
minute details4 ,it is not true that    
high art seeks only the ,invariable4 ,it
 is not true that imitative art is an   
easy thing4 ,it is not true that the    
faithful rendering of nature is an      
employment in which the slowest         
intellect is likely to succeed best4    

,all these successive assertions are    
utterly false and untenable1 while the  
plain truth1 a truth lying at the very  
door1 has all the while escaped         
him1--that which was incidentally stated
 in the preceding chapter1--namely1 that
 the difference between great and mean  
art lies1 not in definable methods of   
handling1 or styles of representation1  
or choices of subjects1 but wholly in   
the nobleness of the end to which the   
effort of the painter is addressed4 ,we 
cannot say that a painter is great      
because he paints boldly1 or paints     
delicately2 because he generalizes or   
particularizes2 because he loves detail1
 or because he disdains it4 ,he is great
 if1 by any of these means1 he has laid 
open noble truths1 or aroused noble     
emotions4 ,it does not matter whether he
 paint the petal of a rose1 or the      
chasms of a precipice1 so that ,love and
 ,admiration attend him as he labors1   
and wait for ever upon his work4 ,it    
does not matter whether he toil for     

months upon a few inches of his canvas1 
or cover a palace front with color in a 
day1 so only that it be with a solemn   
purpose that he has filled his heart    
with patience1 or urged his hand to     
haste4 ,and it does not matter whether  
he seek for his subjects among peasants 
or nobles1 among the heroic or the      
simple1 in courts or in fields1 so only 
that he behold all things with a thirst 
for beauty1 and a hatred of meanness and
 vice4 ,there are1 indeed1 certain      
methods of representation which are     
usually adopted by the most active      
minds1 and certain characters of subject
 usually delighted in by the noblest    
hearts2 but it is quite possible1 quite 
easy1 to adopt the manner of painting   
without sharing the activity of mind1   
and to imitate the choice of subject    
without possessing the nobility of      
spirit2 while1 on the other hand1 it is 
altogether impossible to foretell on    
what strange objects the strength of a  
great man will sometimes be             

concentrated1 or by what strange means  
he will sometimes express himself4 ,so  
that true criticism of art never can    
consist in the mere application of      
rules2 it can be just only when it is   
founded on quick sympathy with the      
innumerable instincts and changeful     
efforts of human nature1 chastened and  
guided by unchanging love of all things 
that ,god has created to be beautiful1  
and pronounced to be good4     ,,chapter
 ,,iii4  ,,of ,,the ,,real ,,nature ,,of
 ,,greatness ,,of ,,style4   ,sec4 #a4  
,i doubt not that the reader was        
ill-satisfied with the conclusion       
arrived at in the last chapter4 ,that   
great art is art which represents what  
is beautiful and good1 may not seem a   
very profound discovery2 and the main   
question may be thought to have been all
 the time lost sight of1 namely1 ,what  
is beautiful1 and what is good8 ,no2    
those are not the main1 at least not the
 first questions2 on the contrary1 our  
subject becomes at once opened and      

simplified as soon as we have left those
 the only questions4 ,for observe1 our  
present task1 according to our old plan1
 is merely to investigate the relative  
degrees of the beautiful in the art of  
different masters2 and it is an         
encouragement to be convinced1 first of 
all1 that what is lovely will also be   
great1 and what is pleasing1 noble4 ,nor
 is the conclusion so much a matter of  
course as it at first appears1 for1     
surprising as the statement may seem1   
all the confusion into which ,reynolds  
has plunged both himself and his        
readers1 in the essay we have been      
examining1 results primarily from a     
doubt in his own mind as to the         
existence of beauty at all4 ,in the next
 paper ,i alluded to1 ,no4 #hb 7which   
needs not1 however1 to be examined at so
 great length71 he calmly attributes the
 whole influence of beauty to custom1   
saying1 that he has no doubt1 if we were
 more used to deformity than to beauty1 
deformity would then lose the idea now  

annexed to it1 and take that of beauty2 
as if the whole world shall agree that  
,yes and ,no should change their        
meanings4 ,yes would then deny1 and ,no 
would affirm6  ,sec4 #b4 ,the world     
does1 indeed1 succeed--oftener than is1 
perhaps1 altogether well for the        
world--in making ,yes mean ,no1 and ,no 
mean ,yes4#e ,but the world has never   
succeeded1 nor ever will1 in making     
itself delight in black clouds more than
 in blue sky1 or love the dark earth    
better than the rose that grows from it4
 ,happily for mankind1 beauty and       
ugliness are as positive in their nature
 as physical pain and pleasure1 as light
 and darkness1 or as life and death2    
and1 though they may be denied or       
misunderstood in many fantastic ways1   
the most subtle reasoner will at last   
find that color and sweetness are still 
attractive to him1 and that no logic    
will enable him to think the rainbow    
sombre1 or the violet scentless4 ,but   
the theory that beauty was merely a     

result of custom was very common in     
,johnson's time4 ,goldsmith has1 ,i     
think1 expressed it with more force and 
wit than any other writer1 in various   
passages of the ,citizen of the ,world4 
,and it was1 indeed1 a curious          
retribution of the folly of the world of
 art1 which for some three centuries had
 given itself recklessly to the pursuit 
of beauty1 that at last it should be led
 to deny the very existence of what it  
had so morbidly and passionately sought4
 ,it was as if a child should leave its 
home to pursue the rainbow1 and then1   
breathless and hopeless1 declare that it
 did not exist4 ,nor is the lesson less 
useful which may be gained in observing 
the adoption of such a theory by        
,reynolds himself4 ,it shows how        
completely an artist may be unconscious 
of the principles of his own work1 and  
how he may be led by instinct to do all 
that is right1 while he is misled by    
false logic to say all that is wrong4   
,for nearly every word that ,reynolds   

wrote was contrary to his own practice2 
he seems to have been born to teach all 
error by his precept1 and all excellence
 by his example2 he enforced with his   
lips generalization and idealism1 while 
with his pencil he was tracing the      
patterns of the dresses of the belles of
 his day2 he exhorted his pupils to     
attend only to the invariable1 while he 
himself was occupied in distinguishing  
every variation of womanly temper2 and  
he denied the existence of the          
beautiful1 at the same instant that he  
arrested it as it passed1 and           
perpetuated it for ever4  ,sec4 #c4 ,but
 we must not quit the subject here4     
,however inconsistently or dimly        
expressed1 there is1 indeed1 some truth 
in that commonly accepted distinction   
between high and low art4 ,that a thing 
should be beautiful is not enough2 there
 is1 as we said in the outset1 a higher 
and lower range of beauty1 and some     
ground for separating into various and  
unequal ranks painters who have1        

nevertheless1 each in his several way1  
represented something that was beautiful
 or good4  ,nor1 if we would1 can we get
 rid of this conviction4 ,we have at all
 times some instinctive sense that the  
function of one painter is greater than 
that of another1 even supposing each    
equally successful in his own way2 and  
we feel that1 if it were possible to    
conquer prejudice1 and do away with the 
iniquities of personal feeling1 and the 
insufficiencies of limited knowledge1 we
 should all agree in this estimate1 and 
be able to place each painter in his    
right rank1 measuring them by a true    
scale of nobleness4 ,we feel that the   
men in the higher classes of the scale  
would be1 in the full sense of the word1
 ,great--men whom one would give much to
 see the faces of but for an instant2   
and that those in the lower classes of  
the scale 7though none were admitted but
 who had true merit of some kind7 would 
be very small men1 not greatly exciting 
either reverence or curiosity4 ,and with

 this fixed instinct in our minds1 we   
permit our teachers daily to exhort     
their pupils to the cultivation of great
 art--neither they nor we having any    
very clear notion as to what the        
greatness consists in3 but sometimes    
inclining to think it must depend on the
 space of the canvas1 and that art on a 
scale of #f feet by #aj is something    
spiritually separated from that on a    
scale of #c feet by #e2--sometimes      
holding it to consist in painting the   
nude body1 rather than the body decently
 clothed2--sometimes being convinced    
that it is connected with the study of  
past history1 and that the art is only  
great which represents what the painter 
never saw1 and about which he knows     
nothing2-and sometimes being firmly     
persuaded that it consists in generally 
finding fault with1 and endeavoring to  
mend1 whatsoever the ,divine ,wisdom has
 made4 ,all which various errors1 having
 yet some motes and atoms of truth in   
the make of each of them1 deserve some  

attentive analysis1 for they come under 
that general law1--that the corruption  
of the best is the worst4 ,there are not
 worse errors going than these four2 and
 yet the truth they contain1 and the    
instinct which urges many to preach     
them1 are at the root of all healthy    
growth in art4 ,we ruin one young       
painter after another by telling him to 
follow great art1 without knowing1      
ourselves1 what greatness is2 and yet   
the feeling that it verily is something1
 and that there are depths and breadths1
 shallows and narrows1 in the matter1 is
 all that we have to look to1 if we     
would ever make our art serviceable to  
ourselves or others4 ,to follow art for 
the sake of being a great man1 and      
therefore to cast about continually for 
some means of achieving position or     
attracting admiration1 is the surest way
 of ending in total extinction4 ,and yet
 it is only by honest reverence for art 
itself1 and by great self-respect in the
 practice of it1 that it can be rescued 

from dilettantism1 raised to approved   
honorableness1 and brought to the proper
 work it has to accomplish in the       
service of man4  ,sec4 #d4 ,let us      
therefore look into the facts of the    
thing1 not with any metaphysical1 or    
otherwise vain and troublesome effort at
 acuteness1 but in a plain way2 for the 
facts themselves are plain enough1 and  
may be plainly stated1 only the         
difficulty is that out of these facts1  
right and left1 the different forms of  
misapprehension branch into grievous    
complexity1 and branch so far and wide1 
that if once we try to follow them1 they
 will lead us quite from our mark into  
other separate1 though not less         
interesting discussions4 ,the best way  
will be1 therefore1 ,i think1 to sketch 
out at once in this chapter1 the        
different characters which really       
constitute greatness of style1 and to   
indicate the principal directions of the
 outbranching misapprehensions of them2 
then1 in the succeeding chapters1 to    

take up in succession those which need  
more talk about them1 and follow out at 
leisure whatever inquiries they may     
suggest4  ,sec4 #e4 ,i4 ,,choice ,,of   
,,noble ,,subject4--,greatness of style 
consists1 then3 first1 in the habitual  
choice of subjects of thought which     
involve wide interests and profound     
passions1 as opposed to those which     
involve narrow interests and slight     
passions4 ,the style is greater or less 
in exact proportion to the nobleness of 
the interests and passions involved in  
the subject4 ,the habitual choice of    
sacred subjects1 such as the ,nativity1 
,transfiguration1 ,crucifixion 7if the  
choice be sincere71 implies that the    
painter has a natural disposition to    
dwell on the highest thoughts of which  
humanity is capable2 it constitutes him 
so far forth a painter of the highest   
order1 as1 for instance1 ,leonardo1 in  
his painting of the ,last ,supper3 he   
who delights in representing the acts or
 meditations of great men1 as1 for      

instance1 ,raphael painting the ,school 
of ,athens1 is1 so far forth1 a painter 
of the second order3 he who represents  
the passions and events of ordinary     
life1 of the third4 ,and in this        
ordinary life1 he who represents deep   
thoughts and sorrows1 as1 for instance1 
,hunt1 in his ,claudio and ,isabella1   
and such other works1 is of the highest 
rank in his sphere2 and he who          
represents the slight malignities and   
passions of the drawingroom1 as1 for    
instance1 ,leslie1 of the second rank3  
he who represents the sports of boys or 
simplicities of clowns1 as ,webster or  
,teniers1 of the third rank2 and he who 
represents brutalities and vices 7for   
delight in them1 and not for rebuke of  
them71 of no rank at all1 or rather of a
 negative rank1 holding a certain order 
in the abyss4  ,sec4 #f4 ,the reader    
will1 ,i hope1 understand how much      
importance is to be attached to the     
sentence in the first parenthesis1 if   
the choice be sincere2 for choice of    

subject is1 of course1 only available as
 a criterion of the rank of the painter1
 when it is made from the heart4        
,indeed1 in the lower orders of         
painting1 the choice is always made from
 such heart as the painter has2 for his 
selection of the brawls of peasants or  
sports of children can1 of course1      
proceed only from the fact that he has  
more sympathy with such brawls or       
pastimes than with nobler subjects4 ,but
 the choice of the higher kind of       
subjects is often insincere2 and may1   
therefore1 afford no real criterion of  
the painter's rank4 ,the greater number 
of men who have lately painted religious
 or heroic subjects have done so in mere
 ambition1 because they had been taught 
that it was a good thing to be a high   
art painter2 and the fact is that1 in   
nine cases out of ten1 the so-called    
historical or high-art painter is a     
person infinitely inferior to the       
painter of flowers or still life4 ,he   
is1 in modern times1 nearly always a man

 who has great vanity without pictorial 
capacity1 and differs from the landscape
 or fruit painter merely in             
misunderstanding and over-estimating his
 own powers4 ,he mistakes his vanity for
 inspiration1 his ambition for greatness
 of soul1 and takes pleasure in what he 
calls the ideal1 merely because he has  
neither humility nor capacity enough to 
comprehend the real4  ,sec4 #g4 ,but    
also observe1 it is not enough even that
 the choice be sincere4 ,it must also be
 wise4 ,it happens very often that a man
 of weak intellect1 sincerely desiring  
to do what is good and useful1 will     
devote himself to high art subjects     
because he thinks them the only ones on 
which time and toil can be usefully     
spent1 or1 sometimes1 because they are  
really the only ones he has pleasure in 
contemplating4 ,but not having intellect
 enough to enter into the minds of truly
 great men1 or to imagine great events  
as they really happened1 he cannot      
become a great painter2 he degrades the 

subjects he intended to honor1 and his  
work is more utterly thrown away1 and   
his rank as an artist in reality lower1 
than if he had devoted himself to the   
imitation of the simplest objects of    
natural history4 ,the works of ,overbeck
 are a most notable instance of this    
form of error4  ,sec4 #h4 ,it must also 
be remembered1 that in nearly all the   
great periods of art the choice of      
subject has not been left to the        
painter4 ,his employer1--abbot1 baron1  
or monarch1--determined for him whether 
he should earn his bread by making      
cloisters bright with choirs of saints1 
painting coats of arms on leaves of     
romances1 or decorating                 
presence-chambers with complimentary    
mythology2 and his own personal feelings
 are ascertainable only by watching1 in 
the themes assigned to him1 what are the
 points in which he seems to take most  
pleasure4 ,thus1 in the prolonged ranges
 of varied subjects with which ,benozzo 
,gozzoli decorated the cloisters of     

,pisa1 it is easy to see that love of   
simple domestic incident1 sweet         
landscape1 and glittering ornament1     
prevails slightly over the solemn       
elements of religious feeling1 which1   
nevertheless1 the spirit of the age     
instilled into him in such measure as to
 form a very lovely and noble mind1     
though still one of the second order4   
,in the work of ,orcagna1 an intense    
solemnity and energy in the sublimest   
groups of his figures1 fading away as he
 touches inferior subjects1 indicates   
that his home was among the archangels1 
and his rank among the first of the sons
 of men3 while ,correggio1 in the       
sidelong grace1 artificial smiles1 and  
purple languors of his saints1 indicates
 the inferior instinct which would have 
guided his choice in quite other        
directions1 had it not been for the     
fashion of the age1 and the need of the 
day4  ,sec4 #i4 ,it will follow1 of     
course1 from the above considerations1  
that the choice which characterises the 

school of high art is seen as much in   
the treatment of a subject as in its    
selection1 and that the expression of   
the thoughts of the persons represented 
will always be the first thing          
considered by the painter who worthily  
enters that highest school4 ,for the    
artist who sincerely chooses the noblest
 subject will also choose chiefly to    
represent what makes that subject noble1
 namely1 the various heroism or other   
noble emotions of the persons           
represented4 ,if1 instead of this1 the  
artist seeks only to make his picture   
agreeable by the composition of its     
masses and colors1 or by any other      
merely pictorial merit1 as fine drawing 
of limbs1 it is evident1 not only that  
any other subject would have answered   
his purpose as well1 but that he is     
unfit to approach the subject he has    
chosen1 because he cannot enter into its
 deepest meaning1 and therefore cannot  
in reality have chosen it for that      
meaning4 ,nevertheless1 while the       

expression is always to be the first    
thing considered1 all other merits must 
be added to the utmost of the painter's 
power3 for until he can both color and  
draw beautifully he has no business to  
consider himself a painter at all1 far  
less to attempt the noblest subjects of 
painting2 and1 when he has once         
possessed himself of these powers1 he   
will naturally and fitly employ them to 
deepen and perfect the impression made  
by the sentiment of his subject4  ,the  
perfect unison of expression1 as the    
painter's main purpose1 with the full   
and natural exertion of his pictorial   
power in the details of the work1 is    
found only in the old ,pre-,raphaelite  
periods1 and in the modern              
,pre-,raphaelite school4 ,in the works  
of ,giotto1 ,angelico1 ,orcagna1 ,john  
,bellini1 and one or two more1 these two
 conditions of high art are entirely    
fulfilled1 so far as the knowledge of   
those days enabled them to be fulfilled2
 and in the modern ,pre-,raphaelite     

school they are fulfilled nearly to the 
uttermost4 ,hunt's ,light of the ,world 
is1 ,i believe1 the most perfect        
instance of expressional purpose with   
technical power1 which the world has yet
 produced4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,now in the ,post
 ,raphaelite period of ancient art1 and 
in the spurious high art of modern      
times1 two broad forms of error divide  
the schools2 the one consisting in 7,a7 
the superseding of expression by        
technical excellence1 and the other in  
7,b7 the superseding of technical       
excellence by expression4  7,a74        
,superseding expression by technical    
excellence4--,this takes place most     
frankly1 and therefore most innocently1 
in the work of the ,venetians4 ,they    
very nearly ignore expression           
altogether1 directing their aim         
exclusively to the rendering of external
 truths of color and form4 ,paul        
,veronese will make the ,magdalene wash 
the feet of ,christ with a countenance  
as absolutely unmoved as that of any    

ordinary servant bringing a ewer to her 
master1 and will introduce the supper at
 ,emmaus as a background to the         
portraits of two children playing with a
 dog4 ,of the wrongness or rightness of 
such a proceeding we shall reason in    
another place2 at present we have to    
note it merely as displacing the        
,venetian work from the highest or      
expressional rank of art4 ,but the error
 is generally made in a more subtle and 
dangerous way4 ,the artist deceives     
himself into the idea that he is doing  
all he can to elevate his subject by    
treating it under rules of art1         
introducing into it accurate science1   
and collecting for it the beauties of   
7so-called7 ideal form2 whereas he may1 
in reality1 be all the while sacrificing
 his subject to his own vanity or       
pleasure1 and losing truth1 nobleness1  
and impressiveness for the sake of      
delightful lines or creditable          
pedantries4  ,sec4 #aa4 7,b74           
,superseding technical excellence by    

expression4--,this is usually done under
 the influence of another kind of       
vanity4 ,the artist desires that men    
should think he has an elevated soul1   
affects to despise the ordinary         
excellence of art1 contemplates with    
separated egotism the course of his own 
imaginations or sensations1 and refuses 
to look at the real facts round about   
him1 in order that he may adore at      
leisure the shadow of himself4 ,he lives
 in an element of what he calls tender  
emotions and lofty aspirations2 which   
are1 in fact1 nothing more than very    
ordinary weaknesses or instincts1       
contemplated through a mist of pride4 ,a
 large range of modern ,german art comes
 under this head4  ,a more interesting  
and respectable form of this error is   
fallen into by some truly earnest men1  
who1 finding their powers not adequate  
to the attainment of great artistical   
excellence1 but adequate to rendering1  
up to a certain point1 the expression of
 the human countenance1 devote          

themselves to that object alone1        
abandoning effort in other directions1  
and executing the accessaries of their  
pictures feebly or carelessly4 ,with    
these are associated another group of   
philosophical painters1 who suppose the 
artistical merits of other parts adverse
 to the expression1 as drawing the      
spectator's attention away from it1 and 
who paint in grey color1 and imperfect  
light and shade1 by way of enforcing the
 purity of their conceptions4 ,both     
these classes of conscientious but      
narrow-minded artists labor under the   
same grievous mistake of imagining that 
wilful fallacy can ever be either       
pardonable or helpful4 ,they forget that
 color1 if used at all1 must be either  
true or false1 and that what they call  
chastity1 dignity1 and reserve1 is1 to  
the eye of any person accustomed to     
nature1 pure1 bold1 and impertinent     
falsehood4 ,it does not1 in the eyes of 
any soundly minded man1 exalt the       
expression of a female face that the    

cheeks should be painted of the color of
 clay1 nor does it in the least enhance 
his reverence for a saint to find the   
scenery around him deprived1 by his     
presence1 of sunshine4 ,it is an        
important consolation1 however1 to      
reflect that no artist ever fell into   
any of these last three errors 7under   
head ,b47 who had really the capacity of
 becoming a great painter4 ,no man ever 
despised color who could produce it2 and
 the error of these sentimentalists and 
philosophers is not so much in the      
choice of their manner of painting1 as  
in supposing themselves capable of      
painting at all4 ,some of them might    
have made efficient sculptors1 but the  
greater number had their mission in some
 other sphere than that of art1 and     
would have found1 in works of practical 
charity1 better employment for their    
gentleness and sentimentalism1 than in  
denying to human beauty its color1 and  
to natural scenery its light2 in        
depriving heaven of its blue1 and earth 

of its bloom1 valor of its glow1 and    
modesty of its blush4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,,ii4 
,,love ,,of ,,beauty4--,the second      
characteristic of the great school of   
art is1 that it introduces in the       
conception of its subject as much beauty
 as is possible1 consistently with      
truth4#f  ,for instance1 in any subject 
consisting of a number of figures1 it   
will make as many of those figures      
beautiful as the faithful representation
 of humanity will admit4 ,it will not   
deny the facts of ugliness or           
decrepitude1 or relative inferiority and
 superiority of feature as necessarily  
manifested in a crowd1 but it will1 so  
far as it is in its power1 seek for and 
dwell upon the fairest forms1 and in all
 things insist on the beauty that is in 
them1 not on the ugliness4 ,in this     
respect1 schools of art become higher in
 exact proportion to the degree in which
 they apprehend and love the beautiful4 
,thus1 ,angelico1 intensely loving all  
spiritual beauty1 will be of the highest

 rank2 and ,paul ,veronese and          
,correggio1 intensely loving physical   
and corporeal beauty1 of the second     
rank2 and ,albert ,durer1 ,rubens1 and  
in general the ,northern artists1       
apparently insensible to beauty1 and    
caring only for truth1 whether shapely  
or not1 of the third rank2 and ,teniers 
and ,salvator1 ,caravaggio1 and other   
such worshippers of the depraved1 of no 
rank1 or1 as we said before1 of a       
certain order in the abyss4  ,sec4 #ac4 
,the corruption of the schools of high  
art1 so far as this particular quality  
is concerned1 consists in the sacrifice 
of truth to beauty4 ,great art dwells on
 all that is beautiful2 but false art   
omits or changes all that is ugly4      
,great art accepts ,nature as she is1   
but directs the eyes and thoughts to    
what is most perfect in her2 false art  
saves itself the trouble of direction by
 removing or altering whatever it thinks
 objectionable4 ,the evil results of    
which proceeding are twofold4           

,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ad4 ,evil first1--that
 we lose the true force of beauty4      
,first4 ,that beauty deprived of its    
proper foils and adjuncts ceases to be  
enjoyed as beauty1 just as light        
deprived of all shadow ceases to be     
enjoyed as light4 ,a white canvas cannot
 produce an effect of sunshine2 the     
painter must darken it in some places   
before he can make it look luminous in  
others2 nor can an uninterrupted        
succession of beauty produce the true   
effect of beauty2 it must be foiled by  
inferiority before its own power can be 
developed4 ,nature has for the most part
 mingled her inferior and nobler        
elements as she mingles sunshine with   
shade1 giving due use and influence to  
both1 and the painter who chooses to    
remove the shadow1 perishes in the      
burning desert he has created4 ,the     
truly high and beautiful art of         
,angelico is continually refreshed and  
strengthened by his frank portraiture of
 the most ordinary features of his      

brother monks1 and of the recorded      
peculiarities of ungainly sanctity2 but 
the modern ,german and ,raphaelesque    
schools lose all honor and nobleness in 
barber-like admiration of handsome      
faces1 and have1 in fact1 no real faith 
except in straight noses and curled     
hair4 ,paul ,veronese opposes the dwarf 
to the soldier1 and the negress to the  
queen2 ,shakspere places ,caliban beside
 ,miranda1 and ,autolycus beside        
,perdita2 but the vulgar idealist       
withdraws his beauty to the safety of   
the saloon1 and his innocence to the    
seclusion of the cloister2 he pretends  
that he does this in delicacy of choice 
and purity of sentiment1 while in truth 
he has neither courage to front the     
monster1 nor wit enough to furnish the  
knave4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ae4 ,evil     
second1--we lose the true quantity of   
beauty4  ,it is only by the habit of    
representing faithfully all things1 that
 we can truly learn what is beautiful   
and what is not4 ,the ugliest objects   

contain some element of beauty2 and in  
all1 it is an element peculiar to       
themselves1 which cannot be separated   
from their ugliness1 but must either be 
enjoyed together with it1 or not at all4
 ,the more a painter accepts nature as  
he finds it1 the more unexpected beauty 
he discovers in what he at first        
despised2 but once let him arrogate the 
right of rejection1 and he will         
gradually contract his circle of        
enjoyment1 until what he supposed to be 
nobleness of selection ends in          
narrowness of perception4 ,dwelling     
perpetually upon one class of ideas1 his
 art becomes at once monstrous and      
morbid2 until at last he cannot         
faithfully represent even what he       
chooses to retain2 his discrimination   
contracts into darkness1 and his        
fastidiousness fades into fatuity4      
,high art1 therefore1 consists neither  
in altering1 nor in improving nature2   
but in seeking throughout nature for    
whatsoever things are lovely1 and       

whatsoever things are pure2 in loving   
these1 in displaying to the utmost of   
the painter's power such loveliness as  
is in them1 and directing the thoughts  
of others to them by winning art1 or    
gentle emphasis4 ,of the degree in which
 this can be done1 and in which it may  
be permitted to gather together1 without
 falsifying1 the finest forms or        
thoughts1 so as to create a sort of     
perfect vision1 we shall have to speak  
hereafter3 at present1 it is enough to  
remember that art 7caeteris paribus7 is 
great in exact proportion to the love of
 beauty shown by the painter1 provided  
that love of beauty forfeit no atom of  
truth4  ,sec4 #af4 ,,iii4               
,,sincerity4--,the next#g characteristic
 of great art is that it includes the   
largest possible quantity of ,truth in  
the most perfect possible harmony4 ,if  
it were possible for art to give all the
 truths of nature1 it ought to do it4   
,but this is not possible4 ,choice must 
always be made of some facts which can  

be represented1 from among others which 
must be passed by in silence1 or even1  
in some respects1 misrepresented4 ,the  
inferior artist chooses unimportant and 
scattered truths2 the great artist      
chooses the most necessary first1 and   
afterwards the most consistent with     
these1 so as to obtain the greatest     
possible and most harmonious sum4 ,for  
instance1 ,rembrandt always chooses to  
represent the exact force with which the
 light on the most illumined part of an 
object is opposed to its obscurer       
portions4 ,in order to obtain this1 in  
most cases1 not very important truth1 he
 sacrifices the light and color of five 
sixths of his picture2 and the          
expression of every character of objects
 which depends on tenderness of shape or
 tint4 ,but he obtains his single truth1
 and what picturesque and forcible      
expression is dependent upon it1 with   
magnificent skill and subtlety4         
,veronese1 on the contrary1 chooses to  
represent the great relations of visible

 things to each other1 to the heaven    
above1 and to the earth beneath them4   
,he holds it more important to show how 
a figure stands relieved from delicate  
air1 or marble wall2 how as a red1 or   
purple1 or white figure1 it separates   
itself1 in clear discernibility1 from   
things not red1 nor purple1 nor white2  
how infinite daylight shines round it2  
how innumerable veils of faint shadow   
invest it2 how its blackness and        
darkness are1 in the excess of their    
nature1 just as limited and local as its
 intensity of light3 all this1 ,i say1  
he feels to be more important than      
showing merely the exact measure of the 
spark of sunshine that gleams on a      
dagger-hilt1 or glows on a jewel4 ,all  
this1 moreover1 he feels to be          
harmonious1--capable of being joined in 
one great system of spacious truth4 ,and
 with inevitable watchfulness1          
inestimable subtlety1 he unites all this
 in tenderest balance1 noting in each   
hair's-breadth of color1 not merely what

 its rightness or wrongness is in       
itself1 but what its relation is to     
every other on his canvas2 restraining1 
for truth's sake1 his exhaustless       
energy1 reining back1 for truth's sake1 
his fiery strength2 veiling1 before     
truth1 the vanity of brightness2        
penetrating1 for truth1 the             
discouragement of gloom2 ruling his     
restless invention with a rod of iron2  
pardoning no error1 no thoughtlessness1 
no forgetfulness2 and subduing all his  
powers1 impulses1 and imaginations1 to  
the arbitrament of a merciless justice1 
and the obedience of an incorruptible   
verity4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ag4          
,corollary #ast3 great art is generally 
distinct4  ,i give this instance with   
respect to color and shade2 but1 in the 
whole field of art1 the difference      
between the great and inferior artists  
is of the same kind1 and may be         
determined at once by the question1     
which of them conveys the largest sum of
 truth8 ,it follows from this principle1

 that in general all great drawing is   
distinct drawing2 for truths which are  
rendered indistinctly might1 for the    
most part1 as well not be rendered at   
all4 ,there are1 indeed1 certain facts  
of mystery1 and facts of indistinctness1
 in all objects1 which must have their  
proper place in the general harmony1 and
 the reader will presently find me1 when
 we come to that part of our            
investigation1 telling him that all good
 drawing must in some sort be           
indistinct4 ,we may1 however1 understand
 this apparent contradiction1 by        
reflecting that the highest knowledge   
always involves a more advanced         
perception of the fields of the unknown2
 and1 therefore1 it may most truly be   
said1 that to know anything well        
involves a profound sensation of        
ignorance1 while yet it is equally true 
that good and noble knowledge is        
distinguished from vain and useless     
knowledge chiefly by its clearness and  
distinctness1 and by the vigorous       

consciousness of what is known and what 
is not4  ,so in art4 ,the best drawing  
involves a wonderful perception and     
expression of indistinctness2 and yet   
all noble drawing is separated from the 
ignoble by its distinctness1 by its fine
 expression and firm assertion of       
,something2 whereas the bad drawing1    
without either firmness or fineness1    
expresses and asserts ,nothing4 ,the    
first thing1 therefore1 to be looked for
 as a sign of noble art1 is a clear     
consciousness of what is drawn and what 
is not2 the bold statement1 and frank   
confession--,this ,i know1 that ,i know 
not2 and1 generally speaking1 all haste1
 slurring1 obscurity1 indecision1 are   
signs of low art1 and all calmness1     
distinctness1 luminousness1 and         
positiveness1 of high art4  ,sidenote3  
,sec4 #ah4 ,corollary #b;d3 ,great art  
is generally large in masses and in     
scale4  ,it follows1 secondly1 from this
 principle1 that as the great painter is
 always attending to the sum and harmony

 of his truths rather than to one or the
 other of any group1 a quality of ,grasp
 is visible in his work1 like the power 
of a great reasoner over his subject1 or
 a great poet over his conception1      
manifesting itself very often in missing
 out certain details or less truths     
7which1 though good in themselves1 he   
finds are in the way of others71 and in 
a sweeping manner of getting the        
beginnings and ends of things shown at  
once1 and the squares and depths rather 
than the surfaces3 hence1 on the whole1 
a habit of looking at large masses      
rather than small ones2 and even a      
physical largeness of handling1 and love
 of working1 if possible1 on a large    
scale2 and various other qualities1 more
 or less imperfectly expressed by such  
technical terms as breadth1 massing1    
unity1 boldness1 c41 all of which are1  
indeed1 great qualities when they mean  
breadth of truth1 weight of truth1 unity
 of truth1 and courageous assertion of  
truth2 but which have all their         

correlative errors and mockeries1 almost
 universally mistaken for them1--the    
breadth which has no contents1 the      
weight which has no value1 the unity    
which plots deception1 and the boldness 
which faces out fallacy4  ,sec4 #ai4    
,and it is to be noted especially       
respecting largeness of scale1 that     
though for the most part it is          
characteristic of the more powerful     
masters1 they having both more invention
 wherewith to fill space 7as            
,ghirlandajo wished that he might paint 
all the walls of ,florence71 and1 often1
 an impetuosity of mind which makes them
 like free play for hand and arm        
7besides that they usually desire to    
paint everything in the foreground of   
their picture of the natural size71 yet1
 as this largeness of scale involves the
 placing of the picture at a            
considerable distance from the eye1 and 
this distance involves the loss of many 
delicate details1 and especially of the 
subtle lines of expression in features1 

it follows that the masters of refined  
detail and human expression are apt to  
prefer a small scale to work upon2 so   
that the chief masterpieces of          
expression which the world possesses are
 small pictures by ,angelico1 in which  
the figures are rarely more than six or 
seven inches high2 in the best works of 
,raphael and ,leonardo the figures are  
almost always less than life1 and the   
best works of ,turner do not exceed the 
size of #ah inches by #ab4  ,sidenote3  
,sec4 #bj4 ,corollary #c;d3 ,great art  
is always delicate4  ,as its greatness  
depends on the sum of truth1 and this   
sum of truth can always be increased by 
delicacy of handling1 it follows that   
all great art must have this delicacy to
 the utmost possible degree4 ,this rule 
is infallible and inflexible4 ,all      
coarse work is the sign of low art4     
,only1 it is to be remembered1 that     
coarseness must be estimated by the     
distance from the eye2 it being         
necessary to consult this distance1 when

 great1 by laying on touches which      
appear coarse when seen near2 but which1
 so far from being coarse1 are1 in      
reality1 more delicate in a master's    
work than the finest close handling1 for
 they involve a calculation of result1  
and are laid on with a subtlety of sense
 precisely correspondent to that with   
which a good archer draws his bow2 the  
spectator seeing in the action nothing  
but the strain of the strong arm1 while 
there is1 in reality1 in the finger and 
eye1 an ineffably delicate estimate of  
distance1 and touch on the arrow plume4 
,and1 indeed1 this delicacy is generally
 quite perceptible to those who know    
what the truth is1 for strokes by       
,tintoret or ,paul ,veronese1 which were
 done in an instant1 and look to an     
ignorant spectator merely like a violent
 dash of loaded color1 7and are1 as     
such1 imitated by blundering artists17  
are1 in fact1 modulated by the brush and
 finger to that degree of delicacy that 
no single grain of the color could be   

taken from the touch without injury2 and
 little golden particles of it1 not the 
size of a gnat's head1 have important   
share and function in the balances of   
light in a picture perhaps fifty feet   
long4 ,nearly every other rule          
applicable to art has some exception but
 this4 ,this has absolutely none4 ,all  
great art is delicate art1 and all      
coarse art is bad art4 ,nay1 even to a  
certain extent1 all bold art is bad art2
 for boldness is not the proper word to 
apply to the courage and swiftness of a 
great master1 based on knowledge1 and   
coupled with fear and love4 ,there is as
 much difference between the boldness of
 the true and the false masters1 as     
there is between the courage of a pure  
woman and the shamelessness of a lost   
one4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,,iv4                  
,,invention4--,the last characteristic  
of great art is that it must be         
inventive1 that is1 be produced by the  
imagination4 ,in this respect1 it must  
precisely fulfil the definition already 

given of poetry2 and not only present   
grounds for noble emotion1 but furnish  
these grounds by imaginative power4     
,hence there is at once a great bar     
fixed between the two schools of ,lower 
and ,higher ,art4 ,the lower merely     
copies what is set before it1 whether in
 portrait1 landscape1 or still-life2 the
 higher either entirely imagines its    
subject1 or arranges the materials      
presented to it1 so as to manifest the  
imaginative power in all the three      
phases which have been already explained
 in the second volume4  ,and this was   
the truth which was confusedly present  
in ,reynolds's mind when he spoke1 as   
above quoted1 of the difference between 
,historical and ,poetical ,painting4    
,every relation of the plain facts which
 the painter saw is proper historical   
painting4#h ,if those facts are         
unimportant 7as that he saw a gambler   
quarrel with another gambler1 or a sot  
enjoying himself with another sot71 then
 the history is trivial2 if the facts   

are important 7as that he saw such and  
such a great man look thus1 or act thus1
 at such a time71 then the history is   
noble3 in each case perfect truth of    
narrative being supposed1 otherwise the 
whole thing is worthless1 being neither 
history nor poetry1 but plain falsehood4
 ,and farther1 as greater or less       
elegance and precision are manifested in
 the relation or painting of the        
incidents1 the merit of the work varies2
 so that1 what with difference of       
subject1 and what with difference of    
treatment1 historical painting falls or 
rises in changeful eminence1 from ,dutch
 trivialities to a ,velasquez portrait1 
just as historical talking or writing   
varies in eminence1 from an old woman's 
story-telling up to ,herodotus4 ,besides
 which1 certain operations of the       
imagination come into play inevitably1  
here and there1 so as to touch the      
history with some light of poetry1 that 
is1 with some light shot forth of the   
narrator's mind1 or brought out by the  

way he has put the accidents together2  
and wherever the imagination has thus   
had anything to do with the matter at   
all 7and it must be somewhat cold work  
where it has not71 then1 the confines of
 the lower and higher schools touching  
each other1 the work is colored by both2
 but there is no reason why1 therefore1 
we should in the least confuse the      
historical and poetical characters1 any 
more than that we should confuse blue   
with crimson1 because they may overlap  
each other1 and produce purple4  ,sec4  
#bb4 ,now1 historical or simply         
narrative art is very precious in its   
proper place and way1 but it is never   
great art until the poetical or         
imaginative power touches it2 and in    
proportion to the stronger manifestation
 of this power1 it becomes greater and  
greater1 while the highest art is purely
 imaginative1 all its materials being   
wrought into their form by invention2   
and it differs1 therefore1 from the     
simple historical painting1 exactly as  

,wordsworth's stanza1 above quoted1     
differs from ,saussure's plain narrative
 of the parallel fact2 and the          
imaginative painter differs from the    
historical painter in the manner that   
,wordsworth differs from ,saussure4     
,sec4 #bc4 ,farther1 imaginative art    
always includes historical art2 so that1
 strictly speaking1 according to the    
analogy above used1 we meet with the    
pure blue1 and with the crimson ruling  
the blue and changing it into kingly    
purple1 but not with the pure crimson3  
for all imagination must deal with the  
knowledge it has before accumulated2 it 
never produces anything but by          
combination or contemplation4 ,creation1
 in the full sense1 is impossible to it4
 ,and the mode in which the historical  
faculties are included by it is often   
quite simple1 and easily seen4 ,thus1 in
 ,hunt's great poetical picture of the  
,light of the ,world1 the whole thought 
and arrangement of the picture being    
imaginative1 the several details of it  

are wrought out with simple portraiture2
 the ivy1 the jewels1 the creeping      
plants1 and the moonlight being calmly  
studied or remembered from the things   
themselves4 ,but of all these special   
ways in which the invention works with  
plain facts1 we shall have to treat     
farther afterwards4  ,sec4 #bd4 ,and    
now1 finally1 since this poetical power 
includes the historical1 if we glance   
back to the other qualities required in 
great art1 and put all together1 we find
 that the sum of them is simply the sum 
of all the powers of man4 ,for as 7#a7  
the choice of the high subject involves 
all conditions of right moral choice1   
and as 7#b7 the love of beauty involves 
all conditions of right admiration1 and 
as 7#c7 the grasp of truth involves all 
strength of sense1 evenness of judgment1
 and honesty of purpose1 and as 7#d7 the
 poetical power involves all swiftness  
of invention1 and accuracy of historical
 memory1 the sum of all these powers is 
the sum of the human soul4 ,hence we see

 why the word ,great is used of this    
art4 ,it is literally great4 ,it        
compasses and calls forth the entire    
human spirit1 whereas any other kind of 
art1 being more or less small or narrow1
 compasses and calls forth only part of 
the human spirit4 ,hence the idea of its
 magnitude is a literal and just one1   
the art being simply less or greater in 
proportion to the number of faculties it
 exercises and addresses4#i ,and this is
 the ultimate meaning of the definition 
,i gave of it long ago1 as containing   
the greatest number of the greatest     
ideas4  ,sec4 #be4 ,such1 then1 being   
the characters required in order to     
constitute high art1 if the reader will 
think over them a little1 and over the  
various ways in which they may be       
falsely assumed1 he will easily perceive
 how spacious and dangerous a field of  
discussion they open to the ambitious   
critic1 and of error to the ambitious   
artist2 he will see how difficult it    
must be1 either to distinguish what is  

truly great art from the mockeries of   
it1 or to rank the real artists in any  
thing like a progressive system of      
greater and less4 ,for it will have been
 observed that the various qualities    
which form greatness are partly         
inconsistent with each other 7as some   
virtues are1 docility and firmness for  
instance71 and partly independent of    
each other2 and the fact is1 that       
artists differ not more by mere         
capacity1 than by the component elements
 of their capacity1 each possessing in  
very different proportions the several  
attributes of greatness2 so that1       
classed by one kind of merit1 as1 for   
instance1 purity of expression1         
,angelico will stand highest2 classed by
 another1 sincerity of manner1 ,veronese
 will stand highest2 classed by another1
 love of beauty1 ,leonardo will stand   
highest2 and so on2 hence arise         
continual disputes and misunderstandings
 among those who think that high art    
must always be one and the same1 and    

that great artists ought to unite all   
great attributes in an equal degree4    
,sec4 #bf4 ,in one of the exquisitely   
finished tales of ,marmontel1 a company 
of critics are received at dinner by the
 hero of the story1 an old gentleman1   
somewhat vain of his acquired taste1 and
 his niece1 by whose incorrigible       
natural taste1 he is seriously disturbed
 and tormented4 ,during the             
entertainment1 ,on parcourut tous les   
genres de litterature1 et pour donner   
plus d'essor a l'erudition et a la      
critique1 on mit sur le tapis cette     
question toute neuve1 scavoir1 lequel   
meritoit le preference de ,corneille ou 
de ,racine4 ,l'on disoit meme la-dessus 
les plus belles choses du monde1 lorsque
 la petite niece1 qui n'avoit pas dit un
 mot1 s'avisa de demander naivement     
lequel des deux fruits1 de l'orange ou  
de la peche1 avoit le gout les plus     
exquis et meritoit le plus d'eloges4    
,son oncle rougit de sa simplicite1 et  
les convives baisserent tous les yeux   

sans daigner repondre a cette betise4   
,ma niece1 dit ,fintac1 a votre age1 il 
faut scavoir ecouter1 et se taire4  ,i  
cannot close this chapter with shorter  
or better advice to the reader1 than    
merely1 whenever he hears discussions   
about the relative merits of great      
masters1 to remember the young lady's   
question4 ,it is1 indeed1 true that     
there is a relative merit1 that a peach 
is nobler than a hawthorn berry1 and    
still more a hawthorn berry than a bead 
of the nightshade2 but in each rank of  
fruits1 as in each rank of masters1 one 
is endowed with one virtue1 and another 
with another2 their glory is their      
dissimilarity1 and they who propose to  
themselves in the training of an artist 
that he should unite the coloring of    
,tintoret1 the finish of ,albert ,durer1
 and the tenderness of ,correggio1 are  
no wiser than a horticulturist would be1
 who made it the object of his labor to 
produce a fruit which should unite in   
itself the lusciousness of the grape1   

the crispness of the nut1 and the       
fragrance of the pine4  ,sec4 #bg4 ,and 
from these considerations one most      
important practical corollary is to be  
deduced1 with the good help of          
,mademoiselle's ,agathe's simile1       
namely1 that the greatness or smallness 
of a man is1 in the most conclusive     
sense1 determined for him at his birth1 
as strictly as it is determined for a   
fruit whether it is to be a currant or  
an apricot4 ,education1 favorable       
circumstances1 resolution1 and industry 
can do much2 in a certain sense they do 
everything2 that is to say1 they        
determine whether the poor apricot shall
 fall in the form of a green bead1      
blighted by an east wind1 shall be      
trodden under foot1 or whether it shall 
expand into tender pride1 and sweet     
brightness of golden velvet4 ,but       
apricot out of currant1--great man out  
of small1--did never yet art or effort  
make2 and1 in a general way1 men have   
their excellence nearly fixed for them  

when they are born2 a little cramped and
 frost-bitten on one side1 a little     
sun-burnt and fortune-spotted on the    
other1 they reach1 between good and evil
 chances1 such size and taste as        
generally belong to the men of their    
calibre1 and the small in their         
serviceable bunches1 the great in their 
golden isolation1 have1 these no cause  
for regret1 nor those for disdain4      
,sec4 #bh4 ,therefore it is1 that every 
system of teaching is false which holds 
forth great art as in any wise to be    
taught to students1 or even to be aimed 
at by them4 ,great art is precisely that
 which never was1 nor will be taught1 it
 is preeminently and finally the        
expression of the spirits of great men2 
so that the only wholesome teaching is  
that which simply endeavors to fix those
 characters of nobleness in the pupil's 
mind1 of which it seems easily          
susceptible2 and without holding out to 
him1 as a possible or even probable     
result1 that he should ever paint like  

,titian1 or carve like ,michael ,angelo1
 enforces upon him the manifest         
possibility1 and assured duty1 of       
endeavoring to draw in a manner at least
 honest and intelligible2 and cultivates
 in him those general charities of      
heart1 sincerities of thought1 and      
graces of habit which are likely to lead
 him1 throughout life1 to prefer        
openness to affectation1 realities to   
shadows1 and beauty to corruption4    #e
 ,del no1 per li danar1 vi si far ita4  
#f ,as here1 for the first time1 ,i am  
obliged to use the terms       ,truth   
and ,beauty in a kind of opposition1 ,i 
must therefore       stop for a moment  
to state clearly the relation of these  
two       qualities of art2 and to      
protest against the vulgar and          
foolish habit of confusing truth and    
beauty with each other4       ,people   
with shallow powers of thought1 desiring
 to flatter       themselves with the   
sensation of having attained profundity1
       are continually doing the most   

serious mischief by introducing         
confusion into plain matters1 and then  
valuing themselves on       being       
confounded4 ,nothing is more common than
 to hear people       who desire to be  
thought philosophical1 declare that     
beauty       is truth1 and truth is     
beauty4 ,i would most earnestly beg     
every sensible person who hears such an 
assertion made1 to nip       the        
germinating philosopher in his ambiguous
 bud2 and beg him1       if he really   
believes his own assertion1 never       
thenceforward       to use two words for
 the same thing4 ,the fact is1 truth and
       beauty are entirely distinct1    
though often related1 things4       ,one
 is a property of statements1 the other 
of objects4 ,the       statement that   
two and two make four is true1 but it is
       neither beautiful nor ugly1 for  
it is invisible2 a rose is       lovely1
 but it is neither true nor false1 for  
it is silent4       ,that which shows   
nothing cannot be fair1 and that which  

asserts nothing cannot be false4 ,even  
the ordinary use of the       words     
false and true as applied to artificial 
and real things1       is inaccurate4   
,an artificial rose is not a false rose1
 it is       not a rose at all4 ,the    
falseness is in the person who states1  
or induces the belief1 that it is a     
rose4        ,now1 therefore1 in things 
concerning art1 the words true and      
false are only to be rightly used while 
the picture is       considered as a    
statement of facts4 ,the painter asserts
 that       this which he has painted is
 the form of a dog1 a man1 or a         
tree4 ,if it be not the form of a dog1 a
 man1 or a tree1 the       painter's    
statement is false2 and therefore we    
justly speak of       a false line1 or  
false color2 not that any line or color 
can       in themselves be false1 but   
they become so when they convey a       
statement that they resemble something  
which they do not       resemble4 ,but  
the beauty of the lines or colors is    

wholly       independent of any such    
statement4 ,they may be beautiful       
lines1 though quite inaccurate1 and ugly
 lines though quite       faithful4 ,a  
picture may be frightfully ugly1 which  
represents       with fidelity some base
 circumstance of daily life2 and a      
painted window may be exquisitely       
beautiful1 which represents       men   
with eagles' faces1 and dogs with blue  
heads and crimson       tails 7though1  
by the way1 this is not in the strict   
sense       false art1 as we shall see  
hereafter1 inasmuch as it means       no
 assertion that men ever had eagles'    
faces74 ,if this were       not so1 it  
would be impossible to sacrifice truth  
to beauty2       for to attain the one  
would always be to attain the other4    
,but1 unfortunately1 this sacrifice is  
exceedingly possible1       and it is   
chiefly this which characterizes the    
false schools       of high art1 so far 
as high art consists in the pursuit of  
beauty4 ,for although truth and beauty  

are independent of each       other1 it 
does not follow that we are at liberty  
to pursue       whichever we please4    
,they are indeed separable1 but it is   
wrong to separate them2 they are to be  
sought together in the       order of   
their worthiness2 that is to say1 truth 
first1 and       beauty afterwards4     
,high art differs from low art in       
possessing       an excess of beauty in 
addition to its truth1 not in           
possessing an excess of beauty          
inconsistent with truth4    #g ,i name  
them in order of increasing not         
decreasing       importance4    #h      
,compare my ,edinburgh ,lectures1       
lecture iv4 p4 #bah1 et seq4       7#bnd
 edition7    #i ,compare ,stones of     
,venice1 vol4 iii4 chap4 iv4 ,sec4 #g1  
and ,sec4 #ba4     ,,chapter ,,iv4  ,,of
 ,,the ,,false ,,ideal3--,,first1       
,,religious4   ,sec4 #a4 ,having now    
gained some general notion of the       
meaning of great art1 we may1 without   
risk of confusing ourselves1 take up the

 questions suggested incidentally in the
 preceding chapter1 and pursue them at  
leisure4 ,of these1 two principal ones  
are closely connected with each other1  
to wit1 that put in the #abth           
paragraph--,how may beauty be sought in 
defiance of truth8 and that in the #bcrd
 paragraph--,how does the imagination   
show itself in dealing with truth8      
,these two1 therefore1 which are1       
besides1 the most important of all1 and1
 if well answered1 will answer many     
others inclusively1 we shall find it    
most convenient to deal with at once4   
,sec4 #b4 ,the pursuit1 by the          
imagination1 of beautiful and strange   
thoughts or subjects1 to the exclusion  
of painful or common ones1 is called    
among us1 in these modern days1 the     
pursuit of the ideal2 nor does any      
subject deserve more attentive          
examination than the manner in which    
this pursuit is entered upon by the     
modern mind4 ,the reader must pardon me 
for making in the outset one or two     

statements which may appear to him      
somewhat wide of the matter1 but which1 
7if he admits their truth17 he will1 ,i 
think1 presently perceive to reach to   
the root of it4 ,namely1  ,that men's   
proper business in this world falls     
mainly into three divisions3  ,first1 to
 know themselves1 and the existing state
 of the things they have to do with4    
,secondly1 to be happy in themselves1   
and in the existing state of things4    
,thirdly1 to mend themselves1 and the   
existing state of things1 as far as     
either are marred or mendable4  ,these1 
,i say1 are the three plain divisions of
 proper human business on this earth4   
,for these three1 the following are     
usually substituted and adopted by human
 creatures3  ,first1 to be totally      
ignorant of themselves1 and the existing
 state of things4  ,secondly1 to be     
miserable in themselves1 and in the     
existing state of things4  ,thirdly1 to 
let themselves1 and the existing state  
of things1 alone 7at least in the way of

 correction74  ,sec4 #c4 ,the           
dispositions which induce us to manage1 
thus wisely1 the affairs of this life   
seem to be3  ,first1 a fear of          
disagreeable facts1 and conscious       
shrinking from clearness of light1 which
 keep us from examining ourselves1 and  
increase gradually into a species of    
instinctive terror at all truth1 and    
love of glosses1 veils1 and decorative  
lies of every sort4  ,secondly1 a       
general readiness to take delight in    
anything past1 future1 far off1 or      
somewhere else1 rather than in things   
now1 near1 and here2 leading us         
gradually to place our pleasure         
principally in the exercise of the      
imagination1 and to build all our       
satisfaction on things as they are not4 
,which power being one not accorded to  
the lower animals1 and having indeed1   
when disciplined1 a very noble use1 we  
pride ourselves upon it1 whether        
disciplined or not1 and pass our lives  
complacently1 in substantial discontent1

 and visionary satisfaction4  ,sec4 #d4 
,now nearly all artistical and poetical 
seeking after the ideal is only one     
branch of this base habit--the abuse of 
the imagination1 in allowing it to find 
its whole delight in the impossible and 
untrue2 while the faithful pursuit of   
the ideal is an honest use of the       
imagination1 giving full power and      
presence to the possible and true4  ,it 
is the difference between these two uses
 of it which we have to examine4  ,sec4 
#e4 ,and1 first1 consider what are the  
legitimate uses of the imagination1 that
 is to say1 of the power of perceiving1 
or conceiving with the mind1 things     
which cannot be perceived by the senses4
  ,its first and noblest use is1 to     
enable us to bring sensibly to our sight
 the things which are recorded as       
belonging to our future state1 or as    
invisibly surrounding us in this4 ,it is
 given us1 that we may imagine the cloud
 of witnesses in heaven and earth1 and  
see1 as if they were now present1 the   

souls of the righteous waiting for us2  
that we may conceive the great army of  
the inhabitants of heaven1 and discover 
among them those whom we most desire to 
be with for ever2 that we may be able to
 vision forth the ministry of angels    
beside us1 and see the chariots of fire 
on the mountains that gird us round2 but
 above all1 to call up the scenes and   
facts in which we are commanded to      
believe1 and be present1 as if in the   
body1 at every recorded event of the    
history of the ,redeemer4 ,its second   
and ordinary use is to empower us to    
traverse the scenes of all other        
history1 and force the facts to become  
again visible1 so as to make upon us the
 same impression which they would have  
made if we had witnessed them2 and in   
the minor necessities of life1 to enable
 us1 out of any present good1 to gather 
the utmost measure of enjoyment by      
investing it with happy associations1   
and1 in any present evil1 to lighten it1
 by summoning back the images of other  

hours2 and1 also1 to give to all mental 
truths some visible type in allegory1   
simile1 or personification1 which shall 
more deeply enforce them2 and1 finally1 
when the mind is utterly outwearied1 to 
refresh it with such innocent play as   
shall be most in harmony with the       
suggestive voices of natural things1    
permitting it to possess living         
companionship instead of silent beauty1 
and create for itself fairies in the    
grass and naiads in the wave4  ,sec4 #f4
 ,these being the uses of imagination1  
its abuses are either in creating1 for  
mere pleasure1 false images1 where it is
 its duty to create true ones2 or in    
turning what was intended for the mere  
refreshment of the heart into its daily 
food1 and changing the innocent pastimes
 of an hour into the guilty occupation  
of a life4  ,let us examine the         
principal forms of this misuse1 one by  
one4  ,sec4 #g4 ,first1 then1 the       
imagination is chiefly warped and       
dishonored by being allowed to create   

false images1 where it is its duty to   
create true ones4 ,and this most        
dangerously in matters of religion4 ,for
 a long time1 when art was in its       
infancy1 it remained unexposed to this  
danger1 because it could not1 with any  
power1 realize or create any thing4 ,it 
consisted merely in simple outlines and 
pleasant colors2 which were understood  
to be nothing more than signs of the    
thing thought of1 a sort of pictorial   
letter for it1 no more pretending to    
represent it than the written characters
 of its name4 ,such art excited the     
imagination1 while it pleased the eye4  
,but it asserted nothing1 for it could  
realize nothing4 ,the reader glanced at 
it as a glittering symbol1 and went on  
to form truer images for himself4 ,this 
act of the mind may be still seen in    
daily operation in children1 as they    
look at brightly colored pictures in    
their story-books4 ,such pictures       
neither deceive them nor satisfy them2  
they only set their own inventive powers

 to work in the directions required4    
,sec4 #h4 ,but as soon as art obtained  
the power of realization1 it obtained   
also that of assertion4 ,as fast as the 
painter advanced in skill he gained also
 in credibility1 and that which he      
perfectly represented was perfectly     
believed1 or could be disbelieved only  
by an actual effort of the beholder to  
escape from the fascinating deception4  
,what had been faintly declared1 might  
be painlessly denied2 but it was        
difficult to discredit things forcibly  
alleged2 and representations1 which had 
been innocent in discrepancy1 became    
guilty in consistency4  ,sec4 #i4 ,for  
instance1 when in the thirteenth        
century1 the nativity was habitually    
represented by such a symbol as that on 
the next page1 fig4 #a1 there was not   
the smallest possibility that such a    
picture could disturb1 in the mind of   
the reader of the ,new ,testament1 the  
simple meaning of the words wrapped him 
in swaddling clothes1 and laid him in a 

manger4 ,that this manger was typified  
by a trefoiled arch#aj would no more    
prevent his distinct understanding of   
the narrative1 than the grotesque heads 
introduced above it would interfere with
 his firm comprehension of the words ox 
or ass2 while if there were anything in 
the action of the principal figures     
suggestive of real feeling1 that        
suggestion he would accept1 together    
with the general pleasantness of the    
lines and colors in the decorative      
letter2 but without having his faith in 
the unrepresented and actual scene      
obscured for a moment4 ,but it was far  
otherwise1 when ,francia or ,perugino1  
with exquisite power of representing the
 human form1 and high knowledge of the  
mysteries of art1 devoted all their     
skill to the delineation of an          
impossible scene2 and painted1 for their
 subjects of the ,nativity1 a beautiful 
and queenly lady1 her dress embroidered 
with gold1 and with a crown of jewels   
upon her hair1 kneeling1 on a floor of  

inlaid and precious marble1 before a    
crowned child1 laid under a portico of  
,lombardic#aa architecture2 with a      
sweet1 verdurous1 and vivid landscape in
 the distance1 full of winding rivers1  
village spires1 and baronial towers4#ab 
,it is quite true that the frank        
absurdity of the thought prevented its  
being received as a deliberate          
contradiction of the truths of          
,scripture2 but it is no less certain1  
that the continual presentment to the   
mind of this beautiful and fully        
realized imagery more and more chilled  
its power of apprehending the real      
truth2 and that when pictures of this   
description met the eye in every corner 
of every chapel1 it was physically      
impossible to dwell distinctly upon     
facts the direct reverse of those       
represented4 ,the word ,virgin or       
,madonna1 instead of calling up the     
vision of a simple ,jewish girl1 bearing
 the calamities of poverty1 and the     
dishonors of inferior station1 summoned 

instantly the idea of a graceful        
princess1 crowned with gems1 and        
surrounded by obsequious ministry of    
kings and saints4 ,the fallacy which was
 presented to the imagination was indeed
 discredited1 but also the fact which   
was not presented to the imagination was
 forgotten2 all true grounds of faith   
were gradually undermined1 and the      
beholder was either enticed into mere   
luxury of fanciful enjoyment1 believing 
nothing2 or left1 in his confusion of   
mind1 the prey of vain tales and        
traditions2 while in his best feelings  
he was unconsciously subject to the     
power of the fallacious picture1 and    
with no sense of the real cause of his  
error1 bowed himself1 in prayer or      
adoration1 to the lovely lady on her    
golden throne1 when he would never have 
dreamed of doing so to the ,jewish girl 
in her outcast poverty1 or1 in her      
simple household1 to the carpenter's    
wife4  ,illustration3 ,fig4 #a4  ,sec4  
#aj4 ,but a shadow of increasing        

darkness fell upon the human mind as art
 proceeded to still more perfect        
realization4 ,these fantasies of the    
earlier painters1 though they darkened  
faith1 never hardened feeling2 on the   
contrary1 the frankness of their        
unlikelihood proceeded mainly from the  
endeavor on the part of the painter to  
express1 not the actual fact1 but the   
enthusiastic state of his own feelings  
about the fact2 he covers the ,virgin's 
dress with gold1 not with any idea of   
representing the ,virgin as she ever    
was1 or ever will be seen1 but with a   
burning desire to show what his love and
 reverence would think fittest for her4 
,he erects for the stable a ,lombardic  
portico1 not because he supposes the    
,lombardi to have built stables in      
,palestine in the days of ,tiberius1 but
 to show that the manger in which       
,christ was laid is1 in his eyes1 nobler
 than the greatest architecture in the  
world4 ,he fills his landscape with     
church spires and silver streams1 not   

because he supposes that either were in 
sight of ,bethlehem1 but to remind the  
beholder of the peaceful course and     
succeeding power of ,christianity4 ,and1
 regarded with due sympathy and clear   
understanding of these thoughts of the  
artist1 such pictures remain most       
impressive and touching1 even to this   
day4 ,i shall refer to them in future1  
in general terms1 as the pictures of the
 ,angelican ,ideal--,angelico being the 
central master of the school4  ,sec4    
#aa4 ,it was far otherwise in the next  
step of the ,realistic progress4 ,the   
greater his powers became1 the more the 
mind of the painter was absorbed in     
their attainment1 and complacent in     
their display4 ,the early arts of laying
 on bright colors smoothly1 of          
burnishing golden ornaments1 or tracing1
 leaf by leaf1 the outlines of flowers1 
were not so difficult as that they      
should materially occupy the thoughts of
 the artist1 or furnish foundation for  
his conceit2 he learned these rudiments 

of his work without pain1 and employed  
them without pride1 his spirit being    
left free to express1 so far as it was  
capable of them1 the reaches of higher  
thought4 ,but when accurate shade1 and  
subtle color1 and perfect anatomy1 and  
complicated perspective1 became         
necessary to the work1 the artist's     
whole energy was employed in learning   
the laws of these1 and his whole        
pleasure consisted in exhibiting them4  
,his life was devoted1 not to the       
objects of art1 but to the cunning of   
it2 and the sciences of composition and 
light and shade were pursued as if there
 were abstract good in them2--as if1    
like astronomy or mathematics1 they were
 ends in themselves1 irrespective of    
anything to be effected by them4 ,and   
without perception1 on the part of any  
one1 of the abyss to which all were     
hastening1 a fatal change of aim took   
place throughout the whole world of art4
 ,in early times art was employed for   
the display of religious facts2 now1    

religious facts were employed for the   
display of art4 ,the transition1 though 
imperceptible1 was consummate2 it       
involved the entire destiny of painting4
 ,it was passing from the paths of life 
to the paths of death4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,and 
this change was all the more fatal1     
because at first veiled by an appearance
 of greater dignity and sincerity than  
were possessed by the older art4 ,one of
 the earliest results of the new        
knowledge was the putting away the      
greater part of the unlikelihoods and   
fineries of the ancient pictures1 and an
 apparently closer following of nature  
and probability4 ,all the fantasy which 
,i have just been blaming as disturbant 
of the simplicity of faith1 was first   
subdued1--then despised and cast aside4 
,the appearances of nature were more    
closely followed in everything2 and the 
crowned ,queen-,virgin of ,perugino sank
 into a simple ,italian mother in       
,raphael's ,madonna of the ,chair4      
,sec4 #ac4 ,was not this1 then1 a       

healthy change8 ,no4 ,it would have been
 healthy if it had been effected with a 
pure motive1 and the new truths would   
have been precious if they had been     
sought for truth's sake4 ,but they were 
not sought for truth's sake1 but for    
pride's2 and truth which is sought for  
display may be just as harmful as truth 
which is spoken in malice4 ,the         
glittering childishness of the old art  
was rejected1 not because it was false1 
but because it was easy2 and1 still     
more1 because the painter had no longer 
any religious passion to express4 ,he   
could think of the ,madonna now very    
calmly1 with no desire to pour out the  
treasures of earth at her feet1 or crown
 her brows with the golden shafts of    
heaven4 ,he could think of her as an    
available subject for the display of    
transparent shadows1 skilful tints1 and 
scientific foreshortenings1--as a fair  
woman1 forming1 if well painted1 a      
pleasant piece of furniture for the     
corner of a boudoir1 and best imagined  

by combination of the beauties of the   
prettiest contadinas4 ,he could think of
 her1 in her last maternal agony1 with  
academical discrimination2 sketch in    
first her skeleton1 invest her1 in      
serene science1 with the muscles of     
misery and the fibres of sorrow2 then   
cast the grace of antique drapery over  
the nakedness of her desolation1 and    
fulfil1 with studious lustre of tears   
and delicately painted pallor1 the      
perfect type of the ,mater ,dolorosa4   
,sec4 #ad4 ,it was thus that ,raphael   
thought of the ,madonna4#ac  ,now       
observe1 when the subject was thus      
scientifically completed1 it became     
necessary1 as we have just said1 to the 
full display of all the power of the    
artist1 that it should in many respects 
be more faithfully imagined than it had 
been hitherto1 ,keeping1 ,expression1   
,historical ,unity1 and such other      
requirements1 were enforced on the      
painter1 in the same tone1 and with the 
same purpose1 as the purity of his oil  

and the accuracy of his perspective4 ,he
 was told that the figure of ,christ    
should be dignified1 those of the       
,apostles expressive1 that of the       
,virgin modest1 and those of children   
innocent4 ,all this was perfectly true2 
and in obedience to such directions1 the
 painter proceeded to manufacture       
certain arrangements of apostolic       
sublimity1 virginal mildness1 and       
infantine innocence1 which1 being free  
from the quaint imperfection and        
contradictoriness of the early art1 were
 looked upon by the ,european public as 
true things1 and trustworthy            
representations of the events of        
religious history4 ,the pictures of     
,francia and ,bellini had been received 
as pleasant visions4 ,but the cartoons  
of ,raphael were received as            
representations of historical fact4     
,sec4 #ae4 ,now1 neither they1 nor any  
other work of the period1 were          
representations either of historical or 
possible fact4 ,they were1 in the       

strictest sense of the word1            
compositions--cold arrangements of      
propriety and agreeableness1 according  
to academical formulas2 the painter     
never in any case making the slightest  
effort to conceive the thing as it must 
have happened1 but only to gather       
together graceful lines and beautiful   
faces1 in such compliance with          
commonplace ideas of the subject as     
might obtain for the whole an epic      
unity1 or some such other form of       
scholastic perfectness4  ,sec4 #af4     
,take a very important instance4  ,i    
suppose there is no event in the whole  
life of ,christ to which1 in hours of   
doubt or fear1 men turn with more       
anxious thirst to knew the close facts  
of it1 or with more earnest and         
passionate dwelling upon every syllable 
of its recorded narrative1 than         
,christ's showing ,himself to his       
disciples at the lake of ,galilee4      
,there is something preeminently open1  
natural1 full fronting our disbelief in 

this manifestation4 ,the others1        
recorded after the resurrection1 were   
sudden1 phantom-like1 occurring to men  
in profound sorrow and wearied agitation
 of heart2 not1 it might seem1 safe     
judges of what they saw4 ,but the       
agitation was now over4 ,they had gone  
back to their daily work1 thinking still
 their business lay net-wards1 unmeshed 
from the literal rope and drag4 ,simon  
,peter saith unto them1 ',i go a        
fishing1' ,they say unto him1 ',we also 
go with thee1' ,true words enough1 and  
having far echo beyond those ,galilean  
hills4 ,that night they caught nothing2 
but when the morning came1 in the clear 
light of it1 behold a figure stood on   
the shore4 ,they were not thinking of   
anything but their fruitless hauls4     
,they had no guess who it was4 ,it asked
 them simply if they had caught         
anything4 ,they said no4 ,and it tells  
them to cast yet again4 ,and ,john      
shades his eyes from the morning sun    
with his hand1 to look who it is2 and   

though the glinting of the sea1 too1    
dazzles him1 he makes out who it is1 at 
last2 and poor ,simon1 not to be outrun 
this time1 tightens1 his fisher's coat  
about him1 and dashes in1 over the nets4
 ,one would have liked to see him swim  
those hundred yards1 and stagger to his 
knees on the beach4  ,well1 the others  
get to the beach1 too1 in time1 in such 
slow way as men in general do get1 in   
this world1 to its true shore1 much     
impeded by that wonderful dragging the  
net with fishes2 but they get           
there--seven of them in all2--first the 
,denier1 and then the slowest believer1 
and then the quickest believer1 and then
 the two throne-seekers1 and two more1  
we know not who4  ,they sit down on the 
shore face to face with ,him1 and eat   
their broiled fish as ,he bids4 ,and    
then1 to ,peter1 all dripping still1    
shivering1 and amazed1 staring at       
,christ in the sun1 on the other side of
 the coal fire1--thinking a little1     
perhaps1 of what happened by another    

coal fire1 when it was colder1 and      
having had no word once changed with him
 by his ,master since that look of      
,his1--to him1 so amazed1 comes the     
question1 ,simon1 lovest thou me8 ,try  
to feel that a little1 and think of it  
till it is true to you2 and then1 take  
up that infinite monstrosity and        
hypocrisy--,raphael's cartoon of the    
,charge to ,peter4 ,note1 first1 the    
bold fallacy--the putting all the       
,apostles there1 a mere lie to serve the
 ,papal heresy of the ,petric supremacy1
 by putting them all in the background  
while ,peter receives the charge1 and   
making them all witnesses to it4 ,note  
the handsomely curled hair and neatly   
tied sandals of the men who had been out
 all night in the sea-mists and on the  
slimy decks4 ,note their convenient     
dresses for going a-fishing1 with trains
 that lie a yard along the ground1 and  
goodly fringes1--all made to match1 an  
apostolic fishing costume4#ad ,note how 
,peter especially 7whose chief glory was

 in his wet coat girt about him and     
naked limbs7 is enveloped in folds and  
fringes1 so as to kneel and hold his    
keys with grace4 ,no fire of coals at   
all1 nor lonely mountain shore1 but a   
pleasant ,italian landscape1 full of    
villas and churches1 and a flock of     
sheep to be pointed at2 and the whole   
group of ,apostles1 not round ,christ1  
as they would have been naturally1 but  
straggling away in a line1 that they may
 all be shown4  ,the simple truth is1   
that the moment we look at the picture  
we feel our belief of the whole thing   
taken away4 ,there is1 visibly1 no      
possibility of that group ever having   
existed1 in any place1 or on any        
occasion4 ,it is all a mere mythic      
absurdity1 and faded concoction of      
fringes1 muscular arms1 and curly heads 
of ,greek philosophers4  ,sec4 #ag4     
,now1 the evil consequences of the      
acceptance of this kind of religious    
idealism for true1 were instant and     
manifold4 ,so far as it was received and

 trusted in by thoughtful persons1 it   
only served to chill all the conceptions
 of sacred history which they might     
otherwise have obtained4 ,whatever they 
could have fancied for themselves about 
the wild1 strange1 infinitely stern1    
infinitely tender1 infinitely varied    
veracities of the life of ,christ1 was  
blotted out by the vapid fineries of    
,raphael2 the rough ,galilean pilot1 the
 orderly custom receiver1 and all the   
questioning wonder and fire of          
uneducated apostleship1 were obscured   
under an antique mask of philosophical  
faces and long robes4 ,the feeble1      
subtle1 suffering1 ceaseless energy and 
humiliation of ,st4 ,paul were confused 
with an idea of a meditative ,hercules  
leaning on a sweeping sword2#ae and the 
mighty presences of ,moses and ,elias   
were softened by introductions of       
delicate grace1 adopted from dancing    
nymphs and rising ,auroras1#af  ,now1 no
 vigorously minded religious person     
could possibly receive pleasure or help 

from such art as this2 and the necessary
 result was the instant rejection of it 
by the healthy religion of the world4   
,raphael ministered1 with applause1 to  
the impious luxury of the ,vatican1 but 
was trampled under foot at once by every
 believing and advancing ,christian of  
his own and subsequent times2 and       
thenceforward pure ,christianity and    
high art took separate roads1 and fared 
on1 as best they might1 independently of
 each other4  ,sec4 #ah4 ,but although  
,calvin1 and ,knox1 and ,luther1 and    
their flocks1 with all the              
hardest-headed and truest-hearted       
faithful left in ,christendom1 thus     
spurned away the spurious art1 and all  
art with it1 7not without harm to       
themselves1 such as a man must needs    
sustain in cutting off a decayed        
limb#ag7 certain conditions of weaker   
,christianity suffered the false system 
to retain influence over them2 and to   
this day1 the clear and tasteless poison
 of the art of ,raphael infects with    

sleep of infidelity the hearts of       
millions of ,christians4 ,it is the     
first cause of all that pre-eminent     
dulness which characterizes what        
,protestants call sacred art2 a dulness 
not merely baneful in making religion   
distasteful to the young1 but in        
sickening1 as we have seen1 all vital   
belief of religion in the old4 ,a dim   
sense of impossibility attaches itself  
always to the graceful emptiness of the 
representation2 we feel instinctively   
that the painted ,christ and painted    
apostle are not beings that ever did or 
could exist2 and this fatal sense of    
fair fabulousness1 and well-composed    
impossibility1 steals gradually from the
 picture into the history1 until we find
 ourselves reading ,st4 ,mark or ,st4   
,luke with the same admiring1 but       
uninterested1 incredulity1 with which we
 contemplate ,raphael4  ,sec4 #ai4 ,on a
 certain class of minds1 however1 these 
,raphaelesque and other sacred paintings
 of high order1 have had1 of late years1

 another kind of influence1 much        
resembling that which they had at first 
on the most pious ,romanists4 ,they are 
used to excite certain conditions of    
religious dream or reverie2 being again1
 as in earliest times1 regarded not as  
representations of fact1 but as         
expressions of sentiment respecting the 
fact4 ,in this way the best of them have
 unquestionably much purifying and      
enchanting power2 and they are helpful  
opponents to sinful passion and weakness
 of every kind4 ,a fit of unjust anger1 
petty malice1 unreasonable vexation1 or 
dark passion1 cannot certainly1 in a    
mind of ordinary sensibility1 hold its  
own in the presence of a good engraving 
from any work of ,angelico1 ,memling1 or
 ,perugino4 ,but ,i nevertheless        
believe1 that he who trusts much to such
 helps will find them fail him at his   
need2 and that the dependence1 in any   
great degree1 on the presence or power  
of a picture1 indicates a wonderfully   
feeble sense of the presence and power  

of ,god4 ,i do not think that any man1  
who is thoroughly certain that ,christ  
is in the room1 will care what sort of  
pictures of ,christ he has on its walls2
 and1 in the plurality of cases1 the    
delight taken in art of this kind is1 in
 reality1 nothing more than a form of   
graceful indulgence of those            
sensibilities which the habits of a     
disciplined life restrain in other      
directions4 ,such art is1 in a word1 the
 opera and drama of the monk4 ,sometimes
 it is worse than this1 and the love of 
it is the mask under which a general    
thirst for morbid excitement will pass  
itself for religion4 ,the young lady who
 rises in the middle of the day1 jaded  
by her last night's ball1 and utterly   
incapable of any simple or wholesome    
religious exercise1 can still gaze into 
the dark eyes of the ,madonna di ,san   
,sisto1 or dream over the whiteness of  
an ivory crucifix1 and returns to the   
course of her daily life in full        
persuasion that her morning's           

feverishness has atoned for her         
evening's folly4 ,and all the while1 the
 art which possesses these very doubtful
 advantages is acting for undoubtful    
detriment1 in the various ways above    
examined1 on the inmost fastnesses of   
faith2 it is throwing subtle endearments
 round foolish traditions1 confusing    
sweet fancies with sound doctrines1     
obscuring real events with unlikely     
semblances1 and enforcing false         
assertions with pleasant                
circumstantiality1 until1 to the usual1 
and assuredly sufficient1 difficulties  
standing in the way of belief1 its      
votaries have added a habit of          
sentimentally changing what they know to
 be true1 and of dearly loving what they
 confess to be false4  ,sec4 #bj4 ,has  
there1 then 7the reader asks            
emphatically71 been no true religious   
ideal8 ,has religious art never been of 
any service to mankind8 ,i fear1 on the 
whole1 not4 ,of true religious ideal1   
representing events historically        

recorded1 with solemn effort at a       
sincere and unartificial conception1    
there exist1 as yet1 hardly any         
examples4 ,nearly all good religious    
pictures fall into one or other branch  
of the false ideal already examined1    
either into the ,angelican 7passionate  
ideal7 or the ,raphaelesque             
7philosophical ideal74 ,but there is one
 true form of religious art1            
nevertheless1 in the pictures of the    
passionate ideal which represent        
imaginary beings of another world4      
,since it is evidently right that we    
should try to imagine the glories of the
 next world1 and as this imagination    
must be1 in each separate mind1 more or 
less different1 and unconfined by any   
laws of material fact1 the passionate   
ideal has not only full scope here1 but 
it becomes our duty to urge its powers  
to its utmost1 so that every condition  
of beautiful form and color may be      
employed to invest these scenes with    
greater delightfulness 7the whole being1

 of course1 received as an assertion of 
possibility1 not of absolute fact74 ,all
 the paradises imagined by the religious
 painters--the choirs of glorified      
saints1 angels1 and spiritual powers1   
when painted with full belief in this   
possibility of their existence1 are true
 ideals2 and so far from our having     
dwelt on these too much1 ,i believe1    
rather1 we have not trusted them enough1
 nor accepted them enough1 as possible  
statements of most precious truth4      
,nothing but unmixed good can accrue to 
any mind from the contemplation of      
,orcagna's ,last ,judgment or his       
triumph of death1 of ,angelico's ,last  
,judgment and ,paradise1 or any of the  
scenes laid in heaven by the other      
faithful religious masters2 and the more
 they are considered1 not as works of   
art1 but as real visions of real things1
 more or less imperfectly set down1 the 
more good will be got by dwelling upon  
them4 ,the same is true of all          
representations of ,christ as a living  

presence among us now1 as in ,hunt's    
,light of the ,world4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,for  
the rest1 there is a reality of         
conception in some of the works of      
,benozzo ,gozzoli1 ,ghirlandajo1 and    
,giotto1 which approaches to a true     
ideal1 even of recorded facts4 ,but the 
examination of the various degrees in   
which sacred art has reached its proper 
power is not to our present purpose2    
still less1 to investigate the          
infinitely difficult question of its    
past operation on the ,christian mind4  
,i hope to prosecute my inquiry into    
this subject in another work2 it being  
enough here to mark the forms of ideal  
error1 without historically tracing     
their extent1 and to state generally    
that my impression is1 up to the present
 moment1 that the best religious art has
 been hitherto rather a fruit1 and      
attendant sign1 of sincere ,christianity
 than a promoter of or help to it4      
,more1 ,i think1 has always been done   
for ,god by few words than many         

pictures1 and more by few acts than many
 words4  ,sec4 #bb4 ,i must not1        
however1 quit the subject without       
insisting on the chief practical        
consequence of what we have observed1   
namely1 that sacred art1 so far from    
being exhausted1 has yet to attain the  
development of its highest branches2 and
 the task1 or privilege1 yet remains for
 mankind1 to produce an art which shall 
be at once entirely skilful and entirely
 sincere4 ,all the histories of the     
,bible are1 in my judgment1 yet waiting 
to be painted4 ,moses has never been    
painted2 ,elijah never2 ,david never    
7except as a mere ruddy stripling72     
,deborah never2 ,gideon never2 ,isaiah  
never4 ,what single example does the    
reader remember of painting which       
suggested so much as the faintest shadow
 of these people1 or of their deeds8    
,strong men in armor1 or aged men with  
flowing beards1 he may remember1 who1   
when he looked at his ,louvre or        
,uffizii catalogue1 he found were       

intended to stand for ,david or for     
,moses4 ,but does he suppose that1 if   
these pictures had suggested to him the 
feeblest image of the presence of such  
men1 he would have passed on1 as he     
assuredly did1 to the next              
picture1--representing1 doubtless1      
,diana and ,actaeon1 or ,cupid and the  
,graces1 or a gambling quarrel in a     
pothouse1--with no sense of pain1 or    
surprise8 ,let him meditate over the    
matter1 and he will find ultimately that
 what ,i say is true1 and that religious
 art1 at once complete and sincere1     
never yet has existed4  ,sec4 #bc4 ,it  
will exist3 nay1 ,i believe the era of  
its birth has come1 and that those      
bright ,turnerian imageries1 which the  
,european public declared to be dotage1 
and those calm ,pre-,raphaelite studies 
which1 in like manner1 it pronounced    
puerility1 form the first foundation    
that has been ever laid for true sacred 
art4 ,of this we shall presently reason 
farther4 ,but1 be it as it may1 if we   

would cherish the hope that sacred art  
may1 indeed1 arise for us1 two separate 
cautions are to be addressed to the two 
opposed classes of religionists whose   
influence will chiefly retard that      
hope's accomplishment4 ,the group       
calling themselves ,evangelical ought no
 longer to render their religion an     
offence to men of the world by          
associating it only with the most vulgar
 forms of art4 ,it is not necessary that
 they should admit either music or      
painting into religious service2 but1 if
 they admit either the one or the other1
 let it not be bad music nor bad        
painting3 it is certainly in nowise more
 for ,christ's honor that ,his praise   
should be sung discordantly1 or ,his    
miracles painted discreditably1 than    
that ,his word should be preached       
ungrammatically4 ,some ,evangelicals1   
however1 seem to take a morbid pride in 
the triple degradation4#ah  ,sec4 #bd4  
,the opposite class of men1 whose       
natural instincts lead them to mingle   

the refinements of art with all the     
offices and practices of religion1 are  
to be warned1 on the contrary1 how they 
mistake their enjoyments for their      
duties1 or confound poetry with faith4  
,i admit that it is impossible for one  
man to judge another in this matter1 and
 that it can never be said with         
certainty how far what seems frivolity  
may be force1 and what seems the        
indulgence of the heart may be1 indeed1 
its dedication4 ,i am ready to believe  
that ,metastasio1 expiring in a         
canzonet1 may have died better than if  
his prayer had been in unmeasured       
syllables4#ai ,but1 for the most part1  
it is assuredly much to be feared lest  
we mistake a surrender to the charms of 
art for one to the service of ,god2 and1
 in the art which we permit1 lest we    
substitute sentiment for sense1 grace   
for utility4 ,and for us all there is in
 this matter even a deeper danger than  
that of indulgence4 ,there is the danger
 of ,artistical ,pharisaism4 ,of all the

 forms of pride and vanity1 as there are
 none more subtle1 so ,i believe there  
are none more sinful1 than those which  
are manifested by the ,pharisees of art4
 ,to be proud of birth1 of place1 of    
wit1 of bodily beauty1 is comparatively 
innocent1 just because such pride is    
more natural1 and more easily detected4 
,but to be proud of our sanctities2 to  
pour contempt upon our fellows1 because1
 forsooth1 we like to look at ,madonnas 
in bowers of roses1 better than at plain
 pictures of plain things2 and to make  
this religious art of ours the          
expression of our own perpetual         
self-complacency1--congratulating       
ourselves1 day by day1 on our purities1 
proprieties1 elevations1 and            
inspirations1 as above the reach of     
common mortals1--this ,i believe to be  
one of the wickedest and foolishest     
forms of human egotism2 and1 truly1 ,i  
had rather1 with great1 thoughtless1    
humble ,paul ,veronese1 make the ,supper
 at ,emmaus a background for two        

children playing with a dog 7as1 ,god   
knows1 men do usually put it in the     
background to everything1 if not out of 
sight altogether71 than join that school
 of modern ,germanism which wears its   
pieties for decoration as women wear    
their diamonds1 and flaunts the dry     
fleeces of its phylacteries between its 
dust and the dew of heaven4    #aj ,the 
curious inequality of this little       
trefoil is not a        mistake2 it is  
faithfully copied by the draughtsman    
from the        ,,ms4 ,perhaps the      
actual date of the illumination may be a
 year        or two past the thirteenth 
century1 i4e41 #acjj--acaj3 but it      
is quite characteristic of the          
thirteenth century treatment in         
the figures4    #aa ,lombardic1 i4e4 in 
the style of ,pietro and ,tullio        
,lombardo1        in the fifteenth      
century 7not ,lombard74    #ab ,all     
this1 it will be observed1 is that      
seeking for beauty at        the cost of
 truth which we have generally noted in 

the last        chapter4    #ac ,this is
 one form of the sacrifice of expression
 to technical        merit1 generally   
noted at the end of the #ajth paragraph 
of the        last chapter4    #ad ,i   
suppose ,raphael intended a reference to
 ,numbers xv4 #ch2 but        if he did1
 the blue riband1 or vitta1 as it is in 
the        ,vulgate1 should have been on
 the borders too4    #ae ,in the ,st4   
,cecilia of ,bologna4    #af ,in the    
,transfiguration4 ,do but try to believe
 that ,moses and        ,elias are      
really there talking with ,christ4      
,moses in the        loveliest heart and
 midst of the land which once it had    
been        denied him to               
behold1--,elijah treading the earth     
again1 from        which he had been    
swept to heaven in fire2 both now with a
        mightier message than ever they 
had given in life1--mightier1        in 
closing their own mission1--mightier1 in
 speaking to        ,christ of ,his     
decease1 which ,he should accomplish at 

,jerusalem4 ,they1 men of like passions 
once with us1        appointed to speak 
to the ,redeemer of ,his death4         
,and1 then1 look at ,raphael's kicking  
gracefulnesses4    #ag ,luther had no   
dislike of religious art on principle4  
,even the        stove in his chamber   
was wrought with sacred subjects4 ,see  
,mrs4 ,stowe's ,sunny ,memories4    #ah 
,i do not know anything more humiliating
 to a man of common        sense1 than  
to open what is called an illustrated   
,bible of        modern days4 ,see1 for 
instance1 the plates in ,brown's ,bible 
7octavo3 ,edinburgh1 #ahdj71 a standard 
evangelical edition4        ,our habit  
of reducing the psalms to doggerel      
before we will        condescend to sing
 them1 is a parallel abuse4 ,it is      
marvellous to think that human creatures
 with tongues and        souls should   
refuse to chant the verse3 ,before      
,ephraim1        ,benjamin1 and         
,manasseh1 stir up thy strength1 and    
come and        help us2 preferring     

this3--             ,behold1 how        
,benjamin expects1              ,with   
,ephraim and ,manasseh joined1          
,in their deliverance1 the effects      
,of thy resistless strength to find6    
#ai ,en #aghj1 age de quatre-vingt-deux 
ans1 au moment de recevoir        le    
viatique1 il rassembla ses forces1 et   
chanta1 a son ,createur3                
',eterno ,genitor            ,io t'     
offro il proprio figlio            ,che 
in pegno del tuo amor            ,si    
vuole a me donar4             ,a lui    
rivolgi il ciglio1            ,mira chi 
t' offro2 e poi1            ,niega1     
,signor1 se puoi1            ,niega di  
perdonar4'--                            
--,,de ,,stendhal1 ,via de ,metastasio4 
,,chapter ,v4  ,,of ,,the ,,false       
,,ideal3--,,secondly1 ,,profane4   ,sec4
 #a4 ,such having been the effects of   
the pursuit of ideal beauty on the      
religious mind of ,europe1 we might be  
tempted next to consider in what way the
 same movement affected the art which   

concerned itself with profane subject1  
and1 through that art1 the whole temper 
of modern civilization4  ,i shall1      
however1 merely glance at this question4
 ,it is a very painful and a very wide  
one4 ,its discussion cannot come        
properly within the limits1 or even     
within the aim1 of a work like this2 it 
ought to be made the subject of a       
separate essay1 and that essay should be
 written by some one who had passed less
 of his life than ,i have among the     
mountains1 and more of it among men4    
,but one or two points may be suggested 
for the reader to reflect upon at his   
leisure4  ,sec4 #b4 ,i said just now    
that we might be tempted to consider how
 this pursuit of the ideal affected     
profane art4 ,strictly speaking1 it     
brought that art into existence4 ,as    
long as men sought for truth first1 and 
beauty secondarily1 they cared chiefly1 
of course1 for the chief truth1 and all 
art was instinctively religious4 ,but as
 soon as they sought for beauty first1  

and truth secondarily1 they were        
punished by losing sight of spiritual   
truth altogether1 and the profane       
7properly so called7 schools of art were
 instantly developed4  ,the perfect     
human beauty1 which1 to a large part of 
the community1 was by far the most      
interesting feature in the work of the  
rising school1 might indeed be in some  
degree consistent with the agony of     
,madonnas1 and the repentance of        
,magdalenes2 but could not be exhibited 
in fulness1 when the subjects1 however  
irreverently treated1 nevertheless      
demanded some decency in the artist1 and
 some gravity in the spectator4 ,the    
newly acquired powers of rounding limbs1
 and tinting lips1 had too little scope 
in the sanctities even of the softest   
womanhood2 and the newly acquired       
conceptions of the nobility of nakedness
 could in no wise be expressed beneath  
the robes of the prelate or the         
sackcloth of the recluse4 ,but the      
source from which these ideas had been  

received afforded also full field for   
their expression2 the heathen mythology1
 which had furnished the examples of    
these heights of art1 might again become
 the subject of the inspirations it had 
kindled2--with the additional advantage 
that it could now be delighted in1      
without being believed2 that its errors 
might be indulged1 unrepressed by its   
awe2 and those of its deities whose     
function was temptation might be        
worshipped1 in scorn of those whose     
hands were charged with chastisement4   
,so1 at least1 men dreamed in their     
foolishness1--to find1 as the ages wore 
on1 that the returning ,apollo bore not 
only his lyre1 but his arrows2 and that 
at the instant of ,cytherea's           
resurrection to the sunshine1           
,persephone had reascended her throne in
 the deep4  ,sec4 #c4 ,little thinking  
this1 they gave themselves up fearlessly
 to the chase of the new delight1 and   
exhausted themselves in the pursuit of  
an ideal now doubly false4 ,formerly1   

though they attempted to reach an       
unnatural beauty1 it was yet in         
representing historical facts and real  
persons2 now they sought for the same   
unnatural beauty in representing tales  
which they knew to be fictitious1 and   
personages who they knew had never      
existed4 ,such a state of things had    
never before been found in any nation4  
,every people till then had painted the 
acts of their kings1 the triumphs of    
their armies1 the beauty of their race1 
or the glory of their gods4 ,they showed
 the things they had seen or done2 the  
beings they truly loved or faithfully   
adored4 ,but the ideal art of modern    
,europe was the shadow of a shadow2 and 
with mechanism substituted for          
perception1 and bodily beauty for       
spiritual life1 it set itself to        
represent men it had never seen1 customs
 it had never practised1 and gods in    
whom it had never believed4  ,sec4 #d4  
,such art could of course have no help  
from the virtues1 nor claim on the      

energies of men4 ,it necessarily rooted 
itself in their vices and their         
idleness2 and of their vices principally
 in two1 pride and sensuality4 ,to the  
pride1 was attached eminently the art of
 architecture2 to the sensuality1 those 
of painting and sculpture4 ,of the fall 
of architecture1 as resultant from the  
formalist pride of its patrons and      
designers1 ,i have spoken elsewhere4    
,the sensualist ideal1 as seen in       
painting and sculpture1 remains to be   
examined here4 ,but one interesting     
circumstance is to be observed with     
respect to the manner of the separation 
of these arts4 ,pride1 being wholly a   
vice1 and in every phase inexcusable1   
wholly betrayed and destroyed the art   
which was founded on it4 ,but passion1  
having some root and use in healthy     
nature1 and only becoming guilty in     
excess1 did not altogether destroy the  
art founded upon it4 ,the architecture  
of ,palladio is wholly virtueless and   
despicable4 ,not so the ,venus of       

,titian1 nor the ,antiope of ,correggio4
  ,sec4 #e4 ,we find1 then1 at the close
 of the sixteenth century1 the arts of  
painting and sculpture wholly devoted to
 entertain the indolent and satiate the 
luxurious4 ,to effect these noble ends1 
they took a thousand different forms2   
painting1 however1 of course being the  
most complying1 aiming sometimes at mere
 amusement by deception in landscapes1  
or minute imitation of natural objects2 
sometimes giving more piquant excitement
 in battle-pieces full of slaughter1 or 
revels deep in drunkenness2 sometimes   
entering upon serious subjects1 for the 
sake of grotesque fiends and picturesque
 infernos1 or that it might introduce   
pretty children as cherubs1 and handsome
 women as ,magdalenes and ,maries of    
,egypt1 or portraits of patrons in the  
character of the more decorous saints3  
but more frequently1 for direct         
flatteries of this kind1 recurring to   
,pagan mythology1 and painting frail    
ladies as goddesses or graces1 and      

foolish kings in radiant apotheosis2    
while1 for the earthly delight of the   
persons whom it honored as divine1 it   
ransacked the records of luscious fable1
 and brought back1 in fullest depth of  
dye and flame of fancy1 the impurest    
dreams of the un-,christian ages4  ,sec4
 #f4 ,meanwhile1 the art of sculpture1  
less capable of ministering to mere     
amusement1 was more or less reserved for
 the affectations of taste2 and the     
study of the classical statues          
introduced various ideas on the subjects
 of purity1 chastity1 and dignity1 such 
as it was possible for people to        
entertain who were themselves impure1   
luxurious1 and ridiculous4 ,it is a     
matter of extreme difficulty to explain 
the exact character of this modern      
sculpturesque ideal2 but its relation to
 the true ideal may be best understood  
by considering it as in exact           
parallelism with the relation of the    
word taste to the word love4 ,wherever  
the word taste is used with respect to  

matters of art1 it indicates either that
 the thing spoken of belongs to some    
inferior class of objects1 or that the  
person speaking has a false conception  
of its nature4 ,for1 consider the exact 
sense in which a work of art is said to 
be in good or bad taste4 ,it does not   
mean that it is true1 or false2 that it 
is beautiful1 or ugly2 but that it does 
or does not comply either with the laws 
of choice1 which are enforced by certain
 modes of life2 or the habits of mind   
produced by a particular sort of        
education4 ,it does not mean merely     
fashionable1 that is1 complying with a  
momentary caprice of the upper classes2 
but it means agreeing with the habitual 
sense which the most refined education1 
common to those upper classes at the    
period1 gives to their whole mind4 ,now1
 therefore1 so far as that education    
does indeed tend to make the senses     
delicate1 and the perceptions accurate1 
and thus enables people to be pleased   
with quiet instead of gaudy color1 and  

with graceful instead of coarse form2   
and1 by long acquaintance with the best 
things1 to discern quickly what is fine 
from what is common2--so far1 acquired  
taste is an honorable faculty1 and it is
 true praise of anything to say it is in
 good taste4 ,but so far as this higher 
education has a tendency to narrow the  
sympathies and harden the heart1        
diminishing the interest of all         
beautiful things by familiarity1 until  
even what is best can hardly please1 and
 what is brightest hardly entertain2--so
 far as it fosters pride1 and leads men 
to found the pleasure they take in      
anything1 not on the worthiness of the  
thing1 but on the degree in which it    
indicates some greatness of their own   
7as people build marble porticos1 and   
inlay marble floors1 not so much because
 they like the colors of marble1 or find
 it pleasant to the foot1 as because    
such porches and floors are costly1 and 
separated in all human eyes from plain  
entrances of stone and timber72--so far 

as it leads people to prefer            
gracefulness of dress1 manner1 and      
aspect1 to value of substance and heart1
 liking a well said thing better than a 
true thing1 and a well trained manner   
better than a sincere one1 and a        
delicately formed face better than a    
good-natured one1 and in all other ways 
and things setting custom and semblance 
above everlasting truth2--so far1       
finally1 as it induces a sense of       
inherent distinction between class and  
class1 and causes everything to be more 
or less despised which has no social    
rank1 so that the affection1 pleasure1  
or grief of a clown are looked upon as  
of no interest compared with the        
affection and grief of a well-bred      
man2--just so far1 in all these several 
ways1 the feeling induced by what is    
called a liberal education is utterly   
adverse to the understanding of noble   
art2 and the name which is given to the 
feeling1--,taste1 ,gout1 ,gusto1--in all
 languages1 indicates the baseness of   

it1 for it implies that art gives only a
 kind of pleasure analogous to that     
derived from eating by the palate4      
,sec4 #g4 ,modern education1 not in art 
only1 but in all other things referable 
to the same standard1 has invariably    
given taste in this bad sense2 it has   
given fastidiousness of choice without  
judgment1 superciliousness of manner    
without dignity1 refinement of habit    
without purity1 grace of expression     
without sincerity1 and desire of        
loveliness without love2 and the modern 
,ideal of high art is a curious mingling
 of the gracefulness and reserve of the 
drawingroom with a certain measure of   
classical sensuality4 ,of this last     
element1 and the singular artifices by  
which vice succeeds in combining it with
 what appears to be pure and severe1 it 
would take us long to reason fully2 ,i  
would rather leave the reader to follow 
out for himself the consideration of the
 influence1 in this direction1 of       
statues1 bronzes1 and paintings1 as at  

present employed by the upper circles of
 ,london1 and 7especially7 ,paris2 and  
this not so much in the works which are 
really fine1 as in the multiplied coarse
 copies of them2 taking the widest      
range1 from ,dannaeker's ,ariadne down  
to the amorous shepherd and shepherdess 
in china on the drawingroom time-piece1 
rigidly questioning1 in each case1 how  
far the charm of the art does indeed    
depend on some appeal to the inferior   
passions4 ,let it be considered1 for    
instance1 exactly how far the value of a
 picture of a girl's head by ,greuze    
would be lowered in the market1 if the  
dress1 which now leaves the bosom bare1 
were raised to the neck2 and how far1 in
 the commonest lithograph of some       
utterly popular subject1--for instance1 
the teaching of ,uncle ,tom by          
,eva1--the sentiment which is supposed  
to be excited by the exhibition of      
,christianity in youth is complicated   
with that which depends upon ,eva's     
having a dainty foot and a well-made    

satin slipper2--and then1 having        
completely determined for himself how   
far the element exists1 consider        
farther1 whether1 when art is thus      
frequent 7for frequent he will assuredly
 find it to be7 in its appeal to the    
lower passions1 it is likely to attain  
the highest order of merit1 or be judged
 by the truest standards of judgment4   
,for1 of all the causes which have      
combined1 in modern times1 to lower the 
rank of art1 ,i believe this to be one  
of the most fatal2 while1 reciprocally1 
it may be questioned how far society    
suffers1 in its turn1 from the          
influences possessed over it by the arts
 it has degraded4 ,it seems to me a     
subject of the very deepest interest to 
determine what has been the effect upon 
the ,european nations of the great      
change by which art became again capable
 of ministering delicately to the lower 
passions1 as it had in the worst days of
 ,rome2 how far1 indeed1 in all ages1   
the fall of nations may be attributed to

 art's arriving at this particular stage
 among them4 ,i do not mean that1 in any
 of its stages1 it is incapable of being
 employed for evil1 but that assuredly  
an ,egyptian1 ,spartan1 or ,norman was  
unexposed to the kind of temptation     
which is continually offered by the     
delicate painting and sculpture of      
modern days2 and1 although the diseased 
imagination might complete the imperfect
 image of beauty from the colored image 
on the wall1#bj or the most revolting   
thoughts be suggested by the mocking    
barbarism of the ,gothic sculpture1     
their hard outline and rude execution   
were free from all the subtle treachery 
which now fills the flushed canvas and  
the rounded marble4  ,sec4 #h4 ,i       
cannot1 however1 pursue this inquiry    
here4 ,for our present purpose it is    
enough to note that the feeling1 in     
itself so debased1 branches upwards into
 that of which1 while no one has cause  
to be ashamed1 no one1 on the other     
hand1 has cause to be proud1 namely1 the

 admiration of physical beauty in the   
human form1 as distinguished from       
expression of character4 ,every one can 
easily appreciate the merit of regular  
features and well-formed limbs1 but it  
requires some attention1 sympathy1 and  
sense1 to detect the charm of passing   
expression1 or life-disciplined         
character4 ,the beauty of the ,apollo   
,belvidere1 or ,venus de ,medicis1 is   
perfectly palpable to any shallow fine  
lady or fine gentleman1 though they     
would have perceived none in the face of
 an old weather-beaten ,st4 ,peter1 or a
 grey-haired ,grandmother ,lois4 ,the   
knowledge that long study is necessary  
to produce these regular types of the   
human form renders the facile admiration
 matter of eager self-complacency2 the  
shallow spectator1 delighted that he can
 really1 and without hypocrisy1 admire  
what required much thought to produce1  
supposes himself endowed with the       
highest critical faculties1 and easily  
lets himself be carried into rhapsodies 

about the ideal1 which1 when all is     
said1 if they be accurately examined1   
will be found literally to mean nothing 
more than that the figure has got       
handsome calves to its legs1 and a      
straight nose4  ,sec4 #i4 ,that they do 
mean1 in reality1 nothing more than this
 may be easily ascertained by watching  
the taste of the same persons in other  
things4 ,the fashionable lady who will  
write five or six pages in her diary    
respecting the effect upon her mind of  
such and such an ideal in marble1 will  
have her drawing room table covered with
 ,books of ,beauty1 in which the        
engravings represent the human form in  
every possible aspect of distortion and 
affectation2 and the connoisseur who1 in
 the morning1 pretends to the most      
exquisite taste in the antique1 will be 
seen1 in the evening1 in his            
opera-stall1 applauding the least       
graceful gestures of the least modest   
figurante4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,but even this   
vulgar pursuit of physical beauty       

7vulgar in the profoundest sense1 for   
there is no vulgarity like the vulgarity
 of education7 would be less            
contemptible if it really succeeded in  
its object2 but1 like all pursuits      
carried to inordinate length1 it defeats
 itself4 ,physical beauty is a noble    
thing when it is seen in perfectness2   
but the manner in which the moderns     
pursue their ideal prevents their ever  
really seeing what they are always      
seeking2 for1 requiring that all forms  
should be regular and faultless1 they   
permit1 or even compel1 their painters  
and sculptors to work chiefly by rule1  
altering their models to fit their      
preconceived notions of what is right4  
,when such artists look at a face1 they 
do not give it the attention necessary  
to discern what beauty is already in its
 peculiar features2 but only to see how 
best it may be altered into something   
for which they have themselves laid down
 the laws4 ,nature never unveils her    
beauty to such a gaze4 ,she keeps       

whatever she has done best1 close       
sealed1 until it is regarded with       
reverence4 ,to the painter who honors   
her1 she will open a revelation in the  
face of a street mendicant2 but in the  
work of the painter who alters her1 she 
will make ,portia become ignoble and    
,perdita graceless4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,nor is 
the effect less for evil on the mind of 
the general observer4 ,the lover of     
ideal beauty1 with all his conceptions  
narrowed by rule1 never looks carefully 
enough upon the features which do not   
come under his law 7or any others71 to  
discern the inner beauty in them4 ,the  
strange intricacies about the lines of  
the lips1 and marvellous shadows and    
watch-fires of the eye1 and wavering    
traceries of the eyelash1 and infinite  
modulations of the brow1 wherein high   
humanity is embodied1 are all invisible 
to him4 ,he finds himself driven back at
 last1 with all his idealism1 to the    
lionne of the ball-room1 whom youth and 
passion can as easily distinguish as his

 utmost critical science2 whereas1 the  
observer who has accustomed himself to  
take human faces as ,god made them1 will
 often find as much beauty on a village 
green as in the proudest room of state1 
and as much in the free seats of a      
church aisle1 as in all the sacred      
paintings of the ,vatican or the ,pitti4
  ,sec4 #ab4 ,then1 farther1 the habit  
of disdaining ordinary truth1 and       
seeking to alter it so as to fit the    
fancy of the beholder1 gradually infects
 the mind in all its other operation2 so
 that it begins to propose to itself an 
ideal in history1 an ideal in general   
narration1 an ideal in portraiture and  
description1 and in every thing else    
where truth may be painful or           
uninteresting2 with the necessary result
 of more or less weakness1 wickedness1  
and uselessness in all that is done or  
said1 with the desire of concealing this
 painful truth4 ,and1 finally1 even when
 truth is not intentionally concealed1  
the pursuer of idealism will pass his   

days in false and useless trains of     
thought1 pluming himself1 all the while1
 upon his superiority therein to the    
rest of mankind4 ,a modern ,german1     
without either invention or sense1      
seeing a rapid in a river1 will         
immediately devote the remainder of the 
day to the composition of dialogues     
between amorous water nymphs and unhappy
 mariners2 while the man of true        
invention1 power1 and sense will1       
instead1 set himself to consider whether
 the rocks in the river could have their
 points knocked off1 or the boats upon  
it be made with stronger bottoms4  ,sec4
 #ac4 ,of this final baseness of the    
false ideal1 its miserable waste of     
time1 strength1 and available intellect 
of man1 by turning1 as ,i have said     
above1 innocence of pastime into        
seriousness of occupation1 it is1 of    
course1 hardly possible to sketch out   
even so much as the leading             
manifestations4 ,the vain and haughty   
projects of youth for future life2 the  

giddy reveries of insatiable self       
exaltation2 the discontented dreams of  
what might have been or should be1      
instead of the thankful understanding of
 what is2 the casting about for sources 
of interest in senseless fiction1       
instead of the real human histories of  
the people round us2 the prolongation   
from age to age of romantic historical  
deceptions instead of sifted truth2 the 
pleasures taken in fanciful portraits of
 rural or romantic life in poetry and on
 the stage1 without the smallest effort 
to rescue the living rural population of
 the world from its ignorance or misery2
 the excitement of the feelings by      
labored imagination of spirits1 fairies1
 monsters1 and demons1 issuing in total 
blindness of heart and sight to the true
 presences of beneficent or destructive 
spiritual powers around us2 in fine1 the
 constant abandonment of all the        
straightforward paths of sense and duty1
 for fear of losing some of the         
enticement of ghostly joys1 or trampling

 somewhat sopra lor vanita1 che par     
persona2 all these various forms of     
false idealism have so entangled the    
modern mind1 often called1 ,i suppose   
ironically1 practical1 that truly ,i    
believe there never yet was idolatry of 
stock or staff so utterly unholy as this
 our idolatry of shadows2 nor can ,i    
think that1 of those who burnt incense  
under oaks1 and poplars1 and elms1      
because the shadow thereof was good1 it 
could in any wise be more justly or     
sternly declared than of us--,the wind  
hath bound them up in her wings1 and    
they shall be ashamed because of their  
sacrifices4#ba    #bj ,ezek4 xxiii4 #ad4
    #ba ,hosea1 chap4 iv4 #ab1 #ac1 and 
#ai4     ,,chapter ,,vi4  ,,of ,,the    
,,true ,,ideal3--,,first1 ,,purist4     
,sec4 #a4 ,having thus glanced at the   
principal modes in which the imagination
 works for evil1 we must rapidly note   
also the principal directions in which  
its operation is admissible1 even in    
changing or strangely combining what is 

brought within its sphere4  ,for        
hitherto we have spoken as if every     
change wilfully wrought by the          
imagination was an error2 apparently    
implying that its only proper work was  
to summon up the memories of past       
events1 and the anticipations of future 
ones1 under aspects which would bear the
 sternest tests of historical           
investigation1 or abstract reasoning4   
,and in general this is1 indeed1 its    
noblest work4 ,nevertheless1 it has also
 permissible functions peculiarly its   
own1 and certain rights of feigning1 and
 adorning1 and fancifully arranging1    
inalienable from its nature4 ,everything
 that is natural is1 within certain     
limits1 right2 and we must take care    
not1 in over-severity1 to deprive       
ourselves of any refreshing or animating
 power ordained to be in us for our     
help4  ,sec4 #b4 7,a74 ,it was noted in 
speaking above of the ,angelican or     
passionate ideal1 that there was a      
certain virtue in it dependent on the   

expression of its loving enthusiasm4    
7,chap4 ,,iv4 ,sec4 #aj47  7,b74 ,in    
speaking of the pursuit of beauty as one
 of the characteristics of the highest  
art1 it was also said that there were   
certain ways of showing this beauty by  
gathering together1 without altering1   
the finest forms1 and marking them by   
gentle emphasis4 7,chap4 ,,iii4 ,sec4   
#ae47  7,c74 ,and in speaking of the    
true uses of imagination it was said1   
that we might be allowed to create for  
ourselves1 in innocent play1 fairies and
 naiads1 and other such fictitious      
creatures4 7,chap4 ,,iv4 ,sec4 #e47     
,now this loving enthusiasm1 which seeks
 for a beauty fit to be the object of   
eternal love2 this inventive skill1     
which kindly displays what exists around
 us in the world2 and this playful      
energy of thought which delights in     
various conditions of the impossible1   
are three forms of idealism more or less
 connected with the three tendencies of 
the artistical mind which ,i had        

occasion to explain in the chapter on   
the ,nature of ,gothic1 in the ,stones  
of ,venice4 ,it was there pointed out1  
that1 the things around us containing   
mixed good and evil1 certain men chose  
the good and left the evil 7thence      
properly called ,purists72 others       
received both good and evil together    
7thence properly called ,naturalists72  
and others had a tendency to choose the 
evil and leave the good1 whom1 for      
convenience' sake1 ,i termed            
,sensualists4 ,i do not mean to say that
 painters of fairies and naiads must    
belong to this last and lowest class1 or
 habitually choose the evil and leave   
the good2 but there is1 nevertheless1 a 
strange connection between the reinless 
play of the imagination1 and a sense of 
the presence of evil1 which is usually  
more or less developed in those         
creations of the imagination to which we
 properly attach the word ,grotesque4   
,for this reason1 we shall find it      
convenient to arrange what we have to   

note respecting true idealism under the 
three heads--    ,a4 ,purist ,idealism4 
,b4 ,naturalist ,idealism4   ,c4        
,grotesque ,idealism4  ,sec4 #c4 ,a4    
,purist ,idealism4--,it results from the
 unwillingness of men whose dispositions
 are more than ordinarily tender and    
holy1 to contemplate the various forms  
of definite evil which necessarily occur
 in the daily aspects of the world      
around them4 ,they shrink from them as  
from pollution1 and endeavor to create  
for themselves an imaginary state1 in   
which pain and imperfection either do   
not exist1 or exist in some edgeless and
 enfeebled condition4  ,as1 however1    
pain and imperfection are1 by eternal   
laws1 bound up with existence1 so far as
 it is visible to us1 the endeavor to   
cast them away invariably indicates a   
comparative childishness of mind1 and   
produces a childish form of art4 ,in    
general1 the effort is most successful  
when it is most naive1 and when the     
ignorance of the draughtsman is in some 

frank proportion to his innocence4 ,for 
instance1 one of the modes of treatment1
 the most conducive to this ideal       
expression1 is simply drawing everything
 without shadows1 as if the sun were    
everywhere at once4 ,this1 in the       
present state of our knowledge1 we could
 not do with grace1 because we could not
 do it without fear or shame4 ,but an   
artist of the thirteenth century did it 
with no disturbance of                  
conscience1--knowing no better1 or      
rather1 in some sense1 we might say1    
knowing no worse4 ,it is1 however1      
evident1 at first thought1 that all     
representations of nature without evil  
must either be ideals of a future world1
 or be false ideals1 if they are        
understood to be representations of     
facts4 ,they can only be classed among  
the branches of the true ideal1 in so   
far as they are understood to be nothing
 more than expressions of the painter's 
personal affections or hopes4  ,sec4 #d4
 ,let us take one or two instances in   

order clearly to explain our meaning4   
,the life of ,angelico was almost       
entirely spent in the endeavor to       
imagine the beings belonging to another 
world4 ,by purity of life1 habitual     
elevation of thought1 and natural       
sweetness of disposition1 he was enabled
 to express the sacred affections upon  
the human countenance as no one ever did
 before or since4 ,in order to effect   
clearer distinction between heavenly    
beings and those of this world1 he      
represents the former as clothed in     
draperies of the purest color1 crowned  
with glories of burnished gold1 and     
entirely shadowless4 ,with exquisite    
choice of gesture1 and disposition of   
folds of drapery1 this mode of treatment
 gives perhaps the best idea of         
spiritual beings which the human mind is
 capable of forming4 ,it is1 therefore1 
a true ideal2#bb but the mode in which  
it is arrived at 7being so far          
mechanical and contradictory of the     
appearances of nature7 necessarily      

precludes those who practise it from    
being complete masters of their art4 ,it
 is always childish1 but beautiful in   
its childishness4  ,sec4 #e4 ,the works 
of our own ,stothard are examples of the
 operation of another mind1 singular in 
gentleness and purity1 upon mere worldly
 subject4 ,it seems as if ,stothard     
could not conceive wickedness1          
coarseness1 or baseness2 every one of   
his figures looks as if it had been     
copied from some creature who had never 
harbored an unkind thought1 or permitted
 itself in an ignoble action4 ,with this
 immense love of mental purity is       
joined1 in ,stothard1 a love of mere    
physical smoothness and softness1 so    
that he lived in a universe of soft     
grass and stainless fountains1 tender   
trees1 and stones at which no foot could
 stumble4  ,all this is very beautiful1 
and may sometimes urge us to an endeavor
 to make the world itself more like the 
conception of the painter4 ,at least1 in
 the midst of its malice1 misery1 and   

baseness1 it is often a relief to glance
 at the graceful shadows1 and take1 for 
momentary companionship1 creatures full 
only of love1 gladness1 and honor4 ,but 
the perfect truth will at last vindicate
 itself against the partial truth2 the  
help which we can gain from the         
unsubstantial vision will be only like  
that which we may sometimes receive1 in 
weariness1 from the scent of a flower or
 the passing of a breeze4 ,for all firm 
aid and steady use1 we must look to     
harder realities2 and1 as far as the    
painter himself is regarded1 we can only
 receive such work as the sign of an    
amiable imbecility4 ,it is indeed ideal2
 but ideal as a fair dream is in the    
dawn of morning1 before the faculties   
are astir4 ,the apparent completeness of
 grace can never be attained without    
much definite falsification as well as  
omission2 stones1 over which we cannot  
stumble1 must be ill-drawn stones2      
trees1 which are all gentleness and     
softness1 cannot be trees of wood2 nor  

companies without evil in them1         
companies of flesh and blood4 ,the habit
 of falsification 7with whatever aim7   
begins always in dulness and ends always
 in incapacity2 nothing can be more     
pitiable than any endeavor by ,stothard 
to express facts beyond his own sphere  
of soft pathos or graceful mirth1 and   
nothing more unwise than the aim at a   
similar ideality by any painter who has 
power to render a sincerer truth4  ,sec4
 #f4 ,i remember another interesting    
example of ideality on this same root1  
but belonging to another branch of it1  
in the works of a young ,german painter1
 which ,i saw some time ago in a ,london
 drawingroom4 ,he had been travelling in
 ,italy1 and had brought home a         
portfolio of sketches remarkable alike  
for their fidelity and purity4 ,every   
one was a laborious and accurate study  
of some particular spot4 ,every cottage1
 every cliff1 every tree1 at the site   
chosen1 had been drawn2 and drawn with  
palpable sincerity of portraiture1 and  

yet in such a spirit that it was        
impossible to conceive that any sin or  
misery had ever entered into one of the 
scenes he had represented2 and the      
volcanic horrors of ,radicofani1 the    
pestilent gloom of the ,pontines1 and   
the boundless despondency of the        
,campagna became under his hand1 only   
various appearances of ,paradise4  ,it  
was very interesting to observe the     
minute emendations or omissions by which
 this was effected4 ,to set the tiles   
the slightest degree more in order upon 
a cottage roof2 to insist upon the      
vine-leaves at the window1 and let the  
shadow which fell from them naturally   
conceal the rent in the wall2 to draw   
all the flowers in the foreground1 and  
miss the weeds2 to draw all the folds of
 the white clouds1 and miss those of the
 black ones2 to mark the graceful       
branches of the trees1 and1 in one way  
or another1 beguile the eye from those  
which were ungainly2 to give every      
peasant-girl whose face was visible the 

expression of an angel1 and every one   
whose back was turned the bearing of a  
princess2 finally1 to give a general    
look of light1 clear organization1 and  
serene vitality to every feature in the 
landscape2--such were his artifices1 and
 such his delights4 ,it was impossible  
not to sympathize deeply with the spirit
 of such a painter2 and it was just     
cause for gratitude to be permitted to  
travel1 as it were1 through ,italy with 
such a friend4 ,but his work had1       
nevertheless1 its stern limitations and 
marks of everlasting inferiority4       
,always soothing and pathetic1 it could 
never be sublime1 never perfectly nor   
entrancingly beautiful2 for the narrow  
spirit of correction could not cast     
itself fully into any scene2 the calm   
cheerfulness which shrank from the      
shadow of the cypress1 and the          
distortion of the olive1 could not enter
 into the brightness of the sky that    
they pierced1 nor the softness of the   
bloom that they bore3 for every sorrow  

that his heart turned from1 he lost a   
consolation2 for every fear which he    
dared not confront1 he lost a portion of
 his hardiness2 the unsceptred sweep of 
the storm-clouds1 the fair freedom of   
glancing shower and flickering sunbeam1 
sank into sweet rectitudes and decent   
formalisms2 and1 before eyes that       
refused to be dazzled or darkened1 the  
hours of sunset wreathed their rays     
unheeded1 and the mists of the          
,apennines spread their blue veils in   
vain4  ,sec4 #g4 ,to this inherent      
shortcoming and narrowness of reach the 
farther defect was added1 that this work
 gave no useful representation of the   
state of facts in the country which it  
pretended to contemplate4 ,it was not   
only wanting in all the higher elements 
of beauty1 but wholly unavailable for   
instruction of any kind beyond that     
which exists in pleasurableness of pure 
emotion4 ,and considering what cost of  
labor was devoted to the series of      
drawings1 it could not but be matter for

 grave blame1 as well as for partial    
contempt1 that a man of amiable feeling 
and considerable intellectual power     
should thus expend his life in the      
declaration of his own petty pieties and
 pleasant reveries1 leaving the burden  
of human sorrow unwitnessed2 and the    
power of ,god's judgments unconfessed2  
and1 while poor ,italy lay wounded and  
moaning at his feet1 pass by1 in        
priestly calm1 lest the whiteness of his
 decent vesture should be spotted with  
unhallowed blood4  ,sec4 #h4 ,of several
 other forms of ,purism ,i shall have to
 speak hereafter1 more especially of    
that exhibited in the landscapes of the 
early religious painters2 but these     
examples are enough1 for the present1 to
 show the general principle that the    
purest ideal1 though in some measure    
true1 in so far as it springs from the  
true longings of an earnest mind1 is yet
 necessarily in many things deficient or
 blamable1 and always an indication of  
some degree of weakness in the mind     

pursuing it4 ,but1 on the other hand1 it
 is to be noted that entire scorn of    
this purist ideal is the sign of a far  
greater weakness4 ,multitudes of petty  
artists1 incapable of any noble         
sensation whatever1 but acquainted1 in a
 dim way1 with the technicalities of the
 schools1 mock at the art whose depths  
they cannot fathom1 and whose motives   
they cannot comprehend1 but of which    
they can easily detect the              
imperfections1 and deride the           
simplicities4 ,thus poor fumigatory     
,fuseli1 with an art composed of the    
tinsel of the stage and the panics of   
the nursery1 speaks contemptuously of   
the name of ,angelico as dearer to      
sanctity than to art4 ,and a large      
portion of the resistance to the noble  
,pre-,raphaelite movement of our own    
days has been offered by men who suppose
 the entire function of the artist in   
this world to consist in laying on color
 with a large brush1 and surrounding    
dashes of flake white with bituminous   

brown2 men whose entire capacities of   
brain1 soul1 and sympathy1 applied      
industriously to the end of their lives1
 would not enable them1 at last1 to     
paint so much as one of the leaves of   
the nettles at the bottom of ,hunt's    
picture of the ,light of the ,world4#bc 
,sec4 #i4 ,it is finally to be          
remembered1 therefore1 that ,purism is  
always noble when it is instinctive4 ,it
 is not the greatest thing that can be  
done1 but it is probably the greatest   
thing that the man who does it can do1  
provided it comes from his heart4 ,true1
 it is a sign of weakness1 but it is not
 in our choice whether we will be weak  
or strong2 and there is a certain       
strength which can only be made perfect 
in weakness4 ,if he is working in       
humility1 fear of evil1 desire of       
beauty1 and sincere purity of purpose   
and thought1 he will produce good and   
helpful things2 but he must be much on  
his guard against supposing himself to  
be greater than his fellows1 because he 

has shut himself into this calm and     
cloistered sphere4 ,his only safety lies
 in knowing himself to be1 on the       
contrary1 less than his fellows1 and in 
always striving1 so far as he can find  
it in his heart1 to extend his delicate 
narrowness towards the great naturalist 
ideal4 ,the whole group of modern       
,german purists have lost themselves1   
because they founded their work not on  
humility1 nor on religion1 but on small 
self-conceit4 ,incapable of             
understanding the great ,venetians1 or  
any other masters of true imaginative   
power1 and having fed what mind they had
 with weak poetry and false philosophy1 
they thought themselves the best and    
greatest of artistic mankind1 and       
expected to found a new school of       
painting in pious plagiarism and        
delicate pride4 ,it is difficult at     
first to decide which is the more       
worthless1 the spiritual affectation of 
the petty ,german1 or the composition   
and chiaroscuro of the petty            

,englishman2 on the whole1 however1 the 
latter have lightest weight1 for the    
pseudo-religious painter must1 at all   
events1 pass much of his time in        
meditation upon solemn subjects1 and in 
examining venerable models2 and may     
sometimes even cast a little useful     
reflected light1 or touch the heart with
 a pleasant echo4    #bb ,as noted above
 in ,chap4 ,,iv ,sec4 #bj4    #bc ,not  
that the ,pre-,raphaelite is a purist   
movement1 it is stern        naturalist2
 but its unfortunate opposers1 who      
neither know        what nature is1 nor 
what purism is1 have mistaken the simple
        nature for morbid purism1 and   
therefore cried out against it4         
,,chapter ,,vii4  ,,of ,,the ,,true     
,,ideal3--,,secondly1 ,,naturalist4     
,sec4 #a4 ,we now enter on the          
consideration of that central and       
highest branch of ideal art which       
concerns itself simply with things as   
they ,,are1 and accepts1 in all of them1
 alike the evil and the good4 ,the      

question is1 therefore1 how the art     
which represents things simply as they  
are1 can be called ideal at all4 ,how   
does it meet that requirement stated in 
,chap4 ,,iii4 ,sec4 #d1 as imperative on
 all great art1 that it shall be        
inventive1 and a product of the         
imagination8 ,it meets it preeminently  
by that power of arrangement which ,i   
have endeavored1 at great length and    
with great pains1 to define accurately  
in the chapter on ,imagination          
associative in the second volume4 ,that 
is to say1 accepting the weaknesses1    
faults1 and wrongnesses in all things   
that it sees1 it so places and          
harmonizes them that they form a noble  
whole1 in which the imperfection of each
 several part is not only harmless1 but 
absolutely essential1 and yet in which  
whatever is good in each several part   
shall be completely displayed4  ,sec4   
#b4 ,this operation of true idealism    
holds1 from the least things to the     
greatest4 ,for instance1 in the         

arrangement of the smallest masses of   
color1 the false idealist1 or even the  
purist1 depends upon perfecting each    
separate hue1 and raises them all1 as   
far as he can1 into costly brilliancy2  
but the naturalist takes the coarsest   
and feeblest colors of the things around
 him1 and so interweaves and opposes    
them that they become more lovely than  
if they had all been bright4 ,so in the 
treatment of the human form4 ,the       
naturalist will take it as he finds it2 
but1 with such examples as his picture  
may rationally admit of more or less    
exalted beauty1 he will associate       
inferior forms1 so as not only to set   
off those which are most beautiful1 but 
to bring out clearly what good there is 
in the inferior forms themselves2       
finally using such measure of absolute  
evil as there is commonly in nature1    
both for teaching and for contrast4  ,in
 ,tintoret's ,adoration of the ,magi1   
the ,madonna is not an enthroned queen1 
but a fair girl1 full of simplicity and 

almost childish sweetness4 ,to her are  
opposed 7as ,magi7 two of the noblest   
and most thoughtful of the ,venetian    
senators in extreme old age1--the utmost
 manly dignity1 in its decline1 being   
set beside the utmost feminine          
simplicity1 in its dawn4 ,the steep     
foreheads and refined features of the   
nobles are1 again1 opposed to the head  
of a negro servant1 and of an ,indian1  
both1 however1 noble of their kind4 ,on 
the other side of the picture1 the      
delicacy of the ,madonna is farther     
enhanced by contrast with a largely made
 farm-servant1 leaning on a basket4 ,all
 these figures are in repose3 outside1  
the troop of the attendants of the ,magi
 is seen coming up at the gallop4  ,sec4
 #c4 ,i bring forward this picture1     
observe1 not as an example of the ideal 
in conception of religious subject1 but 
of the general ideal treatment of the   
human form2 in which the peculiarity is1
 that the beauty of each figure is      
displayed to the utmost1 while yet1     

taken separately the ,madonna is an     
unaltered portrait of a ,venetian girl1 
the ,magi are unaltered ,venetian       
,senators1 and the figure with the      
basket1 an unaltered market-woman of    
,mestre4  ,and the greater the master of
 the ideal1 the more perfectly true in  
portraiture will his individual figures 
be always found1 the more subtle and    
bold his arts of harmony and contrast4  
,this is a universal principle1 common  
to all great art4 ,consider1 in         
,shakspere1 how ,prince ,henry is       
opposed to ,falstaff1 ,falstaff to      
,shallow1 ,titania to ,bottom1 ,cordelia
 to ,regan1 ,imogen to ,cloten1 and so  
on2 while all the meaner idealists      
disdain the naturalism1 and are shocked 
at the contrasts4 ,the fact is1 a man   
who can see truth at all1 sees it       
wholly1 and neither desires nor dares to
 mutilate it4  ,sec4 #d4 ,it is evident 
that within this faithful idealism1 and 
as one branch of it only1 will arrange  
itself the representation of the human  

form and mind in perfection1 when this  
perfection is rationally to be supposed 
or introduced1--that is to say1 in the  
highest personages of the story4 ,the   
careless habit of confining the term    
ideal to such representations1 and not  
understanding the imperfect ones to be  
equally ideal in their place1 has       
greatly added to the embarrassment and  
multiplied the errors of artists4#bd    
,thersites is just as ideal as          
,achilles1 and ,alecto as ,helen2 and1  
what is more1 all the nobleness of the  
beautiful ideal depends upon its being  
just as probable and natural as the ugly
 one1 and having in itself1 occasionally
 or partially1 both faults and          
familiarities4 ,if the next painter who 
desires to illustrate the character of  
,homer's ,achilles1 would represent him 
cutting pork chops for ,ulysses1#be he  
would enable the public to understand   
the ,homeric ideal better than they have
 done for several centuries4 ,for it is 
to be kept in mind that the naturalist  

ideal has always in it1 to the full1 the
 power expressed by those two words4 ,it
 is naturalist1 because studied from    
nature1 and ideal1 because it is        
mentally arranged in a certain manner4  
,achilles must be represented cutting   
pork chops1 because that was one of the 
things which the nature of ,achilles    
involved his doing3 he could not be     
shown wholly as ,achilles1 if he were   
not shown doing that4 ,but he shall do  
it at such time and place as ,homer     
chooses4  ,sec4 #e4 ,now1 therefore1    
observe the main conclusions which      
follow from these two conditions1       
attached always to art of this kind4    
,first1 it is to be taken straight from 
nature2 it is to be the plain narration 
of something the painter or writer saw4 
,herein is the chief practical          
difference between the higher and lower 
artists2 a difference which ,i feel more
 and more every day that ,i give to the 
study of art4 ,all the great men see    
what they paint before they paint       

it1--see it in a perfectly passive      
manner1--cannot help seeing it if they  
would2 whether in their mind's eye1 or  
in bodily fact1 does not matter2 very   
often the mental vision is1 ,i believe1 
in men of imagination1 clearer than the 
bodily one2 but vision it is1 of one    
kind or another1--the whole scene1      
character1 or incident passing before   
them as in second sight1 whether they   
will or no1 and requiring them to paint 
it as they see it2 they not daring1     
under the might of its presence1 to     
alter#bf one jot or tittle of it as they
 write it down or paint it down2 it     
being to them in its own kind and degree
 always a true vision or ,apocalypse1   
and invariably accompanied in their     
hearts by a feeling correspondent to the
 words1--,write the things which thou   
hast seen1 and the things which are4    
,and the whole power1 whether of painter
 or poet1 to describe rightly what we   
call an ideal thing1 depends upon its   
being thus1 to him1 not an ideal1 but a 

real thing4 ,no man ever did or ever    
will work well1 but either from actual  
sight or sight of faith2 and all that we
 call ideal in ,greek or any other art1 
because to us it is false and visionary1
 was1 to the makers of it1 true and     
existent4 ,the heroes of ,phidias are   
simply representations of such noble    
human persons as he every day saw1 and  
the gods of ,phidias simply             
representations of such noble divine    
persons as he thoroughly believed to    
exist1 and did in mental vision truly   
behold4 ,hence ,i said in the second    
preface to the ,seven ,lamps of         
,architecture3 ,all great art represents
 something that it sees or believes in2 
nothing unseen or uncredited4  ,sec4 #f4
 ,and just because it is always         
something that it sees or believes in1  
there is the peculiar character above   
noted1 almost unmistakable1 in all high 
and true ideals1 of having been as it   
were studied from the life1 and         
involving pieces of sudden familiarity1 

and close specific painting which never 
would have been admitted or even thought
 of1 had not the painter drawn either   
from the bodily life or from the life of
 faith4 ,for instance1 ,dante's centaur1
 ,chiron1 dividing his beard with his   
arrow before he can speak1 is a thing   
that no mortal would ever have thought  
of1 if he had not actually seen the     
centaur do it4 ,they might have composed
 handsome bodies of men and horses in   
all possible ways1 through a whole life 
of pseudo-idealism1 and yet never       
dreamed of any such thing4 ,but the real
 living centaur actually trotted across 
,dante's brain1 and he saw him do it4   
,sec4 #g4 ,and on account of this       
reality it is1 that the great idealists 
venture into all kinds of what1 to the  
pseudo-idealists1 are vulgarities4 ,nay1
 venturing is the wrong word2 the great 
men have no choice in the matter2 they  
do not know or care whether the things  
they describe are vulgarities or not4   
,they saw them3 they are the facts of   

the case4 ,if they had merely composed  
what they describe1 they would have had 
it at their will to refuse this         
circumstance or add that4 ,but they did 
not compose it4 ,it came to them ready  
fashioned2 they were too much impressed 
by it to think what was vulgar or not   
vulgar in it4 ,it might be a very wrong 
thing in a centaur to have so much      
beard2 but so it was4 ,and1 therefore1  
among the various ready tests of true   
greatness there is not any more certain 
than this daring reference to1 or use   
of1 mean and little things--mean and    
little1 that is1 to mean and little     
minds2 but1 when used by the great men1 
evidently part of the noble whole which 
is authoritatively present before them4 
,thus1 in the highest poetry1 as partly 
above noted in the first chapter1 there 
is no word so familiar but a great man  
will bring good out of it1 or rather1 it
 will bring good to him1 and answer some
 end for which no other word would have 
done equally well4  ,sec4 #h4 ,a common 

person1 for instance1 would be mightily 
puzzled to apply the word whelp to any  
one with a view of flattering him4      
,there is a certain freshness and energy
 in the term1 which gives it            
agreeableness2 but it seems difficult1  
at first hearing1 to use it             
complimentarily4 ,if the person spoken  
of be a prince1 the difficulty seems    
increased2 and when1 farther1 he is at  
one and the same moment to be called a  
whelp and contemplated as a hero1 it    
seems that a common idealist might well 
be brought to a pause4 ,but hear        
,shakspere do it3--                     
,invoke his warlike spirit1       ,and  
your great uncle's1 ,edward the ,black  
,prince1       ,who on the ,french      
ground play'd a tragedy1       ,making  
defeat on the full power of ,france1    
,while his most mighty father on a hill 
,stood smiling1 to behold his lion's    
whelp       ,forage in blood of ,french 
nobility4  ,so a common idealist would  
have been rather alarmed at the thought 

of introducing the name of a street in  
,paris--,straw ,street--,rue de         
,fouarre--into the midst of a           
description of the highest heavens4 ,not
 so ,dante1--        ,beyond1 thou mayst
 the flaming lustre scan         ,of    
,isidore1 of ,bede1 and that ,richart   
,who was in contemplation more than man4
       ,and he1 from whom thy looks     
returning are         ,to me1 a spirit  
was1 that in austere       ,deep musings
 often thought death kept too far4      
,that is the light eternal of ,sigier1  
,who while in ,rue de ,fouarre his days 
he wore1       ,has argued hateful      
truths in haughtiest ear4    ,,cayley4  
,what did it matter to ,dante1 up in    
heaven there1 whether the mob below     
thought him vulgar or not6 ,sigier had  
read in ,straw ,street2 that was the    
fact1 and he had to say so1 and there an
 end4  ,sec4 #i4 ,there is1 indeed1     
perhaps1 no greater sign of innate and  
real vulgarity of mind or defective     
education than the want of power to     

understand the universality of the ideal
 truth2 the absence of sympathy with the
 colossal grasp of those intellects1    
which have in them so much of divine1   
that nothing is small to them1 and      
nothing large2 but with equal and       
unoffended vision they take in the sum  
of the world1--,straw ,street and the   
seventh heavens1--in the same instant4  
,a certain portion of this divine spirit
 is visible even in the lower examples  
of all the true men2 it is1 indeed1     
perhaps1 the clearest test of their     
belonging to the true and great group1  
that they are continually touching what 
to the multitude appear vulgarities4    
,the higher a man stands1 the more the  
word vulgar becomes unintelligible to   
him4 ,vulgar8 what1 that poor farmer's  
girl of ,william ,hunt's1 bred in the   
stable1 putting on her ,sunday gown1 and
 pinning her best cap out of the green  
and red pin-cushion6 ,not so2 she may be
 straight on the road to those high     
heavens1 and may shine hereafter as one 

of the stars in the firmament for ever4 
,nay1 even that lady in the satin bodice
 with her arm laid over a balustrade to 
show it1 and her eyes turned up to      
heaven to show them2 and the sportsman  
waving his rifle for the terror of      
beasts1 and displaying his perfect dress
 for the delight of men1 are kept1 by   
the very misery and vanity of them1 in  
the thoughts of a great painter1 at a   
sorrowful level1 somewhat above         
vulgarity4 ,it is only when the minor   
painter takes them on his easel1 that   
they become things for the universe to  
be ashamed of4  ,we may dismiss this    
matter of vulgarity in plain and few    
words1 at least as far as regards art4  
,there is never vulgarity in a whole    
truth1 however commonplace4 ,it may be  
unimportant or painful4 ,it cannot be   
vulgar4 ,vulgarity is only in           
concealment of truth1 or in affectation4
  ,sec4 #aj4 ,well1 but1 7at this point 
the reader asks doubtfully17 if then    
your great central idealist is to show  

all truth1 low as well as lovely1       
receiving it in this passive way1 what  
becomes of all your principles of       
selection1 and of setting in the right  
place1 which you were talking about up  
to the end of your fourth paragraph8    
,how is ,homer to enforce upon ,achilles
 the cutting of the pork chops 'only at 
such time as ,homer chooses1' if ,homer 
is to have no choice1 but merely to see 
the thing done1 and sing it as he sees  
it8 ,why1 the choice1 as well as the    
vision1 is manifested to ,homer4 ,the   
vision comes to him in its chosen order4
 ,chosen for him1 not by him1 but yet   
full of visible and exquisite choice1   
just as a sweet and perfect dream will  
come to a sweet and perfect person1 so  
that1 in some sense1 they may be said to
 have chosen their dream1 or composed   
it2 and yet they could not help dreaming
 it so1 and in no other wise4 ,thus1    
exactly thus1 in all results of true    
inventive power1 the whole harmony of   
the thing done seems as if it had been  

wrought by the most exquisite rules4    
,but to him who did it1 it presented    
itself so1 and his will1 and knowledge1 
and personality1 for the moment went for
 nothing2 he became simply a scribe1 and
 wrote what he heard and saw4  ,and all 
efforts to do things of a similar kind  
by rule or by thought1 and all efforts  
to mend or rearrange the first order of 
the vision1 are not inventive2 on the   
contrary1 they ignore and deny          
invention4 ,if any man1 seeing certain  
forms laid on the canvas1 does by his   
reasoning power determine that certain  
changes wrought in them would mend or   
enforce them1 that is not only          
uninventive1 but contrary to invention1 
which must be the involuntary occurrence
 of certain forms or fancies to the mind
 in the order they are to be portrayed4 
,thus the knowing of rules and the      
exertion of judgment have a tendency to 
check and confuse the fancy in its flow2
 so that it will follow1 that1 in exact 
proportion as a master knows anything   

about rules of right and wrong1 he is   
likely to be uninventive2 and in exact  
proportion as he holds higher rank and  
has nobler inventive power1 he will know
 less of rules2 not despising them1 but 
simply feeling that between him and them
 there is nothing in common1--that      
dreams cannot be ruled--that as they    
come1 so they must be caught1 and they  
cannot be caught in any other shape than
 that they come in2 and that he might as
 well attempt to rule a rainbow into    
rectitude1 or cut notches in a moth's   
wings to hold it by1 as in any wise     
attempt to modify1 by rule1 the forms of
 the involuntary vision4  ,sec4 #aa4    
,and this1 which by reason we have thus 
anticipated1 is in reality universally  
so4 ,there is no exception4 ,the great  
men never know how or why they do       
things4 ,they have no rules2 cannot     
comprehend the nature of rules2--do not1
 usually1 even know1 in what they do1   
what is best or what is worst3 to them  
it is all the same2 something they      

cannot help saying or doing1--one piece 
of it as good as another1 and none of it
 7it seems to them7 worth much4 ,the    
moment any man begins to talk about     
rules1 in whatsoever art1 you may know  
him for a second-rate man2 and1 if he   
talks about them much1 he is a          
third-rate1 or not an artist at all4 ,to
 this rule there is no exception in any 
art2 but it is perhaps better to be     
illustrated in the art of music than in 
that of painting4 ,i fell by chance the 
other day upon a work of ,de            
,stendhal's1 ,vies de ,haydn1 de        
,mozart1 et de ,metastase1 fuller of    
common sense than any book ,i ever read 
on the arts2 though ,i see1 by the      
slight references made occasionally to  
painting1 that the author's knowledge   
therein is warped and limited by the    
elements of general teaching in the     
schools around him2 and ,i have not yet1
 therefore1 looked at what he has       
separately written on painting4 ,but one
 or two passages out of this book on    

music are closely to our present        
purpose4  ,counterpoint is related to   
mathematics3 a fool1 with patience1     
becomes a respectable savant in that2   
but for the part of genius1 melody1 it  
has no rules4 ,no art is so utterly     
deprived of precepts for the production 
of the beautiful4 ,so much the better   
for it and for us4 ,cimarosa1 when first
 at ,prague his air was executed1 ,pria 
che spunti in ciel l',aurora1 never     
heard the pedants say to him1 ',your air
 is fine1 because you have followed such
 and such a rule established by         
,pergolese in such an one of his airs2  
but it would be finer still if you had  
conformed yourself to such another rule 
from which ,galluppi never deviated4'   
,yes3 so much the better for it1 and for
 us2 but ,i trust the time will soon    
come when melody in painting will be    
understood1 no less than in music1 and  
when people will find that1 there also1 
the great melodists have no rules1 and  
cannot have any1 and that there are in  

this1 as in sound1 no precepts for the  
production of the beautiful4  ,sec4 #ab4
 ,again4 ,behold1 my friend1 an example 
of that simple way of answering which   
embarrasses much4 ,one asked him        
7,haydn7 the reason for a harmony--for a
 passage's being assigned to one        
instrument rather than another2 but all 
he ever answered was1 ',i have done it1 
because it does well4' ,farther on1 ,de 
,stendhal relates an anecdote of ,haydn2
 ,i believe one well known1 but so much 
to our purpose that ,i repeat it4 ,haydn
 had agreed to give some lessons in     
counterpoint to an ,english nobleman4   
',for our first lesson1' said the pupil1
 already learned in the art--drawing at 
the same time a quatuor of ,haydn's from
 his pocket1 'for our first lesson may  
we examine this quatuor2 and will you   
tell me the reasons of certain          
modulations1 which ,i cannot entirely   
approve because they are contrary to the
 principles8' ,haydn1 a little          
surprised1 declared himself ready to    

answer4 ,the nobleman began2 and at the 
very first measures found matter for    
objection4 ,haydn1 who invented         
habitually1 and who was the contrary of 
a pedant1 found himself much            
embarrassed1 and answered always1 ',i   
have done that because it has a good    
effect4 ,i have put that passage there  
because it does well4' ,the ,englishman1
 who judged that these answers proved   
nothing1 recommenced his proofs1 and    
demonstrated to him1 by very good       
reasons1 that his quatuor was good for  
nothing4 ',but1 my lord1 arrange this   
quatuor then to your fancy1--play it so1
 and you will see which of the two ways 
is the best4' ',but why is yours the    
best which is contrary to the rules8'   
',because it is the pleasantest4' ,the  
nobleman replied4 ,haydn at last lost   
patience1 and said1 ',i see1 my lord1 it
 is you who have the goodness to give   
lessons to me1 and truly ,i am forced to
 confess to you that ,i do not deserve  
the honor4' ,the partizan of the rules  

departed1 still astonished that in      
following the rules to the letter one   
cannot infallibly produce a ',matrimonio
 ,segreto4'  ,this anecdote1 whether in 
all points true or not1 is in its       
tendency most instructive1 except only  
in that it makes one false inference or 
admission1 namely1 that a good          
composition can be contrary to the      
rules4 ,it may be contrary to certain   
principles1 supposed in ignorance to be 
general2 but every great composition is 
in perfect harmony with all true rules1 
and involves thousands too delicate for 
ear1 or eye1 or thought1 to trace2 still
 it is possible to reason1 with infinite
 pleasure and profit1 about these       
principles1 when the thing is once done2
 only1 all our reasoning will not enable
 any one to do another thing like it1   
because all reasoning falls infinitely  
short of the divine instinct4 ,thus we  
may reason wisely over the way a bee    
builds its comb1 and be profited by     
finding out certain things about the    

angles of it4 ,but the bee knows nothing
 about those matters4 ,it builds its    
comb in a far more inevitable way4 ,and1
 from a bee to ,paul ,veronese1 all     
master-workers work with this awful1    
this inspired unconsciousness4  ,sec4   
#ac4 ,i said just now that there was no 
exception to this law1 that the great   
men never knew how or why they did      
things4 ,it is1 of course1 only with    
caution that such a broad statement     
should be made2 but ,i have seen much of
 different kinds of artists1 and ,i have
 always found the knowledge of1 and     
attention to1 rules so accurately in the
 inverse ratio to the power of the      
painter1 that ,i have myself no doubt   
that the law is constant1 and that men's
 smallness may be trigonometrically     
estimated by the attention which1 in    
their work1 they pay to principles1     
especially principles of composition4   
,the general way in which the great men 
speak is of trying to do this or that1  
just as a child would tell of something 

he had seen and could not utter4 ,thus1 
in speaking of the drawing of which ,i  
have given an etching farther on 7a     
scene on the ,st4 ,gothard#bg71 ,turner 
asked if ,i had been to see that litter 
of stones which ,i endeavored to        
represent2 and ,william ,hunt1 when ,i  
asked him one day as he was painting1   
why he put on such and such a color1    
answered1 ,i don't know2 ,i am just     
aiming at it2 and ,turner1 and he1 and  
all the other men ,i have known who     
could paint1 always spoke and speak in  
the same way2 not in any selfish        
restraint of their knowledge1 but in    
pure simplicity4 ,while all the men whom
 ,i know1 who cannot paint1 are ready   
with admirable reasons for everything   
they have done2 and can show1 in the    
most conclusive way1 that ,turner is    
wrong1 and how he might be improved4    
,sec4 #ad4 ,and this is the reason for  
the somewhat singular1 but very palpable
 truth that the ,chinese1 and ,indians1 
and other semi-civilized nations1 can   

color better than we do1 and that an    
,indian shawl or ,chinese vase are      
still1 in invention of color1 inimitable
 by us4 ,it is their glorious ignorance 
of all rules that does it2 the pure and 
true instincts have play1 and do their  
work1--instincts so subtle1 that the    
least warping or compression breaks or  
blunts them2 and the moment we begin    
teaching people any rules about color1  
and make them do this or that1 we crush 
the instinct generally for ever4 ,hence1
 hitherto1 it has been an actual        
necessity1 in order to obtain power of  
coloring1 that a nation should be       
half-savage3 everybody could color in   
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries2   
but we were ruled and legalized into    
grey in the fifteenth2--only a little   
salt simplicity of their sea natures at 
,venice still keeping their precious1   
shellfishy purpleness and power2 and now
 that is gone2 and nobody can color     
anywhere1 except the ,hindoos and       
,chinese2 but that need not be so1 and  

will not be so long2 for1 in a little   
while1 people will find out their       
mistake1 and give up talking about rules
 of color1 and then everybody will color
 again1 as easily as they now talk4     
,sec4 #ae4 ,such1 then1 being the       
generally passive or instinctive        
character of right invention1 it may be 
asked how these unmanageable instincts  
are to be rendered practically          
serviceable in historical or poetical   
painting1--especially historical1 in    
which given facts are to be represented4
 ,simply by the sense and self-control  
of the whole man2 not by control of the 
particular fancy or vision4 ,he who     
habituates himself1 in his daily life1  
to seek for the stern facts in whatever 
he hears or sees1 will have these facts 
again brought before him by the         
involuntary imaginative power in their  
noblest associations2 and he who seeks  
for frivolities and fallacies1 will have
 frivolities and fallacies again        
presented to him in his dreams4 ,thus   

if1 in reading history for the purpose  
of painting from it1 the painter        
severely seeks for the accurate         
circumstances of every event2 as1 for   
instance1 determining the exact spot of 
ground on which his hero fell1 the way  
he must have been looking at the moment1
 the height the sun was at 7by the hour 
of the day71 and the way in which the   
light must have fallen upon his face1   
the actual number and individuality of  
the persons by him at the moment1 and   
such other veritable details1           
ascertaining and dwelling upon them     
without the slightest care for any      
desirableness or poetic propriety in    
them1 but for their own truth's sake2   
then these truths will afterwards rise  
up and form the body of his imaginative 
vision1 perfected and united as his     
inspiration may teach4 ,but if1 in      
reading the history1 he does not regard 
these facts1 but thinks only how it     
might all most prettily1 and properly1  
and impressively have happened1 then    

there is nothing but prettiness and     
propriety to form the body of his future
 imagination1 and his whole ideal       
becomes false4 ,so1 in the higher or    
expressive part of the work1 the whole  
virtue of it depends on his being able  
to quit his own personality1 and enter  
successively into the hearts and        
thoughts of each person2 and in all this
 he is still passive3 in gathering the  
truth he is passive1 not determining    
what the truth to be gathered shall be2 
and in the after vision he is passive1  
not determining1 but as his dreams will 
have it1 what the truth to be           
represented shall be2 only according to 
his own nobleness is his power of       
entering into the hearts of noble       
persons1 and the general character of   
his dream of them4#bh  ,sec4 #af4 ,it   
follows from all this1 evidently1 that a
 great idealist never can be egotistic4 
,the whole of his power depends upon his
 losing sight and feeling of his own    
existence1 and becoming a mere witness  

and mirror of truth1 and a scribe of    
visions1--always passive in sight1      
passive in utterance1--lamenting        
continually that he cannot completely   
reflect nor clearly utter all he has    
seen4 ,not by any means a proud state   
for a man to be in4 ,but the man who has
 no invention is always setting things  
in order1 and putting the world to      
rights1 and mending1 and beautifying1   
and pluming himself on his doings as    
supreme in all ways4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,there 
is still the question open1 ,what are   
the principal directions in which this  
ideal faculty is to exercise itself most
 usefully for mankind8  ,this question1 
however1 is not to the purpose of our   
present work1 which respects            
landscape-painting only2 it must be one 
of those left open to the reader's      
thoughts1 and for future inquiry in     
another place4 ,one or two essential    
points ,i briefly notice4  ,in ,chap4   
,,iv4 ,sec4 #e4 it was said1 that one of
 the first functions of imagination was 

traversing the scenes of history1 and   
forcing the facts to become again       
visible4 ,but there is so little of such
 force in written history1 that it is no
 marvel there should be none hitherto in
 painting4 ,there does not exist1 as far
 as ,i know1 in the world a single      
example of a good historical picture    
7that is to say1 of one which1 allowing 
for necessary dimness in art as compared
 with nature1 yet answers nearly the    
same ends in our minds as the sight of  
the real event would have answered72 the
 reason being1 the universal endeavor to
 get effects instead of facts1 already  
shown as the root of false idealism4    
,true historical ideal1 founded on      
sense1 correctness of knowledge1 and    
purpose of usefulness1 does not yet     
exist2 the production of it is a task   
which the closing nineteenth century may
 propose to itself4  ,sec4 #ah4 ,another
 point is to be observed4 ,i do not1 as 
the reader may have lately perceived1   
insist on the distinction between       

historical and poetical painting1       
because1 as noted in the #bbnd paragraph
 of the third chapter1 all great        
painting must be both4  ,nevertheless1 a
 certain distinction must generally     
exist between men who1 like ,horace     
,vernet1 ,david1 or ,domenico ,tintoret1
 would employ themselves in painting1   
more or less graphically1 the outward   
verities of passing events--battles1    
councils1 c4--of their day 7who1        
supposing them to work worthily of their
 mission1 would become1 properly so     
called1 historical or narrative         
painters72 and men who sought1 in scenes
 of perhaps less outward importance1    
noble grounds for noble emotion2--who   
would be1 in a certain separate sense1  
poetical painters1 some of them taking  
for subjects events which had actually  
happened1 and others themes from the    
poets2 or1 better still1 becoming poets 
themselves in the entire sense1 and     
inventing the story as they painted it4 
,painting seems to me only just to be   

beginning1 in this sense also1 to take  
its proper position beside literature1  
and the pictures of the ,awakening      
,conscience1 ,huguenot1 and such others1
 to be the first fruits of its new      
effort4  ,sec4 #ai4 ,finally1 as far as 
,i can observe1 it is a constant law    
that the greatest men1 whether poets or 
historians1 live entirely in their own  
age1 and that the greatest fruits of    
their work are gathered out of their own
 age4 ,dante paints ,italy in the       
thirteenth century2 ,chaucer1 ,england  
in the fourteenth2 ,masaccio1 ,florence 
in the fifteenth2 ,tintoret1 ,venice in 
the sixteenth2--all of them utterly     
regardless of anachronism and minor     
error of every kind1 but getting always 
vital truth out of the vital present4   
,sec4 #bj4 ,if it be said that          
,shakspere wrote perfect historical     
plays on subjects belonging to the      
preceding centuries1 ,i answer1 that    
they are perfect plays just because     
there is no care about centuries in     

them1 but a life which all men recognise
 for the human life of all time2 and    
this it is1 not because ,shakspere      
sought to give universal truth1 but     
because1 painting honestly and          
completely from the men about him1 he   
painted that human nature which is1     
indeed1 constant enough1--a rogue in the
 fifteenth century being1 at heart1 what
 a rogue is in the nineteenth and was in
 the twelfth2 and an honest or a        
knightly man being1 in like manner1 very
 similar to other such at any other     
time4 ,and the work of these great      
idealists is1 therefore1 always         
universal2 not because it is not        
portrait1 but because it is complete    
portrait down to the heart1 which is the
 same in all ages3 and the work of the  
mean idealists is not universal1 not    
because it is portrait1 but because it  
is half portrait1--of the outside1 the  
manners and the dress1 not of the heart4
 ,thus ,tintoret and ,shakspere paint1  
both of them1 simply ,venetian and      

,english nature as they saw it in their 
time1 down to the root2 and it does for 
all time2 but as for any care to cast   
themselves into the particular ways and 
tones of thought1 or custom1 of past    
time in their historical work1 you will 
find it in neither of them1 nor in any  
other perfectly great man that ,i know  
of4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,if there had been no   
vital truth in their present1 it is hard
 to say what these men could have done4 
,i suppose1 primarily1 they would not   
have existed2 that they1 and the matter 
they have to treat of1 are given        
together1 and that the strength of the  
nation and its historians correlatively 
rise and fall--,herodotus springing out 
of the dust of ,marathon4 ,it is also   
hard to say how far our better general  
acquaintance with minor details of past 
history may make us able to turn the    
shadow on the imaginative dial          
backwards1 and naturally to live1 and   
even live strongly if we choose1 in past
 periods2 but this main truth will      

always be unshaken1 that the only       
historical painting deserving the name  
is portraiture of our own living men and
 our own passing times1#bi and that all 
efforts to summon up the events of      
bygone periods1 though often useful and 
touching1 must come under an inferior   
class of poetical painting2 nor will it1
 ,i believe1 ever be much followed as   
their main work by the strongest men1   
but only by the weaker and comparatively
 sentimental 7rather than imaginative7  
groups4 ,this marvellous first half of  
the nineteenth century has in this      
matter1 as in nearly all others1 been   
making a double blunder4 ,it has1 under 
the name of improvement1 done all it    
could to ,,efface ,,the ,,records which 
departed ages have left of themselves1  
while it has declared the ,,forgery ,,of
 ,,false ,,records of these same ages to
 be the great work of its historical    
painters6 ,i trust that in a few years  
more we shall come somewhat to our      
senses in the matter1 and begin to      

perceive that our duty is to preserve   
what the past has had to say for itself1
 and to say for ourselves also what     
shall be true for the future4 ,let us   
strive1 with just veneration for that   
future1 first to do what is worthy to be
 spoken1 and then to speak it           
faithfully2 and1 with veneration for the
 past1 recognize that it is indeed in   
the power of love to preserve the       
monument1 but not of incantation to     
raise the dead4    #bd ,the word ideal  
is used in this limited sense in the    
chapter        on ,generic ,beauty in   
the second volume1 but under protest4   
,see ,sec4 #d in that chapter4    #be   
,,ii4 ix4 #bji4    #bf ,and yet you have
 just said it shall be at such time and 
place as ,homer chooses4 ,is not this   
altering8 ,no2 wait a        little1 and
 read on4    #bg ,see ,plate ,,xxi4 in  
,chap4 ,,iii4 ,vol4 ,,iv4    #bh ,the   
reader should1 of course1 refer for     
further details on        this subject  
to the chapters on ,imagination in ,vol4

 ,,ii41 of        which ,i am only      
glancing now at the practical results4  
#bi ,see ,edinburgh ,lectures1 p4 #bag4 
,,chapter ,,viii4  ,,of ,,the ,,true    
,,ideal3 ,,thirdly1 ,,grotesque4   ,sec4
 #a4 ,i have already1 in the ,stones of 
,venice1 had occasion to analyze1 as far
 as ,i was able1 the noble nature and   
power of grotesque conception2 ,i am not
 sorry occasionally to refer the reader 
to that work1 the fact being that it and
 this are parts of one whole1 divided   
merely as ,i had occasion to follow out 
one or other of its branches2 for ,i    
have always considered architecture as  
an essential part of landscape2 and ,i  
think the study of its best styles and  
real meaning one of the necessary       
functions of the landscape-painter2 as1 
in like manner1 the architect cannot be 
a master-workman until all his designs  
are guided by understanding of the      
wilder beauty of pure nature4 ,but1 be  
this as it may1 the discussion of the   
grotesque element belonged most properly

 to the essay on architecture1 in which 
that element must always find its       
fullest development4  ,sec4 #b4 ,the    
,grotesque is in that chapter#cj divided
 principally into three kinds3  7,a74   
,art arising from healthful but         
irrational play of the imagination in   
times of rest4  7,b74 ,art arising from 
irregular and accidental contemplation  
of terrible things2 or evil in general4 
7,c74 ,art arising from the confusion of
 the imagination by the presence of     
truths which it cannot wholly grasp4    
,it is the central form of this art1    
arising from contemplation of evil1     
which forms the link of connection      
between it and the sensualist ideals1 as
 pointed out above in the second        
paragraph of the sixth chapter1 the fact
 being that the imagination1 when at    
play1 is curiously like bad children1   
and likes to play with fire2 in its     
entirely serious moods it dwells by     
preference on beautiful and sacred      
images1 but in its mocking or playful   

moods it is apt to jest1 sometimes      
bitterly1 with undercurrent of sternest 
pathos1 sometimes waywardly1 sometimes  
slightly and wickedly1 with death and   
sin2 hence an enormous mass of grotesque
 art1 some most noble and useful1 as    
,holbein's ,dance of ,death1 and ,albert
 ,durer's ,knight and ,death1#ca going  
down gradually through various          
conditions of less and less seriousness 
into an art whose only end is that of   
mere excitement1 or amusement by terror1
 like a child making mouths at another1 
more or less redeemed by the degree of  
wit or fancy in the grimace it makes1 as
 in the demons of ,teniers and such     
others2 and1 lower still1 in the        
demonology of the stage4  ,sec4 #c4 ,the
 form arising from an entirely healthful
 and open play of the imagination1 as in
 ,shakspere's ,ariel and ,titania1 and  
in ,scott's ,white ,lady1 is            
comparatively rare4 ,it hardly ever is  
free from some slight taint of the      
inclination to evil2 still more rarely  

is it1 when so free1 natural to the     
mind2 for the moment we begin to        
contemplate sinless beauty we are apt to
 get serious2 and moral fairy tales1 and
 such other innocent work1 are hardly   
ever truly1 that is to say1 naturally   
imaginative2 but for the most part      
laborious inductions and compositions4  
,the moment any real vitality enters    
them1 they are nearly sure to become    
satirical1 or slightly gloomy1 and so   
connect themselves with the             
evil-enjoying branch4  ,sec4 #d4 ,the   
third form of the ,grotesque is a       
thoroughly noble one4 ,it is that which 
arises out of the use or fancy of       
tangible signs to set forth an otherwise
 less expressible truth2 including      
nearly the whole range of symbolical and
 allegorical art and poetry4 ,its       
nobleness has been sufficiently insisted
 upon in the place before referred to4  
7,chapter on ,grotesque ,renaissance1   
,sec4,sec4 ,,lxiii4 ,,lxiv4 c47 ,of its 
practical use1 especially in painting1  

deeply despised among us1 because       
grossly misunderstood1 a few words must 
be added here4  ,a fine grotesque is the
 expression1 in a moment1 by a series of
 symbols thrown together in bold and    
fearless connection1 of truths which it 
would have taken a long time to express 
in any verbal way1 and of which the     
connection is left for the beholder to  
work out for himself2 the gaps1 left or 
overleaped by the haste of the          
imagination1 forming the grotesque      
character4  ,sec4 #e4 ,for instance1    
,spenser desires to tell us1 7#a47 that 
envy is the most untamable and          
unappeasable of the passions1 not to be 
soothed by any kindness2 7#b47 that with
 continual labor it invents evil        
thoughts out of its own heart2 7#c47    
that even in this1 its power of doing   
harm is partly hindered by the decaying 
and corrupting nature of the evil it    
lives in2 7#d47 that it looks every way1
 and that whatever it sees is altered   
and discolored by its own nature2 7#e47 

which discoloring1 however1 is to it a  
veil1 or disgraceful dress1 in the sight
 of others2 7#f47 and that it never is  
free from the most bitter suffering1    
7#g47 which cramps all its acts and     
movements1 enfolding and crushing it    
while it torments4 ,all this it has     
required a somewhat long and languid    
sentence for me to say in unsymbolical  
terms1--not1 by the way1 that they are  
unsymbolical altogether1 for ,i have    
been forced1 whether ,i would or not1 to
 use some figurative words2 but even    
with this help the sentence is long and 
tiresome1 and does not with any vigor   
represent the truth4 ,it would take some
 prolonged enforcement of each sentence 
to make it felt1 in ordinary ways of    
talking4 ,but ,spenser puts it all into 
a grotesque1 and it is done shortly and 
at once1 so that we feel it fully1 and  
see it1 and never forget it4 ,i have    
numbered above the statements which had 
to be made4 ,i now number them with the 
same numbers1 as they occur in the      

several pieces of the grotesque3--      
,and next to him malicious ,envy rode   
7#a47 ,upon a ravenous wolfe1 and 7#b4  
#c47 still did chaw                     
,between his cankred#cb teeth a venemous
 tode               ,that all the poison
 ran about his jaw4       7#d4 #e47 ,all
 in a kirtle of discolourd say          
,he clothed was1 y-paynted full of eies2
          7#f47 ,and in his bosome      
secretly there lay               ,an    
hatefull snake1 the which his tail      
uptyes          7#g47 ,in many folds1   
and mortall sting implyes4  ,there is   
the whole thing in nine lines2 or1      
rather1 in one image1 which will hardly 
occupy any room at all on the mind's    
shelves1 but can be lifted out1 whole1  
whenever we want it4 ,all noble         
grotesques are concentrations of this   
kind1 and the noblest convey truths     
which nothing else could convey2 and not
 only so1 but convey them1 in minor     
cases with a delightfulness1--in the    
higher instances with an                

awfulness1--which no mere utterance of  
the symbolised truth would have         
possessed1 but which belongs to the     
effort of the mind to unweave the       
riddle1 or to the sense it has of there 
being an infinite power and meaning in  
the thing seen1 beyond all that is      
apparent therein1 giving the highest    
sublimity even to the most trivial      
object so presented and so contemplated4
        ',jeremiah1 what seest thou8'   
',i see a seething pot1 and the face    
thereof is toward the north1       ',out
 of the north an evil shall break forth 
upon all the          inhabitants of the
 land4'  ,and thus in all ages and among
 all nations1 grotesque idealism has    
been the element through which the most 
appalling and eventful truth has been   
wisely conveyed1 from the most sublime  
words of true ,revelation1 to the       
,greek3 all' hot' an ,hemionos basileus1
 c41 of the oracles1 and the more or    
less doubtful teaching of dreams2 and so
 down to ordinary poetry4 ,no element of

 imagination has a wider range1 a more  
magnificent use1 or so colossal a grasp 
of sacred truth4  ,sec4 #f4 ,how1 then1 
is this noble power best to be employed 
in the art of painting8  ,we hear it not
 unfrequently asserted that symbolism or
 personification should not be          
introduced in painting at all4 ,such    
assertions are in their grounds         
unintelligible1 and in their substance  
absurd4 ,whatever is in words described 
as visible1 may with all logical        
fitness#cc be rendered so by colors1 and
 not only is this a legitimate branch of
 ideal art1 but ,i believe there is     
hardly any other so widely useful and   
instructive2 and ,i heartily wish that  
every great allegory which the poets    
ever invented were powerfully put on    
canvas1 and easily accessible by all    
men1 and that our artists were          
perpetually exciting themselves to      
invent more4 ,and as far as authority   
bears on the question1 the simple fact  
is that allegorical painting has been   

the delight of the greatest men and of  
the wisest multitudes1 from the         
beginning of art1 and will be till art  
expires4 ,orcagua's ,triumph of ,death2 
,simon ,memmi's frescoes in the ,spanish
 ,chapel2 ,giotto's principal works at  
,assisi1 and partly at the ,arena2      
,michael ,angelo's two best statues1 the
 ,night and ,day2 ,albert ,durer's noble
 ,melancholy1 and hundreds more of his  
best works2 a full third1 ,i should     
think1 of the works of ,tintoret and    
,veronese1 and nearly as large a portion
 of those of ,raphael and ,rubens1 are  
entirely symbolical or personifiant2    
and1 except in the case of the          
last-named painter1 are always among the
 most interesting works the painters    
executed4 ,the greater and more         
thoughtful the artists1 the more they   
delight in symbolism1 and the more      
fearlessly they employ it4 ,dead        
symbolism1 second-hand symbolism1       
pointless symbolism1 are indeed         
objectionable enough2 but so are most   

other things that are dead1 second-hand1
 and pointless4 ,it is also true that   
both symbolism and personification are  
somewhat more apt than most things to   
have their edges taken off by too much  
handling2 and what with our modern      
,fames1 ,justices1 and various          
metaphorical ideals1 largely used for   
signs and other such purposes1 there is 
some excuse for our not well knowing    
what the real power of personification  
is4 ,but that power is gigantic and     
inexhaustible1 and ever to be grasped   
with peculiar joy by the painter1       
because it permits him to introduce     
picturesque elements and flights of     
fancy into his work1 which otherwise    
would be utterly inadmissible2 to bring 
the wild beasts of the desert into the  
room of state1 fill the air with        
inhabitants as well as the earth1 and   
render the least 7visibly7 interesting  
incidents themes for the most thrilling 
drama4 ,even ,tintoret might sometimes  
have been hard put to it1 when he had to

 fill a large panel in the ,ducal       
,palace with the portrait of a nowise   
interesting ,doge1 unless he had been   
able to lay a winged lion beside him1   
ten feet long from the nose to the tail1
 asleep upon the ,turkey carpet2 and    
,rubens could certainly have made his   
flatteries of ,mary of ,medicis         
palatable to no one but herself1 without
 the help of rosy-cheeked goddesses of  
abundance1 and seven-headed hydras of   
rebellion4  ,sec4 #g4 ,for observe1 not 
only does the introduction of these     
imaginary beings permit greater         
fantasticism of incident1 but also      
infinite fantasticism of treatment2 and1
 ,i believe1 so far from the pursuit of 
the false ideal having in any wise      
exhausted the realms of fantastic       
imagination1 those realms have hardly   
yet been entered1 and that a universe of
 noble dream-land lies before us1 yet to
 be conquered4 ,for1 hitherto1 when     
fantastic creatures have been           
introduced1 either the masters have been

 so realistic in temper that they made  
the spirits as substantial as their     
figures of flesh and blood1--as ,rubens1
 and1 for the most part1 ,tintoret2 or  
else they have been weak and unpractised
 in realization1 and have painted       
transparent or cloudy spirits because   
they had no power of painting grand     
ones4 ,but if a really great painter1   
thoroughly capable of giving substantial
 truth1 and master of the elements of   
pictorial effect which have been        
developed by modern art1 would solemnly1
 and yet fearlessly1 cast his fancy free
 in the spiritual world1 and faithfully 
follow out such masters of that world as
 ,dante and ,spenser1 there seems no    
limit to the splendor of thought which  
painting might express4 ,consider1 for  
instance1 how the ordinary              
personifications of ,charity oscillate  
between the mere nurse of many children1
 of ,reynolds1 and the somewhat         
painfully conceived figure with flames  
issuing from the heart1 of ,giotto2 and 

how much more significance might be     
given to the representation of ,love1 by
 amplifying with tenderness the thought 
of ,dante1 ,tanta rossa1 che a pena fora
 dentro al foco nota1#cd that is to say1
 by representing the loveliness of her  
face and form as all flushed with glow  
of crimson light1 and1 as she descended 
through heaven1 all its clouds colored  
by her presence as they are by sunset4  
,in the hands of a feeble painter1 such 
an attempt would end in mere caricature2
 but suppose it taken up by ,correggio1 
adding to his power of flesh-painting   
the 7not inconsistent7 feeling of       
,angelico in design1 and a portion of   
,turner's knowledge of the clouds4      
,there is nothing impossible in such a  
conjunction as this4 ,correggio1 trained
 in another school1 might have even     
himself shown some such extent of grasp2
 and in ,turner's picture of the dragon 
of the ,hesperides1 ,jason1 vignette to 
,voyage of ,columbus 7,slowly along the 
evening sky they went71 and such others1

 as well as in many of the works of     
,watts and ,rosetti1 is already visible1
 as ,i trust1 the dawn of a new era of  
art1 in a true unison of the grotesque  
with the realistic power4  ,sec4 #h4    
,there is1 however1 unquestionably1 a   
severe limit1 in the case of all        
inferior masters1 to the degree in which
 they may venture to realize grotesque  
conception1 and partly1 also1 a limit in
 the nature of the thing itself1 there  
being many grotesque ideas which may be 
with safety suggested dimly by words or 
slight lines1 but which will hardly bear
 being painted into perfect             
definiteness4 ,it is very difficult1 in 
reasoning on this matter1 to divest     
ourselves of the prejudices which have  
been forced upon us by the base         
grotesque of men like ,bronzino1 who1   
having no true imagination1 are apt1    
more than others1 to try by startling   
realism to enforce the monstrosity that 
has no terror in itself4 ,but it is     
nevertheless true1 that1 unless in the  

hands of the very greatest men1 the     
grotesque seems better to be expressed  
merely in line1 or light and shade1 or  
mere abstract color1 so as to mark it   
for a thought rather than a substantial 
fact4 ,even if ,albert ,durer had       
perfectly painted his ,knight and       
,death1 ,i question if we should feel it
 so great a thought as we do in the dark
 engraving4 ,blake1 perfectly powerful  
in the etched grotesque of the book of  
,job1 fails always more or less as soon 
as he adds color2 not merely for want of
 power 7his eye for color being         
naturally good71 but because his        
subjects seem1 in a sort1 insusceptible 
of completion2 and the two inexpressibly
 noble and pathetic woodcut grotesques  
of ,alfred ,rethel's1 ,death the        
,avenger1 and ,death the ,friend1 could 
not1 ,i think1 but with disadvantage1 be
 advanced into pictorial color4  ,and   
what is thus doubtfully true of the     
pathetic grotesque1 is assuredly and    
always true of the jesting grotesque4   

,so far as it expresses any transient   
flash of wit or satire1 the less labor  
of line1 or color1 given to its         
expression the better2 elaborate jesting
 being always intensely painful4  ,sec4 
#i4 ,for these several reasons1 it seems
 not only permissible1 but even         
desirable1 that the art by which the    
grotesque is expressed should be more or
 less imperfect1 and this seems a most  
beneficial ordinance as respects the    
human race in general4 ,for the         
grotesque being not only a most forceful
 instrument of teaching1 but a most     
natural manner of expression1 springing 
as it does at once from any tendency to 
playfulness in minds highly             
comprehensive of truth2 and being also  
one of the readiest ways in which such  
satire or wit as may be possessed by men
 of any inferior rank of mind can be for
 perpetuity expressed1 it becomes on all
 grounds desirable that what is         
suggested in times of play should be    
rightly sayable without toil2 and what  

occurs to men of inferior power or      
knowledge1 sayable without any high     
degree of skill4 ,hence it is an        
infinite good to mankind when there is  
full acceptance of the grotesque1       
slightly sketched or expressed2 and1 if 
field for such expression be frankly    
granted1 an enormous mass of            
intellectual power is turned to         
everlasting use1 which1 in this present 
century of ours1 evaporates in street   
gibing or vain revelling2 all the good  
wit and satire expiring in daily talk1  
7like foam on wine17 which in the       
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries had 
a permitted and useful expression in the
 arts of sculpture and illumination1    
like foam fixed into chalcedony4 ,it is 
with a view 7not the least important    
among many others bearing upon art7 to  
the reopening of this great field of    
human intelligence1 long entirely       
closed1 that ,i am striving to introduce
 ,gothic architecture into daily        
domestic use2 and to revive the art of  

illumination1 properly so called2 not   
the art of miniature-painting in books1 
or on vellum1 which has ridiculously    
been confused with it2 but of making    
writing1 simple writing1 beautiful to   
the eye1 by investing it with the great 
chord of perfect color1 blue1 purple1   
scarlet1 white1 and gold1 and in that   
chord of color1 permitting the continual
 play of the fancy of the writer in     
every species of grotesque imagination1 
carefully excluding shadow2 the         
distinctive difference between          
illumination and painting proper1 being1
 that illumination admits no shadows1   
but only gradations of pure color4 ,and 
it is in this respect that illumination 
is specially fitted for grotesque       
expression2 for1 when ,i used the term  
pictorial color1 just now1 in speaking  
of the completion of the grotesque of   
,death the ,avenger1 ,i meant to        
distinguish such color from the         
abstract1 shadeless hues which are      
eminently fitted for grotesque thought4 

,the requirement1 respecting the        
slighter grotesque1 is only that it     
shall be incompletely expressed4 ,it may
 have light and shade without color 7as 
in etching and sculpture71 or color     
without light and shade 7illumination71 
but must not1 except in the hands of the
 greatest masters1 have both4 ,and for  
some conditions of the playful          
grotesque1 the abstract color is a much 
more delightful element of expression   
than the abstract light and shade4      
,sec4 #aj4 ,such being the manifold and 
precious uses of the true grotesque1 it 
only remains for us to note carefully   
how it is to be distinguished from the  
false and vicious grotesque which       
results from idleness1 instead of noble 
rest2 from malice1 instead of the solemn
 contemplation of necessary evil2 and   
from general degradation of the human   
spirit1 instead of its subjection1 or   
confusion1 by thoughts too high for it4 
,it is easy for the reader to conceive  
how different the fruits of two such    

different states of mind must be2 and   
yet how like in many respects1 and apt  
to be mistaken1 one for the other2--how 
the jest which springs from mere        
fatuity1 and vacant want of penetration 
or purpose1 is everlastingly1           
infinitely1 separated from1 and yet may 
sometimes be mistaken for1 the bright1  
playful1 fond1 far-sighted jest of      
,plato1 or the bitter1 purposeful1      
sorrowing jest of ,aristophanes2 how1   
again1 the horror which springs from    
guilty love of foulness and sin1 may be 
often mistaken for the inevitable horror
 which a great mind must sometimes feel 
in the full and penetrative sense of    
their presence2--how1 finally1 the vague
 and foolish inconsistencies of         
undisciplined dream or reverie may be   
mistaken for the compelled              
inconsistencies of thoughts too great to
 be well sustained1 or clearly uttered4 
,it is easy1 ,i say1 to understand what 
a difference there must indeed be       
between these2 and yet how difficult it 

may be always to define it1 or lay down 
laws for the discovery of it1 except by 
the just instinct of minds set          
habitually in all things to discern     
right from wrong4  ,sec4 #aa4           
,nevertheless1 one good and             
characteristic instance may be of       
service in marking the leading          
directions in which the contrast is     
discernible4 ,on the opposite page1     
,plate ,i41 ,i have put1 beside each    
other1 a piece of true grotesque1 from  
the ,lombard-,gothic1 and of false      
grotesque from classical 7,roman7       
architecture4 ,they are both griffins2  
the one on the left carries on his back 
one of the main pillars of the porch of 
the cathedral of ,verona2 the one on the
 right is on the frieze of the temple of
 ,antoninus and ,faustina at ,rome1 much
 celebrated by ,renaissance and bad     
modern architects4  ,in some respects1  
however1 this classical griffin deserves
 its reputation4 ,it is exceedingly fine
 in lines of composition1 and1 ,i       

believe 7,i have not examined the       
original closely71 very exquisite in    
execution4 ,for these reasons1 it is all
 the better for our purpose4 ,i do not  
want to compare the worst false         
grotesque with the best true1 but       
rather1 on the contrary1 the best false 
with the simplest true1 in order to see 
how the delicately wrought lie fails in 
the presence of the rough truth2 for    
rough truth in the present case it is1  
the ,lombard sculpture being altogether 
untoward and imperfect in execution4#ce 
,sec4 #ab4 ,well1 but1 the reader says1 
what do you mean by calling either of   
them true8 ,there never were such beasts
 in the world as either of these8  ,no1 
never3 but the difference is1 that the  
,lombard workman did really see a       
griffin in his imagination1 and carved  
it from the life1 meaning to declare to 
all ages that he had verily seen with   
his immortal eyes such a griffin as     
that2 but the classical workman never   
saw a griffin at all1 nor anything else2

 but put the whole thing together by    
line and rule4  ,sec4 #ac4 ,how do you  
know that8  ,very easily4 ,look at the  
two1 and think over them4 ,you know a   
griffin is a beast composed of lion and 
eagle4 ,the classical workman set       
himself to fit these together in the    
most ornamental way possible4 ,he       
accordingly carves a sufficiently       
satisfactory lion's body1 then attaches 
very gracefully cut wings to the sides3 
then1 because he cannot get the eagle's 
head on the broad lion's shoulders1 fits
 the two together by something like a   
horse's neck 7some griffins being wholly
 composed of a horse and eagle71 then1  
finding the horse's neck look weak and  
unformidable1 he strengthens it by a    
series of bosses1 like vertebrae1 in    
front1 and by a series of spiny cusps1  
instead of a mane1 on the ridge2 next1  
not to lose the whole leonine character 
about the neck1 he gives a remnant of   
the lion's beard1 turned into a sort of 
griffin's whisker1 and nicely curled and

 pointed2 then an eye1 probably meant to
 look grand and abstracted1 and         
therefore neither lion's nor eagle's2   
and1 finally1 an eagle's beak1 very     
sufficiently studied from a real one4   
,the whole head being1 it seems to him1 
still somewhat wanting in weight and    
power1 he brings forward the right wing 
behind it1 so as to enclose it with a   
broad line4 ,this is the finest thing in
 the composition1 and very masterly1    
both in thought1 and in choice of the   
exactly right point where the lines of  
wing and beak should intersect 7and it  
may be noticed in passing1 that all men1
 who can compose at all1 have this habit
 of encompassing or governing broken    
lines with broad ones1 wherever it is   
possible1 of which we shall see many    
instances hereafter74 ,the whole        
griffin1 thus gracefully composed1      
being1 nevertheless1 when all is done1 a
 very composed griffin1 is set to very  
quiet work1 and raising his left foot1  
to balance his right wing1 sets it on   

the tendril of a flower so lightly as   
not even to bend it down1 though1 in    
order to reach it1 his left leg is made 
half as long again as his right4  ,sec4 
#ad4 ,we may be pretty sure1 if the     
carver had ever seen a griffin1 he would
 have reported of him as doing something
 else than that with his feet4 ,let us  
see what the ,lombardic workman saw him 
doing4  ,remember1 first1 the griffin1  
though part lion and part eagle1 has the
 united power of both4 ,he is not merely
 a bit of lion and a bit of eagle1 but  
whole lion1 incorporate with whole      
eagle4 ,so when we really see one1 we   
may be quite sure we shall not find him 
wanting in anything necessary to the    
might either of beast or bird4  ,well1  
among things essential to the might of a
 lion1 perhaps1 on the whole1 the most  
essential are his teeth4 ,he could get  
on pretty well even without his claws1  
usually striking his prey down with a   
blow1 woundless2 but he could by no     
means get on without his teeth4         

,accordingly1 we see that the real or   
,lombardic griffin has the carnivorous  
teeth bare to the root1 and the peculiar
 hanging of the jaw at the back1 which  
marks the flexible and gaping mouth of  
the devouring tribes4  ,again2 among    
things essential to the might of an     
eagle1 next to his wings 7which are of  
course prominent in both examples71 are 
his claws4 ,it is no use his being able 
to tear anything with his beak1 if he   
cannot first hold it in his claws2 he   
has comparatively no leonine power of   
striking with his feet1 but a           
magnificent power of grip with them4    
,accordingly1 we see that the real      
griffin1 while his feet are heavy enough
 to strike like a lion's1 has them also 
extended far enough to give them the    
eagle's grip with the back claw2 and    
has1 moreover1 some of the bird-like    
wrinkled skin over the whole foot1      
marking this binding power the more2 and
 that he has besides verily got         
something to hold with his feet1 other  

than a flower1 of which more presently4 
,sec4 #ae4 ,now observe1 the ,lombardic 
workman did not do all this because he  
had thought it out1 as you and ,i are   
doing together2 he never thought a bit  
about it4 ,he simply saw the beast2 saw 
it as plainly as you see the writing on 
this page1 and of course could not be   
wrong in anything he told us of it4     
,well1 what more does he tell us8       
,another thing1 remember1 essential to  
an eagle is that it should fly fast4 ,it
 is no use its having wings at all if it
 is to be impeded in the use of them4   
,now it would be difficult to impede him
 more thoroughly than by giving him two 
cocked ears to catch the wind4  ,look1  
again1 at the two beasts4 ,you see the  
false griffin has them so set1 and1     
consequently1 as he flew1 there would be
 a continual humming of the wind on each
 side of his head1 and he would have an 
infallible earache when he got home4    
,but the real griffin has his ears flat 
to his head1 and all the hair of them   

blown back1 even to a point1 by his fast
 flying1 and the aperture is downwards1 
that he may hear anything going on upon 
the earth1 where his prey is4 ,in the   
false griffin the aperture is upwards4  
,sec4 #af4 ,well1 what more8 ,as he is  
made up of the natures of lion and      
eagle1 we may be very certain that a    
real griffin is1 on the whole1 fond of  
eating1 and that his throat will look as
 if he occasionally took rather large   
pieces1 besides being flexible enough to
 let him bend and stretch his head in   
every direction as he flies4  ,look1    
again1 at the two beasts4 ,you see the  
false one has got those bosses upon his 
neck like vertebrae1 which must be      
infinitely in his way when he is        
swallowing1 and which are evidently     
inseparable1 so that he cannot stretch  
his neck any more than a horse4 ,but the
 real griffin is all loose about the    
neck1 evidently being able to make it   
almost as much longer as he likes2 to   
stretch and bend it anywhere1 and       

swallow anything1 besides having some of
 the grand strength of the bull's dewlap
 in it when at rest4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,what  
more8 ,having both lion and eagle in    
him1 it is probable that the real       
griffin will have an infinite look of   
repose as well as power of activity4    
,one of the notablest things about a    
lion is his magnificent indolence1 his  
look of utter disdain of trouble when   
there is no occasion for it2 as1 also1  
one of the notablest things about an    
eagle is his look of inevitable         
vigilance1 even when quietest4 ,look1   
again1 at the two beasts4 ,you see the  
false griffin is quite sleepy and dead  
in the eye1 thus contradicting his      
eagle's nature1 but is putting himself  
to a great deal of unnecessary trouble  
with his paws1 holding one in a most    
painful position merely to touch a      
flower1 and bearing the whole weight of 
his body on the other1 thus             
contradicting his lion's nature4  ,but  
the real griffin is primarily1 with his 

eagle's nature1 wide awake2 evidently   
quite ready for whatever may happen2 and
 with his lion's nature1 laid all his   
length on his belly1 prone and          
ponderous2 his two paws as simply put   
out before him as a drowsy puppy's on a 
drawingroom hearth-rug2 not but that he 
has got something to do with them1      
worthy of such paws2 but he takes not   
one whit more trouble about it than is  
absolutely necessary4 ,he has merely got
 a poisonous winged dragon to hold1 and 
for such a little matter as that1 he may
 as well do it lying down and at his    
ease1 looking out at the same time for  
any other piece of work in his way4 ,he 
takes the dragon by the middle1 one paw 
under the wing1 another above1 gathers  
him up into a knot1 puts two or three of
 his claws well into his back1 crashing 
through the scales of it and wrinkling  
all the flesh up from the wound1        
flattens him down against the ground1   
and so lets him do what he likes4 ,the  
dragon tries to bite him1 but can only  

bring his head round far enough to get  
hold of his own wing1 which he bites in 
agony instead2 flapping the griffin's   
dewlap with it1 and wriggling his tail  
up against the griffin's throat2 the    
griffin being1 as to these minor        
proceedings1 entirely indifferent1 sure 
that the dragon's body cannot drag      
itself one hair's breadth off those     
ghastly claws1 and that its head can do 
no harm but to itself4  ,sec4 #ah4 ,now 
observe how in all this1 through every  
separate part and action of the         
creature1 the imagination is always     
right4 ,it evidently cannot err2 it     
meets every one of our requirements     
respecting the griffin as simply as if  
it were gathering up the bones of the   
real creature out of some ancient rock4 
,it does not itself know or care1 any   
more than the peasant laboring with his 
spade and axe1 what is wanted to meet   
our theories or fancies4 ,it knows      
simply what is there1 and brings out the
 positive creature1 errorless1          

unquestionable4 ,so it is throughout    
art1 and in all that the imagination    
does2 if anything be wrong it is not the
 imagination's fault1 but some inferior 
faculty's1 which would have its foolish 
say in the matter1 and meddled with the 
imagination1 and said1 the bones ought  
to be put together tail first1 or upside
 down4  ,sec4 #ai4 ,this1 however1 we   
need not be amazed at1 because the very 
essence of the imagination is already   
defined to be the seeing to the heart2  
and it is not therefore wonderful that  
it should never err2 but it is          
wonderful1 on the other hand1 how the   
composing legalism does nothing else    
than err4 ,one would have thought that1 
by mere chance1 in this or the other    
element of griffin1 the griffin-composer
 might have struck out a truth2 that he 
might have had the luck to set the ears 
back1 or to give some grasp to the claw4
 ,but1 no2 from beginning to end it is  
evidently impossible for him to be      
anything but wrong2 his whole soul is   

instinct with lies2 no veracity can come
 within hail of him2 to him1 all regions
 of right and life are for ever closed4 
,sec4 #bj4 ,and another notable point   
is1 that while the imagination receives 
truth in this simple way1 it is all the 
while receiving statutes of composition 
also1 far more noble than those for the 
sake of which the truth was lost by the 
legalist4 ,the ornamental lines in the  
classical griffin appear at first finer 
than in the other2 but they only appear 
so because they are more commonplace and
 more palpable4 ,the subtlety of the    
sweeping and rolling curves in the real 
griffin1 the way they waver and change  
and fold1 down the neck1 and along the  
wing1 and in and out among the serpent  
coils1 is incomparably grander1 merely  
as grouping of ornamental line1 than    
anything in the other2 nor is it fine as
 ornamental only1 but as massively      
useful1 giving weight of stone enough to
 answer the entire purpose of pedestal  
sculpture4 ,note1 especially1 the       

insertion of the three plumes of the    
dragon's broken wing in the outer angle1
 just under the large coil of his body2 
this filling of the gap being one of the
 necessities1 not of the pedestal block 
merely1 but a means of getting mass and 
breadth1 which all composers desire more
 or less1 but which they seldom so      
perfectly accomplish4  ,so that taking  
the truth first1 the honest imagination 
gains everything2 it has its griffinism1
 and grace1 and usefulness1 all at once3
 but the false composer1 caring for     
nothing but himself and his rules1 loses
 everything1--griffinism1 grace1 and    
all4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,i believe the reader  
will now sufficiently see how the terms 
true and false are in the most accurate 
sense attachable to the opposite        
branches of what might appear at first1 
in both cases1 the merest wildness of   
inconsistent reverie4 ,but they are even
 to be attached1 in a deeper sense than 
that in which we have hitherto used     
them1 to these two compositions4 ,for   

the imagination hardly ever works in    
this intense way1 unencumbered by the   
inferior faculties1 unless it be under  
the influence of some solemn purpose or 
sentiment4 ,and to all the falseness and
 all the verity of these two ideal      
creatures this farther falsehood and    
verity have yet to be added1 that the   
classical griffin has1 at least in this 
place1 no other intent than that of     
covering a level surface with           
entertaining form2 but the ,lombardic   
griffin is a profound expression of the 
most passionate symbolism4 ,under its   
eagle's wings are two wheels1#cf which  
mark it as connected1 in the mind of him
 who wrought it1 with the living        
creatures of the vision of ,ezekiel3    
,when they went1 the wheels went by     
them1 and whithersoever the spirit was  
to go1 they went1 and the wheels were   
lifted up over against them1 for the    
spirit of the living creatures was in   
the wheels4 ,thus signed1 the winged    
shape becomes at once one of the        

acknowledged symbols of the ,divine     
power2 and1 in its unity of lion and    
eagle1 the workman of the middle ages   
always means to set forth the unity of  
the human and divine natures1#cg ,in    
this unity it bears up the pillars of   
the ,church1 set for ever as the corner 
stone4 ,and the faithful and true       
imagination beholds it1 in this unity1  
with everlasting vigilance and calm     
omnipotence1 restrain the seed of the   
serpent crushed upon the earth2 leaving 
the head of it free1 only for a time1   
that it may inflict in its fury         
profounder destruction upon itself1--in 
this also full of deep meaning4 ,the    
,divine power does not slay the evil    
creature4 ,it wounds and restrains it   
only4 ,its final and deadly wound is    
inflicted by itself4  ,illustration3 #a4
 ,true and ,false ,griffins4 ,mediaeval4
 ,classical4    #cj ,on the ,grotesque  
,renaissance1 vol4 iii4    #ca ,see     
,appendix ,i4 ,vol4 ,,iv4 ,modern       
,grotesque4    #cb ,cankred--because he 

cannot then bite hard4    #cc ,though1  
perhaps1 only in a subordinate degree4  
,see farther        on1 ,sec4 #h4    #cd
 ,so red1 that in the midst of the fire 
she could hardly have        been seen4 
#ce ,if there be any inaccuracy in the  
right-hand griffin1 ,i am        sorry1 
but am not answerable for it1 as the    
plate has been        faithfully reduced
 from a large ,french lithograph1 the   
best ,i        could find4 ,the other is
 from a sketch of my own4    #cf ,at the
 extremities of the wings1--not seen in 
the plate4    #cg ,compare the          
,purgatorio1 canto xxix4 c4             
,,chapter ,,ix4  ,,of ,,finish4   ,sec4 
#a4 ,i am afraid the reader must be1 by 
this time1 almost tired of hearing about
 truth4 ,but ,i cannot help this2 the   
more ,i have examined the various forms 
of art1 and exercised myself in         
receiving their differently intended    
impressions1 the more ,i have found this
 truthfulness a final test1 the only    
test of lasting power2 and1 although our

 concern in this part of our inquiry is1
 professedly1 with the beauty which     
blossoms out of truth1 still ,i find    
myself compelled always to gather it by 
the stalk1 not by the petals4 ,i cannot 
hold the beauty1 nor be sure of it for a
 moment1 but by feeling for that strong 
stem4  ,we have1 in the preceding       
chapters1 glanced through the various   
operations of the imaginative power of  
man2 with this almost painfully         
monotonous result1 that its greatness   
and honor were always simply in         
proportion to the quantity of truth it  
grasped4 ,and now the question1 left    
undetermined some hundred pages back    
7,chap4 ,,ii4 ,sec4 #f71 recurs to us in
 a simpler form than it could before4   
,how far is this true imagination to be 
truly represented8 ,how far should the  
perfect conception of ,pallas be so     
given as to look like ,pallas herself1  
rather than like the picture of ,pallas8
  ,sec4 #b4 ,a question1 this1 at       
present of notable interest1 and        

demanding instant attention4 ,for it    
seemed to us1 in reasoning about        
,dante's views of art1 that he was1 or  
might be1 right in desiring realistic   
completeness2 and yet1 in what we have  
just seen of the grotesque ideal1 it    
seemed there was a certain desirableness
 in incompleteness4 ,and the schools of 
art in ,europe are1 at this moment1 set 
in two hostile ranks1--not nobly        
hostile1 but spitefully and scornfully1 
having for one of the main grounds of   
their dispute the apparently simple     
question1 how far a picture may be      
carried forward in detail1 or how soon  
it may be considered as finished4  ,i   
propose1 therefore1 in the present      
chapter1 to examine1 as thoroughly as ,i
 can1 the real signification of this    
word1 ,finish1 as applied to art1 and to
 see if in this1 as in other matters1   
our almost tiresome test is not the only
 right one2 whether there be not a      
fallacious finish and a faithful finish1
 and whether the dispute1 which seems to

 be only about completion and           
incompletion1 has not therefore1 at the 
bottom of it1 the old and deep grounds  
of fallacy and fidelity4  ,sec4 #c4     
,observe1 first1 there are two great and
 separate senses in which we call a     
thing finished1 or well finished4 ,one1 
which refers to the mere neatness and   
completeness of the actual work1 as we  
speak of a well-finished knife-handle or
 ivory toy 7as opposed to ill-cut ones72
 and1 secondly1 a sense which refers to 
the effect produced by the thing done1  
as we call a picture well-finished if it
 is so full in its details1 as to       
produce the effect of reality on the    
spectator4 ,and1 in ,england1 we seem at
 present to value highly the first sort 
of finish which belongs to workmanship1 
in our manufactures and general doings  
of any kind1 but to despise totally the 
impressive finish which belongs to the  
work2 and therefore we like smooth      
ivories better than rough ones1--but    
careless scrawls or daubs better than   

the most complete paintings4 ,now1 ,i   
believe that we exactly reverse the     
fitness of judgment in this matter1 and 
that we ought1 on the contrary1 to      
despise the finish of workmanship1 which
 is done for vanity's sake1 and to love 
the finish of work1 which is done for   
truth's sake1--that we ought1 in a word1
 to finish our ivory toys more roughly1 
and our pictures more delicately4  ,let 
us think over this matter4  ,sec4 #d4   
,perhaps one of the most remarkable     
points of difference between the        
,english and ,continental nations is in 
the degree of finish given to their     
ordinary work4 ,it is enough to cross   
from ,dover to ,calais to feel this     
difference2 and to travel farther only  
increases the sense of it4 ,english     
windows for the most part fit their     
sashes1 and their woodwork is neatly    
planed and smoothed2 ,french windows are
 larger1 heavier1 and framed with wood  
that looks as if it had been cut to its 
shape with a hatchet2 they have curious 

and cumbrous fastenings1 and can only be
 forced asunder or together by some     
ingenuity and effort1 and even then not 
properly4 ,so with everything           
else--,french1 ,italian1 and ,german1   
and1 as far as ,i know1 ,continental4   
,foreign drawers do not slide as well as
 ours3 foreign knives do not cut so     
well2 foreign wheels do not turn so     
well1 and we commonly plume ourselves   
much upon this1 believing that generally
 the ,english people do their work      
better and more thoroughly1 or as they  
say1 turn it out of their hands in      
better style1 than foreigners4 ,i do not
 know how far this is really the case4  
,there may be a flimsy neatness1 as well
 as a substantial roughness2 it does not
 necessarily follow that the window     
which shuts easiest will last the       
longest1 or that the harness which      
glitters the most is assuredly made of  
the toughest leather4 ,i am afraid1 that
 if this peculiar character of finish in
 our workmanship ever arose from a      

greater heartiness and thoroughness in  
our ways of doing things1 it does so    
only now in the case of our best        
manufacturers2 and that a great deal of 
the work done in ,england1 however good 
in appearance1 is but treacherous and   
rotten in substance4 ,still1 ,i think   
that there is really in the ,english    
mind1 for the most part1 a stronger     
desire to do things as well as they can 
be done1 and less inclination to put up 
with inferiorities or insufficiencies1  
than in general characterise the temper 
of foreigners4 ,there is in this        
conclusion no ground for national       
vanity2 for though the desire to do     
things as well as they can be done at   
first appears like a virtue1 it is      
certainly not so in all its forms4 ,on  
the contrary1 it proceeds in nine cases 
out of ten more from vanity than        
conscientiousness2 and that1 moreover1  
often a weak vanity4 ,i suppose that as 
much finish is displayed in the fittings
 of the private carriages of our young  

rich men as in any other department of  
,english manufacture2 and that our ,st4 
,james's ,street cabs1 dogcarts1 and    
liveries are singularly perfect in their
 way4 ,but the feeling with which this  
perfection is insisted upon 7however    
desirable as a sign of energy of        
purpose7 is not in itself a peculiarly  
amiable or noble feeling2 neither is it 
an ignoble disposition which would      
induce a country gentleman to put up    
with certain deficiencies in the        
appearance of his country-made carriage4
 ,it is true that such philosophy may   
degenerate into negligence1 and that    
much thought and long discussion would  
be needed before we could determine     
satisfactorily the limiting lines       
between virtuous contentment and        
faultful carelessness2 but at all events
 we have no right at once to pronounce  
ourselves the wisest people because we  
like to do all things in the best way4  
,there are many little things which to  
do admirably is to waste both time and  

cost2 and the real question is not so   
much whether we have done a given thing 
as well as possible1 as whether we have 
turned a given quantity of labor to the 
best account4  ,sec4 #e4 ,now1 so far   
from the labor's being turned to good   
account which is given to our ,english  
finishing1 ,i believe it to be usually  
destructive of the best powers of our   
workmen's minds4 ,for it is evident1 in 
the first place1 that there is almost   
always a useful and a useless finish2   
the hammering and welding which are     
necessary to produce a sword plate of   
the best quality1 are useful finishing2 
the polishing of its surface1           
useless4#ch ,in nearly all work this    
distinction will1 more or less1 take    
place between substantial finish and    
apparent finish1 or what may be briefly 
characterized as ,make and ,polish4 ,and
 so far as finish is bestowed for       
purposes of make1 ,i have nothing to say
 against it4 ,even the vanity which     
displays itself in giving strength to   

our work is rather a virtue than a vice4
 ,but so far as finish is bestowed for  
purposes of polish1 there is much to be 
said against it2 this first1 and very   
strongly1 that the qualities aimed at in
 common finishing1 namely1 smoothness1  
delicacy1 or fineness1 cannot in reality
 exist1 in a degree worth admiring1 in  
anything done by human hands4 ,our best 
finishing is but coarse and blundering  
work after all ,we may smooth1 and      
soften1 and sharpen till we are sick at 
heart2 but take a good magnifying glass 
to our miracle of skill1 and the        
invisible edge is a jagged saw1 and the 
silky thread a rugged cable1 and the    
soft surface a granite desert4 ,let all 
the ingenuity and all the art of the    
human race be brought to bear upon the  
attainment of the utmost possible       
finish1 and they could not do what is   
done in the foot of a fly1 or the film  
of a bubble4 ,god alone can finish2 and 
the more intelligent the human mind     
becomes1 the more the infiniteness of   

interval is felt between human and      
divine work in this respect4 ,so then it
 is not a little absurd to weary        
ourselves in struggling towards a point 
which we never can reach1 and to exhaust
 our strength in vain endeavors to      
produce qualities which exist inimitably
 and inexhaustibly in the commonest     
things around us4  ,sec4 #f4 ,but more  
than this3 the fact is that in          
multitudes of instances1 instead of     
gaining greater fineness of finish by   
our work1 we are only destroying the    
fine finish of nature1 and substituting 
coarseness and imperfection4 ,for       
instance1 when a rock of any kind has   
lain for some time exposed to the       
weather1 ,nature finishes it in her own 
way2 first1 she takes wonderful pains   
about its forms1 sculpturing it into    
exquisite variety of dint and dimple1   
and rounding or hollowing it into       
contours1 which for fineness no human   
hand can follow2 then she colors it2 and
 every one of her touches of color1     

instead of being a powder mixed with    
oil1 is a minute forest of living trees1
 glorious in strength and beauty1 and   
concealing wonders of structure1 which  
in all probability are mysteries even to
 the eyes of angels4 ,man comes and digs
 up this finished and marvellous piece  
of work1 which in his ignorance he calls
 a rough stone4 ,he proceeds to finish  
it in his fashion1 that is1 to split it 
in two1 rend it into ragged blocks1 and1
 finally1 to chisel its surface into a  
large number of lumps and knobs1 all    
equally shapeless1 colorless1 deathful1 
and frightful4#ci ,and the block1 thus  
disfigured1 he calls finished1 and      
proceeds to build therewith1 and thinks 
himself great1 forsooth1 and an         
intelligent animal4 ,whereas1 all that  
he has really done is1 to destroy with  
utter ravage a piece of divine art1     
which1 under the laws appointed by the  
,deity to regulate his work in this     
world1 it must take good twenty years to
 produce the like of again4 ,this he has

 destroyed1 and has himself given in its
 place a piece of work which needs no   
more intelligence to do than a pholas   
has1 or a worm1 or the spirit which     
throughout the world has authority over 
rending1 rottenness1 and decay4 ,i do   
not say that stone must not be cut2 it  
needs to be cut for certain uses2 only  
,i say that the cutting it is not       
finishing1 but unfinishing it2 and that 
so far as the mere fact of chiselling   
goes1 the stone is ruined by the human  
touch4 ,it is with it as with the stones
 of the ,jewish altar3 ,if thou lift up 
thy tool upon it thou hast polluted it4 
,in like manner a tree is a finished    
thing4 ,but a plank1 though ever so     
polished1 is not4 ,we need stones and   
planks1 as we need food2 but we no more 
bestow an additional admirableness upon 
stone in hewing it1 or upon a tree in   
sawing it1 than upon an animal in       
killing it4  ,sec4 #g4 ,well1 but it    
will be said1 there is certainly a kind 
of finish in stone-cutting1 and in every

 other art1 which is meritorious1 and   
which consists in smoothing and refining
 as much as possible4 ,yes1 assuredly   
there is a meritorious finish4 ,first1  
as it has just been said1 that which    
fits a thing for its uses1--as a stone  
to lie well in its place1 or the cog of 
an engine wheel to play well on another2
 and1 secondly1 a finish belonging      
properly to the arts2 but that finish   
does not consist in smoothing or        
polishing1 but in the completeness of   
the expression of ideas4 ,for in        
painting1 there is precisely the same   
difference between the ends proposed in 
finishing that there is in manufacture4 
,some artists finish for the finish'    
sake2 dot their pictures all over1 as in
 some kinds of miniature-painting 7when 
a wash of color would have produced as  
good an effect72 or polish their        
pictures all over1 making the execution 
so delicate that the touch of the brush 
cannot be seen1 for the sake of the     
smoothness merely1 and of the credit    

they may thus get for great labor2 which
 kind of execution1 seen in great       
perfection in many works of the ,dutch  
school1 and in those of ,carlo ,dolce1  
is that polished language against which 
,i have spoken at length in various     
portions of the first volume2 nor is it 
possible to speak of it with too great  
severity or contempt1 where it has been 
made an ultimate end4  ,but other       
artists finish for the impression's     
sake1 not to show their skill1 nor to   
produce a smooth piece of work1 but that
 they may1 with each stroke1 render     
clearer the expression of knowledge4    
,and this sort of finish is not1        
properly speaking1 so much completing   
the picture as adding to it4 ,it is not 
that what is painted is more delicately 
done1 but that infinitely more is       
painted4 ,this finish is always noble1  
and1 like all other noblest things1     
hardly ever understood or appreciated4  
,i must here endeavor1 more especially  
with respect to the state of quarrel    

between the schools of living painters1 
to illustrate it thoroughly4  ,sec4 #h4 
,in sketching the outline1 suppose of   
the trunk of a tree1 as in ,plate #b4   
7opposite7 fig4 #a41 it matters         
comparatively little whether the outline
 be given with a bold1 or delicate line1
 so long as it is outline only4 ,the    
work is not more finished in one case   
than in the other2 it is only prepared  
for being seen at a greater or less     
distance4 ,the real refinement or finish
 of the line depends1 not on its        
thinness1 but on its truly following the
 contours of the tree1 which it         
conventionally represents2              
conventionally1 ,i say1 because there is
 no such line round the tree1 in        
reality2 and it is set down not as an   
imitation1 but a limitation of the form4
 ,but if we are to add shade to it as in
 fig4 #b41 the outline must instantly be
 made proportionally delicate1 not for  
the sake of delicacy as such1 but       
because the outline will now1 in many   

parts1 stand not for limitation of form 
merely1 but for a portion of the shadow 
within that form4 ,now1 as a limitation 
it was true1 but as a shadow it would be
 false1 for there is no line of black   
shadow at the edge of the stem4 ,it     
must1 therefore1 be made so delicate as 
not to detach itself from the rest of   
the shadow where shadow exists1 and only
 to be seen in the light where          
limitation is still necessary4          
,observe1 then1 the finish of fig4 #b4  
as compared with fig4 #a4 consists1 not 
in its greater delicacy1 but in the     
addition of a truth 7shadow71 a removal1
 in a great degree1 of a conventionalism
 7outline74 ,all true finish consists in
 one or other of these things4 ,now1    
therefore1 if we are to finish farther  
we must know more or see more about the 
tree4 ,and as the plurality of persons  
who draw trees know nothing of them1 and
 will not look at them1 it results      
necessarily that the effort to finish is
 not only vain1 but unfinishes--does    

mischief4 ,in the lower part of the     
plate1 figs4 #c1 #d1 #e1 and #f4 are    
facsimiles of pieces of line engraving1 
meant to represent trunks of trees2 #c4 
and #d4 are the commonly accredited     
types of tree-drawing among engravers in
 the eighteenth century2 #e4 and #f4 are
 quite modern2 #c4 is from a large and  
important plate by ,boydell1 from       
,claude's ,molten ,calf1 dated #agha2   
#d4 by ,boydell in #aggf1 from ,rubens's
 ,waggoner2 #e4 from a bombastic        
engraving1 published about twenty years 
ago by ,meulemeester of ,brussels1 from 
,raphael's ,moses at the ,burning ,bush2
 and #f4 from the foreground of         
,miller's ,modern ,italy1 after         
,turner4#dj  ,illustration3 #b4 ,drawing
 of ,tree-,stems4  ,all these represent1
 as far as the engraving goes1 simply   
nothing4 ,they are not finished in any  
sense but this1--that the paper has been
 covered with lines4 #d4 is the best1   
because1 in the original work of        
,rubens1 the lines of the boughs1 and   

their manner of insertion in the trunk1 
have been so strongly marked1 that no   
engraving could quite efface them2 and1 
inasmuch as it represents these facts in
 the boughs1 that piece of engraving is 
more finished than the other examples1  
while its own networked texture is still
 false and absurd2 for there is no      
texture of this knitted-stocking-like   
description on boughs2 and if there     
were1 it would not be seen in the       
shadow1 but in the light4 ,miller's is  
spirited1 and looks lustrous1 but has no
 resemblance to the original bough of   
,turner's1 which is pale1 and does not  
glitter4 ,the ,netherlands work is1 on  
the whole1 the worst2 because1 in its   
ridiculous double lines1 it adds        
affectation and conceit to its          
incapacity4 ,but in all these cases the 
engravers have worked in total ignorance
 both of what is meant by drawing1 and  
of the form of a tree1 covering their   
paper with certain lines1 which they    
have been taught to plough in copper1 as

 a husbandman ploughs in clay4  ,sec4   
#i4 ,in the next three examples we have 
instances of endeavors at finish by the 
hands of artists themselves1 marking    
three stages of knowledge or insight1   
and three relative stages of finish4    
,fig4 #g4 is ,claude's 7,liber          
,veritatis1 ,no4 #adj41 facsimile by    
,boydell74 ,it still displays an        
appalling ignorance of the forms of     
trees1 but yet is1 in mode of execution1
 better--that is1 more finished--than   
the engravings1 because not altogether  
mechanical1 and showing some dim1       
far-away1 blundering memory of a few    
facts in stems1 such as their variations
 of texture and roundness1 and bits of  
young shoots of leaves4 #h4 is          
,salvator's1 facsimiled from part of his
 original etching of the ,finding of    
,oedipus4 ,it displays considerable     
power of handling--not mechanical1 but  
free and firm1 and is just so much more 
finished than any of the others as it   
displays more intelligence about the way

 in which boughs gather themselves out  
of the stem1 and about the varying      
character of their curves4 ,finally1    
fig4 #i4 is good work4 ,it is the root  
of the apple-tree in ,albert ,durer's   
,adam and ,eve1 and fairly represents   
the wrinkles of the bark1 the smooth    
portions emergent beneath1 and the      
general anatomy of growth4 ,all the     
lines used conduce to the representation
 of these facts2 and the work is        
therefore highly finished4 ,it still1   
however1 leaves out1 as not to be       
represented by such kind of lines1 the  
more delicate gradations of light and   
shade4 ,i shall now finish a little     
farther1 in the next plate 7#c471 the   
mere insertion of the two boughs        
outlined in fig4 #a4 ,i do this simply  
by adding assertions of more facts4     
,first1 ,i say that the whole trunk is  
dark1 as compared with the distant sky4 
,secondly1 ,i say that it is rounded by 
gradations of shadow1 in the various    
forms shown4 ,and1 lastly1 ,i say that  

7this being a bit of old pine stripped  
by storm of its bark7 the wood is       
fissured in certain directions1 showing 
its grain1 or muscle1 seen in           
complicated contortions at the insertion
 of the arm and elsewhere4  ,sec4 #aj4  
,now this piece of work1 though yet far 
from complete 7we will better it        
presently71 is yet more finished than   
any of the others1 not because it is    
more delicate or more skilful1 but      
simply because it tells more truth1 and 
admits fewer fallacies4 ,that which     
conveys most information1 with least    
inaccuracy1 is always the highest       
finish2 and the question whether we     
prefer art so finished1 to art          
unfinished1 is not one of taste at all4 
,it is simply a question whether we like
 to know much or little2 to see         
accurately or see falsely2 and those    
whose taste in art 7if they choose so to
 call it7 leads them to like blindness  
better than sight1 and fallacy better   
than fact1 would do well to set         

themselves to some other pursuit than   
that of art4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,in the above  
plate we have examined chiefly the grain
 and surface of the boughs2 we have not 
yet noticed the finish of their         
curvature4 ,if the reader will look back
 to the ,no4 #g4 7,plate #b471 which1 in
 this respect1 is the worst of all the  
set1 he will immediately observe the    
exemplification it gives of ,claude's   
principal theory about trees2 namely1   
that the boughs always parted from each 
other1 two at a time1 in the manner of  
the prongs of an ill-made table-fork4   
,it may1 perhaps1 not be at once        
believed that this is indeed ,claude's  
theory respecting tree-structure1       
without some farther examples of his    
practice4 ,i have1 therefore1 assembled 
on the next page1 ,plate #d41 some of   
the most characteristic passages of     
ramification in the ,liber ,veritatis2  
the plates themselves are sufficiently  
cheap 7as they should be7 and accessible
 to nearly every one1 so that the       

accuracy of the facsimiles may be easily
 tested4 ,i have given in ,appendix ,i4 
the numbers of the plates from which the
 examples are taken1 and it will be     
found that they have been rather        
improved than libelled1 only omitting1  
of course1 the surrounding leafage1 in  
order to show accurately the            
branch-outlines1 with which alone we are
 at present concerned4 ,and it would be 
difficult to bring together a series    
more totally futile and foolish1 more   
singularly wrong 7as the false griffin  
was71 every way at once2 they are stiff1
 and yet have no strength2 curved1 and  
yet have no flexibility2 monotonous1 and
 yet disorderly2 unnatural1 and yet     
uninventive4 ,they are1 in fact1 of that
 commonest kind of tree bough which a   
child or beginner first draws           
experimentally2 nay1 ,i am well assured1
 that if this set of branches had been  
drawn by a schoolboy1 out of his own    
head1 his master would hardly have cared
 to show them as signs of any promise in

 him4  ,illustration3 #c4 ,strength of  
,old ,pine4  ,illustration3 #d4         
,ramification1 according to ,claude4    
,sec4 #ab4 ,well1 but do not the trunks 
of trees fork1 and fork mostly into two 
arms at a time8  ,illustration3 ,,fig4  
#b4  ,yes2 but under as stern anatomical
 law as the limbs of an animal2 and     
those hooked junctions in ,plate #d4 are
 just as accurately representative of   
the branching of wood as this 7fig4 #b47
 is of a neck and shoulders4 ,we should 
object to such a representation of      
shoulders1 because we have some interest
 in1 and knowledge of1 human form2 we do
 not object to ,claude's trees1 because 
we have no interest in1 nor knowledge   
of1 trees4 ,and if it be still alleged  
that such work is nevertheless enough to
 give any one an idea of a tree1 ,i     
answer that it never gave1 nor ever will
 give1 an idea of a tree to any one who 
loves trees2 and that1 moreover1 no     
idea1 whatever its pleasantness1 is of  
the smallest value1 which is not founded

 on simple facts4 ,what pleasantness may
 be in wrong ideas we do not here       
inquire2 the only question for us has   
always been1 and must always be1 ,what  
are the facts8  ,sec4 #ac4 ,and         
assuredly those boughs of ,claude's are 
not facts3 and every one of their       
contours is1 in the worst sense1        
unfinished1 without even the expectation
 or faint hope of possible refinement   
ever coming into them4 ,i do not mean to
 enter here into the discussion of the  
characters of ramification2 that must be
 in our separate inquiry into           
tree-structure generally2 but ,i will   
merely give one piece of ,turner's      
tree-drawing as an example of what      
finished work really is1 even in        
outline4 ,in plate #e4 opposite1 fig4   
#a4 is the contour 7stripped1 like      
,claude's1 of its foliage7 of one of the
 distant tree-stems in the drawing of   
,bolton ,abbey4 ,in order to show its   
perfectness better by contrast with bad 
work 7as we have had1 ,i imagine1 enough

 of ,claude71 ,i will take a bit of     
,constable2 fig4 #b4 is the principal   
tree out of the engraving of the ,lock  
on the ,stour 7,leslie's ,life of       
,constable74 ,it differs from the       
,claude outlines merely in being the    
kind of work which is produced by an    
uninventive person dashing about idly1  
with a brush1 instead of drawing        
determinately wrong1 with a pen3 on the 
one hand worse than ,claude's1 in being 
lazier2 on the other a little better in 
being more free1 but1 as representative 
of tree-form1 of course still wholly    
barbarous4 ,it is worth while to turn   
back to the description of the          
uninventive painter at work on a tree   
7,vol4 ,,ii4 chapter on ,imaginative    
,association1 ,sec4 #aa71 for this trunk
 of ,constable's is curiously           
illustrative of it4 ,one can almost see 
him1 first bending it to the right2     
then1 having gone long enough to the    
right1 turning to the left2 then1 having
 gone long enough to the left1 away to  

the right again2 then dividing it2 and  
because there is another tree in the    
picture with two long branches 7in this 
case there really is71 he knows that    
this ought to have three or four1 which 
must undulate or go backwards and       
forwards1 c41 c4  ,sec4 #ad4 ,then study
 the bit of ,turner work3 note first its
 quietness1 unattractiveness1 apparent  
carelessness whether you look at it or  
not2 next note the subtle curvatures    
within the narrowest limits1 and1 when  
it branches1 the unexpected1 out of the 
way things it does1 just what nobody    
could have thought of its doing2        
shooting out like a letter ,y1 with a   
nearly straight branch1 and then        
correcting its stiffness with a zigzag  
behind1 so that the boughs1 ugly        
individually1 are beautiful in unison4  
7,in what ,i have hereafter to say about
 trees1 ,i shall need to dwell much on  
this character of unexpectedness4 ,a    
bough is never drawn rightly if it is   
not wayward1 so that although1 as just  

now said1 quiet at first1 not caring to 
be looked at1 the moment it is looked   
at1 it seems bent on astonishing you1   
and doing the last things you expect it 
to do47 ,but our present purpose is only
 to note the finish of the ,turner      
curves1 which1 though they seem straight
 and stiff at first1 are1 when you look 
long1 seen to be all tremulous1         
perpetually wavering along every edge   
into endless melody of change4 ,this is 
finish in line1 in exactly the same     
sense that a fine melody is finished in 
the association of its notes4           
,illustration3 #e4 ,good and ,bad       
,tree-,drawing4  ,sec4 #ae4 ,and now1   
farther1 let us take a little bit of the
 ,turnerian tree in light and shade4 ,i 
said above ,i would better the drawing  
of that pine trunk1 which1 though it has
 incipient shade1 and muscular action1  
has no texture1 nor local color4 ,now1  
,i take about an inch and a half of     
,turner's ash trunks 7one of the nearer 
ones7 in this same drawing of ,bolton   

,abbey 7fig4 #c4 ,plate #e471 and this  
,i cannot better2 this is perfectly     
finished2 it is not possible to add more
 truth to it on that scale4 ,texture of 
bark1 anatomy of muscle beneath1        
reflected lights in recessed hollows1   
stains of dark moss1 and flickering     
shadows from the foliage above1 all are 
there1 as clearly as the human hand can 
mark them4 ,i place a bit of trunk by   
,constable 7fig4 #e471da from another   
plate in ,leslie's ,life of him 7a dell 
in ,helmingham ,park1 ,suffolk71 for the
 sake of the same comparison in shade   
that we have above in contour4 ,you see 
,constable does not know whether he is  
drawing moss or shadow3 those dark      
touches in the middle are confused in   
his mind between the dark stains on the 
trunk and its dark side2 there is no    
anatomy1 no cast shadow1 nothing but    
idle sweeps of the brush1 vaguely       
circular4 ,the thing is much darker than
 ,turner's1 but it is not1 therefore1   
finished2 it is only blackened4 ,and to 

blacken is indeed the proper word for   
all attempts at finish without          
knowledge4 ,all true finish is added    
fact2 and ,turner's word for finishing a
 picture was always this significant    
one1 carry forward4 ,but labor without  
added knowledge can only blacken or     
stain a picture1 it cannot finish it4   
,sec4 #af4 ,and this is especially to be
 remembered as we pass from             
comparatively large and distant objects1
 such as this single trunk1 to the more 
divided and nearer features of          
foreground4 ,some degree of ignorance   
may be hidden1 in completing what is far
 away2 but there is no concealment      
possible in close work1 and darkening   
instead of finishing becomes then the   
engraver's only possible resource4 ,it  
has always been a wonderful thing to me 
to hear people talk of making           
foregrounds vigorous1 marked1 forcible1 
and so on4 ,if you will lie down on your
 breast on the next bank you come to    
7which is bringing it close enough1 ,i  

should think1 to give it all the force  
it is capable of71 you will see1 in the 
cluster of leaves and grass close to    
your face1 something as delicate as     
this1 which ,i have actually so drawn1  
on the opposite page1 a mystery of soft 
shadow in the depths of the grass1 with 
indefinite forms of leaves1 which you   
cannot trace or count1 within it1 and   
out of that1 the nearer leaves coming in
 every subtle gradation of tender light 
and flickering form1 quite beyond all   
delicacy of pencilling to follow2 and   
yet you will rise up from that bank     
7certainly not making it appear coarser 
by drawing a little back from it71 and  
profess to represent it by a few blots  
of forcible foreground color4 ,well1 but
 ,i cannot draw every leaf that ,i see  
on the bank4 ,no1 for as we saw1 at the 
beginning of this chapter1 that no human
 work could be finished so as to express
 the delicacy of nature1 so neither can 
it be finished so as to express the     
redundance of nature4 ,accept that      

necessity2 but do not deny it2 do not   
call your work finished1 when you have1 
in engraving1 substituted a confusion of
 coarse black scratches1 or in          
water-color a few edgy blots1 for       
ineffable organic beauty4 ,follow that  
beauty as far as you can1 remembering   
that just as far as you see1 know1 and  
represent it1 just so far your work is  
finished2 as far as you fall short of   
it1 your work is unfinished2 and as far 
as you substitute any other thing for   
it1 your work is spoiled4               
,illustration3 #f4 ,foreground ,leafage4
  ,sec4 #ag4 ,how far ,turner followed  
it1 is not easily shown2 for his finish 
is so delicate as to be nearly          
uncopiable4 ,i have just said it was not
 possible to finish that ash trunk of   
his1 farther1 on such a scale4#db ,by   
using a magnifying-glass1 and giving the
 same help to the spectator1 it might   
perhaps be possible to add and exhibit a
 few more details2 but even as it is1 ,i
 cannot by line engraving express all   

that there is in that piece of          
tree-trunk1 on the same scale4 ,i have  
therefore magnified the upper part of it
 in fig #d4 7,plate #e471 so that the   
reader may better see the beautiful     
lines of curvature into which even its  
slightest shades and spots are cast4    
,every quarter of an inch in ,turner's  
drawings will bear magnifying in the    
same way2 much of the finer work in them
 can hardly be traced1 except by the    
keenest sight1 until it is magnified4   
,in his painting of ,ivy ,bridge1#dc the
 veins are drawn on the wings of a      
butterfly1 not above three lines in     
diameter2 and in one of his smaller     
drawings of ,scarborough1 in my own     
possession1 the muscle-shells on the    
beach are rounded1 and some shown as    
shut1 some as open1 though none are as  
large as one of the letters of this     
type2 and yet this is the man who was   
thought to belong to the dashing school1
 literally because most people had not  
patience or delicacy of sight enough to 

trace his endless detail4  ,sec4 #ah4   
,suppose it was so1 perhaps the reader  
replies2 still ,i do not like detail so 
delicate that it can hardly be seen4    
,then you like nothing in ,nature 7for  
you will find she always carries her    
detail too far to be traced74 ,this     
point1 however1 we shall examine        
hereafter2 it is not the question now   
whether we like finish or not2 our only 
inquiry here is1 what finish means2 and 
,i trust the reader is beginning to be  
satisfied that it does indeed mean      
nothing but consummate and accumulated  
truth1 and that our old monotonous test 
must still serve us here as elsewhere4  
,and it will become us to consider      
seriously why 7if indeed it be so7 we   
dislike this kind of finish--dislike an 
accumulation of truth4 ,for assuredly   
all authority is against us1 and no     
truly great man can be named in the     
arts--but it is that of one who finished
 to his utmost4 ,take ,leonardo1        
,michael ,angelo1 and ,raphael for a    

triad1 to begin with4 ,they all         
completed their detail with such        
subtlety of touch and gradation1 that1  
in a careful drawing by any of the      
three1 you cannot see where the pencil  
ceased to touch the paper2 the stroke of
 it is so tender1 that1 when you look   
close to the drawing you can see        
nothing2 you only see the effect of it a
 little way back6 ,thus tender in       
execution1--and so complete in detail1  
that ,leonardo must needs draw every    
several vein in the little agates and   
pebbles of the gravel under the feet of 
the ,st4 ,anne in the ,louvre4 ,take a  
quartett after the triad--,titian1      
,tintoret1 ,bellini1 and ,veronese4     
,examine the vine-leaves of the ,bacchus
 and ,ariadne1 7,titian's7 in the       
,national ,gallery2 examine the borage  
blossoms1 painted petal by petal1 though
 lying loose on the table1 in ,titian's 
,supper at ,emmaus1 in the ,louvre1 or  
the snail-shells on the ground in his   
,entombment2#dd examine the separately  

designed patterns on every drapery of   
,veronese1 in his ,marriage in ,cana2 go
 to ,venice and see how ,tintoret paints
 the strips of black bark on the birch  
trunk that sustains the platform in his 
,adoration of the ,magi3 how ,bellini   
fills the rents of his ruined walls with
 the most exquisite clusters of the erba
 della ,madonna4#de ,you will find them 
all in a tale4 ,take a quintett after   
the quartett--,francia1 ,angelico1      
,durer1 ,hemling1 ,perugino1--and still 
the witness is one1 still the same      
striving in all to such utmost          
perfection as their knowledge and hand  
could reach4  ,who shall gainsay these  
men8 ,above all1 who shall gainsay them 
when they and ,nature say precisely the 
same thing8 ,for where does ,nature     
pause in her finishing--that finishing  
which consists not in the smoothing of  
surface1 but the filling of space1 and  
the multiplication of life and thought8 
,who shall gainsay them8 ,i1 for one1   
dare not2 but accept their teaching1    

with ,nature's1 in all humbleness4  ,but
 is there1 then1 no good in any work    
which does not pretend to perfectness8  
,is there no saving clause from this    
terrible requirement of completion8 ,and
 if there be none1 what is the meaning  
of all you have said elsewhere about    
rudeness as the glory of ,gothic work1  
and1 even a few pages back1 about the   
danger of finishing1 for our modern     
workmen8  ,indeed there are many saving 
clauses1 and there is much good in      
imperfect work4 ,but we had better cast 
the consideration of these drawbacks and
 exceptions into another chapter1 and   
close this one1 without obscuring1 in   
any wise1 our broad conclusion that     
finishing means in art simply telling   
more truth2 and that whatever we have in
 any sort begun wisely1 it is good to   
finish thoroughly4    #ch ,with his     
,yemen sword for aid2          ,ornament
 it carried none1        ,but the       
notches on the blade4    #ci ,see the   
base of the new ,army and ,navy         

,clubhouse4    #dj ,i take this example 
from ,miller1 because1 on the whole1 he 
is        the best engraver of ,turner  
whom we have4    #da ,fig4 #e4 is not1  
however1 so lustrous as ,constable's2 ,i
        cannot help this1 having given  
the original plate to my good           
friend ,mr4 ,cousen1 with strict charge 
to facsimile it        faithfully3 but  
the figure is all the fairer1 as a      
representation of ,constable's art1 for 
those mezzotints in        ,leslie's    
life of him have many qualities of      
drawing which are        quite wanting  
in ,constable's blots of color4 ,the    
comparison        shall be made         
elaborately1 between picture and        
picture1 in        the section on       
,vegetation4    #db ,it is of the exact 
size of the original1 the whole drawing 
being about #ae-a_/b inches by #aa in4  
#dc ,an oil painting 7about #c ft4 by #d
 ft4 #f in471 and very broad        in  
its masses4 ,in the possession of ,e4   
,bicknell1 ,esq4    #dd ,these          

snail-shells are very notable1 occurring
 as they do in1        perhaps1 the very
 grandest and broadest of all ,titian's 
compositions4    #de ,linaria           
,cymbalaria1 the ivy-leaved toadflax of 
,english        gardens4     ,,chapter  
,x4  ,,of ,,the ,,use ,,of ,,pictures4  
,sec4 #a4 ,i am afraid this will be a   
difficult chapter2 one of drawbacks1    
qualifications1 and exceptions4 ,but the
 more ,i see of useful truths1 the more 
,i find that1 like human beings1 they   
are eminently biped2 and1 although1 as  
far as apprehended by human             
intelligence1 they are usually seen in a
 crane-like posture1 standing on one    
leg1 whenever they are to be stated so  
as to maintain themselves against all   
attack it is quite necessary they should
 stand on two1 and have their complete  
balance on opposite fulcra4  ,sec4 #b4  
,i doubt not that one objection1 with   
which as well as with another we may    
begin1 has struck the reader very       
forcibly1 after comparing the           

illustrations above given from ,turner1 
,constable1 and ,claude4 ,he will wonder
 how it was that ,turner1 finishing in  
this exquisite way1 and giving truths by
 the thousand1 where other painters gave
 only one or two1 yet1 of all painters1 
seemed to obtain least acknowledgeable  
resemblance to nature1 so that the world
 cried out upon him for a madman1 at the
 moment when he was giving exactly the  
highest and most consummate truth that  
had ever been seen in landscape4  ,and  
he will wonder why still there seems    
reason for this outcry4 ,still1 after   
what analysis and proof of his being    
right have as yet been given1 the reader
 may perhaps be saying to himself3 ,all 
this reasoning is of no use to me4      
,turner does not give me the idea of    
nature2 ,i do not feel before one of his
 pictures as ,i should in the real      
scene4 ,constable takes me out into the 
shower1 and ,claude into the sun2 and   
,de ,wint makes me feel as if ,i were   
walking in the fields2 but ,turner keeps

 me in the house1 and ,i know always    
that ,i am looking at a picture4  ,i    
might answer to this2 ,well1 what else  
should he do8 ,if you want to feel as if
 you were in a shower1 cannot you go and
 get wet without help from ,constable8  
,if you want to feel as if you were     
walking in the fields1 cannot you go and
 walk in them without help from ,de     
,wint8 ,but if you want to sit in your  
room and look at a beautiful picture1   
why should you blame the artist for     
giving you one8 ,this was the answer    
actually made to me by various          
journalists1 when first ,i showed that  
,turner was truer than other painters3  
,nay1 said they1 we do not want truth1  
we want something else than truth2 we   
would not have nature1 but something    
better than nature4  ,sec4 #c4 ,i do not
 mean to accept that answer1 although it
 seems at this moment to make for me3 ,i
 have never accepted it4 ,as ,i raise my
 eyes from the paper1 to think over the 
curious mingling in it1 of direct error1

 and far away truth1 ,i see upon the    
room-walls1 first1 ,turner's drawing of 
the chain of the ,alps from the ,superga
 above ,turin2 then a study of a block  
of gneiss at ,chamouni1 with the purple 
,aiguilles-,rouges behind it2 another1  
of the towers of the ,swiss ,fribourg1  
with a cluster of pine forest behind    
them2 then another ,turner1 ,isola      
,bella1 with the blue opening of the    
,st4 ,gothard in the distance2 and then 
a fair bit of thirteenth century        
illumination1 depicting1 at the top of  
the page1 the ,salutation2 and beneath1 
the painter who painted it1 sitting in  
his little convent cell1 with a legend  
above him to this effect--        ego   
jahannes scripsi hunc librum4           
,i1 ,john1 wrote this book4  ,none of   
these things are bad pieces of art2 and 
yet1--if it were offered to me to have1 
instead of them1 so many windows1 out of
 which ,i should see1 first1 the real   
chain of the ,alps from the ,superga2   
then the real block of gneiss1 and      

,aiguilles-,rouges2 then the real towers
 of ,fribourg1 and pine forest2 the real
 ,isola ,bella2 and1 finally1 the true  
,mary and ,elizabeth2 and beneath them1 
the actual old monk at work in his      
cell1--,i would very unhesitatingly     
change my five pictures for the five    
windows2 and so1 ,i apprehend1 would    
most people1 not1 it seems to me1       
unwisely4  ,well1 then1 the reader goes 
on to question me1 the more closely the 
picture resembles such a window the     
better it must be8  ,yes4  ,then if     
,turner does not give me the impression 
of such a window1 that is of ,nature1   
there must be something wrong in        
,turner8  ,yes4  ,and if ,constable and 
,de ,wint give me the impression of such
 a window1 there must be something right
 in ,constable and ,de ,wint8  ,yes4    
,and something more right than in       
,turner8  ,no4  ,will you explain       
yourself8  ,i have explained myself1    
long ago1 and that fully2 perhaps too   
fully for the simple sum of the         

explanation to be remembered4 ,if the   
reader will glance back to1 and in the  
present state of our inquiry1 reconsider
 in the first volume1 ,part ,i4 ,sec4   
,i4 ,chap4 ,v41 and ,part ,,ii4 ,sec4   
,i4 ,chap4 ,,vii41 he will find our     
present difficulties anticipated4 ,there
 are some truths1 easily obtained1 which
 give a deceptive resemblance to        
,nature2 others only to be obtained with
 difficulty1 which cause no deception1  
but give inner and deep resemblance4    
,these two classes of truths cannot be  
obtained together2 choice must be made  
between them4 ,the bad painter gives the
 cheap deceptive resemblance4 ,the good 
painter gives the precious non-deceptive
 resemblance4 ,constable perceives in a 
landscape that the grass is wet1 the    
meadows flat1 and the boughs shady2 that
 is to say1 about as much as1 ,i        
suppose1 might in general be            
apprehended1 between them1 by an        
intelligent fawn and a skylark4 ,turner 
perceives at a glance the whole sum of  

visible truth open to human             
intelligence4 ,so ,berghem perceives    
nothing in a figure1 beyond the flashes 
of light on the folds of its dress2 but 
,michael ,angelo perceives every flash  
of thought that is passing through its  
spirit2 and ,constable and ,berghem may 
imitate windows2 ,turner and ,michael   
,angelo can by no means imitate windows4
 ,but ,turner and ,michael ,angelo are  
nevertheless the best4  ,sec4 #d4 ,well 
but1 the reader persists1 you admitted  
just now that because ,turner did not   
get his work to look like a window there
 was something wrong in him4  ,i did so2
 if he were quite right he would have   
all truth1 low as well as high2 that is1
 he would be ,nature and not ,turner2   
but that is impossible to man4 ,there is
 much that is wrong in him2 much that is
 infinitely wrong in all human effort4  
,but1 nevertheless1 in some an infinity 
of ,betterness above other human effort4
  ,well1 but you said you would change  
your ,turners for windows1 why not1     

therefore1 for ,constables8  ,nay1 ,i   
did not say that ,i would change them   
for windows merely1 but for windows     
which commanded the chain of the ,alps  
and ,isola ,bella4 ,that is to say1 for 
all the truth that there is in ,turner1 
and all the truth besides which is not  
in him2 but ,i would not change them for
 ,constables1 to have a small piece of  
truth which is not in ,turner1 and none 
of the mighty truth which there is4     
,sec4 #e4 ,thus far1 then1 though the   
subject is one requiring somewhat       
lengthy explanation1 it involves no real
 difficulty4 ,there is not the slightest
 inconsistency in the mode in which     
throughout this work ,i have desired the
 relative merits of painters to be      
judged4 ,i have always said1 he who is  
closest to ,nature is best4 ,all rules  
are useless1 all genius is useless1 all 
labor is useless1 if you do not give    
facts2 the more facts you give the      
greater you are2 and there is no fact so
 unimportant as to be prudently         

despised1 if it be possible to represent
 it4 ,nor1 but that ,i have long known  
the truth of ,herbert's lines1          
,some men are       ,full of themselves1
 and answer their own notion1  would it 
have been without intense surprise that 
,i heard querulous readers asking1 how  
it was possible that ,i could praise    
,pre-,raphaelitism and ,turner also4    
,for1 from the beginning of this book to
 this page of it1 ,i have never praised 
,turner highly for any other cause than 
that he gave facts more delicately1 more
 ,pre-,raphaelitically1 than other men4 
,careless readers1 who dashed at the    
descriptions and missed the arguments1  
took up their own conceptions of the    
cause of my liking ,turner1 and said to 
themselves3 ,turner cannot draw1 ,turner
 is generalizing1 vague1 visionary2 and 
the ,pre-,raphaelites are hard and      
distinct4 ,how can any one like both8#df
 ,but ,i never said that ,turner could  
not draw4 ,i never said that he was     
vague or visionary4 ,what ,i said was1  

that nobody had ever drawn so well3 that
 nobody was so certain1 so un-visionary2
 that nobody had ever given so many hard
 and downright facts4 ,glance back to   
the first volume1 and note the          
expressions now4 ,he is the only painter
 who ever drew a mountain or a stone2#dg
 the only painter who can draw the stem 
of a tree2 the only painter who has ever
 drawn the sky1 previous artists having 
only drawn it typically or partially1   
but he absolutely and universally4 ,note
 how he is praised in his rock drawing  
for not selecting a pretty or           
interesting morsel here or there1 but   
giving the whole truth1 with all the    
relations of its parts4#dh ,observe how 
the great virtue of the landscape of    
,cima da ,conegliano and the early      
sacred painters is said to be giving    
entire1 exquisite1 humble1              
realization--a strawberry-plant in the  
foreground with a blossom1 and a berry  
just set1 and one half ripe1 and one    
ripe1 all patiently and innocently      

painted from the real thing1 and        
therefore most divine4 ,then re-read the
 following paragraph 7,sec4 #aj471      
carefully1 and note its conclusion1 that
 the thoroughly great men are those who 
have done everything thoroughly1 and who
 have never despised anything1 however  
small1 of ,god's making2 with the       
instance given of ,wordsworth's daisy   
casting its shadow on a stone2 and the  
following sentence1 ,our painters must  
come to this before they have done their
 duty4 ,and yet1 when our painters did  
come to this1 did do their duty1 and did
 paint the daisy with its shadow 7this  
passage having been written years before
 ,pre-,raphaelitism was thought of71    
people wondered how ,i could possibly   
like what was neither more nor less than
 the precise fulfilment of my own most  
earnest exhortations and highest hopes4 
,sec4 #f4 ,thus far1 then1 all ,i have  
been saying is absolutely consistent1   
and tending to one simple end4 ,turner  
is praised for his truth and finish2    

that truth of which ,i am beginning to  
give examples4 ,pre-,raphaelitism is    
praised for its truth and finish2 and   
the whole duty inculcated upon the      
artist is that of being in all respects 
as like ,nature as possible4  ,and yet  
this is not all ,i have to do4 ,there is
 more than this to be inculcated upon   
the student1 more than this to be       
admitted or established before the      
foundations of just judgment can be     
laid4  ,for1 observe1 although ,i       
believe any sensible person would       
exchange his pictures1 however good1 for
 windows1 he would not feel1 and ought  
not to feel1 that the arrangement was   
entirely gainful to him4 ,he would feel 
it was an exchange of a less good of one
 kind1 for a greater of another kind1   
but that it was definitely exchange1 not
 pure gain1 not merely getting more     
truth instead of less4 ,the picture     
would be a serious loss2 something gone 
which the actual landscape could never  
restore1 though it might give something 

better in its place1 as age may give to 
the heart something better than its     
youthful delusion1 but cannot give again
 the sweetness of that delusion4  ,sec4 
#g4 ,what is this in the picture which  
is precious to us1 and yet is not       
natural8 ,hitherto our arguments have   
tended1 on the whole1 somewhat to the   
depreciation of art2 and the reader may 
every now and then1 so far as he has    
been convinced by them1 have been       
inclined to say1 ,why not give up this  
whole science of ,mockery at once1 since
 its only virtue is in representing     
facts1 and it cannot1 at best1 represent
 them completely1 besides being liable  
to all manner of shortcomings and       
dishonesties1--why not keep to the      
facts1 to real fields1 and hills1 and   
men1 and let this dangerous painting    
alone8  ,no1 it would not be well to do 
this4 ,painting has its peculiar        
virtues1 not only consistent with but   
even resulting from1 its shortcomings   
and weaknesses4 ,let us see what these  

virtues are4  ,sec4 #h4 ,i must ask     
permission1 as ,i have sometimes done   
before1 to begin apparently a long way  
from the point4  ,not long ago1 as ,i   
was leaving one of the towns of         
,switzerland early in the morning1 ,i   
saw in the clouds behind the houses an  
,alp which ,i did not know1 a grander   
,alp than any ,i knew1 nobler than the  
,schreckhorn or the ,moench2 terminated1
 as it seemed1 on one side by a         
precipice of almost unimaginable height2
 on the other1 sloping away for leagues 
in one field of lustrous ice1 clear and 
fair and blue1 flashing here and there  
into silver under the morning sun4 ,for 
a moment ,i received a sensation of as  
much sublimity as any natural object    
could possibly excite2 the next moment1 
,i saw that my unknown ,alp was the     
glass roof of one of the workshops of   
the town1 rising above its nearer       
houses1 and rendered aerial and         
indistinct by some pure blue wood smoke 
which rose from intervening chimneys4   

,it is evident1 that so far as the mere 
delight of the eye was concerned1 the   
glass roof was here equal1 or at least  
equal for a moment1 to the ,alp4        
,whether the power of the object over   
the heart was to be small or great1     
depended altogether upon what it was    
understood for1 upon its being taken    
possession of and apprehended in its    
full nature1 either as a granite        
mountain or a group of panes of glass2  
and thus1 always1 the real majesty of   
the appearance of the thing to us1      
depends upon the degree in which we     
ourselves possess the power of          
understanding it1--that penetrating1    
possession taking power of the          
imagination1 which has been long ago    
defined#di as the very life of the man1 
considered as a seeing creature4 ,for   
though the casement had indeed been an  
,alp1 there are many persons on whose   
minds it would have produced no more    
effect than the glass roof4 ,it would   
have been to them a glittering object of

 a certain apparent length and breadth1 
and whether of glass or ice1 whether    
twenty feet in length1 or twenty        
leagues1 would have made no difference  
to them2 or1 rather1 would not have been
 in any wise conceived or considered by 
them4 ,examine the nature of your own   
emotion 7if you feel it7 at the sight of
 the ,alp1 and you find all the         
brightness of that emotion hanging1 like
 dew on gossamer1 on a curious web of   
subtle fancy and imperfect knowledge4   
,first1 you have a vague idea of its    
size1 coupled with wonder at the work of
 the great ,builder of its walls and    
foundations1 then an apprehension of its
 eternity1 a pathetic sense of its      
perpetualness1 and your own             
transientness1 as of the grass upon its 
sides2 then1 and in this very sadness1 a
 sense of strange companionship with    
past generations in seeing what they    
saw4 ,they did not see the clouds that  
are floating over your head2 nor the    
cottage wall on the other side of the   

field2 nor the road by which you are    
travelling4 ,but they saw that4 ,the    
wall of granite in the heavens was the  
same to them as to you4 ,they have      
ceased to look upon it2 you will soon   
cease to look also1 and the granite wall
 will be for others4 ,then1 mingled with
 these more solemn imaginations1 come   
the understandings of the gifts and     
glories of the ,alps1 the fancying forth
 of all the fountains that well from its
 rocky walls1 and strong rivers that are
 born out of its ice1 and of all the    
pleasant valleys that wind between its  
cliffs1 and all the chalets that gleam  
among its clouds1 and happy farmsteads  
couched upon its pastures2 while        
together with the thoughts of these1    
rise strange sympathies with all the    
unknown of human life1 and happiness1   
and death1 signified by that narrow     
white flame of the everlasting snow1    
seen so far in the morning sky4  ,these 
images1 and far more than these1 lie at 
the root of the emotion which you feel  

at the sight of the ,alp4 ,you may not  
trace them in your heart1 for there is a
 great deal more in your heart1 of evil 
and good1 than you ever can trace2 but  
they stir you and quicken you for all   
that4 ,assuredly1 so far as you feel    
more at beholding the snowy mountain    
than any other object of the same sweet 
silvery grey1 these are the kind of     
images which cause you to do so2 and1   
observe1 these are nothing more than a  
greater apprehension of the facts of the
 thing4 ,we call the power ,imagination1
 because it imagines or conceives2 but  
it is only noble imagination if it      
imagines or conceives the truth4 ,and1  
according to the degree of knowledge    
possessed1 and of sensibility to the    
pathetic or impressive character of the 
things known1 will be the degree of this
 imaginative delight4  ,sec4 #i4 ,but   
the main point to be noted at present   
is1 that if the imagination can be      
excited to this its peculiar work1 it   
matters comparatively little what it is 

excited by4 ,if the smoke had not       
cleared partially away1 the glass roof  
might have pleased me as well as an alp1
 until ,i had quite lost sight of it2   
and if1 in a picture1 the imagination   
can be once caught1 and1 without        
absolute affront from some glaring      
fallacy1 set to work in its own field1  
the imperfection of the historical      
details themselves is1 to the           
spectator's enjoyment1 of small         
consequence4  ,hence it is1 that poets  
and men of strong feeling in general1   
are apt to be among the very worst      
judges of painting4 ,the slightest hint 
is enough for them4 ,tell them that a   
white stroke means a ship1 and a black  
stain1 a thunderstorm1 and they will be 
perfectly satisfied with both1 and      
immediately proceed to remember all that
 they ever felt about ships and         
thunderstorms1 attributing the whole    
current and fulness of their own        
feelings to the painter's work2 while   
probably1 if the picture be really good1

 and full of stern fact1 the poet1 or   
man of feeling1 will find some of its   
fact in his way1 out of the particular  
course of his own thoughts1--be offended
 at it1 take to criticising and         
wondering at it1 detect1 at last1 some  
imperfection in it1--such as must be    
inherent in all human work1--and so     
finally quarrel with1 and reject the    
whole thing4 ,thus1 ,wordsworth writes  
many sonnets to ,sir ,george ,beaumont  
and ,haydon1 none to ,sir ,joshua or to 
,turner4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,hence also the    
error into which many superficial       
artists fall1 in speaking of addressing 
the imagination as the only end of art4 
,it is quite true that the imagination  
must be addressed2 but it may be very   
sufficiently addressed by the stain left
 by an ink-bottle thrown at the wall4   
,the thrower has little credit1 though  
an imaginative observer may find1       
perhaps1 more to amuse him in the       
erratic nigrescence than in many a      
labored picture4 ,and thus1 in a        

slovenly or ill-finished picture1 it is 
no credit to the artist that he has     
addressed the imagination2 nor is the   
success of such an appeal any criterion 
whatever of the merit of the work4 ,the 
duty of an artist is not only to address
 and awaken1 but to guide the           
imagination2 and there is no safe       
guidance but that of simple concurrence 
with fact4 ,it is no matter that the    
picture takes the fancy of ,a4 or ,b41  
that ,c4 writes sonnets to it1 and ,d4  
feels it to be divine4 ,this is still   
the only question for the artist1 or for
 us3--,is it a fact8 ,are things really 
so8 ,is the picture an ,alp among       
pictures1 full1 firm1 eternal2 or only a
 glass house1 frail1 hollow1            
contemptible1 demolishable2 calling1 at 
all honest hands1 for detection and     
demolition8  ,sec4 #aa4 ,hence it is    
also that so much grievous difficulty   
stands in the way of obtaining real     
opinion about pictures at all4 ,tell any
 man1 of the slightest imaginative      

power1 that such and such a picture is  
good1 and means this or that3 tell him1 
for instance1 that a ,claude is good1   
and that it means trees1 and grass1 and 
water2 and forthwith1 whatever faith1   
virtue1 humility1 and imagination there 
are in the man1 rise up to help ,claude1
 and to declare that indeed it is all   
excellent good1 i'faith2 and whatever in
 the course of his life he has felt of  
pleasure in trees and grass1 he will    
begin to reflect upon and enjoy anew1   
supposing all the while it is the       
picture he is enjoying4 ,hence1 when    
once a painter's reputation is          
accredited1 it must be a stubborn kind  
of person indeed whom he will not       
please1 or seem to please2 for all the  
vain and weak people pretend to be      
pleased with him1 for their own credit's
 sake1 and all the humble and           
imaginative people seriously and        
honestly fancy they are pleased with    
him1 deriving indeed1 very certainly1   
delight from his work1 but a delight    

which1 if they were kept in the same    
temper1 they would equally derive 7and1 
indeed1 constantly do derive7 from the  
grossest daub that can be manufactured  
in imitation by the pawnbroker4 ,is1    
therefore1 the pawnbroker's imitation as
 good as the original8 ,not so4 ,there  
is the certain test of goodness and     
badness1 which ,i am always striving to 
get people to use4 ,as long as they are 
satisfied if they find their feelings   
pleasantly stirred and their fancy gaily
 occupied1 so long there is for them no 
good1 no bad4 ,anything may please1 or  
anything displease1 them2 and their     
entire manner of thought and talking    
about art is mockery1 and all their     
judgments are laborious injustices4 ,but
 let them1 in the teeth of their        
pleasure or displeasure1 simply put the 
calm question1--,is it so8 ,is that the 
way a stone is shaped1 the way a cloud  
is wreathed1 the way a leaf is veined8  
and they are safe4 ,they will do no more
 injustice to themselves nor to other   

men2 they will learn to whose guidance  
they may trust their imagination1 and   
from whom they must for ever withhold   
its reins4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,well1 but why   
have you dragged in this poor           
spectator's imagination at all1 if you  
have nothing more to say for it than    
this2 if you are merely going to abuse  
it1 and go back to your tiresome facts8 
,nay2 ,i am not going to abuse it4 ,on  
the contrary1 ,i have to assert1 in a   
temper profoundly venerant of it1 that  
though we must not suppose everything is
 right when this is aroused1 we may be  
sure that something is wrong when this  
is not aroused4 ,the something wrong may
 be in the spectator or in the picture2 
and if the picture be demonstrably in   
accordance with truth1 the odds are1    
that it is in the spectator2 but there  
is wrong somewhere2 for the work of the 
picture is indeed eminently to get at   
this imaginative power in the beholder1 
and all its facts are of no use whatever
 if it does not4 ,no matter how much    

truth it tells if the hearer be asleep4 
,its first work is to wake him1 then to 
teach him4  ,sec4 #ac4 ,now1 observe1   
while1 as it penetrates into the nature 
of things1 the imagination is           
preeminently a beholder of things as    
they are1 it is1 in its creative        
function1 an eminent beholder of things 
when and where they are ,,not2 a seer1  
that is1 in the prophetic sense1 calling
 the things that are not as though they 
were1 and for ever delighting to dwell  
on that which is not tangibly present4  
,and its great function being the       
calling forth1 or back1 that which is   
not visible to bodily sense1 it has of  
course been made to take delight in the 
fulfilment of its proper function1 and  
preeminently to enjoy1 and spend its    
energy1 on things past and future1 or   
out of sight1 rather than things        
present1 or in sight4 ,so that if the   
imagination is to be called to take     
delight in any object1 it will not be   
always well1 if we can help it1 to put  

the real object there1 before it4 ,the  
imagination would on the whole rather   
have it not there2--the reality and     
substance are rather in the             
imagination's way2 it would think a good
 deal more of the thing if it could not 
see it4 ,hence1 that strange and        
sometimes fatal charm1 which there is in
 all things as long as we wait for them1
 and the moment we have lost them2 but  
which fades while we possess them2--that
 sweet bloom of all that is far away1   
which perishes under our touch4 ,yet the
 feeling of this is not a weakness2 it  
is one of the most glorious gifts of the
 human mind1 making the whole infinite  
future1 and imperishable past1 a richer 
inheritance1 if faithfully inherited1   
than the changeful1 frail1 fleeting     
present2 it is also one of the many     
witnesses in us to the truth that these 
present and tangible things are not     
meant to satisfy us4 ,the instinct      
becomes a weakness only when it is      
weakly indulged1 and when the faculty   

which was intended by ,god to give back 
to us what we have lost1 and gild for us
 what is to come1 is so perverted as    
only to darken what we possess4 ,but1   
perverted or pure1 the instinct itself  
is everlasting1 and the substantial     
presence even of the things which we    
love the best1 will inevitably and for  
ever be found wanting in one strange and
 tender charm1 which belonged to the    
dreams of them4  ,sec4 #ad4 ,another    
character of the imagination is equally 
constant1 and1 to our present inquiry1  
of yet greater importance4 ,it is       
eminently a weariable faculty1 eminently
 delicate1 and incapable of bearing     
fatigue2 so that if we give it too many 
objects at a time to employ itself upon1
 or very grand ones for a long time     
together1 it fails under the effort1    
becomes jaded1 exactly as the limbs do  
by bodily fatigue1 and incapable of     
answering any farther appeal till it has
 had rest4 ,and this is the real nature 
of the weariness which is so often felt 

in travelling1 from seeing too much4 ,it
 is not that the monotony and number of 
the beautiful things seen have made them
 valueless1 but that the imaginative    
power has been overtaxed2 and1 instead  
of letting it rest1 the traveller1      
wondering to find himself dull1 and     
incapable of admiration1 seeks for      
something more admirable1 excites1 and  
torments1 and drags the poor fainting   
imagination up by the shoulders3 ,look  
at this1 and look at that1 and this more
 wonderful still6--until the imaginative
 faculty faints utterly away1 beyond all
 farther torment or pleasure1 dead for  
many a day to come2 and the despairing  
prodigal takes to horse-racing in the   
,campagna1 good now for nothing else    
than that2 whereas1 if the imagination  
had only been laid down on the grass1   
among simple things1 and left quiet for 
a little while1 it would have come to   
itself gradually1 recovered its strength
 and color1 and soon been fit for work  
again4 ,so that1 whenever the           

imagination is tired1 it is necessary to
 find for it something1 not more        
admirable but less admirable2 such as in
 that weak state it can deal with2 then 
give it peace1 and it will recover4     
,sec4 #ae4 ,i well recollect the walk on
 which ,i first found out this2 it was  
on the winding road from ,sallenche1    
sloping up the hills towards ,st4       
,gervais1 one cloudless ,sunday         
afternoon4 ,the road circles softly     
between bits of rocky bank and mounded  
pasture2 little cottages and chapels    
gleaming out from among the trees at    
every turn4 ,behind me1 some leagues in 
length1 rose the jagged range of the    
mountains of the ,reposoir2 on the other
 side of the valley1 the mass of the    
,aiguille de ,varens1 heaving its seven 
thousand feet of cliff into the air at a
 single effort1 its gentle gift of      
waterfall1 the ,nant d',arpenaz1 like a 
pillar of cloud at its feet2 ,mont      
,blanc and all its aiguilles1 one silver
 flame1 in front of me2 marvellous      

blocks of mossy granite and dark glades 
of pine around me2 but ,i could enjoy   
nothing1 and could not for a long while 
make out what was the matter with me1   
until at last ,i discovered that if ,i  
confined myself to one thing1--and that 
a little thing1--a tuft of moss1 or a   
single crag at the top of the ,varens1  
or a wreath or two of foam at the bottom
 of the ,nant d',arpenaz1 ,i began to   
enjoy it directly1 because then ,i had  
mind enough to put into the thing1 and  
the enjoyment arose from the quantity of
 the imaginative energy ,i could bring  
to bear upon it2 but when ,i looked at  
or thought of all together1 moss1       
stones1 ,varens1 ,nant d',arpenaz1 and  
,mont ,blanc1 ,i had not mind enough to 
give to all1 and none were of any value4
 ,the conclusion which would have been  
formed1 upon this1 by a ,german         
philosopher1 would have been that the   
,mont ,blanc was of no value2 that he   
and his imagination only were of value2 
that the ,mont ,blanc1 in fact1 except  

so far as he was able to look at it1    
could not be considered as having any   
existence4 ,but the only conclusion     
which occurred to me as reasonable under
 the circumstances 7,i have seen no     
ground for altering it since7 was1 that 
,i was an exceedingly small creature1   
much tired1 and1 at the moment1 not a   
little stupid1 for whom a blade of      
grass1 or a wreath of foam1 was quite   
food enough and to spare1 and that if ,i
 tried to take any more1 ,i should make 
myself ill4 ,whereupon1 associating     
myself fraternally with some ants1 who  
were deeply interested in the conveyance
 of some small sticks over the road1 and
 rather1 as ,i think they generally are1
 in too great a hurry about it1 ,i      
returned home in a little while with    
great contentment1 thinking how well it 
was ordered that1 as ,mont ,blanc and   
his pine forests could not be           
everywhere1 nor all the world come to   
see them1 the human mind1 on the whole1 
should enjoy itself most surely in an   

ant-like manner1 and be happy and busy  
with the bits of stick and grains of    
crystal that fall in its way to be      
handled1 in daily duty4  ,sec4 #af4 ,it 
follows evidently from the first of     
these characters of the imagination1 its
 dislike of substance and presence1 that
 a picture has in some measure even an  
advantage with us in not being real4    
,the imagination rejoices in having     
something to do1 springs up with all its
 willing power1 flattered and happy2 and
 ready with its fairest colors and most 
tender pencilling1 to prove itself      
worthy of the trust1 and exalt into     
sweet supremacy the shadow that has been
 confided to its fondness4 ,and thus1 so
 far from its being at all an object to 
the painter to make his work look real1 
he ought to dread such a consummation as
 the loss of one of its most precious   
claims upon the heart4 ,so far from     
striving to convince the beholder that  
what he sees is substance1 his mind     
should be to what he paints as the fire 

to the body on the pile1 burning away   
the ashes1 leaving the unconquerable    
shade--an immortal dream4 ,so certain is
 this1 that the slightest local success 
in giving the deceptive appearance of   
reality--the imitation1 for instance1 of
 the texture of a bit of wood1 with its 
grain in relief--will instantly destroy 
the charm of a whole picture2 the       
imagination feels itself insulted and   
injured1 and passes by with cold        
contempt2 nay1 however beautiful the    
whole scene may be1 as of late in much  
of our highly wrought painting for the  
stage1 the mere fact of its being       
deceptively real is enough to make us   
tire of it2 we may be surprised and     
pleased for a moment1 but the           
imagination will not on those terms be  
persuaded to give any of its help1 and1 
in a quarter of an hour1 we wish the    
scene would change4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,well1  
but then1 what becomes of all these long
 dogmatic chapters of yours about giving
 nothing but the truth1 and as much     

truth as possible8  ,the chapters are   
all quite right4 ,nothing but the       
,truth1 ,i say still4 ,as much ,truth as
 possible1 ,i say still4 ,but truth so  
presented1 that it will need the help of
 the imagination to make it real4       
,between the painter and the beholder1  
each doing his proper part1 the reality 
should be sustained2 and after the      
beholding imagination has come forward  
and done its best1 then1 with its help1 
and in the full action of it1 the       
beholder should be able to say1 ,i feel 
as if ,i were at the real place1 or     
seeing the real incident4 ,but not      
without that help4  ,sec4 #ah4 ,farther1
 in consequence of that other character 
of the imagination1 fatiguableness1 it  
is a great advantage to the picture that
 it need not present too much at once1  
and that what it does present may be so 
chosen and ordered as not only to be    
more easily seized1 but to give the     
imagination rest1 and1 as it were1      
places to lie down and stretch its limbs

 in2 kindly vacancies1 beguiling it back
 into action1 with pleasant and cautious
 sequence of incident2 all jarring      
thoughts being excluded1 all vain       
redundance denied1 and all just and     
sweet transition permitted4  ,and thus  
it is that1 for the most part1 imperfect
 sketches1 engravings1 outlines1 rude   
sculptures1 and other forms of          
abstraction1 possess a charm which the  
most finished picture frequently wants4 
,for not only does the finished picture 
excite the imagination less1 but1 like  
nature itself1 it taxes it more4 ,none  
of it can be enjoyed till the           
imagination is brought to bear upon it2 
and the details of the completed picture
 are so numerous1 that it needs greater 
strength and willingness in the beholder
 to follow them all out2 the redundance1
 perhaps1 being not too great for the   
mind of a careful observer1 but too     
great for a casual or careless observer4
 ,so that although the perfection of art
 will always consist in the utmost      

acceptable completion1 yet1 as every    
added idea will increase the difficulty 
of apprehension1 and every added touch  
advance the dangerous realism which     
makes the imagination languid1 the      
difference between a noble and ignoble  
painter is in nothing more sharply      
defined than in this1--that the first   
wishes to put into his work as much     
truth as possible1 and yet to keep it   
looking un-real2 the second wishes to   
get through his work lazily1 with as    
little truth as possible1 and yet to    
make it look real2 and1 so far as they  
add color to their abstract sketch1 the 
first realizes for the sake of the      
color1 and the second colors for the    
sake of the realization4#ej  ,sec4 #ai4 
,and then1 lastly1 it is another        
infinite advantage possessed by the     
picture1 that in these various          
differences from reality it becomes the 
expression of the power and intelligence
 of a companionable human soul4 ,in all 
this choice1 arrangement1 penetrative   

sight1 and kindly guidance1 we recognize
 a supernatural operation1 and perceive1
 not merely the landscape or incident as
 in a mirror1 but1 besides1 the presence
 of what1 after all1 may perhaps be the 
most wonderful piece of divine work in  
the whole matter--the great human spirit
 through which it is manifested to us4  
,so that1 although with respect to many 
important scenes1 it might1 as we saw   
above1 be one of the most precious gifts
 that could be given us to see them with
 our own eyes1 yet also in many things  
it is more desirable to be permitted to 
see them with the eyes of others2 and   
although1 to the small1 conceited1 and  
affected painter displaying his narrow  
knowledge and tiny dexterities1 our only
 word may be1 ,stand aside from between 
that nature and me1 yet to the great    
imaginative painter--greater a million  
times in every faculty of soul than     
we--our word may wisely be1 ,come       
between this nature and me--this nature 
which is too great and too wonderful for

 me2 temper it for me1 interpret it to  
me2 let me see with your eyes1 and hear 
with your ears1 and have help and       
strength from your great spirit4  ,all  
the noblest pictures have this          
character4 ,they are true or inspired   
ideals1 seen in a moment to be ideal2   
that is to say1 the result of all the   
highest powers of the imagination1      
engaged in the discovery and            
apprehension of the purest truths1 and  
having so arranged them as best to show 
their preciousness and exalt their      
clearness4 ,they are always orderly1    
always one1 ruled by one great purpose  
throughout1 in the fulfilment of which  
every atom of the detail is called to   
help1 and would be missed if removed2   
this peculiar oneness being the result1 
not of obedience to any teachable law1  
but of the magnificence of tone in the  
perfect mind1 which accepts only what is
 good for its great purposes1 rejects   
whatever is foreign or redundant1 and   
instinctively and instantaneously ranges

 whatever it accepts1 in sublime        
subordination and helpful brotherhood4  
,sec4 #bj4 ,then1 this being the        
greatest art1 the lowest art is the     
mimicry of it1--the subordination of    
nothing to nothing2 the elaborate       
arrangement of sightlessness and        
emptiness2 the order which has no       
object2 the unity which has no life1 and
 the law which has no love2 the light   
which has nothing to illumine1 and      
shadow which has nothing to relieve4#ea 
,sec4 #ba4 ,and then1 between these two1
 comes the wholesome1 happy1 and        
noble--though not noblest--art of simple
 transcript from nature2 into which1 so 
far as our modern ,pre-,raphaelitism    
falls1 it will indeed do sacred service 
in ridding us of the old fallacies and  
componencies1 but cannot itself rise    
above the level of simple and happy     
usefulness4 ,so far as it is to be      
great1 it must add1--and so far as it is
 great1 has already added1--the great   
imaginative element to all its          

faithfulness in transcript4 ,and for    
this reason1 ,i said in the close of my 
,edinburgh ,lectures1 that              
,pre-,raphaelitism1 as long as it       
confined itself to the simple copying of
 nature1 could not take the character of
 the highest class of art4 ,but it has  
already1 almost unconsciously1 supplied 
the defect1 and taken that character1 in
 all its best results2 and1 so far as it
 ought1 hereafter1 it will assuredly do 
so1 as soon as it is permitted to       
maintain itself in any other position   
than that of stern antagonism to the    
composition teachers around it4 ,i say  
so far as it ought1 because1 as already 
noticed in that same place1 we have     
enough1 and to spare1 of noble inventful
 pictures2 so many have we1 that we let 
them moulder away on the walls and roofs
 of ,italy without one regretful thought
 about them4 ,but of simple transcripts 
from nature1 till now we have had none2 
even ,van ,eyck and ,albert ,durer      
having been strongly filled with the    

spirit of grotesque idealism2 so that   
the ,pre-,raphaelites have1 to the      
letter1 fulfilled ,steele's description 
of the author1 who determined to write  
in an entirely new manner1 and describe 
things exactly as they took place4      
,sec4 #bb4 ,we have now1 ,i believe1 in 
some sort answered most of the questions
 which were suggested to us during our  
statement of the nature of great art4 ,i
 could recapitulate the answers2 but    
perhaps the reader is already           
sufficiently wearied of the recurrence  
of the terms ,ideal1 ,nature1           
,imagination1 ,invention1 and will      
hardly care to see them again           
interchanged among each other1 in the   
formalities of a summary4 ,what         
difficulties may yet occur to him will1 
,i think1 disappear as he either        
re-reads the passages which suggested   
them1 or follows out the consideration  
of the subject for himself3--this very  
simple1 but very precious1 conclusion   
being continually remembered by him as  

the sum of all2 that greatness in art   
7as assuredly in all other things1 but  
more distinctly in this than in most of 
them17 is not a teachable nor gainable  
thing1 but the expression of the mind of
 a ,god-made great man2 that teach1 or  
preach1 or labor as you will1           
everlasting difference is set between   
one man's capacity and another's2 and   
that this ,god-given supremacy is the   
priceless thing1 always just as rare in 
the world at one time as another4 ,what 
you can manufacture1 or communicate1 you
 can lower the price of1 but this mental
 supremacy is incommunicable2 you will  
never multiply its quantity1 nor lower  
its price2 and nearly the best thing    
that men can generally do is to set     
themselves1 not to the attainment1 but  
the discovery of this2 learning to know 
gold1 when we see it1 from iron-glance1 
and diamonds from flint-sand1 being for 
most of us a more profitable employment 
than trying to make diamonds out of our 
own charcoal4 ,and for this ,god-made   

supremacy1 ,i generally have used1 and  
shall continue to use1 the word         
,inspiration1 not carelessly nor        
lightly1 but in all logical calmness and
 perfect reverence4 ,we ,english have   
many false ideas about reverence3 we    
should be shocked1 for instance1 to see 
a market-woman come into church with a  
basket of eggs on her arm3 we think it  
more reverent to lock her out till      
,sunday2 and to surround the church with
 respectability of iron railings1 and   
defend it with pacing inhabitation of   
beadles4 ,i believe this to be          
irreverence2 and that it is more truly  
reverent1 when the market-woman1 hot and
 hurried1 at six in the morning1 her    
head much confused with calculations of 
the probable price of eggs1 can         
nevertheless get within church porch1   
and church aisle1 and church chancel1   
lay the basket down on the very steps of
 the altar1 and receive thereat so much 
of help and hope as may serve her for   
the day's work4 ,in like manner we are  

solemnly1 but ,i think not wisely1      
shocked at any one who comes hurriedly  
into church1 in any figurative way1 with
 his basket on his arm2 and perhaps1 so 
long as we feel it so1 it is better to  
keep the basket out4 ,but1 as for this  
one commodity of high mental supremacy1 
it cannot be kept out1 for the very     
fountain of it is in the church wall1   
and there is no other right word for it 
but this of ,inspiration2 a word1       
indeed1 often ridiculously perverted1   
and irreverently used of fledgling poets
 and pompous orators--no one being      
offended then1 and yet cavilled at when 
quietly used of the spirit that it is in
 a truly great man2 cavilled at1        
chiefly1 it seems to me1 because we     
expect to know inspiration by the look  
of it4 ,let a man have shaggy hair1 dark
 eyes1 a rolling voice1 plenty of animal
 energy1 and a facility of rhyming or   
sentencing1 and--improvisatore or       
sentimentalist--we call him inspired    
willingly enough2 but let him be a      

rough1 quiet worker1 not proclaiming    
himself melodiously in any wise1 but    
familiar with us1 unpretending1 and     
letting all his littlenesses and        
feeblenesses be seen1                   
unhindered1--wearing an ill-cut coat    
withal1 and1 though he be such a man as 
is only sent upon the earth once in five
 hundred years1 for some special human  
teaching1 it is irreverent to call him  
inspired4 ,but1 be it irreverent or not1
 this word ,i must always use2 and the  
rest of what work ,i have here before   
me1 is simply to prove the truth of it1 
with respect to the one among these     
mighty spirits whom we have just lost2  
who divided his hearers1 as many an     
inspired speaker has done before now1   
into two great sects--a large and a     
narrow2 these searching the             
,nature-scripture calmly1 whether those 
things were so1 and those standing      
haughtily on their ,mars hill1 asking1  
what will this babbler say8    #df      
,people of any sense1 however1 confined 

themselves to wonder4        ,i think it
 was only in the ,art ,journal of       
,september #ast1        #ahed1 that any 
writer had the meanness to charge me    
with        insincerity4 ,the pictures  
of ,turner and the works of the         
,pre-,raphaelites are the very antipodes
 of each other2 it is1        therefore1
 impossible that one and the same       
individual can        with any show of  
sincerity ,note1 by the way1 the        
,art-,union        has no idea that real
 sincerity is a thing existent or       
possible at all4 ,all that it expects or
 hopes of human nature        is1 that  
it should have show of sincerity1 stand 
forth as        the thick and thin ,i   
perceive the writer intends to teach me 
,english1 as well as honesty1 eulogist  
of both4 ,with a        certain         
knowledge of art1 such as may be        
possessed by the        author of       
,english ,painters1 ,note1 farther1 that
 the eminent        critic does not so  
much as know the title of the book he is

        criticising1 it is not difficult
 to praise any bad or        mediocre   
picture that may be qualified with      
extravagance or        mysticism4 ,this 
author owes the public a heavy debt of  
explanation1 which a lifetime spent in  
ingenious        reconciliations would  
not suffice to discharge4 ,a fervent    
admiration of certain pictures by       
,turner1 and1 at the same        time1  
of some of the severest productions of  
the        ,pre-,raphaelites1 presents  
an insuperable problem to persons       
whose taste in art is regulated by      
definite principles4    #dg ,part ,,ii4 
,sec4 ,i4 ,chap4 ,,vii4 ,sec4 #df4      
#dh ,part ,,ii4 ,sec4 ,,iv4 ,chap4 ,,iv4
 ,sec4 #bc41 and ,part ,,ii4 ,sec4 ,i4  
,chap4        ,,vii4 ,sec4 #i4 ,the     
whole of the ,preface to the ,second    
,edition is        written to maintain  
this one point of specific detail       
against        the advocates of         
generalization4    #di ,vol4 ,,ii4      
,chapter on ,penetrative ,imagination4  

#ej ,several other points connected with
 this subject have already        been  
noticed in the last chapter of the      
,stones of ,venice1 ,sec4        #ba4 c4
    #ea ,though my pictures should have 
nothing else1 they shall have           
,chiaroscuro4--,,constable 7in ,leslie's
 ,life of him74 ,it is        singular  
to reflect what that fatal ,chiaroscuro 
has done in        art1 in the full     
extent of its influence4 ,it has been   
not        only shadow1 but shadow of   
,death3 passing over the face of        
the ancient art1 as death itself might  
over a fair human        countenance2   
whispering1 as it reduced it to the     
white        projections and lightless  
orbits of the skull1 ,thy face          
shall have nothing else1 but it shall   
have ,chiaroscuro4     ,,chapter ,,xi4  
,,of ,,the ,,novelty ,,of ,,landscape4  
,sec4 #a4 ,having now obtained1 ,i      
trust1 clear ideas1 up to a certain     
point1 of what is generally right and   
wrong in all art1 both in conception and

 in workmanship1 we have to apply these 
laws of right to the particular branch  
of art which is the subject of our      
present inquiry1 namely1                
landscape-painting4 ,respecting which1  
after the various meditations into which
 we have been led on the high duties and
 ideals of art1 it may not improbably   
occur to us first to ask1--whether it be
 worth inquiring about at all4  ,that   
question1 perhaps the reader thinks1    
should have been asked and answered     
before ,i had written1 or he read1 two  
volumes and a half about it4 ,so ,i had 
answered it1 in my own mind2 but it     
seems time now to give the grounds for  
this answer4 ,if1 indeed1 the reader has
 never suspected that landscape-painting
 was anything but good1 right1 and      
healthy work1 ,i should be sorry to put 
any doubt of its being so into his mind2
 but if1 as seems to me more likely1 he1
 living in this busy and perhaps        
somewhat calamitous age1 has some       
suspicion that landscape-painting is but

 an idle and empty business1 not worth  
all our long talk about it1 then1       
perhaps1 he will be pleased to have such
 suspicion done away1 before troubling  
himself farther with these              
disquisitions4  ,sec4 #b4 ,i should     
rather be glad1 than otherwise1 that he 
had formed some suspicion on this       
matter4 ,if he has at all admitted the  
truth of anything hitherto said         
respecting great art1 and its choices of
 subject1 it seems to me he ought1 by   
this time1 to be questioning with       
himself whether road-side weeds1 old    
cottages1 broken stones1 and such other 
materials1 be worthy matters for grave  
men to busy themselves in the imitation 
of4 ,and ,i should like him to probe    
this doubt to the deep of it1 and bring 
all his misgivings out to the broad     
light1 that we may see how we are to    
deal with them1 or ascertain if indeed  
they are too well founded to be dealt   
with4  ,sec4 #c4 ,and to this end ,i    
would ask him now to imagine himself    

entering1 for the first time in his     
life1 the room of the ,old ,water-,color
 ,society2 and to suppose that he has   
entered it1 not for the sake of a quiet 
examination of the paintings one by one1
 but in order to seize such ideas as it 
may generally suggest respecting the    
state and meaning of modern as compared 
with elder1 art4 ,i suppose him1 of     
course1 that he may be capable of such a
 comparison1 to be in some degree       
familiar with the different forms in    
which art has developed itself within   
the periods historically known to us2   
but never1 till that moment1 to have    
seen any completely modern work4 ,so    
prepared1 and so unprepared1 he would1  
as his ideas began to arrange           
themselves1 be first struck by the      
number of paintings representing blue   
mountains1 clear lakes1 and ruined      
castles or cathedrals1 and he would say 
to himself3 ,there is something strange 
in the mind of these modern people6     
,nobody ever cared about blue mountains 

before1 or tried to paint the broken    
stones of old walls4 ,and the more he   
considered the subject1 the more he     
would feel the peculiarity2 and1 as he  
thought over the art of ,greeks and     
,romans1 he would still repeat1 with    
increasing certainty of conviction3     
,mountains6 ,i remember none4 ,the      
,greeks did not seem1 as artists1 to    
know that such things were in the world4
 ,they carved1 or variously represented1
 men1 and horses1 and beasts1 and birds1
 and all kinds of living                
creatures1--yes1 even down to           
cuttle-fish2 and trees1 in a sort of    
way2 but not so much as the outline of a
 mountain2 and as for lakes1 they merely
 showed they knew the difference between
 salt and fresh water by the fish they  
put into each4 ,then he would pass on to
 mediaeval art3 and still he would be   
obliged to repeat3 ,mountains6 ,i       
remember none4 ,some careless and jagged
 arrangements of blue spires or spikes  
on the horizon1 and1 here and there1 an 

attempt at representing an overhanging  
rock with a hole through it2 but merely 
in order to divide the light behind some
 human figure4 ,lakes6 ,no1 nothing of  
the kind1--only blue bays of sea put in 
to fill up the background when the      
painter could not think of anything     
else4 ,broken-down buildings6 ,no2 for  
the most part very complete and         
well-appointed buildings1 if any2 and   
never buildings at all1 but to give     
place or explanation to some            
circumstance of human conduct4 ,and then
 he would look up again to the modern   
pictures1 observing1 with an increasing 
astonishment1 that here the human       
interest had1 in many cases1 altogether 
disappeared4 ,that mountains1 instead of
 being used only as a blue ground for   
the relief of the heads of saints1 were 
themselves the exclusive subjects of    
reverent contemplation2 that their      
ravines1 and peaks1 and forests1 were   
all painted with an appearance of as    
much enthusiasm as had formerly been    

devoted to the dimple of beauty1 or the 
frowns of asceticism2 and that all the  
living interest which was still supposed
 necessary to the scene1 might be       
supplied by a traveller in a slouched   
hat1 a beggar in a scarlet cloak1 or1 in
 default of these1 even by a heron or a 
wild duck4  ,and if he could entirely   
divest himself of his own modern habits 
of thought1 and regard the subjects in  
question with the feelings of a knight  
or monk of the middle ages1 it might be 
a question whether those feelings would 
not rapidly verge towards contempt4     
,what6 he might perhaps mutter to       
himself1 here are human beings spending 
the whole of their lives in making      
pictures of bits of stone and runlets of
 water1 withered sticks and flying      
frogs1 and actually not a picture of the
 gods or the heroes6 none of the saints 
or the martyrs6 none of the angels and  
demons6 none of councils or battles1 or 
any other single thing worth the thought
 of a man6 ,trees and clouds indeed6 as 

if ,i should not see as many trees as ,i
 cared to see1 and more1 in the first   
half of my day's journey to-morrow1 or  
as if it mattered to any man whether the
 sky were clear or cloudy1 so long as   
his armor did not get too hot in the    
sun6  ,sec4 #e4 ,there can be no        
question that this would have been      
somewhat the tone of thought with which 
either a ,lacedaemonian1 a soldier of   
,rome in her strength1 or a knight of   
the thirteenth century1 would have been 
apt to regard these particular forms of 
our present art4 ,nor can there be any  
question that1 in many respects1 their  
judgment would have been just4 ,it is   
true that the indignation of the        
,spartan or ,roman would have been      
equally excited against any appearance  
of luxurious industry2 but the mediaeval
 knight would1 to the full1 have        
admitted the nobleness of art2 only he  
would have had it employed in decorating
 his church or his prayer-book1 nor in  
imitating moors and clouds4 ,and the    

feelings of all the three would have    
agreed in this1--that their main ground 
of offence must have been the want of   
seriousness and purpose in what they    
saw4 ,they would all have admitted the  
nobleness of whatever conduced to the   
honor of the gods1 or the power of the  
nation2 but they would not have         
understood how the skill of human life  
could be wisely spent in that which did 
no honor either to ,jupiter or to the   
,virgin2 and which in no wise tended1   
apparently1 either to the accumulation  
of wealth1 the excitement of patriotism1
 or the advancement of morality4  ,sec4 
#f4 ,and exactly so far forth their     
judgment would be just1 as the          
landscape-painting could indeed be      
shown1 for others as well as for them1  
to be art of this nugatory kind2 and so 
far forth unjust1 as that painting could
 be shown to depend upon1 or cultivate1 
certain sensibilities which neither the 
,greek nor mediaeval knight possessed1  
and which have resulted from some       

extraordinary change in human nature    
since their time4 ,we have no right to  
assume1 without very accurate           
examination of it1 that this change has 
been an ennobling one4 ,the simple fact1
 that we are1 in some strange way1      
different from all the great races that 
have existed before us1 cannot at once  
be received as the proof of our own     
greatness2 nor can it be granted1       
without any question1 that we have a    
legitimate subject of complacency in    
being under the influence of feelings1  
with which neither ,miltiades nor the   
,black ,prince1 neither ,homer nor      
,dante1 neither ,socrates nor ,st4      
,francis1 could for an instant have     
sympathized4  ,sec4 #g4 ,whether1       
however1 this fact be one to excite our 
pride or not1 it is assuredly one to    
excite our deepest interest4 ,the fact  
itself is certain4 ,for nearly six      
thousand years the energies of man have 
pursued certain beaten paths1           
manifesting some constancy of feeling   

throughout all that period1 and         
involving some fellowship at heart1     
among the various nations who by turns  
succeeded or surpassed each other in the
 several aims of art or policy4 ,so     
that1 for these thousands of years1 the 
whole human race might be to some extent
 described in general terms4 ,man was a 
creature separated from all others by   
his instinctive sense of an ,existence  
superior to his own1 invariably         
manifesting this sense of the being of a
 ,god more strongly in proportion to his
 own perfectness of mind and body2 and  
making enormous and self-denying        
efforts1 in order to obtain some        
persuasion of the immediate presence or 
approval of the ,divinity4 ,so that1 on 
the whole1 the best things he did were  
done as in the presence1 or for the     
honor1 of his gods2 and1 whether in     
statues1 to help him to imagine them1 or
 temples raised to their honor1 or acts 
of self-sacrifice done in the hope of   
their love1 he brought whatever was best

 and skilfullest in him into their      
service1 and lived in a perpetual       
subjection to their unseen power4 ,also1
 he was always anxious to know something
 definite about them2 and his chief     
books1 songs1 and pictures were filled  
with legends about them1 or especially  
devoted to illustration of their lives  
and nature4  ,sec4 #h4 ,next to these   
gods he was always anxious to know      
something about his human ancestors2    
fond of exalting the memory1 and telling
 or painting the history of old rulers  
and benefactors2 yet full of an         
enthusiastic confidence in himself1 as  
having in many ways advanced beyond the 
best efforts of past time2 and eager to 
record his own doings for future fame4  
,he was a creature eminently warlike1   
placing his principal pride in dominion2
 eminently beautiful1 and having great  
delight in his own beauty3 setting forth
 this beauty by every species of        
invention in dress1 and rendering his   
arms and accoutrements superbly         

decorative of his form4 ,he took1       
however1 very little interest in        
anything but what belonged to humanity2 
caring in no wise for the external      
world1 except as it influenced his own  
destiny2 honoring the lightning because 
it could strike him1 the sea because it 
could drown him1 the fountains because  
they gave him drink1 and the grass      
because it yielded him seed2 but utterly
 incapable of feeling any special       
happiness in the love of such things1 or
 any earnest emotion about them1        
considered as separate from man2        
therefore giving no time to the study of
 them2--knowing little of herbs1 except 
only which were hurtful1 and which      
healing2 of stones1 only which would    
glitter brightest in a crown1 or last   
the longest in a wall2 of the wild      
beasts1 which were best for food1 and   
which the stoutest quarry for the       
hunter2--thus spending only on the lower
 creatures and inanimate things his     
waste energy1 his dullest thoughts1 his 

most languid emotions1 and reserving all
 his acuter intellect for researches    
into his own nature and that of the     
gods2 all his strength of will for the  
acquirement of political or moral power2
 all his sense of beauty for things     
immediately connected with his own      
person and life2 and all his deep       
affections for domestic or divine       
companionship4  ,such1 in broad light   
and brief terms1 was man for five       
thousand years4 ,such he is no longer4  
,let us consider what he is now1        
comparing the descriptions clause by    
clause4  ,sec4 #i4 ,i4 ,he was          
invariably sensible of the existence of 
gods1 and went about all his            
speculations or works holding this as an
 acknowledged fact1 making his best     
efforts in their service4 ,now he is    
capable of going through life with      
hardly any positive idea on this        
subject1--doubting1 fearing1 suspecting1
 analyzing1--doing everything1 in fact1 
but believing2 hardly ever getting quite

 up to that point which hitherto was    
wont to be the starting point for all   
generations4 ,and human work has        
accordingly hardly any reference to     
spiritual beings1 but is done either    
from a patriotic or personal            
interest1--either to benefit mankind1 or
 reach some selfish end1 not 7,i speak  
of human work in the broad sense7 to    
please the gods4  ,,ii4 ,he was a       
beautiful creature1 setting forth this  
beauty by all means in his power1 and   
depending upon it for much of his       
authority over his fellows4 ,so that the
 ruddy cheek of ,david1 and the ivory   
skin of ,atrides1 and the towering      
presence of ,saul1 and the blue eyes of 
,coeur de ,lion1 were among the chief   
reasons why they should be kings2 and it
 was one of the aims of all education1  
and of all dress1 to make the presence  
of the human form stately and lovely4   
,now it has become the task of grave    
philosophy partly to depreciate or      
conceal this bodily beauty2 and even by 

those who esteem it in their hearts1 it 
is not made one of the great ends of    
education3 man has become1 upon the     
whole1 an ugly animal1 and is not       
ashamed of his ugliness4  ,,iii4 ,he was
 eminently warlike4 ,he is now gradually
 becoming more and more ashamed of all  
the arts and aims of battle4 ,so that   
the desire of dominion1 which was once  
frankly confessed or boasted of as a    
heroic passion1 is now sternly          
reprobated or cunningly disclaimed4     
,,iv4 ,he used to take no interest in   
anything but what immediately concerned 
himself4 ,now1 he has deep interest in  
the abstract natures of things1 inquires
 as eagerly into the laws which regulate
 the economy of the material world1 as  
into those of his own being1 and        
manifests a passionate admiration of    
inanimate objects1 closely resembling1  
in its elevation and tenderness1 the    
affection which he bears to those living
 souls with which he is brought into the
 nearest fellowship4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,it is 

this last change only which is to be the
 subject of our present inquiry2 but it 
cannot be doubted that it is closely    
connected with all the others1 and that 
we can only thoroughly understand its   
nature by considering it in this        
connection4 ,for1 regarded by itself1 we
 might1 perhaps1 too rashly assume it to
 be a natural consequence of the        
progress of the race4 ,there appears to 
be a diminution of selfishness in it1   
and a more extended and heartfelt desire
 of understanding the manner of ,god's  
working2 and this the more1 because one 
of the permanent characters of this     
change is a greater accuracy in the     
statement of external facts4 ,when the  
eyes of men were fixed first upon       
themselves1 and upon nature solely and  
secondarily as bearing upon their       
interests1 it was of less consequence to
 them what the ultimate laws of nature  
were1 than what their immediate effects 
were upon human beings4 ,hence they     
could rest satisfied with phenomena     

instead of principles1 and accepted     
without scrutiny every fable which      
seemed sufficiently or gracefully to    
account for those phenomena4 ,but so far
 as the eyes of men are now withdrawn   
from themselves1 and turned upon the    
inanimate things about them1 the results
 cease to be of importance1 and the laws
 become essential4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,in these
 respects1 it might easily appear to us 
that this change was assuredly one of   
steady and natural advance4 ,but when we
 contemplate the others above noted1 of 
which it is clearly one of the branches 
or consequences1 we may suspect         
ourselves of over-rashness in our       
self-congratulation1 and admit the      
necessity of a scrupulous analysis both 
of the feeling itself and of its        
tendencies4  ,of course a complete      
analysis1 or anything like it1 would    
involve a treatise on the whole history 
of the world4 ,i shall merely endeavor  
to note some of the leading and more    
interesting circumstances bearing on the

 subject1 and to show sufficient        
practical ground for the conclusion1    
that landscape painting is indeed a     
noble and useful art1 though one not    
long known by man4 ,i shall therefore   
examine1 as best ,i can1 the effect of  
landscape1 #ast1 on the ,classical mind2
 #bndly1 on the ,mediaeval mind2 and    
lastly1 on the ,modern mind4 ,but there 
is one point of some interest respecting
 the effect of it on any mind1 which    
must be settled first1 and this ,i will 
endeavor to do in the next chapter4     
,,chapter ,,xii4  ,,of ,,the ,,pathetic 
,,fallacy4   ,sec4 #a4 ,german dulness  
and ,english affectation1 have of late  
much multiplied among us the use of two 
of the most objectionable words that    
were ever coined by the troublesomeness 
of metaphysicians1 --namely1 ,objective 
and ,subjective4  ,no words can be more 
exquisitely1 and in all points1 useless2
 and ,i merely speak of them that ,i    
may1 at once and for ever1 get them out 
of my way and out of my reader's4 ,but  

to get that done1 they must be          
explained4  ,the word ,blue1 say certain
 philosophers1 means the sensation of   
color which the human eye receives in   
looking at the open sky1 or at a bell   
gentian4  ,now1 say they farther1 as    
this sensation can only be felt when the
 eye is turned to the object1 and as1   
therefore1 no such sensation is produced
 by the object when nobody looks at it1 
therefore the thing1 when it is not     
looked at1 is not blue2 and thus 7say   
they7 there are many qualities of things
 which depend as much on something else 
as on themselves4 ,to be sweet1 a thing 
must have a taster2 it is only sweet    
while it is being tasted1 and if the    
tongue had not the capacity of taste1   
then the sugar would not have the       
quality of sweetness4  ,and then they   
agree that the qualities of things which
 thus depend upon our perception of     
them1 and upon our human nature as      
affected by them1 shall be called       
,subjective2 and the qualities of things

 which they always have1 irrespective of
 any other nature1 as roundness or      
squareness1 shall be called ,objective4 
,from these ingenious views the step is 
very easy to a farther opinion1 that it 
does not much matter what things are in 
themselves1 but only what they are to   
us2 and that the only real truth of them
 is their appearance to1 or effect upon1
 us4 ,from which position1 with a hearty
 desire for mystification1 and much     
egotism1 selfishness1 shallowness1 and  
impertinence1 a philosopher may easily  
go so far as to believe1 and say1 that  
everything in the world depends upon his
 seeing or thinking of it1 and that     
nothing1 therefore1 exists1 but what he 
sees or thinks of4  ,sec4 #b4 ,now1 to  
get rid of all these ambiguities and    
troublesome words at once1 be it        
observed that the word ,blue does not   
mean the sensation caused by a gentian  
on the human eye2 but it means the power
 of producing that sensation2 and this  
power is always there1 in the thing1    

whether we are there to experience it or
 not1 and would remain there though     
there were not left a man on the face of
 the earth4 ,precisely in the same way  
gunpowder has a power of exploding4 ,it 
will not explode if you put no match to 
it4 ,but it has always the power of so  
exploding1 and is therefore called an   
explosive compound1 which it very       
positively and assuredly is1 whatever   
philosophy may say to the contrary4  ,in
 like manner1 a gentian does not produce
 the sensation of blueness if you don't 
look at it4 ,but it has always the power
 of doing so2 its particles being       
everlastingly so arranged by its ,maker4
 ,and1 therefore1 the gentian and the   
sky are always verily blue1 whatever    
philosophy may say to the contrary2 and 
if you do not see them blue when you    
look at them1 it is not their fault but 
yours4#eb  ,sec4 #c4 ,hence ,i would say
 to these philosophers3 ,if1 instead of 
using the sonorous phrase1 ,it is       
objectively so1 you will use the plain  

old phrase1 ,it is so2 and if instead of
 the sonorous phrase1 ,it is            
subjectively so1 you will say1 in plain 
old ,english1 ,it does so1 or ,it seems 
so to me2 you will1 on the whole1 be    
more intelligible to your               
fellow-creatures3 and besides1 if you   
find that a thing which generally does  
so to other people 7as a gentian looks  
blue to most men7 does not so to you1 on
 any particular occasion1 you will not  
fall into the impertinence of saying    
that the thing is not so1 or did not so1
 but you will say simply 7what you will 
be all the better for speedily finding  
out7 that something is the matter with  
you4 ,if you find that you cannot       
explode the gunpowder1 you will not     
declare that all gunpowder is           
subjective1 and all explosion imaginary1
 but you will simply suspect and declare
 yourself to be an ill-made match4      
,which1 on the whole1 though there may  
be a distant chance of a mistake about  
it1 is1 nevertheless1 the wisest        

conclusion you can come to until farther
 experiment4#ec  ,sec4 #d4 ,now1        
therefore1 putting these tiresome and   
absurd words quite out of our way1 we   
may go on at our ease to examine the    
point in question1--namely1 the         
difference between the ordinary1 proper1
 and true appearances of things to us2  
and the extraordinary1 or false         
appearances1 when we are under the      
influence of emotion1 or contemplative  
fancy2#ed false appearances1 ,i say1 as 
being entirely unconnected with any real
 power or character in the object1 and  
only imputed to it by us4  ,for         
instance--        ,the spendthrift      
crocus1 bursting through the mould      
,naked and shivering1 with his cup of   
gold4#ee  ,this is very beautiful and   
yet very untrue4 ,the crocus is not a   
spendthrift1 but a hardy plant2 its     
yellow is not gold1 but saffron4 ,how is
 it that we enjoy so much the having it 
put into our heads that it is anything  
else than a plain crocus8  ,it is an    

important question4 ,for1 throughout our
 past reasonings about art1 we have     
always found that nothing could be good 
or useful1 or ultimately pleasurable1   
which was untrue4 ,but here is something
 pleasurable in written poetry which is 
nevertheless untrue4 ,and what is more1 
if we think over our favorite poetry1 we
 shall find it full of this kind of     
fallacy1 and that we like it all the    
more for being so4  ,sec4 #e4 ,it will  
appear also1 on consideration of the    
matter1 that this fallacy is of two     
principal kinds4 ,either1 as in this    
case of the crocus1 it is the fallacy of
 wilful fancy1 which involves no real   
expectation that it will be believed2 or
 else it is a fallacy caused by an      
excited state of the feelings1 making   
us1 for the time1 more or less          
irrational4 ,of the cheating of the     
fancy we shall have to speak presently2 
but1 in this chapter1 ,i want to examine
 the nature of the other error1 that    
which the mind admits1 when affected    

strongly by emotion4 ,thus1 for         
instance1 in ,alton ,locke1--           
,they rowed her in across the rolling   
foam--       ,the cruel1 crawling foam4 
,the foam is not cruel1 neither does it 
crawl4 ,the state of mind which         
attributes to it these characters of a  
living creature is one in which the     
reason is unhinged by grief4 ,all       
violent feelings have the same effect4  
,they produce in us a falseness in all  
our impressions of external things1     
which ,i would generally characterize as
 the ,pathetic fallacy4  ,sec4 #f4 ,now 
we are in the habit of considering this 
fallacy as eminently a character of     
poetical description1 and the temper of 
mind in which we allow it1 as one       
eminently poetical1 because passionate4 
,but1 ,i believe1 if we look well into  
the matter1 that we shall find the      
greatest poets do not often admit this  
kind of falseness1--that it is only the 
second order of poets who much delight  
in it4#ef  ,thus1 when ,dante describes 

the spirits falling from the bank of    
,acheron as dead leaves flutter from a  
bough1 he gives the most perfect image  
possible of their utter lightness1      
feebleness1 passiveness1 and scattering 
agony of despair1 without1 however1 for 
an instant losing his own clear         
perception that these are souls1 and    
those are leaves3 he makes no confusion 
of one with the other4 ,but when        
,coleridge speaks of        ,the one red
 leaf1 the last of its clan1       ,that
 dances as often as dance it can1  he   
has a morbid1 that is to say1 a so far  
false1 idea about the leaf3 he fancies a
 life in it1 and will1 which there are  
not2 confuses its powerlessness with    
choice1 its fading death with merriment1
 and the wind that shakes it with music4
 ,here1 however1 there is some beauty1  
even in the morbid passage2 but take an 
instance in ,homer and ,pope4 ,without  
the knowledge of ,ulysses1 ,elpenor1 his
 youngest follower1 has fallen from an  
upper chamber in the ,circean palace1   

and has been left dead1 unmissed by his 
leader1 or companions1 in the haste of  
their departure4 ,they cross the sea to 
the ,cimmerian land2 and ,ulysses       
summons the shades from ,tartarus4 ,the 
first which appears is that of the lost 
,elpenor4 ,ulysses1 amazed1 and in      
exactly the spirit of bitter and        
terrified lightness which is seen in    
,hamlet1#eg addresses the spirit with   
the simple1 startled words3--           
,elpenor8 ,how camest thou under the    
,shadowy darkness8 ,hast     thou come  
faster on foot than ,i in my black ship8
  ,which ,pope renders thus3--          
,o1 say1 what angry power ,elpenor led  
,to glide in shades1 and wander with the
 dead8       ,how could thy soul1 by    
realms and seas disjoined1       ,outfly
 the nimble sail1 and leave the lagging 
wind8  ,i sincerely hope the reader     
finds no pleasure here1 either in the   
nimbleness of the sail1 or the laziness 
of the wind6 ,and yet how is it that    
these conceits are so painful now1 when 

they have been pleasant to us in the    
other instances8  ,sec4 #g4 ,for a very 
simple reason4 ,they are not a pathetic 
fallacy at all1 for they are put into   
the mouth of the wrong passion--a       
passion which never could possibly have 
spoken them--agonized curiosity4        
,ulysses wants to know the facts of the 
matter2 and the very last thing his mind
 could do at the moment would be to     
pause1 or suggest in any wise what was  
not a fact4 ,the delay in the first     
three lines1 and conceit in the last1   
jar upon us instantly1 like the most    
frightful discord in music4 ,no poet of 
true imaginative power could possibly   
have written the passage4 ,it is worth  
while comparing the way a similar       
question is put by the exquisite        
sincerity of ,keats3--                  
,he wept1 and his bright tears          
,went trickling down the golden bow he  
held4         ,thus1 with half-shut1    
suffused eyes1 he stood2         ,while 
from beneath some cumb'rous boughs hard 

by1         ,with solemn step1 an awful 
goddess came4         ,and there was    
purport in her looks for him1           
,which he with eager guess began to     
read3         ,perplexed the while1     
melodiously he said1         ',how      
cam'st thou over the unfooted sea8'     
,therefore1 we see that the spirit of   
truth must guide us in some sort1 even  
in our enjoyment of fallacy4            
,coleridge's fallacy has no discord in  
it1 but ,pope's has set our teeth on    
edge4 ,without farther questioning1 ,i  
will endeavor to state the main bearings
 of this matter4  ,sec4 #h4 ,the        
temperament which admits the pathetic   
fallacy1 is1 as ,i said above1 that of a
 mind and body in some sort too weak to 
deal fully with what is before them or  
upon them2 borne away1 or over-clouded1 
or over-dazzled by emotion2 and it is a 
more or less noble state1 according to  
the force of the emotion which has      
induced it4 ,for it is no credit to a   
man that he is not morbid or inaccurate 

in his perceptions1 when he has no      
strength of feeling to warp them2 and it
 is in general a sign of higher capacity
 and stand in the ranks of being1 that  
the emotions should be strong enough to 
vanquish1 partly1 the intellect1 and    
make it believe what they choose4 ,but  
it is still a grander condition when the
 intellect also rises1 till it is strong
 enough to assert its rule against1 or  
together with1 the utmost efforts of the
 passions2 and the whole man stands in  
an iron glow1 white hot1 perhaps1 but   
still strong1 and in no wise            
evaporating2 even if he melts1 losing   
none of his weight4  ,so1 then1 we have 
the three ranks3 the man who perceives  
rightly1 because he does not feel1 and  
to whom the primrose is very accurately 
the primrose1 because he does not love  
it4 ,then1 secondly1 the man who        
perceives wrongly1 because he feels1 and
 to whom the primrose is anything else  
than a primrose3 a star1 or a sun1 or a 
fairy's shield1 or a forsaken maiden4   

,and then1 lastly1 there is the man who 
perceives rightly in spite of his       
feelings1 and to whom the primrose is   
for ever nothing else than itself--a    
little flower1 apprehended in the very  
plain and leafy fact of it1 whatever and
 how many soever the associations and   
passions may be1 that crowd around it4  
,and1 in general1 these three classes   
may be rated in comparative order1 as   
the men who are not poets at all1 and   
the poets of the second order1 and the  
poets of the first2 only however great a
 man may be1 there are always some      
subjects which ought to throw him off   
his balance2 some1 by which his poor    
human capacity of thought should be     
conquered1 and brought into the         
inaccurate and vague state of           
perception1 so that the language of the 
highest inspiration becomes broken1     
obscure1 and wild in metaphor1          
resembling that of the weaker man1      
overborne by weaker things4  ,sec4 #i4  
,and thus1 in full1 there are four      

classes3 the men who feel nothing1 and  
therefore see truly2 the men who feel   
strongly1 think weakly1 and see untruly 
7second order of poets72 the men who    
feel strongly1 think strongly1 and see  
truly 7first order of poets72 and the   
men who1 strong as human creatures can  
be1 are yet submitted to influences     
stronger than they1 and see in a sort   
untruly1 because what they see is       
inconceivably above them4 ,this last is 
the usual condition of prophetic        
inspiration4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,i separate    
these classes1 in order that their      
character may be clearly understood2 but
 of course they are united each to the  
other by imperceptible transitions1 and 
the same mind1 according to the         
influences to which it is subjected1    
passes at different times into the      
various states4 ,still1 the difference  
between the great and less man is1 on   
the whole1 chiefly in this point of     
alterability4 ,that is to say1 the one  
knows too much1 and perceives and feels 

too much of the past and future1 and of 
all things beside and around that which 
immediately affects him1 to be in any   
wise shaken by it4 ,his mind is made up2
 his thoughts have an accustomed        
current2 his ways are steadfast2 it is  
not this or that new sight which will at
 once unbalance him4 ,he is tender to   
impression at the surface1 like a rock  
with deep moss upon it2 but there is too
 much mass of him to be moved4 ,the     
smaller man1 with the same degree of    
sensibility1 is at once carried off his 
feet2 he wants to do something he did   
not want to do before2 he views all the 
universe in a new light through his     
tears2 he is gay or enthusiastic1       
melancholy or passionate1 as things come
 and go to him4 ,therefore the high     
creative poet might even be thought1 to 
a great extent1 impassive 7as shallow   
people think ,dante stern71 receiving   
indeed all feelings to the full1 but    
having a great centre of reflection and 
knowledge in which he stands serene1 and

 watches the feeling1 as it were1 from  
far off4  ,dante1 in his most intense   
moods1 has entire command of himself1   
and can look around calmly1 at all      
moments1 for the image or the word that 
will best tell what he sees to the upper
 or lower world4 ,but ,keats and        
,tennyson1 and the poets of the second  
order1 are generally themselves subdued 
by the feelings under which they write1 
or1 at least1 write as choosing to be   
so1 and therefore admit certain         
expressions and modes of thought which  
are in some sort diseased or false4     
,sec4 #aa4 ,now so long as we see that  
the feeling is true1 we pardon1 or are  
even pleased by1 the confessed fallacy  
of sight which it induces3 we are       
pleased1 for instance1 with those lines 
of ,kingsley's1 above quoted1 not       
because they fallaciously describe foam1
 but because they faithfully describe   
sorrow4 ,but the moment the mind of the 
speaker becomes cold1 that moment every 
such expression becomes untrue1 as being

 for ever untrue in the external facts4 
,and there is no greater baseness in    
literature than the habit of using these
 metaphorical expressions in cool blood4
 ,an inspired writer1 in full           
impetuosity of passion1 may speak wisely
 and truly of raging waves of the sea1  
foaming out their own shame2 but it is  
only the basest writer who cannot speak 
of the sea without talking of raging    
waves1 remorseless floods1 ravenous     
billows1 c42 and it is one of the signs 
of the highest power in a writer to     
check all such habits of thought1 and to
 keep his eyes fixed firmly on the pure 
fact1 out of which if any feeling comes 
to him or his reader1 he knows it must  
be a true one4  ,to keep to the waves1  
,i forget who it is who represents a man
 in despair1 desiring that his body may 
be cast into the sea1        ,whose     
changing mound1 and foam that passed    
away1       ,might mock the eye that    
questioned where ,i lay4  ,observe1     
there is not a single false1 or even    

overcharged1 expression4 ,mound of the  
sea wave is perfectly simple and true2  
changing is as familiar as may be2 foam 
that passed away1 strictly literal2 and 
the whole line descriptive of the       
reality with a degree of accuracy which 
,i know not any other verse1 in the     
range of poetry1 that altogether equals4
 ,for most people have not a distinct   
idea of the clumsiness and massiveness  
of a large wave4 ,the word wave is used 
too generally of ripples and breakers1  
and bendings in light drapery or grass3 
it does not by itself convey a perfect  
image4 ,but the word mound is heavy1    
large1 dark1 definite2 there is no      
mistaking the kind of wave meant1 nor   
missing the sight of it4 ,then the term 
changing has a peculiar force also4     
,most people think of waves as rising   
and falling4 ,but if they look at the   
sea carefully1 they will perceive that  
the waves do not rise and fall4 ,they   
change4 ,change both place and form1 but
 they do not fall2 one wave goes on1 and

 on1 and still on2 now lower1 now       
higher1 now tossing its mane like a     
horse1 now building itself together like
 a wall1 now shaking1 now steady1 but   
still the same wave1 till at last it    
seems struck by something1 and changes1 
one knows not how1--becomes another     
wave4  ,the close of the line insists on
 this image1 and paints it still more   
perfectly1--foam that passed away4 ,not 
merely melting1 disappearing1 but       
passing on1 out of sight1 on the career 
of the wave4 ,then1 having put the      
absolute ocean fact as far as he may    
before our eyes1 the poet leaves us to  
feel about it as we may1 and to trace   
for ourselves the opposite fact1--the   
image of the green mounds that do not   
change1 and the white and written stones
 that do not pass away2 and thence to   
follow out also the associated images of
 the calm life with the quiet grave1 and
 the despairing life with the fading    
foam3--                     ,let no man 
move his bones4     ,as for ,samaria1   

her king is cut off like the foam upon  
the water4  ,but nothing of this is     
actually told or pointed out1 and the   
expressions1 as they stand1 are         
perfectly severe and accurate1 utterly  
uninfluenced by the firmly governed     
emotion of the writer4 ,even the word   
mock is hardly an exception1 as it may  
stand merely for deceive or defeat1     
without implying any impersonation of   
the waves4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,it may be well1 
perhaps1 to give one or two more        
instances to show the peculiar dignity  
possessed by all passages which thus    
limit their expression to the pure fact1
 and leave the hearer to gather what he 
can from it4 ,here is a notable one from
 the ,iliad4 ,helen1 looking from the   
,scaean gate of ,troy over the ,grecian 
host1 and telling ,priam the names of   
its captains1 says at last3--      ,i   
see all the other dark-eyed ,greeks2 but
 two ,i cannot     see1--,castor and    
,pollux1--whom one mother bore with me4 
,have     they not followed from fair   

,lacedaemon1 or have they indeed        
come in their sea-wandering ships1 but  
now will not enter into     the battle  
of men1 fearing the shame and the scorn 
that is in     me8  ,then ,homer3--     
,so she spoke4 ,but them1 already1 the  
life-giving earth     possessed1 there  
in ,lacedaemon1 in the dear fatherland4 
,note1 here1 the high poetical truth    
carried to the extreme4 ,the poet has to
 speak of the earth in sadness1 but he  
will not let that sadness affect or     
change his thoughts of it4 ,no2 though  
,castor and ,pollux be dead1 yet the    
earth is our mother still1 fruitful1    
life-giving4 ,these are the facts of the
 thing4 ,i see nothing else than these4 
,make what you will of them4  ,sec4 #ac4
 ,take another very notable instance    
from ,casimir de la ,vigne's terrible   
ballad1 ,la ,toilette de ,constance4 ,i 
must quote a few lines out of it here   
and there1 to enable the reader who has 
not the book by him1 to understand its  
close4              ,vite1 ,anna1 vite2 

au miroir               ,plus vite1     
,anna4 ,l'heure s'avance1               
,et je vais au bal ce soir              
,chez l'ambassadeur de ,france4         
,y pensez vous1 ils sont fanes1 ces     
noeuds1         ,ils sont d'hier1 mon   
,dieu1 comme tout passe6       ,que du  
reseau qui retient mes cheveux          
,les glands d'azur retombent avec grace4
       ,plus haut6 ,plus bas6 ,vous ne  
comprenez rien6         ,que sur mon    
front ce saphir etincelle3       ,vous  
me piquez1 mal-adroite4 ,ah1 c'est bien1
         ,bien1--chere ,anna6 ,je       
t'aime1 je suis belle4        ,celui    
qu'en vain je voudrais oublier          
7,anna1 ma robe7 il y sera1 j'espere4   
7,ah1 fi1 profane1 est-ce la mon        
collier8         ,quoi6 ces grains d'or 
benits par le ,saint ,pere67       ,il y
 sera2 ,dieu1 s'il pressait ma main     
,en y pensant1 a peine je respire2      
,pere ,anselmo doit m'entendre demain1  
,comment ferai-je1 ,anna1 pour tout lui 
dire8              ,vite un coup d'oeil 

au miroir1               ,le            
dernier4----,j'ai l'assurance           
,qu'on va m'adorer ce soir              
,chez l'ambassadeur de ,france4         
,pres du foyer1 ,constance s'admirait4  
,dieu6 sur sa robe il vole une          
etincelle6       ,au feu4 ,courez2      
,quand l'espoir l'enivrait         ,tout
 perdre ainsi6 ,quoi6 ,mourir1--et si   
belle6       ,l'horrible feu ronge avec 
volupte         ,ses bras1 son sein1 et 
l'entoure1 et s'eleve1       ,et sans   
pitie devore sa beaute1         ,ses    
dixhuit ans1 helas1 et son doux reve6   
,adieu1 bal1 plaisir1 amour6            
,on disait1 ,pauvre ,constance6         
,et on dansait1 jusqu'au jour1          
,chez l'ambassadeur de ,france4  ,yes1  
that is the fact of it4 ,right or wrong1
 the poet does not say4 ,what you may   
think about it1 he does not know4 ,he   
has nothing to do with that4 ,there lie 
the ashes of the dead girl in her       
chamber4 ,there they danced1 till the   
morning1 at the ,ambassador's of        

,france4 ,make what you will of it4  ,if
 the reader will look through the       
ballad1 of which ,i have quoted only    
about the third part1 he will find that 
there is not1 from beginning to end of  
it1 a single poetical 7so called7       
expression1 except in one stanza4 ,the  
girl speaks as simple prose as may be2  
there is not a word she would not have  
actually used as she was dressing4 ,the 
poet stands by1 impassive as a statue1  
recording her words just as they come4  
,at last the doom seizes her1 and in the
 very presence of death1 for an instant1
 his own emotions conquer him4 ,he      
records no longer the facts only1 but   
the facts as they seem to him4 ,the fire
 gnaws with voluptuousness--without     
pity4 ,it is soon past4 ,the fate is    
fixed for ever2 and he retires into his 
pale and crystalline atmosphere of      
truth4 ,he closes all with the calm     
veracity1        ,they said1 ',poor     
,constance6'  ,sec4 #ad4 ,now in this   
there is the exact type of the          

consummate poetical temperament4 ,for1  
be it clearly and constantly remembered1
 that the greatness of a poet depends   
upon the two faculties1 acuteness of    
feeling1 and command of it4 ,a poet is  
great1 first in proportion to the       
strength of his passion1 and then1 that 
strength being granted1 in proportion to
 his government of it2 there being1     
however1 always a point beyond which it 
would be inhuman and monstrous if he    
pushed this government1 and1 therefore1 
a point at which all feverish and wild  
fancy becomes just and true4 ,thus the  
destruction of the kingdom of ,assyria  
cannot be contemplated firmly by a      
prophet of ,israel4 ,the fact is too    
great1 too wonderful4 ,it overthrows    
him1 dashes him into a confused element 
of dreams4 ,all the world is1 to his    
stunned thought1 full of strange voices4
 ,yea1 the fir-trees rejoice at thee1   
and the cedars of ,lebanon1 saying1     
',since thou art gone down to the grave1
 no feller is come up against us4' ,so1 

still more1 the thought of the presence 
of ,deity cannot be borne without this  
great astonishment4 ,the mountains and  
the hills shall break forth before you  
into singing1 and all the trees of the  
fields shall clap their hands4  ,sec4   
#ae4 ,but by how much this feeling is   
noble when it is justified by the       
strength of its cause1 by so much it is 
ignoble when there is not cause enough  
for it2 and beyond all other ignobleness
 is the mere affectation of it1 in      
hardness of heart4 ,simply bad writing  
may almost always1 as above noticed1 be 
known by its adoption of these fanciful 
metaphorical expressions1 as a sort of  
current coin2 yet there is even a worse1
 at least a more harmful1 condition of  
writing than this1 in which such        
expressions are not ignorantly and      
feelinglessly caught up1 but1 by some   
master1 skilful in handling1 yet        
insincere1 deliberately wrought out with
 chill and studied fancy2 as if we      
should try to make an old lava stream   

look red-hot again1 by covering it with 
dead leaves1 or white-hot1 with         
hoar-frost4  ,when ,young is lost in    
veneration1 as he dwells on the         
character of a truly good and holy man1 
he permits himself for a moment to be   
overborne by the feeling so far as to   
exclaim--        ,where shall ,i find   
him8 angels1 tell me where4       ,you  
know him2 he is near you2 point him out4
       ,shall ,i see glories beaming    
from his brow1       ,or trace his      
footsteps by the rising flowers8  ,this 
emotion has a worthy cause1 and is thus 
true and right4 ,but now hear the       
cold-hearted ,pope say to a shepherd    
girl--        ,where'er you walk1 cool  
gales shall fan the glade6       ,trees1
 where you sit1 shall crowd into a      
shade2       ,your praise the birds     
shall chant in every grove1       ,and  
winds shall waft it to the powers above4
       ,but would you sing1 and rival   
,orpheus' strain1       ,the wondering  
forests soon should dance again2        

,the moving mountains hear the powerful 
call1       ,and headlong streams hang1 
listening1 in their fall4  ,this is not1
 nor could it for a moment be mistaken  
for1 the language of passion4 ,it is    
simple falsehood1 uttered by hypocrisy2 
definite absurdity1 rooted in           
affectation1 and coldly asserted in the 
teeth of nature and fact4 ,passion will 
indeed go far in deceiving itself2 but  
it must be a strong passion1 not the    
simple wish of a lover to tempt his     
mistress to sing4 ,compare a very       
closely parallel passage in ,wordsworth1
 in which the lover has lost his        
mistress3        ,three years had       
,barbara in her grave been laid1        
,when thus his moan he made3--          
',oh1 move1 thou cottage1 from behind   
yon oak1         ,or let the ancient    
tree uprooted lie1       ,that in some  
other way yon smoke         ,may mount  
into the sky4        ,if still behind   
yon pine-tree's ragged bough1           
,headlong1 the waterfall must come1     

,oh1 let it1 then1 be dumb--       ,be  
anything1 sweet stream1 but that which  
thou art now4'  ,here is a cottage to be
 moved1 if not a mountain1 and a        
waterfall to be silent1 if it is not to 
hang listening2 but with what different 
relation to the mind that contemplates  
them6 ,here1 in the extremity of its    
agony1 the soul cries out wildly for    
relief1 which at the same moment it     
partly knows to be impossible1 but      
partly believes possible1 in a vague    
impression that a miracle might be      
wrought to give relief even to a less   
sore distress1--that nature is kind1 and
 ,god is kind1 and that grief is strong2
 it knows not well what is possible to  
such grief4 ,to silence a stream1 to    
move a cottage wall1--one might think it
 could do as much as that6  ,sec4 #af4  
,i believe these instances are enough to
 illustrate the main point ,i insist    
upon respecting the pathetic            
fallacy1--that so far as it is a        
fallacy1 it is always the sign of a     

morbid state of mind1 and comparatively 
of a weak one4 ,even in the most        
inspired prophet it is a sign of the    
incapacity of his human sight or thought
 to bear what has been revealed to it4  
,in ordinary poetry1 if it is found in  
the thoughts of the poet himself1 it is 
at once a sign of his belonging to the  
inferior school2 if in the thoughts of  
the characters imagined by him1 it is   
right or wrong according to the         
genuineness of the emotion from which it
 springs2 always1 however1 implying     
necessarily some degree of weakness in  
the character4  ,take two most exquisite
 instances from master hands4 ,the      
,jessy of ,shenstone1 and the ,ellen of 
,wordsworth1 have both been betrayed and
 deserted4 ,jessy1 in the course of her 
most touching complaint1 says3          
,if through the garden's flowery tribes 
,i stray1         ,where bloom the      
jasmines that could once allure1        
',hope not to find delight in us1' they 
say1         ',for we are spotless1     

,jessy2 we are pure4'  ,compare with    
this some of the words of ,ellen3       
',ah1 why1' said ,ellen1 sighing to     
herself1       ',why do not words1 and  
kiss1 and solemn pledge1       ,and     
nature1 that is kind in woman's breast1 
,and reason1 that in man is wise and    
good1       ,and fear of ,him who is a  
righteous ,judge1--       ,why do not   
these prevail for human life1       ,to 
keep two hearts together1 that began    
,their springtime with one love1 and    
that have need       ,of mutual pity and
 forgiveness1 sweet       ,to grant1 or 
be received2 while that poor bird--     
,o1 come and hear him6 ,thou who hast to
 me       ,been faithless1 hear         
him2--though a lowly creature1          
,one of ,god's simple children1 that yet
 know not       ,the ,universal ,parent1
 how he sings6       ,as if he wished   
the firmament of heaven       ,should   
listen1 and give back to him the voice  
,of his triumphant constancy and love4  
,the proclamation that he makes1 how far

       ,his darkness doth transcend our 
fickle light4'  ,the perfection of both 
these passages1 as far as regards truth 
and tenderness of imagination in the two
 poets1 is quite insuperable4 ,but1 of  
the two characters imagined1 ,jessy is  
weaker than ,ellen1 exactly in so far as
 something appears to her to be in      
nature which is not4 ,the flowers do not
 really reproach her4 ,god meant them to
 comfort her1 not to taunt her2 they    
would do so if she saw them rightly4    
,ellen1 on the other hand1 is quite     
above the slightest erring emotion4     
,there is not the barest film of fallacy
 in all her thoughts4 ,she reasons as   
calmly as if she did not feel4 ,and1    
although the singing of the bird        
suggests to her the idea of its desiring
 to be heard in heaven1 she does not for
 an instant admit any veracity in the   
thought4 ,as if1 she says1--,i know he  
means nothing of the kind2 but it does  
verily seem as if4 ,the reader will     
find1 by examining the rest of the poem1

 that ,ellen's character is throughout  
consistent in this clear though         
passionate strength4  ,it then being1 ,i
 hope1 now made clear to the reader in  
all respects that the pathetic fallacy  
is powerful only so far as it is        
pathetic1 feeble so far as it is        
fallacious1 and1 therefore1 that the    
dominion of ,truth is entire1 over this1
 as over every other natural and just   
state of the human mind1 we may go on to
 the subject for the dealing with which 
this prefatory inquiry became necessary2
 and why necessary1 we shall see        
forthwith4#eh    #eb ,it is quite true1 
that in all qualities involving         
sensation1        there may be a doubt  
whether different people receive the    
same sensation from the same thing      
7compare ,part ,,ii4 ,sec4 ,i4          
,chap4 ,v4 ,sec4 #f472 but1 though this 
makes such facts not        distinctly  
explicable1 it does not alter the facts 
themselves4 ,i derive a certain         
sensation1 which ,i call                

sweetness1 from sugar4 ,that is a fact4 
,another person feels a                 
sensation1 which he also calls          
sweetness1 from sugar4 ,that        is  
also a fact4 ,the sugar's power to      
produce these two        sensations1    
which we suppose to be1 and which are1  
in all        probability1 very nearly  
the same in both of us1 and1 on the     
whole1 in the human race1 is its        
sweetness4    #ec ,in fact 7for ,i may  
as well1 for once1 meet our ,german     
friends        in their own style71 all 
that has been subjected to us on        
this subject seems object to this great 
objection2 that the        subjection of
 all things 7subject to no exceptions7  
to senses        which are1 in us1 both 
subject and abject1 and objects of      
perpetual contempt1 cannot but make it  
our ultimate object to        subject   
ourselves to the senses1 and to remove  
whatever        objections existed to   
such subjection4 ,so that1 finally1 that
        which is the subject of         

examination or object of attention1     
uniting thus in itself the characters of
 subness and obness        7so that1    
that which has no obness in it should be
 called        sub-subjective1 or a     
sub-subject1 and that which has no      
subness in it should be called upper or 
ober-objective1 or an        ob-object72
 and we also1 who suppose ourselves the 
objects of        every arrangement1 and
 are certainly the subjects of every    
sensual impression1 thus uniting in     
ourselves1 in an obverse        or      
adverse manner1 the characters of obness
 and subness1 must        both become   
metaphysically dejected or rejected1    
nothing        remaining in us          
objective1 but subjectivity1 and the    
very        objectivity of the object   
being lost in the abyss of this         
subjectivity of the ,human4             
,there is1 however1 some meaning in the 
above sentence1 if the        reader    
cares to make it out2 but in a pure     
,german sentence of        the highest  

style there is often none whatever4 ,see
 ,appendix        ,,ii4 ,german         
,philosophy4    #ed ,contemplative1 in  
the sense explained in ,part ,,iii4     
,sec4 ,,ii4        ,chap4 ,,iv4    #ee  
,holmes 7,oliver ,wendell71 quoted by   
,miss ,mitford in her                   
,recollections of a ,literary ,life4    
#ef ,i admit two orders of poets1 but no
 third2 and by these two        orders  
,i mean the ,creative 7,shakspere1      
,homer1 ,dante71 and        ,reflective 
or ,perceptive 7,wordsworth1 ,keats1    
,tennyson74 ,but        both of these   
must be first-rate in their range1      
though        their range is different2 
and with poetry second-rate in          
quality no one ought to be allowed to   
trouble mankind4        ,there is quite 
enough of the best1--much more than we  
can        ever read or enjoy in the    
length of a life2 and it is a           
literal wrong or sin in any person to   
encumber us with        inferior work4  
,i have no patience with apologies made 

by        young pseudo-poets1 that they 
believe there is some good        in    
what they have written3 that they hope  
to do better in        time1 etc4 ,some 
good6 ,if there is not all good1 there  
is        no good4 ,if they ever hope to
 do better1 why do they trouble         
us now8 ,let them rather courageously   
burn all they have done1        and wait
 for the better days4 ,there are few    
men1 ordinarily        educated1 who in 
moments of strong feeling could not     
strike        out a poetical thought1   
and afterwards polish it so as to be    
presentable4 ,but men of sense know     
better than so to waste        their    
time2 and those who sincerely love      
poetry1 know the        touch of the    
master's hand on the chords too well to 
fumble        among them after him4     
,nay1 more than this2 all inferior      
poetry is an injury to the good1        
inasmuch as it takes away        the    
freshness of rhymes1 blunders upon and  
gives a wretched        commonalty to   

good thoughts2 and1 in general1 adds to 
the        weight of human weariness in 
a most woful and culpable        manner4
 ,there are few thoughts likely to come 
across ordinary        men1 which have  
not already been expressed by greater   
men in        the best possible way2 and
 it is a wiser1 more generous1 more     
noble thing to remember and point out   
the perfect words1 than        to invent
 poorer ones1 wherewith to encumber     
temporarily the        world4    #eg    
,well said1 ,old mole6 can'st work i'   
the ground so fast8    #eh ,i cannot    
quit this subject without giving two    
more instances1        both exquisite1  
of the pathetic fallacy1 which ,i have  
just        come upon1 in ,maude3       
,for a great speculation had fail'd2    
,and ever he mutter'd and madden'd1 and 
ever wann'd with                        
despair2         ,and out he walk'd1    
when the wind like a broken worldling   
wail'd1           ,and the flying gold  
of the ruin'd woodlands drove thro'     

the air4              ,there has fallen 
a splendid tear               ,from the 
passion-flower at the gate4             
,the red rose cries1 ',she is near1 she 
is near6'               ,and the white  
rose weeps1 ',she is late4'             
,the larkspur listens1 ',i hear1 ,i     
hear6'               ,and the lily      
whispers1 ',i wait4'     ,,chapter      
,,xiii4  ,,of ,,classical ,,landscape4  
,sec4 #a4 ,my reason for asking the     
reader to give so much of his time to   
the examination of the pathetic fallacy 
was1 that1 whether in literature or in  
art1 he will find it eminently          
characteristic of the modern mind2 and  
in the landscape1 whether of literature 
or art1 he will also find the modern    
painter endeavoring to express something
 which he1 as a living creature1        
imagines in the lifeless object1 while  
the classical and mediaeval painters    
were content with expressing the        
unimaginary and actual qualities of the 
object itself4 ,it will be observed     

that1 according to the principle stated 
long ago1 ,i use the words painter and  
poet quite indifferently1 including in  
our inquiry the landscape of literature1
 as well as that of painting2 and this  
the more because the spirit of classical
 landscape has hardly been expressed in 
any other way than by words4  ,sec4 #b4 
,taking1 therefore1 this wide field1 it 
is surely a very notable circumstance1  
to begin with1 that this pathetic       
fallacy is eminently characteristic of  
modern painting4 ,for instance1 ,keats1 
describing a wave1 breaking1 out at sea1
 says of it--        ,down whose green  
back the short-lived foam1 all hoar1    
,bursts gradual1 with a wayward         
indolence4  ,that is quite perfect1 as  
an example of the modern manner4 ,the   
idea of the peculiar action with which  
foam rolls down a long1 large wave could
 not have been given by any other words 
so well as by this wayward indolence4   
,but ,homer would never have written1   
never thought of1 such words4 ,he could 

not by any possibility have lost sight  
of the great fact that the wave1 from   
the beginning to the end of it1 do what 
it might1 was still nothing else than   
salt water2 and that salt water could   
not be either wayward or indolent4 ,he  
will call the waves over-roofed1        
full-charged1 monstrous1 compact-black1 
dark-clear1 violet-colored1             
wine-colored1 and so on4 ,but every one 
of these epithets is descriptive of pure
 physical nature4 ,over-roofed is the   
term he invariably uses of              
anything--rock1 house1 or wave--that    
nods over at the brow2 the other terms  
need no explanation2 they are as        
accurate and intense in truth as words  
can be1 but they never show the         
slightest feeling of anything animated  
in the ocean4 ,black or clear1 monstrous
 or violet-colored1 cold salt water it  
is always1 and nothing but that4  ,sec4 
#c4 ,well1 but the modern writer1 by his
 admission of the tinge of fallacy1 has 
given an idea of something in the action

 of the wave which ,homer could not1 and
 surely1 therefore1 has made a step in  
advance8 ,also there appears to be a    
degree of sympathy and feeling in the   
one writer1 which there is not in the   
other2 and as it has been received for a
 first principle that writers are great 
in proportion to the intensity of their 
feelings1 and ,homer seems to have no   
feelings about the sea but that it is   
black and deep1 surely in this respect  
also the modern writer is the greater8  
,stay a moment4 ,homer had some feeling 
about the sea2 a faith in the animation 
of it much stronger than ,keats's4 ,but 
all this sense of something living in   
it1 he separates in his mind into a     
great abstract image of a ,sea ,power4  
,he never says the waves rage1 or the   
waves are idle4 ,but he says there is   
somewhat in1 and greater than1 the      
waves1 which rages1 and is idle1 and    
that he calls a god4  ,sec4 #d4 ,i do   
not think we ever enough endeavor to    
enter into what a ,greek's real notion  

of a god was4 ,we are so accustomed to  
the modern mockeries of the classical   
religion1 so accustomed to hear and see 
the ,greek gods introduced as living    
personages1 or invoked for help1 by men 
who believe neither in them nor in any  
other gods1 that we seem to have        
infected the ,greek ages themselves with
 the breath1 and dimmed them with the   
shade1 of our hypocrisy2 and are apt to 
think that ,homer1 as we know that      
,pope1 was merely an ingenious fabulist2
 nay1 more than this1 that all the      
nations of past time were ingenious     
fabulists also1 to whom the universe was
 a lyrical drama1 and by whom whatsoever
 was said about it was merely a witty   
allegory1 or a graceful lie1 of which   
the entire upshot and consummation was a
 pretty statue in the middle of the     
court1 or at the end of the garden4     
,this1 at least1 is one of our forms of 
opinion about ,greek faith2 not1 indeed1
 possible altogether to any man of      
honesty or ordinary powers of thought2  

but still so venomously inherent in the 
modern philosophy that all the pure     
lightning of ,carlyle cannot as yet     
quite burn it out of any of us4 ,and    
then1 side by side with this mere       
infidel folly1 stands the bitter        
short-sightedness of ,puritanism1       
holding the classical god to be either  
simply an idol1--a block of stone       
ignorantly1 though sincerely1           
worshipped1--or else an actual diabolic 
or betraying power1 usurping the place  
of god4  ,sec4 #e4 ,both these          
,puritanical estimates of ,greek deity  
are of course to some extent true4 ,the 
corruption of classical worship is      
barren idolatry2 and that corruption was
 deepened1 and variously directed to    
their own purposes1 by the evil angels4 
,but this was neither the whole1 nor the
 principal part1 of ,pagan worship4     
,pallas was not1 in the pure ,greek     
mind1 merely a powerful piece of ivory  
in a temple at ,athens2 neither was the 
choice of ,leonidas between the         

alternatives granted him by the oracle1 
of personal death1 or ruin to his       
country1 altogether a work of the       
,devil's prompting4  ,sec4 #f4 ,what1   
then1 was actually the ,greek god8 ,in  
what way were these two ideas of human  
form1 and divine power1 credibly        
associated in the ancient heart1 so as  
to become a subject of true faith1      
irrespective equally of fable1 allegory1
 superstitious trust in stone1 and      
demoniacal influence8  ,it seems to me  
that the ,greek had exactly the same    
instinctive feeling about the elements  
that we have ourselves2 that to ,homer1 
as much as to ,casimir de la ,vigne1    
fire seemed ravenous and pitiless2 to   
,homer1 as much as to ,keats1 the       
sea-wave appeared wayward or idle1 or   
whatever else it may be to the poetical 
passion4 ,but then the ,greek reasoned  
upon this sensation1 saying to himself3 
,i can light the fire1 and put it out2  
,i can dry this water up1 or drink it4  
,it cannot be the fire or the water that

 rages1 or that is wayward4 ,but it must
 be something in this fire and in the   
water1 which ,i cannot destroy by       
extinguishing the one1 or evaporating   
the other1 any more than ,i destroy     
myself by cutting off my finger2 ,i was 
in my finger1--something of me at least 
was2 ,i had a power over it1 and felt   
pain in it1 though ,i am still as much  
myself when it is gone4 ,so there may be
 a power in the water which is not      
water1 but to which the water is as a   
body2--which can strike with it1 move in
 it1 suffer in it1 yet not be destroyed 
in it4 ,this something1 this great      
,water ,spirit1 ,i must not confuse with
 the waves1 which are only its body4    
,they may flow hither and thither1      
increase or diminish4 ,that must be     
indivisible--imperishable--a god4 ,so of
 fire also2 those rays which ,i can     
stop1 and in the midst of which ,i cast 
a shadow1 cannot be divine1 nor greater 
than ,i4 ,they cannot feel1 but there   
may be something in them that feels1--a 

glorious intelligence1 as much nobler   
and more swift than mine1 as these rays1
 which are its body1 are nobler and     
swifter than my flesh2--the spirit of   
all light1 and truth1 and melody1 and   
revolving hours4  ,sec4 #g4 ,it was easy
 to conceive1 farther1 that such spirits
 should be able to assume at will a     
human form1 in order to hold intercourse
 with men1 or to perform any act for    
which their proper body1 whether fire1  
earth1 or air1 was unfitted4 ,and it    
would have been to place them beneath1  
instead of above1 humanity1 if1 assuming
 the form of man1 they could not also   
have tasted his pleasures4 ,hence the   
easy step to the more or less material  
ideas of deities1 which are apt at first
 to shock us1 but which are indeed only 
dishonorable so far as they represent   
the gods as false and unholy4 ,it is not
 the materialism1 but the vice1 which   
degrades the conception2 for the        
materialism itself is never positive or 
complete4 ,there is always some sense of

 exaltation in the spiritual and        
immortal body2 and of a power proceeding
 from the visible form through all the  
infinity of the element ruled by the    
particular god4 ,the precise nature of  
the idea is well seen in the passage of 
the ,iliad which describes the river    
,scamander defending the ,trojans       
against ,achilles4 ,in order to         
remonstrate with the hero1 the god      
assumes a human form1 which nevertheless
 is in some way or other instantly      
recognized by ,achilles as that of the  
river-god3 it is addressed at once as a 
river1 not as a man2 and its voice is   
the voice of a river1 out of the deep   
whirlpools4#ei ,achilles refuses to obey
 its commands2 and from the human form  
it returns instantly into its natural or
 divine one1 and endeavors to overwhelm 
him with waves4 ,vulcan defends         
,achilles1 and sends fire against the   
river1 which suffers in its water-body1 
till it is able to bear no more4 ,at    
last even the nerve of the river1 or    

strength of the river 7note the         
expression71 feels the fire1 and this   
strength of the river addresses ,vulcan 
in supplications for respite4 ,there is 
in this precisely the idea of a vital   
part of the river-body1 which acted and 
felt1 and which1 if the fire reached it1
 was death1 just as would be the case if
 it touched a vital part of the human   
body4 ,throughout the passage the manner
 of conception is perfectly clear and   
consistent2 and if1 in other places1 the
 exact connection between the ruling    
spirit and the thing ruled is not so    
manifest1 it is only because it is      
almost impossible for the human mind to 
dwell long upon such subjects without   
falling into inconsistencies1 and       
gradually slackening its effort to grasp
 the entire truth2 until the more       
spiritual part of it slips from its     
hold1 and only the human form of the god
 is left1 to be conceived and described 
as subject to all the errors of         
humanity4 ,but ,i do not believe that   

the idea ever weakens itself down to    
mere allegory4 ,when ,pallas is said to 
attack and strike down ,mars1 it does   
not mean merely that ,wisdom at that    
moment prevailed against ,wrath4 ,it    
means that there are indeed two great   
spirits1 one entrusted to guide the     
human soul to wisdom and chastity1 the  
other to kindle wrath and prompt to     
battle4 ,it means that these two        
spirits1 on the spot where1 and at the  
moment when1 a great contest was to be  
decided between all that they each      
governed in man1 then and there assumed 
human form1 and human weapons1 and did  
verily and materially strike at each    
other1 until the ,spirit of ,wrath was  
crushed4 ,and when ,diana is said to    
hunt with her nymphs in the woods1 it   
does not mean merely as ,wordsworth puts
 it1 that the poet or shepherd saw the  
moon and stars glancing between the     
branches of the trees1 and wished to say
 so figuratively4 ,it means that there  
is a living spirit1 to which the light  

of the moon is a body2 which takes      
delight in glancing between the clouds  
and following the wild beasts as they   
wander through the night2 and that this 
spirit sometimes assumes a perfect human
 form1 and in this form1 with real      
arrows1 pursues and slays the wild      
beasts1 which with its mere arrows of   
moonlight it could not slay2 retaining1 
nevertheless1 all the while1 its power1 
and being in the moonlight1 and in all  
else that it rules4  ,sec4 #h4 ,there is
 not the smallest inconsistency or      
unspirituality in this conception4 ,if  
there were1 it would attach equally to  
the appearance of the angels to ,jacob1 
,abraham1 ,joshua1 or ,manoah4 ,in all  
those instances the highest authority   
which governs our own faith requires us 
to conceive divine power clothed with a 
human form 7a form so real that it is   
recognized for superhuman only by its   
doing wondrously71 and retaining1       
nevertheless1 sovereignty and           
omnipresence in all the world4 ,this is 

precisely1 as ,i understand it1 the     
heathen idea of a ,god2 and it is       
impossible to comprehend any single part
 of the ,greek mind until we grasp this 
faithfully1 not endeavoring to explain  
it away in any wise1 but accepting1 with
 frank decision and definition1 the     
tangible existence of its               
deities2--blue-eyed--white-fleshed--huma
n-hearted1--capable at their choice of  
meeting man absolutely in his own       
nature--feasting with him--talking with 
him--fighting with him1 eye to eye1 or  
breast to breast1 as ,mars with ,diomed2
 or else1 dealing with him in a more    
retired spirituality1 as ,apollo sending
 the plague upon the ,greeks1 when his  
quiver rattles at his shoulders as he   
moves1 and yet the darts sent forth of  
it strike not as arrows1 but as plague2 
or1 finally1 retiring completely into   
the material universe which they        
properly inhabit1 and dealing with man  
through that1 as ,scamander with        
,achilles through his waves4  ,sec4 #i4 

,nor is there anything whatever in the  
various actions recorded of the gods1   
however apparently ignoble1 to indicate 
weakness of belief in them4 ,very       
frequently things which appear to us    
ignoble are merely the simplicities of a
 pure and truthful age4 ,when ,juno     
beats ,diana about the ears with her own
 quiver1 for instance1 we start at      
first1 as if ,homer could not have      
believed that they were both real       
goddesses4 ,but what should ,juno have  
done8 ,killed ,diana with a look8 ,nay1 
she neither wished to do so1 nor could  
she have done so1 by the very faith of  
,diana's goddess-ship4 ,diana is as     
immortal as herself4 ,frowned ,diana    
into submission8 ,but ,diana has come   
expressly to try conclusions with her1  
and will by no means be frowned into    
submission4 ,wounded her with a         
celestial lance8 ,that sounds more      
poetical1 but it is in reality partly   
more savage1 and partly more absurd1    
than ,homer4 ,more savage1 for it makes 

,juno more cruel1 therefore less divine2
 and more absurd1 for it only seems     
elevated in tone1 because we use the    
word celestial1 which means nothing4    
,what sort of a thing is a celestial    
lance8 ,not a wooden one4 ,of what then8
 ,of moonbeams1 or clouds1 or mist4     
,well1 therefore1 ,diana's arrows were  
of mist too2 and her quiver1 and        
herself1 and ,juno1 with her lance1 and 
all1 vanish into mist4 ,why not have    
said at once1 if that is all you mean1  
that two mists met1 and one drove the   
other back8 ,that would have been       
rational and intelligible1 but not to   
talk of celestial lances4 ,homer had no 
such misty fancy2 he believed the two   
goddesses were there in true bodies1    
with true weapons1 on the true earth2   
and still ,i ask1 what should ,juno have
 done8 ,not beaten ,diana8 ,no2 for it  
is un-lady-like4 ,un-,english-lady-like1
 yes2 but by no means                   
un-,greek-lady-like1 nor even           
un-natural-lady-like4 ,if a modern lady 

does not beat her servant or her rival  
about the ears1 it is oftener because   
she is too weak1 or too proud1 than     
because she is of purer mind than       
,homer's ,juno4 ,she will not strike    
them2 but she will overwork the one or  
slander the other without pity2 and     
,homer would not have thought that one  
whit more goddess-like than striking    
them with her open hand4  ,sec4 #aj4    
,if1 however1 the reader likes to       
suppose that while the two goddesses in 
personal presence thus fought with arrow
 and quiver1 there was also a broader   
and vaster contest supposed by ,homer   
between the elements they ruled2 and    
that the goddess of the heavens1 as she 
struck the goddess of the moon on the   
flushing cheek1 was at the same instant 
exercising omnipresent power in the     
heavens themselves1 and gathering       
clouds1 with which1 filled with the     
moon's own arrows or beams1 she was     
encumbering and concealing the moon2 he 
is welcome to this out-carrying of the  

idea1 provided that he does not pretend 
to make it an interpretation instead of 
a mere extension1 nor think to explain  
away my real1 running1 beautiful beaten 
,diana1 into a moon behind clouds4#fj   
,sec4 #aa4 ,it is only farther to be    
noted1 that the ,greek conception of    
,godhead1 as it was much more real than 
we usually suppose1 so it was much more 
bold and familiar than to a modern mind 
would be possible4 ,i shall have        
something more to observe1 in a little  
while1 of the danger of our modern habit
 of endeavoring to raise ourselves to   
something like comprehension of the     
truth of divinity1 instead of simply    
believing the words in which the ,deity 
reveals ,himself to us4 ,the ,greek     
erred rather on the other side1 making  
hardly any effort to conceive divine    
mind as above the human2 and no more    
shrinking from frank intercourse with a 
divine being1 or dreading its immediate 
presence1 than that of the simplest of  
mortals4 ,thus ,atrides1 enraged at his 

sword's breaking in his hand upon the   
helmet of ,paris1 after he had expressly
 invoked the assistance of ,jupiter1    
exclaims aloud1 as he would to a king   
who had betrayed him1 ,jove1 ,father1   
there is not another god more           
evil-minded than thou6 and ,helen1      
provoked at ,paris's defeat1 and        
oppressed with pouting shame both for   
him and for herself1 when ,venus appears
 at her side1 and would lead her back to
 the delivered ,paris1 impatiently tells
 the goddess to go and take care of     
,paris herself4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,the modern 
mind is naturally1 but vulgarly and     
unjustly1 shocked by this kind of       
familiarity4 ,rightly understood1 it is 
not so much a sign of misunderstanding  
of the divine nature as of good         
understanding of the human4 ,the ,greek 
lived1 in all things1 a healthy1 and1 in
 a certain degree1 a perfect life4 ,he  
had no morbid or sickly feeling of any  
kind4 ,he was accustomed to face death  
without the slightest shrinking1 to     

undergo all kinds of bodily hardship    
without complaint1 and to do what he    
supposed right and honorable1 in most   
cases1 as a matter of course4 ,confident
 of his own immortality1 and of the     
power of abstract justice1 he expected  
to be dealt with in the next world as   
was right1 and left the matter much in  
his gods' hands2 but being thus         
immortal1 and finding in his own soul   
something which it seemed quite as      
difficult to master1 as to rule the     
elements1 he did not feel that it was an
 appalling superiority in those gods to 
have bodies of water1 or fire1 instead  
of flesh1 and to have various work to do
 among the clouds and waves1 out of his 
human way2 or sometimes1 even1 in a sort
 of service to himself4 ,was not the    
nourishment of herbs and flowers a kind 
of ministering to his wants8 were not   
the gods in some sort his husbandmen1   
and spirit-servants8 ,their mere        
strength or omnipresence did not seem to
 him a distinction absolutely terrific4 

,it might be the nature of one being to 
be in two places at once1 and of another
 to be only in one2 but that did not    
seem of itself to infer any absolute    
lordliness of one nature above the      
other1 any more than an insect must be a
 nobler creature than a man1 because it 
can see on four sides of its head1 and  
the man only in front4 ,they could kill 
him or torture him1 it was true2 but    
even that not unjustly1 or not for ever4
 ,there was a fate1 and a ,divine       
,justice1 greater than they2 so that if 
they did wrong1 and he right1 he might  
fight it out with them1 and have the    
better of them at last4 ,in a general   
way1 they were wiser1 stronger1 and     
better than he2 and to ask counsel of   
them1 to obey them1 to sacrifice to     
them1 to thank them for all good1 this  
was well2 but to be utterly downcast    
before them1 or not to tell them his    
mind in plain ,greek if they seemed to  
him to be conducting themselves in an   
ungodly manner1--this would not be well4

  ,sec4 #ac4 ,such being their general  
idea of the gods1 we can now easily     
understand the habitual tone of their   
feelings towards what was beautiful in  
nature4 ,with us1 observe1 the idea of  
the ,divinity is apt to get separated   
from the life of nature2 and imagining  
our ,god upon a cloudy throne1 far above
 the earth1 and not in the flowers or   
waters1 we approach those visible things
 with a theory that they are dead1      
governed by physical laws1 and so forth4
 ,but coming to them1 we find the theory
 fail2 that they are not dead2 that1 say
 what we choose about them1 the         
instinctive sense of their being alive  
is too strong for us2 and in scorn of   
all physical law1 the wilful fountain   
sings1 and the kindly flowers rejoice4  
,and then1 puzzled1 and yet happy2      
pleased1 and yet ashamed of being so2   
accepting sympathy from nature1 which we
 do not believe it gives1 and giving    
sympathy to nature1 which we do not     
believe it receives1--mixing1 besides1  

all manner of purposeful play and       
conceit with these involuntary          
fellowships1--we fall necessarily into  
the curious web of hesitating sentiment1
 pathetic fallacy1 and wandering fancy1 
which form a great part of our modern   
view of nature4 ,but the ,greek never   
removed his god out of nature at all2   
never attempted for a moment to         
contradict his instinctive sense that   
,god was everywhere4 ,the tree is glad1 
said he1 ,i know it is2 ,i can cut it   
down2 no matter1 there was a nymph in   
it4 ,the water does sing1 said he2 ,i   
can dry it up2 but no matter1 there was 
a naiad in it4 ,but in thus clearly     
defining his belief1 observe1 he threw  
it entirely into a human form1 and gave 
his faith to nothing but the image of   
his own humanity4 ,what sympathy and    
fellowship he had1 were always for the  
spirit in the stream1 not for the       
stream2 always for the dryad in the     
wood1 not for the wood4 ,content with   
this human sympathy1 he approached the  

actual waves and woody fibres with no   
sympathy at all4 ,the spirit that ruled 
them1 he received as a plain fact4      
,them1 also1 ruled and material1 he     
received as plain facts2 they1 without  
their spirit1 were dead enough4 ,a rose 
was good for scent1 and a stream for    
sound and coolness2 for the rest1 one   
was no more than leaves1 the other no   
more than water2 he could not make      
anything else of them2 and the divine   
power1 which was involved in their      
existence1 having been all distilled    
away by him into an independent ,flora  
or ,thetis1 the poor leaves or waves    
were left1 in mere cold corporealness1  
to make the most of their being         
discernibly red and soft1 clear and wet1
 and unacknowledged in any other power  
whatsoever4  ,sec4 #ad4 ,then1 observe  
farther1 the ,greeks lived in the midst 
of the most beautiful nature1 and were  
as familiar with blue sea1 clear air1   
and sweet outlines of mountain1 as we   
are with brick walls1 black smoke1 and  

level fields4 ,this perfect familiarity 
rendered all such scenes of natural     
beauty unexciting1 if not indifferent1  
to them1 by lulling and overwearying the
 imagination as far as it was concerned 
with such things2 but there was another 
kind of beauty which they found it      
required effort to obtain1 and which1   
when thoroughly obtained1 seemed more   
glorious than any of this wild          
loveliness--the beauty of the human     
countenance and form4 ,this1 they       
perceived1 could only be reached by     
continual exercise of virtue2 and it was
 in ,heaven's sight1 and theirs1 all the
 more beautiful because it needed this  
self-denial to obtain it4 ,so they set  
themselves to reach this1 and having    
gained it1 gave it their principal      
thoughts1 and set it off with beautiful 
dress as best they might4 ,but making   
this their object1 they were obliged to 
pass their lives in simple exercise and 
disciplined employments4 ,living        
wholesomely1 giving themselves no fever 

fits1 either by fasting or over-eating1 
constantly in the open air1 and full of 
animal spirit and physical power1 they  
became incapable of every morbid        
condition of mental emotion4 ,unhappy   
love1 disappointed ambition1 spiritual  
despondency1 or any other disturbing    
sensation1 had little power over the    
well-braced nerves1 and healthy flow of 
the blood2 and what bitterness might yet
 fasten on them was soon boxed or raced 
out of a boy1 and spun or woven out of a
 girl1 or danced out of both4 ,they had 
indeed their sorrows1 true and deep1 but
 still1 more like children's sorrows    
than ours1 whether bursting into open   
cry of pain1 or hid with shuddering     
under the veil1 still passing over the  
soul as clouds do over heaven1 not      
sullying it1 not mingling with          
it2--darkening it perhaps long or       
utterly1 but still not becoming one with
 it1 and for the most part passing away 
in dashing rain of tears1 and leaving   
the man unchanged2 in nowise affecting1 

as our sorrow does1 the whole tone of   
his thought and imagination             
thenceforward4  ,how far our melancholy 
may be deeper and wider than theirs1 in 
its roots and view1 and therefore       
nobler1 we shall consider presently2 but
 at all events1 they had the advantage  
of us in being entirety free from all   
those dim and feverish sensations which 
result from unhealthy state of the body4
 ,i believe that a large amount of the  
dreamy and sentimental sadness1 tendency
 to reverie1 and general patheticalness 
of modern life results merely from      
derangement of stomach2 holding to the  
,greek life the same relation that the  
feverish night of an adult does to a    
child's sleep4  ,sec4 #ae4 ,farther4    
,the human beauty1 which1 whether in its
 bodily being or in imagined divinity1  
had become1 for the reasons we have     
seen1 the principal object of culture   
and sympathy to these ,greeks1 was1 in  
its perfection1 eminently orderly1      
symmetrical1 and tender4 ,hence1        

contemplating it constantly in this     
state1 they could not but feel a        
proportionate fear of all that was      
disorderly1 unbalanced1 and rugged4     
,having trained their stoutest soldiers 
into a strength so delicate and lovely1 
that their white flesh1 with their blood
 upon it1 should look like ivory stained
 with purple2#fa and having always      
around them1 in the motion and majesty  
of this beauty1 enough for the full     
employment of their imagination1 they   
shrank with dread or hatred from all the
 ruggedness of lower nature1--from the  
wrinkled forest bark1 the jagged        
hill-crest1 and irregular1 inorganic    
storm of sky2 looking to these for the  
most part as adverse powers1 and taking 
pleasure only in such portions of the   
lower world as were at once conducive to
 the rest and health of the human frame1
 and in harmony with the laws of its    
gentler beauty4  ,sec4 #af4 ,thus1 as   
far as ,i recollect1 without a single   
exception1 every ,homeric landscape1    

intended to be beautiful1 is composed of
 a fountain1 a meadow1 and a shady      
grove4 ,this ideal is very interestingly
 marked1 as intended for a perfect one1 
in the fifth book of the ,odyssey2 when 
,mercury himself stops for a moment1    
though on a message1 to look at a       
landscape which even an immortal might  
be gladdened to behold4 ,this landscape 
consists of a cave covered with a       
running vine1 all blooming into grapes1 
and surrounded by a grove of alder1     
poplar1 and sweet-smelling cypress4     
,four fountains of white 7foaming7      
water1 springing in succession 7mark the
 orderliness71 and close to one another1
 flow away in different directions1     
through a meadow full of violets and    
parsley 7parsley1 to mark its moisture1 
being elsewhere called marsh-nourished1 
and associated with the lotus72#fb the  
air is perfumed not only by these       
violets and by the sweet cypress1 but by
 ,calypso's fire of finely chopped cedar
 wood1 which sends a smoke as of        

incense1 through the island2 ,calypso   
herself is singing2 and finally1 upon   
the trees are resting1 or roosting1     
owls1 hawks1 and long-tongued sea-crows4
 ,whether these last are considered as a
 part of the ideal landscape1 as marine 
singing-birds1 ,i know not2 but the     
approval of ,mercury appears to be      
elicited chiefly by the fountains and   
violet meadow4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,now the     
notable things in this description are1 
first1 the evident subservience of the  
whole landscape to human comfort1 to the
 foot1 the taste1 or the smell2 and1    
secondly1 that throughout the passage   
there is not a single figurative word   
expressive of the things being in any   
wise other than plain grass1 fruit or   
flower4 ,i have used the term spring of 
the fountains1 because1 without doubt1  
,homer means that they sprang forth     
brightly1 having their source at the    
foot of the rocks 7as copious fountains 
nearly always have72 but ,homer does not
 say spring1 he says simply flow1 and   

uses only one word for growing softly1  
or richly1 of the tall trees1 the vine1 
and the violets4 ,there is1 however1    
some expression of sympathy with the    
sea-birds2 he speaks of them in         
precisely the same terms1 as in other   
places of naval nations1 saying they    
have care of the works of the sea4      
,sec4 #ah4 ,if we glance through the    
references to pleasant landscape which  
occur in other parts of the ,odyssey1 we
 shall always be struck by this quiet   
subjection of their every feature to    
human service1 and by the excessive     
similarity in the scenes4 ,perhaps the  
spot intended1 after this1 to be most   
perfect1 may be the garden of ,alcinous1
 where the principal ideas are1 still   
more definitely1 order1 symmetry1 and   
fruitfulness2 the beds being duly ranged
 between rows of vines1 which1 as well  
as the pear1 apple1 and fig-trees1 bear 
fruit continually1 some grapes being yet
 sour1 while others are getting black2  
there are plenty of orderly square beds 

of herbs1 chiefly leeks1 and two        
fountains1 one running through the      
garden1 and one under the pavement of   
the palace to a reservoir for the       
citizens4 ,ulysses1 pausing to          
contemplate this scene1 is described    
nearly in the same terms as ,mercury    
pausing to contemplate the wilder       
meadow2 and it is interesting to        
observe1 that1 in spite of all ,homer's 
love of symmetry1 the god's admiration  
is excited by the free fountains1 wild  
violets1 and wandering vine2 but the    
mortal's1 by the vines in rows1 the     
leeks in beds1 and the fountains in     
pipes4  ,ulysses has1 however1 one      
touching reason for loving vines in     
rows4 ,his father had given him fifty   
rows for himself1 when he was a boy1    
with corn between them 7just as it now  
grows in ,italy74 ,proving his identity 
afterwards to his father1 whom he finds 
at work in his garden1 with thick gloves
 on1 to keep his hands from the thorns1 
he reminds him of these fifty rows of   

vines1 and of the thirteen pear-trees   
and ten apple-trees which he had given  
him2 and ,laertes faints upon his neck4 
,sec4 #ai4 ,if ,ulysses had not been so 
much of a gardener1 it might have been  
received as a sign of considerable      
feeling for landscape beauty1 that1     
intending to pay the very highest       
possible compliment to the ,princess    
,nausicaa 7and having indeed1 the moment
 before1 gravely asked her whether she  
was a goddess or not71 he says that he  
feels1 at seeing her1 exactly as he did 
when he saw the young palm-tree growing 
at ,apollo's shrine at ,delos4 ,but ,i  
think the taste for trim hedges and     
upright trunks has its usual influence  
over him here also1 and that he merely  
means to tell the princess that she is  
delightfully tall and straight4  ,sec4  
#bj4 ,the princess is1 however1 pleased 
by his address1 and tells him to wait   
outside the town1 till she can speak to 
her father about him4 ,the spot to which
 she directs him is another ideal piece 

of landscape1 composed of a beautiful   
grove of aspen poplars1 a fountain1 and 
a meadow1 near the road-side2 in fact1  
as nearly as possible such a scene as   
meets the eye of the traveller every    
instant on the much-despised lines of   
road through lowland ,france2 for       
instance1 on the railway between ,arras 
and ,amiens2--scenes1 to my mind1 quite 
exquisite in the various grouping and   
grace of their innumerable poplar       
avenues1 casting sweet1 tremulous       
shadows over their level meadows and    
labyrinthine streams4 ,we know that the 
princess means aspen poplars1 because   
soon afterwards we find her fifty       
maid-servants at the palace1 all        
spinning1 and in perpetual motion1      
compared to the leaves of the tall      
poplar2 and it is with exquisite feeling
 that it is made afterwards#fc the chief
 tree in the groves of ,proserpine2 its 
light and quivering leafage having      
exactly the melancholy expression of    
fragility1 faintness1 and inconstancy   

which the ancients attributed to the    
disembodied spirit4#fd ,the likeness to 
the poplars by the streams of ,amiens is
 more marked still in the ,iliad1 where 
the young ,simois1 struck by ,ajax1     
falls to the earth like an aspen that   
has grown in an irrigated meadow1       
smooth-trunked1 the soft shoots         
springing from its top1 which some      
coach-making man has cut down with his  
keen iron1 that he may fit a wheel of it
 to a fair chariot1 and it lies parching
 by the side of the stream4 ,it is      
sufficiently notable that ,homer1 living
 in mountainous and rocky countries1    
dwells thus delightedly on all the flat 
bits2 and so ,i think invariably the    
inhabitants of mountain countries do1   
but the inhabitants of the plains do    
not1 in any similar way1 dwell          
delightedly on mountains4 ,the ,dutch   
painters are perfectly contented with   
their flat fields and pollards3 ,rubens1
 though he had seen the ,alps1 usually  
composes his landscapes of a hayfield or

 two1 plenty of pollards and willows1 a 
distant spire1 a ,dutch house with a    
moat about it1 a windmill1 and a ditch4 
,the ,flemish sacred painters are the   
only ones who introduce mountains in the
 distance1 as we shall see presently2   
but rather in a formal way than with any
 appearance of enjoyment4 ,so ,shakspere
 never speaks of mountains with the     
slightest joy1 but only of lowland      
flowers1 flat fields1 and ,warwickshire 
streams4 ,and if we talk to the         
mountaineer1 he will usually            
characterize his own country to us as a 
pays affreux1 or in some equivalent1    
perhaps even more violent1 ,german term3
 but the lowland peasant does not think 
his country frightful2 he either will   
have no ideas beyond it1 or about it2 or
 will think it a very perfect country1  
and be apt to regard any deviation from 
its general principle of flatness with  
extreme disfavor2 as the ,lincolnshire  
farmer in ,alton ,locke3 ,i'll shaw 'ee 
some'at like a field o' beans1 ,i       

wool--none o' this here darned ups and  
downs o' hills1 to shake a body's       
victuals out of his inwards--all so vlat
 as a barn door1 for vorty mile on      
end--there's the country to live in6  ,i
 do not say whether this be altogether  
right 7though certainly not wholly      
wrong71 but it seems to me that there   
must be in the simple freshness and     
fruitfulness of level land1 in its pale 
upright trees1 and gentle lapse of      
silent streams1 enough for the          
satisfaction of the human mind in       
general2 and ,i so far agree with       
,homer1 that if ,i had to educate an    
artist to the full perception of the    
meaning of the word gracefulness in     
landscape1 ,i should send him neither to
 ,italy nor to ,greece1 but simply to   
those poplar groves between ,arras and  
,amiens4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,but to return more
 definitely to our ,homeric landscape4  
,when it is perfect1 we have1 as in the 
above instances1 the foliage and meadows
 together2 when imperfect1 it is always 

either the foliage or the meadow2       
preeminently the meadow1 or arable      
field4 ,thus1 meadows of asphodel are   
prepared for the happier dead2 and even 
,orion1 a hunter among the mountains in 
his lifetime1 pursues the ghosts of     
beasts in these asphodel meadows after  
death4#fe ,so the sirens sing in a      
meadow2 and throughout the ,odyssey     
there is a general tendency to the      
depreciation of poor ,ithaca1 because it
 is rocky1 and only fit for goats1 and  
has no meadows2 for which reason        
,telemachus refuses ,atrides's present  
of horses1 congratulating the ,spartan  
king at the same time on ruling over a  
plain which has plenty of lotus in it1  
and rushes1 with corn and barley4 ,note 
this constant dwelling on the marsh     
plants1 or1 at least1 those which grow  
in flat and well-irrigated land1 or     
beside streams3 when ,scamander1 for    
instance1 is restrained by ,vulcan1     
,homer says1 very sorrowfully1 that all 
his lotus1 and reeds1 and rushes were   

burnt2 and thus ,ulysses1 after being   
shipwrecked and nearly drowned1 and     
beaten about the sea for many days and  
nights1 on raft and mast1 at last       
getting ashore at the mouth of a large  
river1 casts himself down first upon its
 rushes1 and then1 in thankfulness1     
kisses the corn-giving land1 as most    
opposed1 in his heart1 to the fruitless 
and devouring sea4#ff  ,sec4 #bb4 ,in   
this same passage1 also1 we find some   
peculiar expressions of the delight     
which the ,greeks had in trees1 for1    
when ,ulysses first comes in sight of   
land1 which gladdens him1 as the        
reviving of a father from his sickness  
gladdens his children1 it is not merely 
the sight of the land itself which gives
 him such pleasure1 but of the land and 
wood4 ,homer never throws away any      
words1 at least in such a place as this2
 and what in another poet would have    
been merely the filling up of the       
deficient line with an otherwise useless
 word1 is in him the expression of the  

general ,greek sense1 that land of any  
kind was in nowise grateful or          
acceptable till there was wood upon it  
7or corn2 but the corn1 in the flats1   
could not be seen so far as the black   
masses of forest on the hill sides71 and
 that1 as in being rushy and            
corn-giving1 the low land1 so in being  
woody1 the high land1 was most grateful 
to the mind of the man who for days and 
nights had been wearied on the          
engulphing sea4 ,and this general idea  
of wood and corn1 as the types of the   
fatness of the whole earth1 is          
beautifully marked in another place of  
the ,odyssey1#fg where the sailors in a 
desert island1 having no flour or corn  
to offer as a meat offering with their  
sacrifices1 take the leaves of the      
trees1 and scatter them over the burnt  
offering instead4  ,sec4 #bc4 ,but      
still1 every expression of the pleasure 
which ,ulysses has in this landing and  
resting1 contains uninterruptedly the   
reference to the utility and sensible   

pleasantness of all things1 not to their
 beauty4 ,after his first grateful kiss 
given to the corn-growing land1 he      
considers immediately how he is to pass 
the night3 for some minutes hesitating  
whether it will be best to expose       
himself to the misty chill from the     
river1 or run the risk of wild beasts in
 the wood4 ,he decides for the wood1 and
 finds in it a bower formed by a sweet  
and a wild olive tree1 interlacing their
 branches1 or--perhaps more accurately  
translating ,homer's intensely graphic  
expression--changing their branches with
 each other 7it is very curious how     
often1 in an entanglement of wood1 one  
supposes the branches to belong to the  
wrong trees71 and forming a roof        
penetrated by neither rain1 sun1 nor    
wind4 ,under this bower ,ulysses        
collects the vain 7or frustrate7        
outpouring of the dead leaves--another  
exquisite expression1 used elsewhere of 
useless grief or shedding of            
tears2--and1 having got enough together1

 makes his bed of them1 and goes to     
sleep1 having covered himself up with   
them1 as embers are covered up with     
ashes4  ,nothing can possibly be more   
intensely possessive of the facts than  
this whole passage2 the sense of utter  
deadness and emptiness1 and frustrate   
fall in the leaves2 of dormant life in  
the human body1--the fire1 and heroism1 
and strength of it1 lulled under the    
dead brown heap1 as embers under ashes1 
and the knitting of interchanged and    
close strength of living boughs above4  
,but there is not the smallest apparent 
sense of there being beauty elsewhere   
than in the human being4 ,the wreathed  
wood is admired simply as being a       
perfect roof for it2 the fallen leaves  
only as being a perfect bed for it2 and 
there is literally no more excitement of
 emotion in ,homer1 as he describes     
them1 nor does he expect us to be more  
excited or touched by hearing about     
them1 than if he had been telling us how
 the chamber-maid at the ,bull aired the

 four-poster1 and put on two extra      
blankets4  ,sec4 #bd4 ,now1 exactly this
 same contemplation of subservience to  
human use makes the ,greek take some    
pleasure in rocks1 when they assume one 
particular form1 but one only--that of a
 cave4 ,they are evidently quite        
frightful things to him under any other 
condition1 and most of all if they are  
rough and jagged2 but if smooth1 looking
 sculptured1 like the sides of a ship1  
and forming a cave or shelter for him1  
he begins to think them endurable4      
,hence1 associating the ideas of rich   
and sheltering wood1 sea1 becalmed and  
made useful as a port by projecting     
promontories of rock1 and smoothed caves
 or grottoes in the rocks themselves1 we
 get the pleasantest idea which the     
,greek could form of a landscape1 next  
to a marsh with poplars in it2 not1     
indeed1 if possible1 ever to be without 
these last3 thus1 in commending the     
,cyclops' country as one possessed of   
every perfection1 ,homer first says3    

,they have soft marshy meadows near the 
sea1 and good1 rich1 crumbling1         
ploughing-land1 giving fine deep crops1 
and vines always giving fruit2 then1 a  
port so quiet1 that they have no need of
 cables in it2 and at the head of the   
port1 a beautiful clear spring just     
under a cave1 and aspen poplars all     
round it4#fh  ,sec4 #be4 ,this1 it will 
be seen1 is very nearly ,homer's usual  
ideal2 but1 going into the middle of the
 island1 ,ulysses comes on a rougher and
 less agreeable bit1 though still       
fulfilling certain required conditions  
of endurableness2 a cave shaded with    
laurels1 which1 having no poplars about 
it1 is1 however1 meant to be somewhat   
frightful1 and only fit to be inhabited 
by a ,cyclops4 ,so in the country of the
 ,laestrygons1 ,homer1 preparing his    
reader gradually for something very     
disagreeable1 represents the rocks as   
bare and exposed to the sun2 only with  
some smooth and slippery roads over     
them1 by which the trucks bring down    

wood from the higher hills4 ,any one    
familiar with ,swiss slopes of hills    
must remember how often he has          
descended1 sometimes faster than was    
altogether intentional1 by these same   
slippery woodman's track roads4  ,and   
thus1 in general1 whenever the landscape
 is intended to be lovely1 it verges    
towards the ploughed land and poplars2  
or1 at worst1 to woody rocks2 but1 if   
intended to be painful1 the rocks are   
bare and sharp4 ,this last epithet1     
constantly used by ,homer for mountains1
 does not altogether correspond1 in     
,greek1 to the ,english term1 nor is it 
intended merely to characterize the     
sharp mountain summits2 for it never    
would be applied simply to the edge or  
point of a sword1 but signifies rather  
harsh1 bitter1 or painful1 being applied
 habitually to fate1 death1 and in ,od4 
ii4 #ccc4 to a halter2 and1 as          
expressive of general objectionableness 
and unpleasantness1 to all high1        
dangerous1 or peaked mountains1 as the  

,maleian promontory 7a much dreaded     
one71 the crest of ,parnassus1 the      
,tereian mountain1 and a grim or        
untoward1 though1 by keeping off the    
force of the sea1 protective1 rock at   
the mouth of the ,jardanus2 as well as  
habitually to inaccessible or           
impregnable fortresses built on heights4
  ,sec4 #bf4 ,in all this ,i cannot too 
strongly mark the utter absence of any  
trace of the feeling for what we call   
the picturesque1 and the constant       
dwelling of the writer's mind on what   
was available1 pleasant1 or useful2 his 
ideas respecting all landscape being not
 uncharacteristically summed1 finally1  
by ,pallas herself2 when1 meeting       
,ulysses1 who after his long wandering  
does not recognize his own country1 and 
meaning to describe it as politely and  
soothingly as possible1 she             
says3#fi--,this ,ithaca of ours is1     
indeed1 a rough country enough1 and not 
good for driving in2 but1 still1 things 
might be worse3 it has plenty of corn1  

and good wine1 and always rain1 and soft
 nourishing dew2 and it has good feeding
 for goats and oxen1 and all manner of  
wood1 and springs fit to drink at all   
the year round4  ,we shall see presently
 how the blundering1 pseudo-picturesque1
 pseudo-classical minds of ,claude and  
the ,renaissance landscape painters1    
wholly missing ,homer's practical common
 sense1 and equally incapable of feeling
 the quiet natural grace and sweetness  
of his asphodel meadows1 tender aspen   
poplars1 or running vines1--fastened on 
his ports and caves1 as the only        
available features of his scenery2 and  
appointed the type of classical         
landscape thenceforward to consist in a 
bay of insipid sea1 and a rock with a   
hole through it4#gj  ,sec4 #bg4 ,it may 
indeed be thought that ,i am assuming   
too hastily that this was the general   
view of the ,greeks respecting          
landscape1 because it was ,homer's4 ,but
 ,i believe the true mind of a nation1  
at any period1 is always best           

ascertainable by examining that of its  
greatest men2 and that simpler and truer
 results will be attainable for us by   
simply comparing ,homer1 ,dante1 and    
,walter ,scott1 than by attempting 7what
 my limits must have rendered absurdly  
inadequate1 and in which1 also1 both my 
time and knowledge must have failed me7 
an analysis of the landscape in the     
range of contemporary literature4 ,all  
that ,i can do1 is to state the general 
impression which has been made upon me  
by my desultory reading1 and to mark    
accurately the grounds for this         
impression1 in the works of the greatest
 men4 ,now it is quite true that in     
others of the ,greeks1 especially in    
,a,eschylus and ,aristophanes1 there is 
infinitely more of modern feeling1 of   
pathetic fallacy1 love of picturesque or
 beautiful form1 and other such         
elements1 than there is in ,homer2 but  
then these appear to me just the parts  
of them which were not ,greek1 the      
elements of their minds by which 7as one

 division of the human race always must 
be with subsequent ones7 they are       
connected with the mediaevals and       
moderns4 ,and without doubt1 in his     
influence over future mankind1 ,homer is
 eminently the ,greek of ,greeks2 if ,i 
were to associate any one with him it   
would be ,herodotus1 and ,i believe all 
,i have said of the ,homeric landscape  
will be found equally true of the       
,herodotean1 as assuredly it will be of 
the ,platonic2 the contempt1 which      
,plato sometimes expresses by the mouth 
of ,socrates1 for the country in        
general1 except so far as it is shady1  
and has cicadas and running streams to  
make pleasant noises in it1 being almost
 ludicrous4 ,but ,homer is the great    
type1 and the more notable one because  
of his influence on ,virgil1 and1       
through him1 on ,dante1 and all the     
after ages3 and in like manner1 if we   
can get the abstract of mediaeval       
landscape out of ,dante1 it will serve  
us as well as if we had read all the    

songs of the troubadours1 and help us to
 the farther changes in derivative      
temper1 down to all modern time4  ,sec4 
#bh4 ,i think1 therefore1 the reader may
 safely accept the conclusions about    
,greek landscape which ,i have got for  
him out of ,homer2 and in these he will 
certainly perceive something very       
different from the usual imaginations we
 form of ,greek feelings4 ,we think of  
the ,greeks as poetical1 ideal1         
imaginative1 in the way that a modern   
poet or novelist is2 supposing that     
their thoughts about their mythology and
 world were as visionary and artificial 
as ours are3 but ,i think the passages  
,i have quoted show that it was not so1 
although it may be difficult for us to  
apprehend the strange minglings in them 
of the elements of faith1 which1 in our 
days1 have been blended with other parts
 of human nature in a totally different 
guise4 ,perhaps the ,greek mind may be  
best imagined by taking1 as its         
groundwork1 that of a good1             

conscientious1 but illiterate1 ,scotch  
,presbyterian ,border farmer of a       
century or two back1 having perfect     
faith in the bodily appearances of      
,satan and his imps2 and in all kelpies1
 brownies1 and fairies4 ,substitute for 
the indignant terrors in this man's     
mind1 a general persuasion of the       
,divinity1 more or less beneficent1 yet 
faultful1 of all these beings2 that is  
to say1 take away his belief in the     
demoniacal malignity of the fallen      
spiritual world1 and lower1 in the same 
degree1 his conceptions of the          
angelical1 retaining for him the same   
firm faith in both2 keep his ideas about
 flowers and beautiful scenery much as  
they are1--his delight in regular       
ploughed land and meadows1 and a neat   
garden 7only with rows of gooseberry    
bushes instead of vines17 being1 in all 
probability1 about accurately           
representative of the feelings of       
,ulysses2 then1 let the military spirit 
that is in him1 glowing against the     

,border forager1 or the foe of old      
,flodden and ,chevy-,chase1 be made more
 principal1 with a higher sense of      
nobleness in soldiership1 not as a      
careless excitement1 but a knightly     
duty2 and increased by high cultivation 
of every personal quality1 not of mere  
shaggy strength1 but graceful strength1 
aided by a softer climate1 and educated 
in all proper harmony of sight and      
sound3 finally1 instead of an informed  
,christian1 suppose him to have only the
 patriarchal ,jewish knowledge of the   
,deity1 and even this obscured by       
tradition1 but still thoroughly solemn  
and faithful1 requiring his continual   
service as a priest of burnt sacrifice  
and meat offering2 and ,i think we shall
 get a pretty close approximation to the
 vital being of a true old ,greek2 some 
slight difference still existing in a   
feeling which the ,scotch farmer would  
have of a pleasantness in blue hills and
 running streams1 wholly wanting in the 
,greek mind2 and perhaps also some      

difference of views on the subjects of  
truth and honesty4 ,but the main points1
 the easy1 athletic1 strongly logical   
and argumentative1 yet fanciful and     
credulous1 characters of mind1 would be 
very similar in both2 and the most      
serious change in the substance of the  
stuff among the modifications above     
suggested as necessary to turn the ,scot
 into the ,greek1 is that effect of     
softer climate and surrounding luxury1  
inducing the practice of various forms  
of polished art1--the more polished1    
because the practical and realistic     
tendency of the ,hellenic mind 7if my   
interpretation of it be right7 would    
quite prevent it from taking pleasure in
 any irregularities of form1 or         
imitations of the weeds and wildnesses  
of that mountain nature with which it   
thought itself born to contend4 ,in its 
utmost refinement of work1 it sought    
eminently for orderliness2 carried the  
principle of the leeks in squares1 and  
fountains in pipes1 perfectly out in its

 streets and temples2 formalized        
whatever decoration it put into its     
minor architectural mouldings1 and      
reserved its whole heart and power to   
represent the action of living men1 or  
gods1 though not unconscious meanwhile1 
of        ,the simple1 the sincere      
delight2       ,the habitual scene of   
hill and dale       ,the rural herds1   
the vernal gale2       ,the tangled     
vetches' purple bloom2       ,the       
fragrance of the bean's perfume1--      
,theirs1 theirs alone1 who cultivate the
 soil1       ,and drink the cup of      
thirst1 and eat the bread of toil4      
#ei ,compare ,lay of the ,last          
,minstrel1 canto i4 stanza #ae41 and    
canto v4 stanza #b4 ,in the first       
instance1 the river-spirit is           
accurately the ,homeric god1 only ,homer
 would have believed in                 
it1--,scott did not2 at least not       
altogether4    #fj ,compare the         
exquisite lines of ,longfellow on the   
sunset in        the ,golden ,legend3-- 

,the day is done1 and slowly from the   
scene            ,the stooping sun      
upgathers his spent shafts1             
,and puts them back into his golden     
quiver4     #fa ,iliad iv4 #ada4    #fb 
,iliad ii4 #ggf4    #fc ,odyssey1 x4    
#eaj4    #fd ,compare the passage in    
,dante referred to above1 ,chap4 ,,xii4 
,sec4 #f4    #fe ,odyssey1 xi4 #ega4    
xxiv4 #ac4 ,the couch of ,ceres1 with   
,homer's        usual faithfulness1 is  
made of a ploughed field1 v4 #abg4      
#ff ,odyssey1 v4 #cih4    #fg ,odyssey1 
xii4 #ceg4    #fh ,odyssey1 ix4 #acb4 c4
 ,hence ,milton's             ,from     
haunted spring1 and dale1               
,edged with poplar pale4    #fi         
,odyssey1 xiii4 #bcf4 c4    #gj         
,educated1 as we shall see hereafter1   
first in this school1        ,turner    
gave the hackneyed composition a strange
 power and        freshness1 in his     
,glaucus and ,scylla4     ,,chapter     
,,xiv4  ,,of ,,mediaeval                
,,landscape3--,,first1 ,,the ,,fields4  

,sec4 #a4 ,,in our examination of the   
spirit of classical landscape1 we were  
obliged to confine ourselves to what is 
left to us in written description4 ,some
 interesting results might indeed have  
been obtained by examining the ,egyptian
 and ,ninevite landscape sculpture1 but 
in nowise conclusive enough to be worth 
the pains of the inquiry2 for the       
landscape of sculpture is necessarily   
confined in range1 and usually          
inexpressive of the complete feelings of
 the workman1 being introduced rather to
 explain the place and circumstances of 
events1 than for its own sake4 ,in the  
,middle ,ages1 however1 the case is     
widely different4 ,we have written      
landscape1 sculptured landscape1 and    
painted landscape1 all bearing united   
testimony to the tone of the national   
mind in almost every remarkable locality
 of ,europe4  ,sec4 #b4 ,that testimony1
 taken in its breadth1 is very curiously
 conclusive4 ,it marks the mediaeval    
mind as agreeing altogether with the    

ancients1 in holding that flat land1    
brooks1 and groves of aspens1 compose   
the pleasant places of the earth1 and   
that rocks and mountains are1 for       
inhabitation1 altogether to be          
reprobated and detested2 but as         
disagreeing with the classical mind     
totally in this other most important    
respect1 that the pleasant flat land is 
never a ploughed field1 nor a rich lotus
 meadow good for pasture1 but garden    
ground covered with flowers1 and divided
 by fragrant hedges1 with a castle in   
the middle of it4 ,the aspens are       
delighted in1 not because they are good 
for coach-making men to make cart-wheels
 of1 but because they are shady and     
graceful2 and the fruit-trees1 covered  
with delicious fruit1 especially apple  
and orange1 occupy still more important 
positions in the scenery4               
,singing-birds--not sea-crows1 but      
nightingales#ga--perch on every bough2  
and the ideal occupation of mankind is  
not to cultivate either the garden or   

the meadow1 but to gather roses and eat 
oranges in the one1 and ride out hawking
 over the other4  ,finally1 mountain    
scenery1 though considered as           
disagreeable for general inhabitation1  
is always introduced as being proper to 
meditate in1 or to encourage communion  
with higher beings2 and in the ideal    
landscape of daily life1 mountains are  
considered agreeable things enough1 so  
that they be far enough away4  ,in this 
great change there are three vital      
points to be noticed4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 
#c4 ,three essential characters3 #a4    
,pride in idleness4  ,the first1 the    
disdain of agricultural pursuits by the 
nobility2 a fatal change1 and one       
gradually bringing about the ruin of    
that nobility4 ,it is expressed in the  
mediaeval landscape by the eminently    
pleasurable and horticultural character 
of everything2 by the fences1 hedges1   
castle walls1 and masses of useless1 but
 lovely flowers1 especially roses4 ,the 
knights and ladies are represented      

always as singing1 or making love1 in   
these pleasant places4 ,the idea of     
setting an old knight1 like ,laertes    
7whatever his state of fallen fortune71 
with thick gloves on to keep his hands  
from the thorns1 to prune a row of      
vines1 would have been regarded as the  
most monstrous violation of the         
decencies of life2 and a senator1 once  
detected in the home employments of     
,cincinnatus1 could1 ,i suppose1        
thenceforward hardly have appeared in   
society4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #d4 #b4      
,poetical observance of nature4  ,the   
second vital point is the evidence of a 
more sentimental enjoyment of external  
nature4 ,a ,greek1 wishing really to    
enjoy himself1 shut himself into a      
beautiful atrium1 with an excellent     
dinner1 and a society of philosophical  
or musical friends4 ,but a mediaeval    
knight went into his pleasance1 to      
gather roses and hear the birds sing2 or
 rode out hunting or hawking4 ,his      
evening feast1 though riotous enough    

sometimes1 was not the height of his    
day's enjoyment2 and if the attractions 
of the world are to be shown typically  
to him1 as opposed to the horrors of    
death1 they are never represented by a  
full feast in a chamber1 but by a       
delicate dessert in an orange grove1    
with musicians under the trees2 or a    
ride on a ,may morning1 hawk on fist4   
,this change is evidently a healthy1 and
 a very interesting one4  ,sidenote3    
,sec4 #e4 #c4 ,disturbed conscience4    
,the third vital point is the marked    
sense that this hawking and apple-eating
 are not altogether right2 that there is
 something else to be done in the world 
than that2 and that the mountains1 as   
opposed to the pleasant garden-ground1  
are places where that other something   
may best be learned2--which is evidently
 a piece of infinite and new respect for
 the mountains1 and another healthy     
change in the tone of the human heart4  
,let us glance at the signs and various 
results of these changes1 one by one4   

,sidenote3 ,sec4 #f4 ,derivative        
characters3 #a4 ,love of flowers4  ,the 
two first named1 evil and good as they  
are1 are very closely connected4 ,the   
more poetical delight in external nature
 proceeds just from the fact that it is 
no longer looked upon with the eye of   
the farmer2 and in proportion as the    
herbs and flowers cease to be regarded  
as useful1 they are felt to be charming4
 ,leeks are not now the most important  
objects in the garden1 but lilies and   
roses2 the herbage which a ,greek would 
have looked at only with a view to the  
number of horses it would feed1 is      
regarded by the mediaeval knight as a   
green carpet for fair feet to dance     
upon1 and the beauty of its softness and
 color is proportionally felt by him2   
while the brook1 which the ,greek       
rejoiced to dismiss into a reservoir    
under the palace threshold1 would be1 by
 the mediaeval1 distributed into        
pleasant pools1 or forced into          
fountains2 and regarded alternately as a

 mirror for fair faces1 and a witchery  
to ensnare the sunbeams and the rainbow4
  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #g4 #b4 ,less        
definite gratitude to ,god4  ,and this  
change of feeling involves two others1  
very important4 ,when the flowers and   
grass were regarded as means of life1   
and therefore 7as the thoughtful laborer
 of the soil must always regard them7   
with the reverence due to those gifts of
 ,god which were most necessary to his  
existence2 although their own beauty was
 less felt1 their proceeding from the   
,divine hand was more seriously         
acknowledged1 and the herb yielding     
seed1 and fruit-tree yielding fruit1    
though in themselves less admired1 were 
yet solemnly connected in the heart with
 the reverence of ,ceres1 ,pomona1 or   
,pan4 ,but when the sense of these      
necessary uses was more or less lost1   
among the upper classes1 by the         
delegation of the art of husbandry to   
the hands of the peasant1 the flower and
 fruit1 whose bloom or richness thus    

became a mere source of pleasure1 were  
regarded with less solemn sense of the  
,divine gift in them2 and were converted
 rather into toys than treasures1 chance
 gifts for gaiety1 rather than promised 
rewards of labor2 so that while the     
,greek could hardly have trodden the    
formal furrow1 or plucked the clusters  
from the trellised vine1 without        
reverent thoughts of the deities of     
field and leaf1 who gave the seed to    
fructify1 and the bloom to darken1 the  
mediaeval knight plucked the violet to  
wreathe in his lady's hair1 or strewed  
the idle rose on the turf at her feet1  
with little sense of anything in the    
nature that gave them1 but a frail1     
accidental1 involuntary exuberance2     
while also the ,jewish sacrificial      
system being now done away1 as well as  
the ,pagan mythology1 and1 with it1 the 
whole conception of meat offering or    
firstfruits offering1 the chiefest      
seriousness of all the thoughts         
connected with the gifts of nature faded

 from the minds of the classes of men   
concerned with art and literature2 while
 the peasant1 reduced to serf level1 was
 incapable of imaginative thought1 owing
 to his want of general cultivation4    
,but on the other hand1 exactly in      
proportion as the idea of definite      
spiritual presence in material nature   
was lost1 the mysterious sense of       
unaccountable life in the things        
themselves would be increased1 and the  
mind would instantly be laid open to all
 those currents of fallacious1 but      
pensive and pathetic sympathy1 which we 
have seen to be characteristic of modern
 times4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #c4 ,gloom    
caused by enforced solitude4  ,farther3 
a singular difference would necessarily 
result from the far greater loneliness  
of baronial life1 deprived as it was of 
all interest in agricultural pursuits4  
,the palace of a ,greek leader in early 
times might have gardens1 fields1 and   
farms around it1 but was sure to be near
 some busy city or sea-port3 in later   

times1 the city itself became the       
principal dwelling-place1 and the       
country was visited only to see how the 
farm went on1 or traversed in a line of 
march4 ,far other was the life of the   
mediaeval baron1 nested on his solitary 
jut of crag2 entering into cities only  
occasionally for some grave political or
 warrior's purpose1 and1 for the most   
part1 passing the years of his life in  
lion-like isolation2 the village        
inhabited by his retainers straggling   
indeed about the slopes of the rocks at 
his feet1 but his own dwelling standing 
gloomily apart1 between them and the    
uncompanionable clouds1 commanding1 from
 sunset to sunrise1 the flowing flame of
 some calm unvoyaged river1 and the     
endless undulation of the untraversable 
hills4 ,how different must the thoughts 
about nature have been1 of the noble who
 lived among the bright marble porticos 
of the ,greek groups of temple or       
palace1--in the midst of a plain covered
 with corn and olives1 and by the shore 

of a sparkling and freighted sea1--from 
those of the master of some mountain    
promontory in the green recesses of     
,northern ,europe1 watching night by    
night1 from amongst his heaps of        
storm-broken stone1 rounded into towers1
 the lightning of the lonely sea flash  
round the sands of ,harlech1 or the     
mists changing their shapes forever1    
among the changeless pines1 that fringe 
the crests of ,jura4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4  
#i4 ,and frequent pilgrimage4  ,nor was 
it without similar effect on the minds  
of men that their journeyings and       
pilgrimages became more frequent than   
those of the ,greek1 the extent of      
ground traversed in the course of them  
larger1 and the mode of travel more     
companionless4 ,to the ,greek1 a voyage 
to ,egypt1 or the ,hellespont1 was the  
subject of lasting fame and fable1 and  
the forests of the ,danube and the rocks
 of ,sicily closed for him the gates of 
the intelligible world4 ,what parts of  
that narrow world he crossed were       

crossed with fleets or armies2 the camp 
always populous on the plain1 and the   
ships drawn in cautious symmetry around 
the shore4 ,but to the mediaeval knight1
 from ,scottish moor to ,syrian sand1   
the world was one great exercise ground1
 or field of adventure2 the staunch     
pacing of his charger penetrated the    
pathlessness of outmost forest1 and     
sustained the sultriness of the most    
secret desert4 ,frequently alone1--or1  
if accompanied1 for the most part only  
by retainers of lower rank1 incapable of
 entering into complete sympathy with   
any of his thoughts1--he must have been 
compelled often to enter into dim       
companionship with the silent nature    
around him1 and must assuredly sometimes
 have talked to the wayside flowers of  
his love1 and to the fading clouds of   
his ambition4  ,sidenote3 #d4 ,dread of 
mountains4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,but1 on the     
other hand1 the idea of retirement from 
the world for the sake of               
self-mortification1 of combat with      

demons1 or communion with angels1 and   
with their ,king1--authoritatively      
commended as it was to all men by the   
continual practice of ,christ           
,himself1--gave to all mountain solitude
 at once a sanctity and a terror1 in the
 mediaeval mind1 which were altogether  
different from anything that it had     
possessed in the un-,christian periods4 
,on the one side1 there was an idea of  
sanctity attached to rocky wilderness1  
because it had always been among hills  
that the ,deity had manifested himself  
most intimately to men1 and to the hills
 that ,his saints had nearly always     
retired for meditation1 for especial    
communion with ,him1 and to prepare for 
death4 ,men acquainted with the history 
of ,moses1 alone at ,horeb1 or with     
,israel at ,sinai1--of ,elijah by the   
brook ,cherith1 and in the ,horeb cave2 
of the deaths of ,moses and ,aaron on   
,hor and ,nebo2 of the preparation of   
,jephthah's daughter for her death among
 the ,judea ,mountains2 of the continual

 retirement of ,christ ,himself to the  
mountains for prayer1 ,his temptation in
 the desert of the ,dead ,sea1 ,his     
sermon on the hills of ,capernaum1 ,his 
transfiguration on the crest of ,tabor1 
and his evening and morning walks over  
,olivet for the four or five days       
preceding ,his crucifixion1--were not   
likely to look with irreverent or       
unloving eyes upon the blue hills that  
girded their golden horizon1 or drew    
upon them the mysterious clouds out of  
the height of the darker heaven4 ,but   
with this impression of their greater   
sanctity was involved also that of a    
peculiar terror4 ,in all this1--their   
haunting by the memories of prophets1   
the presences of angels1 and the        
everlasting thoughts and words of the   
,redeemer1--the mountain ranges seemed  
separated from the active world1 and    
only to be fitly approached by hearts   
which were condemnatory of it4 ,just in 
so much as it appeared necessary for the
 noblest men to retire to the           

hill-recesses before their missions     
could be accomplished or their spirits  
perfected1 in so far did the daily world
 seem by comparison to be pronounced    
profane and dangerous2 and to those who 
loved that world1 and its work1 the     
mountains were thus voiceful with       
perpetual rebuke1 and necessarily       
contemplated with a kind of pain and    
fear1 such as a man engrossed by vanity 
feels at being by some accident forced  
to hear a startling sermon1 or to assist
 at a funeral service4 ,every           
association of this kind was deepened by
 the practice and the precept of the    
time2 and thousands of hearts1 which    
might otherwise have felt that there was
 loveliness in the wild landscape1      
shrank from it in dread1 because they   
knew that the monk retired to it for    
penance1 and the hermit for             
contemplation4 ,the horror which the    
,greek had felt for hills only when they
 were uninhabitable and barren1 attached
 itself now to many of the sweetest     

spots of earth2 the feeling was         
conquered by political interests1 but   
never by admiration2 military ambition  
seized the frontier rock1 or maintained 
itself in the unassailable pass2 but it 
was only for their punishment1 or in    
their despair1 that men consented to    
tread the crocused slopes of the        
,chartreuse1 or the soft glades and dewy
 pastures of ,vallombrosa4  ,sec4 #aa4  
,in all these modifications of temper   
and principle there appears much which  
tends to passionate1 affectionate1 or   
awe-struck observance of the features of
 natural scenery1 closely resembling1 in
 all but this superstitious dread of    
mountains1 our feelings at the present  
day4 ,but one character which the       
mediaevals had in common with the       
ancients1 and that exactly the most     
eminent character in both1 opposed      
itself steadily to all the feelings we  
have hitherto been examining1--the      
admiration1 namely1 and constant        
watchfulness1 of human beauty4          

,exercised in nearly the same manner as 
the ,greeks1 from their youth upwards1  
their countenances were cast even in a  
higher mould2 for1 although somewhat    
less regular in feature1 and affected by
 minglings of ,northern bluntness and   
stolidity of general expression1        
together with greater thinness of lip   
and shaggy formlessness of brow1 these  
less sculpturesque features were1       
nevertheless1 touched with a seriousness
 and refinement proceeding first from   
the modes of thought inculcated by the  
,christian religion1 and secondly from  
their more romantic and various life4   
,hence a degree of personal beauty1 both
 male and female1 was attained in the   
,middle ,ages1 with which classical     
periods could show nothing for a moment 
comparable2 and this beauty was set     
forth by the most perfect splendor1     
united with grace1 in dress1 which the  
human race have hitherto invented4 ,the 
strength of their art-genius was        
directed in great part to this object2  

and their best workmen and most         
brilliant fanciers were employed in     
wreathing the mail or embroidering the  
robe4 ,the exquisite arts of enamelling 
and chasing metal enabled them to make  
the armor as radiant and delicate as the
 plumage of a tropical bird2 and the    
most various and vivid imaginations were
 displayed in the alternations of color1
 and fiery freaks of form1 on shield and
 crest2 so that of all the beautiful    
things which the eyes of men could fall 
upon1 in the world about them1 the most 
beautiful must have been a young knight 
riding out in morning sunshine1 and in  
faithful hope4        ,his broad1 clear 
brow in sunlight glowed2       ,on      
burnished hooves his war-horse trode2   
,from underneath his helmet flowed      
,his coal-black curls1 as on he rode4   
,all in the blue1 unclouded weather1    
,thick jewelled shone the saddle        
leather2       ,the helmet and the      
helmet feather       ,burned like one   
burning flame together2       ,and the  

gemmy bridle glittered free1       ,like
 to some branch of stars we see         
,hung in the golden galaxy4  ,sidenote3 
,sec4 #ab4 #e4 care for human beauty4   
,now1 the effect of this superb presence
 of human beauty on men in general was1 
exactly as it had been in ,greek times1 
first1 to turn their thoughts and       
glances in great part away from all     
other beauty but that1 and to make the  
grass of the field take to them always  
more or less the aspect of a carpet to  
dance upon1 a lawn to tilt upon1 or a   
serviceable crop of hay2 and1 secondly1 
in what attention they paid to this     
lower nature1 to make them dwell        
exclusively on what was graceful1       
symmetrical1 and bright in color4 ,all  
that was rugged1 rough1 dark1 wild1     
unterminated1 they rejected at once1 as 
the domain of salvage men and monstrous 
giants3 all that they admired was       
tender1 bright1 balanced1 enclosed1     
symmetrical--only symmetrical in the    
noble and free sense3 for what we       

moderns call symmetry1 or balance1      
differs as much from mediaeval symmetry 
as the poise of a grocer's scales1 or   
the balance of an ,egyptian mummy with  
its hands tied to its sides1 does from  
the balance of a knight on his horse1   
striking with the battle-axe1 at the    
gallop2 the mummy's balance looking     
wonderfully perfect1 and yet sure to be 
one-sided if you weigh the dust of      
it1--the knight's balance swaying and   
changing like the wind1 and yet as true 
and accurate as the laws of life4       
,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ac4 #f4 ,symmetrical  
government of design4  ,and this love of
 symmetry was still farther enhanced by 
the peculiar duties required of art at  
the time2 for1 in order to fit a flower 
or leaf for inlaying in armor1 or       
showing clearly in glass1 it was        
absolutely necessary to take away its   
complexity1 and reduce it to the        
condition of a disciplined and orderly  
pattern2 and this the more1 because1 for
 all military purposes1 the device1     

whatever it was1 had to be distinctly   
intelligible at extreme distance4 ,that 
it should be a good imitation of nature1
 when seen near1 was of no moment2 but  
it was of highest moment that when first
 the knight's banner flashed in the sun 
at the turn of the mountain road1 or    
rose1 torn and bloody1 through the drift
 of the battle dust1 it should still be 
discernible what the bearing was4       
,at length1 the freshening western blast
       ,aside the shroud of battle cast2
       ,and first the ridge of mingled  
spears       ,above the brightening     
cloud appears2       ,and in the smoke  
the pennons flew1       ,as in the storm
 the white sea-mew2       ,then marked  
they1 dashing broad and far       ,the  
broken billows of the war4       ,wide  
raged the battle on the plain2          
,spears shook1 and falchions flashed    
amain1       ,fell ,england's           
arrow-flight like rain2       ,crests   
rose1 and stooped1 and rose again1      
,wild and disorderly4       ,amidst the 

scene of tumult1 high1       ,they saw  
,lord ,marmion's falcon fly1       ,and 
stainless ,tunstall's banner white1     
,and ,edmund ,howard's lion bright4  ,it
 was needed1 not merely that they should
 see it was a falcon1 but ,lord         
,marmion's falcon2 not only a lion1 but 
the ,howard's lion4 ,hence1 to the one  
imperative end of intelligibility1 every
 minor resemblance to nature was        
sacrificed1 and above all1 the curved1  
which are chiefly the confusing lines2  
so that the straight1 elongated back1   
doubly elongated tail1 projected and    
separate claws1 and other rectilinear   
unnaturalnesses of form1 became the     
means by which the leopard was1 in midst
 of the mist and storm of battle1       
distinguished from the dog1 or the lion 
from the wolf2 the most admirable       
fierceness and vitality being1 in spite 
of these necessary changes 7so often    
shallowly sneered at by the modern      
workman71 obtained by the old designer4 
,farther1 it was necessary to the       

brilliant harmony of color1 and clear   
setting forth of everything1 that all   
confusing shadows1 all dim and doubtful 
lines should be rejected3 hence at once 
an utter denial of natural appearances  
by the great body of workmen2 and a calm
 rest in a practice of representation   
which would make either boar or lion    
blue1 scarlet1 or golden1 according to  
the device of the knight1 or the need of
 such and such a color in that place of 
the pattern2 and which wholly denied    
that any substance ever cast a shadow1  
or was affected by any kind of          
obscurity4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ad4 #g4   
,therefore1 inaccurate rendering of     
nature4  ,all this was in its way1 and  
for its end1 absolutely right1          
admirable1 and delightful2 and those who
 despise it1 laugh at it1 or derive no  
pleasure from it1 are utterly ignorant  
of the highest principles of art1 and   
are mere tyros and beginners in the     
practice of color4 ,but1 admirable      
though it might be1 one necessary result

 of it was a farther withdrawal of the  
observation of men from the refined and 
subtle beauty of nature2 so that the    
workman who first was led to think      
lightly of natural beauty1 as being     
subservient to human1 was next led to   
think inaccurately of natural beauty1   
because he had continually to alter and 
simplify it for his practical purposes4 
,sec4 #ae4 ,now1 assembling all these   
different sources of the peculiar       
mediaeval feeling towards nature in one 
view1 we have3      #ast4 ,love of the  
garden instead of love of the farm1     
leading     to a sentimental            
contemplation of nature1 instead of a   
practical and agricultural one4         
7,sec4,sec4 #c4 #d4 #f47      #bnd4     
,loss of sense of actual ,divine        
presence1 leading to     fancies of     
fallacious animation1 in herbs1 flowers1
 clouds1     c4 7,sec4 #g47      #crd4  
,perpetual1 and more or less            
undisturbed1 companionship     with wild
 nature4 7,sec4,sec4 #h4 #i47      #dth4

 ,apprehension of demoniacal and angelic
 presence among     mountains1 leading  
to a reverent dread of them4 7,sec4     
#aj47      #eth4 ,principalness of      
delight in human beauty1 leading to     
comparative contempt of natural objects4
 7,sec4 #aa47      #fth4 ,consequent    
love of order1 light1 intelligibility1  
and     symmetry1 leading to dislike of 
the wildness1 darkness1 and     mystery 
of nature4 7,sec4 #ab47      #gth4      
,inaccuracy of observance of nature1    
induced by the     habitual practice of 
change on its forms4 7,sec4 #ac47  ,from
 these mingled elements1 we should      
necessarily expect to find resulting1 as
 the characteristic of mediaeval        
landscape art1 compared with ,greek1 a  
far higher sentiment about it1 and      
affection for it1 more or less subdued  
by still greater respect for the        
loveliness of man1 and therefore        
subordinated entirely to human          
interests2 mingled with curious traces  
of terror1 piety1 or superstition1 and  

cramped by various formalisms1--some    
wise and necessary1 some feeble1 and    
some exhibiting needless ignorance and  
inaccuracy4  ,under these lights1 let us
 examine the facts4  ,sec4 #af4 ,the    
landscape of the ,middle ,ages is       
represented in a central manner by the  
illuminations of the ,,mss4 of          
,romances1 executed about the middle of 
the fifteenth century4 ,on one side of  
these stands the earlier landscape work1
 more or less treated as simple         
decoration2 on the other1 the later     
landscape work1 becoming more or less   
affected with modern ideas and modes of 
imitation4  ,these central fifteenth    
century landscapes are almost invariably
 composed of a grove or two of tall     
trees1 a winding river1 and a castle1 or
 a garden3 the peculiar feature of both 
these last being trimness2 the artist   
always dwelling especially on the       
fences2 wreathing the espaliers indeed  
prettily with sweet-briar1 and putting  
pots of orange-trees on the tops of the 

walls1 but taking great care that there 
shall be no loose bricks in the one1 nor
 broken stakes in the other1--the       
trouble and ceaseless warfare of the    
times having rendered security one of   
the first elements of pleasantness1 and 
making it impossible for any artist to  
conceive ,paradise but as surrounded by 
a moat1 or to distinguish the road to it
 better than by its narrow wicket gate1 
and watchful porter4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,one of
 these landscapes is thus described by  
,macaulay3 ,we have an exact square1    
enclosed by the rivers ,pison1 ,gihon1  
,hiddekel1 and ,euphrates1 each with a  
convenient bridge in the centre2        
rectangular beds of flowers2 a long     
canal neatly bricked and railed in2 the 
tree of knowledge1 clipped like one of  
the limes behind the ,tuileries1        
standing in the centre of the grand     
alley2 the snake turned round it1 the   
man on the right hand1 the woman on the 
left1 and the beasts drawn up in an     
exact circle round them4  ,all this is  

perfectly true2 and seems in the        
description very curiously foolish4 ,the
 only curious folly1 however1 in the    
matter is the exquisite naivete of the  
historian1 in supposing that the quaint 
landscape indicates in the understanding
 of the painter so marvellous an        
inferiority to his own2 whereas1 it is  
altogether his own wit that is at fault1
 in not comprehending that nations1     
whose youth had been decimated among the
 sands and serpents of ,syria1 knew     
probably nearly as much about ,eastern  
scenery as youths trained in the schools
 of the modern ,royal ,academy2 and that
 this curious symmetry was entirely     
symbolic1 only more or less modified by 
the various instincts which ,i have     
traced above4 ,mr4 ,macaulay is         
evidently quite unaware that the serpent
 with the human head1 and body twisted  
round the tree1 was the universally     
accepted symbol of the evil angel1 from 
the dawn of art up to ,michael ,angelo2 
that the greatest sacred artists        

invariably place the man on the one side
 of the tree1 the woman on the other1 in
 order to denote the enthroned and      
balanced dominion about to fall by      
temptation2 that the beasts are ranged  
7when they are so1 though this is much  
more seldom the case17 in a circle round
 them1 expressly to mark that they were 
then not wild1 but obedient1            
intelligent1 and orderly beasts2 and    
that the four rivers are trenched and   
enclosed on the four sides1 to mark that
 the waters which now wander in waste1  
and destroy in fury1 had then for their 
principal office to water the garden of 
,god4 ,the description is1 however1     
sufficiently apposite and interesting1  
as bearing upon what ,i have noted      
respecting the eminent fence-loving     
spirit of the mediaevals4  ,sec4 #ah4   
,together with this peculiar formality1 
we find an infinite delight in drawing  
pleasant flowers1 always articulating   
and outlining them completely2 the sky  
is always blue1 having only a few       

delicate white clouds in it1 and in the 
distance are blue mountains1 very far   
away1 if the landscape is to be simply  
delightful2 but brought near1 and       
divided into quaint overhanging rocks1  
if it is intended to be meditative1 or a
 place of saintly seclusion4 ,but the   
whole of it always1--flowers1 castles1  
brooks1 clouds1 and rocks1--subordinate 
to the human figures in the foreground1 
and painted for no other end than that  
of explaining their adventures and      
occupations4  ,illustration3 #g4 ,botany
 of #acth ,century4 7,apple-tree and    
,cyclamen7  ,sec4 #ai4 ,before the idea 
of landscape had been thus far          
developed1 the representations of it had
 been purely typical2 the objects which 
had to be shown in order to explain the 
scene of the event1 being firmly        
outlined1 usually on a pure golden or   
chequered color background1 not on sky4 
,the change from the golden background1 
7characteristic of the finest thirteenth
 century work7 and the colored chequer  

7which in like manner belongs to the    
finest fourteenth7 to the blue sky1     
gradated to the horizon1 takes place    
early in the fifteenth century1 and is  
the crisis of change in the spirit of   
mediaeval art4 ,strictly speaking1 we   
might divide the art of ,christian times
 into two great masses--,symbolic and   
,imitative2--the symbolic1 reaching from
 the earliest periods down to the close 
of the fourteenth century1 and the      
imitative from that close to the present
 time2 and1 then1 the most important    
circumstance indicative of the          
culminating point1 or turn of tide1     
would be this of the change from        
chequered background to sky background4 
,the uppermost figure in ,plate #g4     
opposite1 representing the tree of      
knowledge1 taken from a somewhat late   
thirteenth century ,hebrew manuscript   
7,additional #aa1fci7 in the ,british   
,museum1 will at once illustrate ,mr4   
,macaulay's serpent turned round the    
tree1 and the mode of introducing the   

chequer background1 will enable the     
reader better to understand the peculiar
 feeling of the period1 which no more   
intended the formal walls or streams for
 an imitative representation of the     
,garden of ,eden1 than these chequers   
for an imitation of sky4  ,sec4 #bj4    
,the moment the sky is introduced 7and  
it is curious how perfectly it is done  
at once1 many manuscripts presenting1 in
 alternate pages1 chequered backgrounds1
 and deep blue skies exquisitely        
gradated to the horizon7--the moment1 ,i
 say1 the sky is introduced1 the spirit 
of art becomes for evermore changed1 and
 thenceforward it gradually proposes    
imitation more and more as an end1 until
 it reaches the ,turnerian landscape4   
,this broad division into two schools   
would therefore be the most true and    
accurate we could employ1 but not the   
most convenient4 ,for the great         
mediaeval art lies in a cluster about   
the culminating point1 including        
symbolism on one side1 and imitation on 

the other1 and extending like a radiant 
cloud upon the mountain peak of ages1   
partly down both sides of it1 from the  
year #abjj to #aejj2 the brightest part 
of the cloud leaning a little backwards1
 and poising itself between #abej and   
#acej4 ,and therefore the most          
convenient arrangement is into          
,romanesque and barbaric art1 up to     
#abjj1--mediaeval art1 #abjj to         
#aejj1--;and modern art1 from #aejj     
downwards4 ,but it is only in the       
earlier or symbolic mediaeval art1      
reaching up to the close of the         
fourteenth century1 that the peculiar   
modification of natural forms for       
decorative purposes is seen in its      
perfection1 with all its beauty1 and all
 its necessary shortcomings2 the minds  
of men being accurately balanced between
 that honor for the superior human form 
which they shared with the ,greek ages1 
and the sentimental love of nature which
 was peculiar to their own4 ,the        
expression of the two feelings will be  

found to vary according to the material 
and place of the art2 in painting1 the  
conventional forms are more adopted1 in 
order to obtain definition1 and         
brilliancy of color1 while in sculpture 
the life of nature is often rendered    
with a love and faithfulness which put  
modern art to shame4 ,and in this       
earnest contemplation of the natural    
facts1 united with an endeavor to       
simplify1 for clear expression1 the     
results of that contemplation1 the      
ornamental artists arrived at two       
abstract conclusions about form1 which  
are highly curious and interesting4     
,sec4 #ba4 ,they saw1 first1 that a leaf
 might always be considered as a sudden 
expansion of the stem that bore it2 an  
uncontrollable expression of delight1 on
 the part of the twig1 that spring had  
come1 shown in a fountain-like          
expatiation of its tender green heart   
into the air4 ,they saw that in this    
violent proclamation of its delight and 
liberty1 whereas the twig had1 until    

that moment1 a disposition only to grow 
quietly forwards1 it expressed its      
satisfaction and extreme pleasure in    
sunshine by springing out to right and  
left4 ,let a b1 ,fig4 #a4 ,plate #h41 be
 the twig growing forward in the        
direction from a to b4 ,it reaches the  
point b1 and then--spring coming1--not  
being able to contain itself1 it bursts 
out in every direction1 even springing  
backwards at first for joy2 but as this 
backward direction is contrary to its   
own proper fate and nature1 it cannot go
 on so long1 and the length of each rib 
into which it separates is proportioned 
accurately to the degree in which the   
proceedings of that rib are in harmony  
with the natural destiny of the plant4  
,thus the rib c1 entirely contradictory1
 by the direction of his life and       
energy1 of the general intentions to the
 tree1 is but a short-lived rib2 d1 not 
quite so opposite to his fate1 lives    
longer2 e1 accommodating himself still  
more to the spirit of progress1 attains 

a greater length still2 and the largest 
rib of all is the one who has not       
yielded at all to the erratic           
disposition of the others when spring   
came1 but1 feeling quite as happy about 
the spring as they did1 nevertheless    
took no holiday1 minded his business1   
and grew straightforward4               
,illustration3 #h4 ,the ,growth of      
,leaves4  ,sec4 #bb4 ,fig4 #f4 in the   
same plate1 which shows the disposition 
of the ribs in the leaf of an ,american 
,plane1 exemplifies the principle very  
accurately2 it is indeed more notably   
seen in this than in most leaves1       
because the ribs at the base have       
evidently had a little fraternal quarrel
 about their spring holiday2 and the    
more gaily-minded ones1 getting together
 into trios on each side1 have rather   
pooh-poohed and laughed at the seventh  
brother in the middle1 who wanted to go 
on regularly1 and attend to his work4   
,nevertheless1 though thus starting     
quite by himself in life1 this seventh  

brother1 quietly pushing on in the right
 direction1 lives longest1 and makes the
 largest fortune1 and the triple        
partnerships on the right and left meet 
with a very minor prosperity4  ,sec4    
#bc4 ,now if we inclose ,fig4 #a4 in    
,plate #h4 with two curves passing      
through the extremities of the ribs1 we 
get ,fig4 #b41 the central type of all  
leaves4 ,only this type is modified of  
course in a thousand ways by the life of
 the plant4 ,if it be marsh or aquatic1 
instead of springing out in twigs1 it is
 almost certain to expand in soft       
currents1 as the liberated stream does  
at its mouth into the ocean1 ,fig4 #c4  
7,alisma ,plantago72 if it be meant for 
one of the crowned and lovely trees of  
the earth1 it will separate into stars1 
and each ray of the leaf will form a ray
 of light in the crown1 ,fig4 #e4       
7,horsechestnut72 and if it be a        
commonplace tree1 rather prudent and    
practical than imaginative1 it will not 
expand all at once1 but throw out the   

ribs every now and then along the       
central rib1 like a merchant taking his 
occasional and restricted holiday1 ,fig4
 #d4 7,elm74  ,sec4 #bd4 ,now in the    
bud1 where all these proceedings on the 
leaf's part are first imagined1 the     
young leaf is generally 7always87       
doubled up in embryo1 so as to present  
the profile of the half-leaves1 as ,fig4
 #g41 only in exquisite complexity of   
arrangement2 ,fig4 #i41 for instance1 is
 the profile of the leaf-bud of a rose4 
,hence the general arrangement of line  
represented by ,fig4 #h4 7in which the  
lower line is slightly curved to express
 the bending life in the spine7 is      
everlastingly typical of the expanding  
powers of joyful vegetative youth2 and  
it is of all simple forms the most      
exquisitely delightful to the human     
mind4 ,it presents itself in a thousand 
different proportions and variations in 
the buds and profiles of leaves2 those  
being always the loveliest in which1    
either by accidental perspective of     

position1 or inherent character in the  
tree1 it is most frequently presented to
 the eye4 ,the branch of bramble1 for   
instance1 ,fig4 #aj4 at the bottom of   
,plate #h41 owes its chief beauty to the
 perpetual recurrence of this typical   
form2 and we shall find presently the   
enormous importance of it1 even in      
mountain ranges1 though1 in these1      
falling force takes the place of vital  
force4  ,illustration3 ,,fig4 #c4  ,sec4
 #be4 ,this abstract conclusion the     
great thirteenth century artists were   
the first to arrive at2 and whereas1    
before their time1 ornament had been    
constantly refined into intricate and   
subdivided symmetries1 they were content
 with this simple form as the           
termination of its most important       
features4 ,fig4 #c41 which is a scroll  
out of a ,psalter executed in the latter
 half of the thirteenth century1 is a   
sufficient example of a practice at that
 time absolutely universal4             
,illustration3 #i4 ,botany of the #adth 

,century4 ,from the ,prayer-book of     
,yolande of ,navarre4  ,sec4 #bf4 ,the  
second great discovery of the ,middle   
,ages in floral ornament1 was that1 in  
order completely to express the law of  
subordination among the leaf-ribs1 two  
ribs were necessary1 and no more1 on    
each side of the leaf1 forming a series 
of three with the central one1 because  
proportion is between three terms at    
least4  ,illustration3 ,,fig4 #d4  ,that
 is to say1 when they had only three    
ribs altogether1 as a1 ,fig4 #d41 no law
 of relation was discernible between the
 ribs1 or the leaflets they bore2 but by
 the addition of a third on each side as
 at b1 proportion instantly was         
expressible1 whether arithmetical or    
geometrical1 or of any other kind4      
,hence the adoption of forms more or    
less approximating to that at c 7young  
ivy71 or d 7wild geranium71 as the      
favorite elements of their floral       
ornament1 those leaves being in their   
disposition of masses1 the simplest     

which can express a perfect law of      
proportion1 just as the outline ,fig4   
#g4 ,plate #h4 is the simplest which can
 express a perfect law of growth4       
,plate #i4 opposite gives1 in rude      
outline1 the arrangement of the border  
of one of the pages of a missal in my   
own possession1 executed for the        
,countess ,yolande of ,flanders1#gb in  
the latter half of the fourteenth       
century1 and furnishing1 in exhaustless 
variety1 the most graceful examples ,i  
have ever seen of the favorite          
decoration at the period1 commonly now  
known as the ,ivy leaf pattern4  ,sec4  
#bg4 ,in thus reducing these two        
everlasting laws of beauty to their     
simplest possible exponents1 the        
mediaeval workmen were the first to     
discern and establish the principles of 
decorative art to the end of time1 nor  
of decorative art merely1 but of mass   
arrangement in general4 ,for the members
 of any great composition1 arranged     
about a centre1 are always reducible to 

the law of the ivy leaf1 the best       
cathedral entrances having five porches 
corresponding in proportional purpose to
 its five lobes 7three being an         
imperfect1 and seven a superfluous      
number72 while the loveliest groups of  
lines attainable in any pictorial       
composition are always based on the     
section of the leaf-bud1 ,fig4 #g4      
,plate #h41 or on the relation of its   
ribs to the convex curve enclosing them4
  ,sec4 #bh4 ,these discoveries of      
ultimate truth are1 ,i believe1 never   
made philosophically1 but instinctively2
 so that wherever we find a high        
abstract result of the kind1 we may be  
almost sure it has been the work of the 
penetrative imagination1 acting under   
the influence of strong affection4      
,accordingly1 when we enter on our      
botanical inquiries1 ,i shall have      
occasion to show with what tender and   
loving fidelity to nature the masters of
 the thirteenth century always traced   
the leading lines of their decorations1 

either in missal-painting or sculpture1 
and how totally in this respect their   
methods of subduing1 for the sake of    
distinctness1 the natural forms they    
loved so dearly1 differ from the iron   
formalisms to which the ,greeks1        
careless of all that was not completely 
divine or completely human1 reduced the 
thorn of the acanthus1 and softness of  
the lily4 ,nevertheless1 in all this    
perfect and loving decorative art1 we   
have hardly any careful references to   
other landscape features than herbs and 
flowers2 mountains1 water1 and clouds   
are introduced so rudely1 that the      
representations of them can never be    
received for anything else than letters 
or signs4 ,thus the sign of clouds1 in  
the thirteenth century1 is an undulating
 band1 usually in painting1 of blue     
edged with white1 in sculpture1 wrought 
so as to resemble very nearly the folds 
of a curtain closely tied1 and          
understood for clouds only by its       
position1 as surrounding angels or      

saints in heaven1 opening to souls      
ascending at the ,last ,judgment1 or    
forming canopies over the ,saviour or   
the ,virgin4 ,water is represented by   
zigzag lines1 nearly resembling those   
employed for clouds1 but distinguished1 
in sculpture1 by having fish in it2 in  
painting1 both by fish and a more       
continuous blue or green color4 ,and    
when these unvaried symbols are         
associated under the influence of that  
love of firm fence1 moat1 and every     
other means of definition which we have 
seen to be one of the prevailing        
characteristics of the mediaeval mind1  
it is not possible for us to conceive1  
through the rigidity of the signs       
employed1 what were the real feelings of
 the workman or spectator about the     
natural landscape4 ,we see that the     
thing carved or painted is not intended 
in any wise to imitate the truth1 or    
convey to us the feelings which the     
workman had in contemplating the truth4 
,he has got a way of talking about it so

 definite and cold1 and tells us with   
his chisel so calmly that the knight had
 a castle to attack1 or the saint a     
river to cross dryshod1 without making  
the smallest effort to describe         
pictorially either castle or river1 that
 we are left wholly at fault as to the  
nature of the emotion with which he     
contemplated the real objects4 ,but that
 emotion1 as the intermediate step      
between the feelings of the ,grecian and
 the ,modern1 it must be our aim to     
ascertain as clearly as possible2 and1  
therefore1 finding it not at this period
 completely expressed in visible art1 we
 must1 as we did with the ,greeks1 take 
up the written landscape instead1 and   
examine this mediaeval sentiment as we  
find it embodied in the poem of ,dante4 
,sec4 #bi4 ,the thing that must first   
strike us in this respect1 as we turn   
our thoughts to the poem1 is1           
unquestionably1 the formality of its    
landscape4  ,milton's effort1 in all    
that he tells us of his ,inferno1 is to 

make it indefinite2 ,dante's1 to make it
 definite4 ,both1 indeed1 describe it as
 entered through gates2 but1 within the 
gate1 all is wild and fenceless with    
,milton1 having indeed its four         
rivers1--the last vestige of the        
mediaeval tradition1--but rivers which  
flow through a waste of mountain and    
moorland1 and by many a frozen1 many a  
fiery ,alp4 ,but ,dante's ,inferno is   
accurately separated into circles drawn 
with well-pointed compasses2 mapped and 
properly surveyed in every direction1   
trenched in a thoroughly good style of  
engineering from depth to depth1 and    
divided in the accurate middle 7dritto  
mezzo7 of its deepest abyss1 into a     
concentric series of ten moats and      
embankments1 like those about a castle1 
with bridges from each embankment to the
 next2 precisely in the manner of those 
bridges over ,hiddekel and ,euphrates1  
which ,mr4 ,macaulay thinks so          
innocently designed1 apparently not     
aware that he is also laughing at       

,dante4 ,these larger fosses are of     
rock1 and the bridges also2 but as he   
goes further into detail1 ,dante tells  
us of various minor fosses and          
embankments1 in which he anxiously      
points out to us not only the formality1
 but the neatness and perfectness1 of   
the stonework4 ,for instance1 in        
describing the river ,phlegethon1 he    
tells us that it was paved with stone at
 the bottom1 and at the sides1 and over 
the edges of the sides1 just as the     
water is at the baths of ,bulicame2 and 
for fear we should think this embankment
 at all larger than it really was1      
,dante adds1 carefully1 that it was made
 just like the embankments of ,ghent or 
,bruges against the sea1 or those in    
,lombardy which bank the ,brenta1 only  
not so high1 nor so wide1 as any of     
these4 ,and besides the trenches1 we    
have two well-built castles2 one like   
,ecbatana1 with seven circuits of wall  
7and surrounded by a fair stream71      
wherein the great poets and sages of    

antiquity live2 and another1 a great    
fortified city with walls of iron1      
red-hot1 and a deep fosse round it1 and 
full of grave citizens1--the city of    
,dis4  ,sec4 #cj4 ,now1 whether this be 
in what we moderns call good taste1 or  
not1 ,i do not mean just now to         
inquire--,dante having nothing to do    
with taste1 but with the facts of what  
he had seen2 only1 so far as the        
imaginative faculty of the two poets is 
concerned1 note that ,milton's vagueness
 is not the sign of imagination1 but of 
its absence1 so far as it is            
significative in the matter4 ,for it    
does not follow1 because ,milton did not
 map out his ,inferno as ,dante did1    
that he could not have done so if he had
 chosen2 only1 it was the easier and    
less imaginative process to leave it    
vague than to define it4 ,imagination is
 always the seeing and asserting        
faculty2 that which obscures or conceals
 may be judgment1 or feeling1 but not   
invention4 ,the invention1 whether good 

or bad1 is in the accurate engineering1 
not in the fog and uncertainty4  ,sec4  
#ca4 ,when we pass with ,dante from the 
,inferno to ,purgatory1 we have indeed  
more light and air1 but no more liberty2
 being now confined on various ledges   
cut into a mountain side1 with a        
precipice on one hand and a vertical    
wall on the other2 and1 lest here also  
we should make any mistake about        
magnitudes1 we are told that the ledges 
were eighteen feet wide1#gc and that the
 ascent from one to the other was by    
steps1 made like those which go up from 
,florence to the church of ,san         
,minieto4#gd  ,lastly1 though in the    
,paradise there is perfect freedom and  
infinity of space1 though for trenches  
we have planets1 and for cornices       
constellations1 yet there is more       
cadence1 procession1 and order among the
 redeemed souls than any others2 they   
fly1 so as to describe letters and      
sentences in the air1 and rest in       
circles1 like rainbows1 or determinate  

figures1 as of a cross and an eagle2 in 
which certain of the more glorified     
natures are so arranged as to form the  
eye of the bird1 while those most highly
 blessed are arranged with their white  
crowds in leaflets1 so as to form the   
image of a white rose in the midst of   
heaven4  ,sec4 #cb4 ,thus1 throughout   
the poem1 ,i conceive that the first    
striking character of its scenery is    
intense definition2 precisely the       
reflection of that definiteness which we
 have already traced in pictorial art4  
,but the second point which seems       
noteworthy is1 that the flat ground and 
embanked trenches are reserved for the  
,inferno2 and that the entire territory 
of the ,purgatory is a mountain1 thus   
marking the sense of that purifying and 
perfecting influence in mountains which 
we saw the mediaeval mind was so ready  
to suggest4 ,the same general idea is   
indicated at the very commencement of   
the poem1 in which ,dante is overwhelmed
 by fear and sorrow in passing through a

 dark forest1 but revives on seeing the 
sun touch the top of a hill1 afterwards 
called by ,virgil the pleasant          
mount--the cause and source of all      
delight4  ,sec4 #cc4 ,while1 however1 we
 find this greater honor paid to        
mountains1 ,i think we may perceive a   
much greater dread and dislike of woods4
 ,we saw that ,homer seemed to attach a 
pleasant idea1 for the most part1 to    
forests2 regarding them as sources of   
wealth and places of shelter2 and we    
find constantly an idea of sacredness   
attached to them1 as being haunted      
especially by the gods2 so that even the
 wood which surrounds the house of      
,circe is spoken of as a sacred thicket1
 or rather1 as a sacred glade1 or       
labyrinth of glades 7of the particular  
word used ,i shall have more to say     
presently72 and so the wood is sought as
 a kindly shelter by ,ulysses1 in spite 
of its wild beasts2 and evidently       
regarded with great affection by        
,sophocles1 for1 in a passage which is  

always regarded by readers of ,greek    
tragedy with peculiar pleasure1 the aged
 and blind ,oedipus1 brought to rest in 
the sweetest resting-place in all the   
neighborhood of ,athens1 has the spot   
described to him as haunted perpetually 
by nightingales1 which sing in the green
 glades and in the dark ivy1 and in the 
thousand-fruited1 sunless1 and windless 
thickets of the god 7,bacchus72 the idea
 of the complete shelter from wind and  
sun being here1 as with ,ulysses1 the   
uppermost one4 ,after this come the     
usual staples of landscape1--narcissus1 
crocus1 plenty of rain1 olive trees2 and
 last1 and the greatest boast of        
all1--it is a good country for horses1  
and conveniently by the sea2 but the    
prominence and pleasantness of the thick
 wood in the thoughts of the writer are 
very notable2 whereas to ,dante the idea
 of a forest is exceedingly repulsive1  
so that1 as just noticed1 in the opening
 of his poem1 he cannot express a       
general despair about life more strongly

 than by saying he was lost in a wood so
 savage and terrible1 that even to think
 or speak of it is distress1--it was so 
bitter1--it was something next door to  
death2 and one of the saddest scenes in 
all the ,inferno is in a forest1 of     
which the trees are haunted by lost     
souls2 while 7with only one exception17 
whenever the country is to be beautiful1
 we find ourselves coming out into open 
air and open meadows4  ,it is quite true
 that this is partly a characteristic1  
not merely of ,dante1 or of mediaeval   
writers1 but of southern writers2 for   
the simple reason that the forest1 being
 with them higher upon the hills1 and   
more out of the way than in the north   
was generally a type of lonely and      
savage places2 while in ,england1 the   
greenwood1 coming up to the very walls  
of the towns1 it was possible to be     
merry in the good greenwood1 in a sense 
which an ,italian could not have        
understood4 ,hence ,chaucer1 ,spenser1  
and ,shakspere send their favorites     

perpetually to the woods for pleasure or
 meditation2 and trust their tender     
,canace1 or ,rosalind1 or ,helena1 or   
,silvia1 or ,belphoebe1 where ,dante    
would have sent no one but a condemned  
spirit4 ,nevertheless1 there is always  
traceable in the mediaeval mind a dread 
of thick foliage1 which was not present 
to that of a ,greek2 so that1 even in   
the north1 we have our sorrowful        
children in the wood1 and black huntsmen
 of the ,hartz forests1 and such other  
wood terrors2 the principal reason for  
the difference being that a ,greek1     
being by no means given to travelling1  
regarded his woods as so much valuable  
property2 and if he ever went into them 
for pleasure expected to meet one or two
 gods in the course of his walk1 but no 
banditti2 while a mediaeval1 much more  
of a solitary traveller1 and expecting  
to meet with no gods in the thickets1   
but only with thieves1 or a hostile     
ambush1 or a bear1 besides a great deal 
of troublesome ground for his horse1 and

 a very serious chance1 next to a       
certainty1 of losing his way1 naturally 
kept in the open ground as long as he   
could1 and regarded the forests1 in     
general1 with anything but an eye of    
favor4  ,sec4 #cd4 ,these1 ,i think1 are
 the principal points which must strike 
us1 when we first broadly think of the  
poem as compared with classical work4   
,let us now go a little more into       
detail4  ,as ,homer gave us an ideal    
landscape1 which even a god might have  
been pleased to behold1 so ,dante gives 
us1 fortunately1 an ideal landscape1    
which is specially intended for the     
terrestrial paradise4 ,and it will      
doubtless be with some surprise1 after  
our reflections above on the general    
tone of ,dante's feelings1 that we find 
ourselves here first entering a forest1 
and that even a thick forest4 ,but there
 is a peculiar meaning in this4 ,with   
any other poet than ,dante1 it might    
have been regarded as a wanton          
inconsistency4 ,not so with him3 by     

glancing back to the two lines which    
explain the nature of ,paradise1 we     
shall see what he means by it4 ,virgil  
tells him1 as he enters it1             
,henceforward1 take thine own pleasure  
for guide2 thou art beyond the steep    
ways1 and beyond all ,art2--meaning1    
that the perfectly purified and noble   
human creature1 having no pleasure but  
in right1 is past all effort1 and past  
all rule4 ,art has no existence for such
 a being4 ,hence1 the first aim of      
,dante1 in his landscape imagery1 is to 
show evidence of this perfect liberty1  
and of the purity and sinlessness of the
 new nature1 converting pathless ways   
into happy ones4 ,so that all those     
fences and formalisms which had been    
needed for him in imperfection1 are     
removed in this paradise2 and even the  
pathlessness of the wood1 the most      
dreadful thing possible to him in his   
days of sin and shortcoming1 is now a   
joy to him in his days of purity4 ,and  
as the fencelessness and thicket of sin 

led to the fettered and fearful order of
 eternal punishment1 so the             
fencelessness and thicket of the free   
virtue lead to the loving and           
constellated order of eternal happiness4
  ,sec4 #ce4 ,this forest1 then1 is very
 like that of ,colonos in several       
respects--in its peace and sweetness1   
and number of birds2 it differs from it 
only in letting a light breeze through  
it1 being therefore somewhat thinner    
than the ,greek wood2 the tender lines  
which tell of the voices of the birds   
mingling with the wind1 and of the      
leaves all turning one way before it1   
have been more or less copied by every  
poet since ,dante's time4 ,they are1 so 
far as ,i know1 the sweetest passage of 
wood description which exists in        
literature4  ,before1 however1 ,dante   
has gone far in this wood1--that is to  
say1 only so far as to have lost sight  
of the place where he entered it1 or    
rather1 ,i suppose1 of the light under  
the boughs of the outside trees1 and it 

must have been a very thin wood indeed  
if he did not do this in some quarter of
 a mile's walk1--he comes to a little   
river1 three paces over1 which bends the
 blades of grass to the left1 with a    
meadow on the other side of it2 and in  
this meadow        ,a lady1 graced with 
solitude1 who went         ,singing1 and
 setting flower by flower apart1        
,by which the path she walked on was    
besprent4       ',ah1 lady beautiful1   
that basking art         ,in beams of   
love1 if ,i may trust thy face1         
,which useth to bear witness of the     
heart1       ,let liking come on thee1' 
said ,i1 'to trace         ,thy path a  
little closer to the shore1       ,where
 ,i may reap the hearing of thy lays4   
,thou mindest me1 how ,proserpine of    
yore         ,appeared in such a place1 
what time her mother       ,lost her1   
and she the spring1 for evermore4'      
,as1 pointing downwards and to one      
another         ,her feet1 a lady       
bendeth in the dance1       ,and barely 

setteth one before the other1           
,thus1 on the scarlet and the saffron   
glance         ,of flowers1 with motion 
maidenlike she bent       7,her modest  
eyelids drooping and askance72          
,and there she gave my wishes their     
content1         ,approaching1 so that  
her sweet melodies       ,arrived upon  
mine ear with what they meant4          
,when first she came amongst the blades1
 that rise1         ,already wetted1    
from the goodly river1       ,she graced
 me by the lifting of her eyes4         
7,,cayley47  ,sec4 #cf4 ,i have given   
this passage at length1 because1 for our
 purposes1 it is by much the most       
important1 not only in ,dante1 but in   
the whole circle of poetry4 ,this lady1 
observe1 stands on the opposite side of 
the little stream1 which1 presently1 she
 explains to ,dante is ,lethe1 having   
power to cause forgetfulness of all     
evil1 and she stands just among the bent
 blades of grass at its edge4 ,she is   
first seen gathering flower from flower1

 then passing continually the           
multitudinous flowers through her hands1
 smiling at the same time so brightly1  
that her first address to ,dante is to  
prevent him from wondering at her1      
saying1 if he will remember the verse of
 the ninety-second ,psalm1 beginning4   
',delectasti1' he will know why she is  
so happy4  ,and turning to the verse of 
the ,psalm1 we find it written1 ,thou1  
,lord1 hast made me glad through ,thy   
works4 ,i will triumph in the works of  
,thy hands2 or1 in the very words in    
which ,dante would read it1--           
,quia delectasti me1 ,domine1 in factura
 tua1       ,et in operibus manuum      
,tuarum exultabo4  ,sec4 #cg4 ,now we   
could not for an instant have had any   
difficulty in understanding this1 but   
that1 some way farther on in the poem1  
this lady is called ,matilda1 and it is 
with reason supposed by the commentators
 to be the great ,countess ,matilda of  
the eleventh century2 notable equally   
for her ceaseless activity1 her         

brilliant political genius1 her perfect 
piety1 and her deep reverence for the   
see of ,rome4 ,this ,countess ,matilda  
is therefore ,dante's guide in the      
terrestrial paradise1 as ,beatrice is   
afterwards in the celestial2 each of    
them having a spiritual and symbolic    
character in their glorified state1 yet 
retaining their definite personality4   
,the question is1 then1 what is the     
symbolic character of the ,countess     
,matilda1 as the guiding spirit of the  
terrestrial paradise8 ,before ,dante had
 entered this paradise he had rested on 
a step of shelving rock1 and as he      
watched the stars he slept1 and dreamed1
 and thus tells us what he saw3--       
,a lady1 young and beautiful1 ,i        
dreamed1       ,was passing o'er a lea2 
and1 as she came1       ,methought ,i   
saw her ever and anon       ,bending to 
cull the flowers2 and thus she sang3    
',know ye1 whoever of my name would ask1
       ,that ,i am ,leah2 for my brow to
 weave       ,a garland1 these fair     

hands unwearied ply2       ,to please me
 at the crystal mirror1 here       ,i   
deck me4 ,but my sister ,rachel1 she    
,before her glass abides the livelong   
day1       ,her radiant eyes beholding1 
charmed no less       ,than ,i with this
 delightful task4 ,her joy       ,in    
contemplation1 as in labor mine4'  ,this
 vision of ,rachel and ,leah has been   
always1 and with unquestionable truth1  
received as a type of the ,active and   
,contemplative life1 and as an          
introduction to the two divisions of the
 paradise which ,dante is about to      
enter4 ,therefore the unwearied spirit  
of the ,countess ,matilda is understood 
to represent the ,active life1 which    
forms the felicity of ,earth2 and the   
spirit of ,beatrice the ,contemplative  
life1 which forms the felicity of       
,heaven4 ,this interpretation appears at
 first straightforward and certain2 but 
it has missed count of exactly the most 
important fact in the two passages which
 we have to explain4 ,observe3 ,leah    

gathers the flowers to decorate herself1
 and delights in ,her ,own ,labor4      
,rachel sits silent1 contemplating      
herself1 and delights in ,her ,own      
,image4 ,these are the types of the     
,unglorified ,active and ,contemplative 
powers of ,man4 ,but ,beatrice and      
,matilda are the same powers1           
,glorified4 ,and how are they           
,glorified8 ,leah took delight in her   
own labor2 but ,matilda--in operibus    
manuum ,tuarum--in ,god's labor3 ,rachel
 in the sight of her own face2 ,beatrice
 in the sight of ,god's face4  ,sec4    
#ch4 ,and thus1 when afterwards ,dante  
sees ,beatrice on her throne1 and prays 
her that1 when he himself shall die1 she
 would receive him with kindness1       
,beatrice merely looks down for an      
instant1 and answers with a single      
smile1 then towards the eternal fountain
 turns4  ,therefore it is evident that  
,dante distinguishes in both cases1 not 
between earth and heaven1 but between   
perfect and imperfect happiness1 whether

 in earth or heaven4 ,the active life   
which has only the service of man for   
its end1 and therefore gathers flowers1 
with ,leah1 for its own decoration1 is  
indeed happy1 but not perfectly so2 it  
has only the happiness of the dream1    
belonging essentially to the dream of   
human life1 and passing away with it4   
,but the active life which labors for   
the more and more discovery of ,god's   
work1 is perfectly happy1 and is the    
life of the terrestrial paradise1 being 
a true foretaste of heaven1 and         
beginning in earth1 as heaven's         
vestibule4 ,so also the contemplative   
life which is concerned with human      
feeling and thought and beauty--the life
 which is in earthly poetry and imagery 
of noble earthly emotion--is happy1 but 
it is the happiness of the dream2 the   
contemplative life which has ,god's     
person and love in ,christ for its      
object1 has the happiness of eternity4  
,but because this higher happiness is   
also begun here on earth1 ,beatrice     

descends to earth2 and when revealed to 
,dante first1 he sees the image of the  
twofold personality of ,christ reflected
 in her eyes2 as the flowers1 which are1
 to the mediaeval heart1 the chief work 
of ,god1 are for ever passing through   
,matilda's hands4  ,sec4 #ci4 ,now1     
therefore1 we see that ,dante1 as the   
great prophetic exponent of the heart of
 the ,middle ,ages1 has1 by the lips of 
the spirit of ,matilda1 declared the    
mediaeval faith1--that all perfect      
active life was the expression of man's 
delight in ,god's work2 and that all    
their political and warlike energy1 as  
fully shown in the mortal life of       
,matilda1 was yet inferior and          
impure1--the energy of the              
dream1--compared with that which on the 
opposite bank of ,lethe stood choosing  
flower from flower4 ,and what joy and   
peace there were in this work is marked 
by ,matilda's being the person who draws
 ,dante through the stream of ,lethe1 so
 as to make him forget all sin1 and all 

sorrow3 throwing her arms round him1 she
 plunges his head under the waves of it2
 then draws him through1 crying to him1 
hold me1 hold me 7tiemmi1 tiemmi71 and  
so presents him1 thus bathed1 free from 
all painful memory1 at the feet of the  
spirit of the more heavenly             
contemplation4  ,sec4 #dj4 ,the reader  
will1 ,i think1 now see1 with sufficient
 distinctness1 why ,i called this       
passage the most important1 for our     
present purposes1 in the whole circle of
 poetry4 ,for it contains the first     
great confession of the discovery by the
 human race 7,i mean as a matter of     
experience1 not of revelation71 that    
their happiness was not in themselves1  
and that their labor was not to have    
their own service as its chief end4 ,it 
embodies in a few syllables the sealing 
difference between the ,greek and the   
mediaeval1 in that the former sought the
 flower and herb for his own uses1 the  
latter for ,god's honor2 the former1    
primarily and on principle1 contemplated

 his own beauty and the workings of his 
own mind1 and the latter1 primarily and 
on principle1 contemplated ,christ's    
beauty and the workings of the mind of  
,christ4  ,sec4 #da4 ,i will not at     
present follow up this subject any      
farther2 it being enough that we have   
thus got to the root of it1 and have a  
great declaration of the central        
mediaeval purpose1 whereto we may return
 for solution of all future questions4  
,i would only1 therefore1 desire the    
reader now to compare the ,stones of    
,venice1 vol4 i4 chap4 xx4 ,sec4,sec4   
#ae4 #af42 the ,seven ,lamps of         
,architecture1 chap4 iv4 ,sec4 #c42 and 
the second volume of this work1 ,chap4  
,,ii4 ,sec4,sec4 #i4 #aj41 and ,chap4   
,,iii4 ,sec4 #aj42 that he may1 in these
 several places1 observe how gradually  
our conclusions are knitting themselves 
together as we are able to determine    
more and more of the successive         
questions that come before us3 and1     
finally1 to compare the two interesting 

passages in ,wordsworth1 which1 without 
any memory of ,dante1 nevertheless1 as  
if by some special ordaining1 describe  
in matters of modern life exactly the   
soothing or felicitous powers of the two
 active spirits of ,dante--,leah and    
,matilda1 ,excursion1 book v4 line #fjh4
 to #fbe41 and book vi4 line #ajb4 to   
#bad4  ,sec4 #db4 ,having thus received 
from ,dante this great lesson1 as to the
 spirit in which mediaeval landscape is 
to be understood1 what else we have to  
note respecting it1 as seen in his poem1
 will be comparatively straightforward  
and easy4 ,and first1 we have to observe
 the place occupied in his mind by      
color4 ,it has already been shown1 in   
the ,stones of ,venice1 vol4 ii4 chap4  
v4 ,sec4,sec4 #cj--cd1 that color is the
 most sacred element of all visible     
things4 ,hence1 as the mediaeval mind   
contemplated them first for their       
sacredness1 we should1 beforehand1      
expect that the first thing it would    
seize would be the color2 and that we   

should find its expressions and         
renderings of color infinitely more     
loving and accurate than among the      
,greeks4  ,sec4 #dc4 ,accordingly1 the  
,greek sense of color seems to have been
 so comparatively dim and uncertain1    
that it is almost impossible to         
ascertain what the real idea was which  
they attached to any word alluding to   
hue3 and above all1 color1 though       
pleasant to their eyes1 as to those of  
all human beings1 seems never to have   
been impressive to their feelings4 ,they
 liked purple1 on the whole1 the best2  
but there was no sense of cheerfulness  
or pleasantness in one color1 and gloom 
in another1 such as the mediaevals had4 
,for instance1 when ,achilles goes1 in  
great anger and sorrow1 to complain to  
,thetis of the scorn done him by        
,agamemnon1 the sea appears to him      
wine-colored4 ,one might think this     
meant that the sea looked dark and      
reddish-purple to him1 in a kind of     
sympathy with his anger4 ,but we turn to

 the passage of ,sophocles1 which has   
been above quoted--a passage peculiarly 
intended to express peace and rest--and 
we find that the birds sing among       
wine-colored ivy4 ,the uncertainty of   
conception of the hue itself1 and entire
 absence of expressive character in the 
word1 could hardly be more clearly      
manifested4  ,sec4 #dd4 ,again3 ,i said 
the ,greek liked purple1 as a general   
source of enjoyment1 better than any    
other color4 ,so he did1 and so all     
healthy persons who have eye for color1 
and are unprejudiced about it1 do2 and  
will to the end of time1 for a reason   
presently to be noted4 ,but so far was  
this instinctive preference for purple  
from giving1 in the ,greek mind1 any    
consistently cheerful or sacred         
association to the color1 that ,homer   
constantly calls death purple death4    
,sec4 #de4 ,again3 in the passage of    
,sophocles1 so often spoken of1 ,i said 
there was some difficulty respecting a  
word often translated thickets4 ,i      

believe1 myself1 it means glades2       
literally1 going places in the          
woods1--that is to say1 places where1   
either naturally or by force1 the trees 
separate1 so as to give some accessible 
avenue4 ,now1 ,sophocles tells us the   
birds sang in these green going places2 
and we take up the expression           
gratefully1 thinking the old ,greek     
perceived and enjoyed1 as we do1 the    
sweet fall of the eminently green light 
through the leaves when they are a      
little thinner than in the heart of the 
wood4 ,but we turn to the tragedy of    
,ajax1 and are much shaken in our       
conclusion about the meaning of the     
word1 when we are told that the body of 
,ajax is to lie unburied1 and be eaten  
by sea-birds on the green sand4 ,the    
formation1 geologically distinguished by
 that title1 was certainly not known to 
,sophocles2 and the only conclusion     
which1 it seems to me1 we can come to   
under the circumstances1--assuming      
,ariel's#ge authority as to the color of

 pretty sand1 and the ancient mariner's 
7or1 rather1 his hearer's#gf7 as to the 
color of ugly sand1 to be               
conclusive1--is that ,sophocles really  
did not know green from yellow or brown4
  ,sec4 #df4 ,now1 without going out of 
the terrestrial paradise1 in which      
,dante last left us1 we shall be able at
 once to compare with this ,greek       
incertitude the precision of the        
mediaeval eye for color4 ,some three    
arrowflights further up into the wood we
 come to a tall tree1 which is at first 
barren1 but1 after some little time1    
visibly opens into flowers1 of a color  
less than that of roses1 but more than  
that of violets4  ,it certainly would   
not be possible1 in words1 to come      
nearer to the definition of the exact   
hue which ,dante meant--that of the     
apple-blossom4 ,had he employed any     
simple color-phrase1 as a pale pink1 or 
violet-pink1 or any other such combined 
expression1 he still could not have     
completely got at the delicacy of the   

hue2 he might perhaps have indicated its
 kind1 but not its tenderness2 but by   
taking the rose-leaf as the type of the 
delicate red1 and then enfeebling this  
with the violet grey1 he gets1 as       
closely as language can carry him1 to   
the complete rendering of the vision1   
though it is evidently felt by him to be
 in its perfect beauty ineffable2 and   
rightly so felt1 for of all lovely      
things which grace the spring time in   
our fair temperate zone1 ,i am not sure 
but this blossoming of the apple-tree is
 the fairest4 ,at all events1 ,i find it
 associated in my mind with four other  
kinds of color1 certainly principal     
among the gifts of the northern earth1  
namely3      #ast4 ,bell gentians       
growing close together1 mixed with      
lilies     of the valley1 on the ,jura  
pastures4      #bnd4 ,alpine roses with 
dew upon them1 under low rays of        
morning sunshine1 touching the tops of  
the flowers4      #crd4 ,bell heather in
 mass1 in full light1 at sunset4        

#dth4 ,white narcissus 7red-centred7 in 
mass1 on the ,vevay     pastures1 in    
sunshine1 after rain4  ,and ,i know not 
where in the group to place the wreaths 
of apple-blossoms1 in the ,vevay        
orchards1 with the far-off blue of the  
lake of ,geneva seen between the        
flowers4  ,a ,greek1 however1 would have
 regarded this blossom simply with the  
eyes of a ,devonshire farmer1 as bearing
 on the probable price of cider1 and    
would have called it red1 cerulean1     
purple1 white1 hyacinthine1 or generally
 aglaos1 agreeable1 as happened to suit 
his verse4  ,sec4 #dg4 ,again3 we have  
seen how fond the ,greek was of         
composing his paradises of rather damp  
grass2 but that in this fondness for    
grass there was always an undercurrent  
of consideration for his horses2 and the
 characters in it which pleased him most
 were its depth and freshness2 not its  
color4 ,now1 if we remember carefully   
the general expressions1 respecting     
grass1 used in modern literature1 ,i    

think nearly the commonest that occurs  
to us will be that of enamelled turf or 
sward4 ,this phrase is usually employed 
by our pseudo-poets1 like all their     
other phrases1 without knowing what it  
means1 because it has been used by other
 writers before them1 and because they  
do not know what else to say of grass4  
,if we were to ask them what enamel was1
 they could not tell us2 and if we asked
 why grass was like enamel1 they could  
not tell us4 ,the expression has a      
meaning1 however1 and one peculiarly    
characteristic of mediaeval and modern  
temper4  ,sec4 #dh4 ,the first instance 
,i know of its right use1 though very   
probably it had been so employed before1
 is in ,dante4 ,the righteous spirits of
 the pre-,christian ages are seen by    
him1 though in the ,inferno1 yet in a   
place open1 luminous1 and high1 walking 
upon the green enamel4  ,i am very sure 
that ,dante did not use this phrase as  
we use it4 ,he knew well what enamel    
was2 and his readers1 in order to       

understand him thoroughly1 must remember
 what it is1--a vitreous paste1         
dissolved in water1 mixed with metallic 
oxides1 to give it the opacity and the  
color required1 spread in a moist state 
on metal1 and afterwards hardened by    
fire1 so as never to change4 ,and ,dante
 means1 in using this metaphor of the   
grass of the ,inferno1 to mark that it  
is laid as a tempering and cooling      
substance over the dark1 metallic1      
gloomy ground2 but yet so hardened by   
the fire1 that it is not any more fresh 
or living grass1 but a smooth1 silent1  
lifeless bed of eternal green4 ,and we  
know how hard ,dante's idea of it was2  
because afterwards1 in what is perhaps  
the most awful passage of the whole     
,inferno1 when the three furies rise at 
the top of the burning tower1 and       
catching sight of ,dante1 and not being 
able to get at him1 shriek wildly for   
the ,gorgon to come up too1 that they   
may turn him into stone1--the word stone
 is not hard enough for them4 ,stone    

might crumble away after it was made1 or
 something with life might grow upon it2
 no1 it shall not be stone2 they will   
make enamel of him2 nothing can grow out
 of that2 it is dead for ever4#gg       
,venga ,medusa1 si lo farem di ,smalto4 
,sec4 #di4 ,now1 almost in the opening  
of the ,purgatory1 as there at the      
entrance of the ,inferno1 we find a     
company of great ones resting in a      
grassy place4 ,but the idea of the grass
 now is very different4 ,the word now   
used is not enamel1 but herb1 and       
instead of being merely green1 it is    
covered with flowers of many colors4    
,with the usual mediaeval accuracy1     
,dante insists on telling us precisely  
what these colors were1 and how bright2 
which he does by naming the actual      
pigments used in illumination1--,gold1  
and fine silver1 and cochineal1 and     
white lead1 and ,indian wood1 serene and
 lucid1 and fresh emerald1 just broken1 
would have been excelled1 as less is by 
greater1 by the flowers and grass of the

 place4 ,it is evident that the emerald 
here means the emerald green of the     
illuminators2 for a fresh emerald is no 
brighter than one which is not fresh1   
and ,dante was not one to throw away his
 words thus4 ,observe1 then1 we have    
here the idea of the growth1 life1 and  
variegation of the green herb1 as       
opposed to the smalto of the ,inferno2  
but the colors of the variegation are   
illustrated and defined by the reference
 to actual pigments2 and1 observe1      
because the other colors are rather     
bright1 the blue ground 7,indian wood1  
indigo87 is sober2 lucid1 but serene2   
and presently two angels enter1 who are 
dressed in green drapery1 but of a paler
 green than the grass1 which ,dante     
marks1 by telling us that it was the    
green of leaves just budded4  ,sec4 #ej4
 ,in all this1 ,i wish the reader to    
observe two things3 first1 the general  
carefulness of the poet in defining     
color1 distinguishing it precisely as a 
painter would 7opposed to the ,greek    

carelessness about it72 and1 secondly1  
his regarding the grass for its         
greenness and variegation1 rather than1 
as a ,greek would have done1 for its    
depth and freshness4 ,this greenness or 
brightness1 and variegation1 are taken  
up by later and modern poets1 as the    
things intended to be chiefly expressed 
by the word enamelled2 and1 gradually1  
the term is taken to indicate any kind  
of bright and interchangeable coloring2 
there being always this much of         
propriety about it1 when used of        
greensward1 that such sward is indeed1  
like enamel1 a coat of bright color on a
 comparatively dark ground2 and is thus 
a sort of natural jewelry and painter's 
work1 different from loose and large    
vegetation4 ,the word is often awkwardly
 and falsely used1 by the later poets1  
of all kinds of growth and color2 as by 
,milton of the flowers of ,paradise     
showing themselves over its wall2 but it
 retains1 nevertheless1 through all its 
jaded inanity1 some half-unconscious    

vestige of the old sense1 even to the   
present day4  ,sec4 #ea4 ,there are1 it 
seems to me1 several important          
deductions to be made from these facts4 
,the ,greek1 we have seen1 delighted in 
the grass for its usefulness2 the       
mediaeval1 as also we moderns1 for its  
color and beauty4 ,but both dwell on it 
as the first element of the lovely      
landscape2 we saw its use in ,homer1 we 
see also that ,dante thinks the         
righteous spirits of the heathen enough 
comforted in ,hades by having even the  
image of green grass put beneath their  
feet2 the happy resting-place in        
,purgatory has no other delight than its
 grass and flowers2 and1 finally1 in the
 terrestrial paradise1 the feet of      
,matilda pause where the ,lethe stream  
first bends the blades of grass4        
,consider a little what a depth there is
 in this great instinct of the human    
race4 ,gather a single blade of grass1  
and examine for a minute1 quietly1 its  
narrow sword-shaped strip of fluted     

green4 ,nothing1 as it seems there1 of  
notable goodness or beauty4 ,a very     
little strength1 and a very little      
tallness1 and a few delicate long lines 
meeting in a point1--not a perfect point
 neither1 but blunt and unfinished1 by  
no means a creditable or apparently much
 cared for example of ,nature's         
workmanship2 made1 as it seems1 only to 
be trodden on to-day1 and to-morrow to  
be cast into the oven2 and a little pale
 and hollow stalk1 feeble and flaccid1  
leading down to the dull brown fibres of
 roots4 ,and yet1 think of it well1 and 
judge whether of all the gorgeous       
flowers that beam in summer air1 and of 
all strong and goodly trees1 pleasant to
 the eyes and good for food1--stately   
palm and pine1 strong ash and oak1      
scented citron1 burdened vine1--there be
 any by man so deeply loved1 by ,god so 
highly graced1 as that narrow point of  
feeble green4 ,it seems to me not to    
have been without a peculiar            
significance1 that our ,lord1 when about

 to work the miracle which1 of all that 
,he showed1 appears to have been felt by
 the multitude as the most              
impressive1--the miracle of the         
loaves1--commanded the people to sit    
down by companies upon the green grass4 
,he was about to feed them with the     
principal produce of earth and the sea1 
the simplest representations of the food
 of mankind4 ,he gave them the seed of  
the herb2 ,he bade them sit down upon   
the herb itself1 which was as great a   
gift1 in its fitness for their joy and  
rest1 as its perfect fruit1 for their   
sustenance2 thus1 in this single order  
and act1 when rightly understood1       
indicating for evermore how the ,creator
 had entrusted the comfort1 consolation1
 and sustenance of man1 to the simplest 
and most despised of all the leafy      
families of the earth4 ,and well does it
 fulfil its mission4 ,consider what we  
owe merely to the meadow grass1 to the  
covering of the dark ground by that     
glorious enamel1 by the companies of    

those soft1 and countless1 and peaceful 
spears4 ,the fields6 ,follow but forth  
for a little time the thoughts of all   
that we ought to recognise in those     
words4 ,all spring and summer is in     
them1--the walks by silent1 scented     
paths1--the rests in noon-day heat1--the
 joy of herds and flocks1--the power of 
all shepherd life and meditation1--the  
life of sunlight upon the world1 falling
 in emerald streaks1 and falling in soft
 blue shadows1 where else it would have 
struck upon the dark mould1 or scorching
 dust1--pastures beside the pacing      
brooks1--soft banks and knolls of lowly 
hills1--thymy slopes of down overlooked 
by the blue line of lifted sea1--crisp  
lawns all dim with early dew1 or smooth 
in evening warmth of barred sunshine1   
dinted by happy feet1 and softening in  
their fall the sound of loving voices3  
all these are summed in those simple    
words2 and these are not all4 ,we may   
not measure to the full the depth of    
this heavenly gift1 in our own land2    

though still1 as we think of it longer1 
the infinite of that meadow sweetness1  
,shakspere's peculiar joy1 would open on
 us more and more1 yet we have it but in
 part4 ,go out1 in the spring time1     
among the meadows that slope from the   
shores of the ,swiss lakes to the roots 
of their lower mountains4 ,there1       
mingled with the taller gentians and the
 white narcissus1 the grass grows deep  
and free2 and as you follow the winding 
mountain paths1 beneath arching boughs  
all veiled and dim with blossom1--paths 
that for ever droop and rise over the   
green banks and mounds sweeping down in 
scented undulation1 steep to the blue   
water1 studded here and there with new  
mown heaps1 filling all the air with    
fainter sweetness1--look up towards the 
higher hills1 where the waves of        
everlasting green roll silently into    
their long inlets among the shadows of  
the pines2 and we may1 perhaps1 at last 
know the meaning of those quiet words of
 the #adgth ,psalm1 ,he maketh grass to 

grow upon the mountains4  ,sec4 #eb4    
,there are also several lessons         
symbolically connected with this        
subject1 which we must not allow to     
escape us4 ,observe1 the peculiar       
characters of the grass1 which adapt it 
especially for the service of man1 are  
its apparent humility1 and cheerfulness4
 ,its humility1 in that it seems created
 only for lowest service1--appointed to 
be trodden on1 and fed upon4 ,its       
cheerfulness1 in that it seems to exult 
under all kinds of violence and         
suffering4 ,you roll it1 and it is      
stronger the next day2 you mow it1 and  
it multiplies its shoots1 as if it were 
grateful2 you tread upon it1 and it only
 sends up richer perfume4 ,spring comes1
 and it rejoices with all the           
earth1--glowing with variegated flame of
 flowers1--waving in soft depth of      
fruitful strength4 ,winter comes1 and   
though it will not mock its fellow      
plants by growing then1 it will not pine
 and mourn1 and turn colorless or       

leafless as they4 ,it is always green2  
and is only the brighter and gayer for  
the hoar-frost4  ,sec4 #ec4 ,now1 these 
two characters--of humility1 and joy    
under trial--are exactly those which    
most definitely distinguish the         
,christian from the ,pagan spirit4      
,whatever virtue the pagan possessed was
 rooted in pride1 and fruited with      
sorrow4 ,it began in the elevation of   
his own nature2 it ended but in the     
verde smalto--the hopeless green--of the
 ,elysian fields4 ,but the ,christian   
virtue is rooted in self-debasement1 and
 strengthened under suffering by        
gladness of hope4 ,and remembering this1
 it is curious to observe how utterly   
without gladness the ,greek heart       
appears to be in watching the flowering 
grass1 and what strange discords of     
expression arise sometimes in           
consequence4 ,there is one1 recurring   
once or twice in ,homer1 which has      
always pained me4 ,he says1 the ,greek  
army was on the fields1 as thick as     

flowers in the spring4 ,it might be so2 
but flowers in spring time are not the  
image by which ,dante would have        
numbered soldiers on their path of      
battle4 ,dante could not have thought of
 the flowering of the grass but as      
associated with happiness4 ,there is a  
still deeper significance in the passage
 quoted1 a little while ago1 from       
,homer1 describing ,ulysses casting     
himself down on the rushes and the      
corn-giving land at the river           
shore1--the rushes and corn being to him
 only good for rest and                 
sustenance1--when we compare it with    
that in which ,dante tells us he was    
ordered to descend to the shore of the  
lake as he entered ,purgatory1 to gather
 a rush1 and gird himself with it1 it   
being to him the emblem not only of     
rest1 but of humility under             
chastisement1 the rush 7or reed7 being  
the only plant which can grow there2--no
 plant which bears leaves1 or hardens   
its bark1 can live on that shore1       

because it does not yield to the        
chastisement of its waves4 ,it cannot   
but strike the reader singularly how    
deep and harmonious a significance runs 
through all these words of ,dante--how  
every syllable of them1 the more we     
penetrate it1 becomes a seed of farther 
thought6 ,for1 follow up this image of  
the girding with the reed1 under trial1 
and see to whose feet it will lead us4  
,as the grass of the earth1 thought of  
as the herb yielding seed1 leads us to  
the place where our ,lord commanded the 
multitude to sit down by companies upon 
the green grass2 so the grass of the    
waters1 thought of as sustaining itself 
among the waters of affliction1 leads us
 to the place where a stem of it was put
 into our ,lord's hand for his sceptre2 
and in the crown of thorns1 and the rod 
of reed1 was foreshown the everlasting  
truth of the ,christian ages--that all  
glory was to be begun in suffering1 and 
all power in humility4  ,assembling the 
images we have traced1 and adding the   

simplest of all1 from ,isaiah xl4 #f41  
we find1 the grass and flowers are      
types1 in their passing1 of the passing 
of human life1 and1 in their excellence1
 of the excellence of human life2 and   
this in a twofold way2 first1 by their  
,beneficence1 and then1 by their        
endurance3--the grass of the earth1 in  
giving the seed of corn1 and in its     
beauty under tread of foot and stroke of
 scythe2 and the grass of the waters1 in
 giving its freshness for our rest1 and 
in its bending before the wave4#gh ,but 
understood in the broad human and       
,divine sense1 the herb yielding seed   
7as opposed to the fruit-tree yielding  
fruit7 includes a third family of       
plants1 and fulfils a third office to   
the human race4 ,it includes the great  
family of the lints and flaxes1 and     
fulfils thus the three offices of giving
 food1 raiment1 and rest4 ,follow out   
this fulfilment2 consider the           
association of the linen garment and the
 linen embroidery1 with the priestly    

office1 and the furniture of the        
tabernacle3 and consider how the rush   
has been1 in all time1 the first natural
 carpet thrown under the human foot4    
,then next observe the three virtues    
definitely set forth by the three       
families of plants2 not arbitrarily or  
fancifully associated with them1 but in 
all the three cases marked for us by    
,scriptural words3  #ast4 ,cheerfulness1
 or joyful serenity2 in the grass for   
food and beauty4--,consider the lilies  
of the field1 how they grow2 they toil  
not1 neither do they spin4  #bnd4       
,humility2 in the grass for rest4--,a   
bruised reed shall ,he not break4  #crd4
 ,love2 in the grass for clothing       
7because of its swift kindling71--,the  
smoking flax shall ,he not quench4  ,and
 then1 finally1 observe the confirmation
 of these last two images in1 ,i        
suppose1 the most important prophecy1   
relating to the future state of the     
,christian ,church1 which occurs in the 
,old ,testament1 namely1 that contained 

in the closing chapters of ,ezekiel4    
,the measures of the ,temple of ,god are
 to be taken2 and because it is only by 
charity and humility that those measures
 ever can be taken1 the angel has a line
 of flax in his hand1 and a measuring   
reed4 ,the use of the line was to       
measure the land1 and of the reed to    
take the dimensions of the buildings2 so
 the buildings of the church1 or its    
labors1 are to be measured by humility1 
and its territory or land1 by love4     
,the limits of the ,church have1 indeed1
 in later days1 been measured1 to the   
world's sorrow1 by another kind of      
flaxen line1 burning with the fire of   
unholy zeal1 not with that of ,christian
 charity2 and perhaps the best lesson   
which we can finally take to ourselves1 
in leaving these sweet fields of the    
mediaeval landscape1 is the memory that1
 in spite of all the fettered habits of 
thought of his age1 this great ,dante1  
this inspired exponent of what lay      
deepest at the heart of the early       

,church1 placed his terrestrial paradise
 where there had ceased to be fence or  
division1 and where the grass of the    
earth was bowed down1 in unity of       
direction1 only by the soft waves that  
bore with them the forgetfulness of     
evil4    #ga ,the peculiar dislike felt 
by the mediaevals for the sea1 is       
so interesting a subject of inquiry1    
that ,i have reserved it        for     
separate discussion in another work1 in 
present        preparation1 ,harbors of 
,england4    #gb ,married to ,philip1   
younger son of the ,king of ,navarre1 in
        #aceb4 ,she died in #acid4      
#gc ,three times the length of a human  
body4--,purg4 x4 #bd4    #gd ,purg4 xii4
 #ajb4    #ge ,come unto these yellow   
sands4    #gf ,and thou art long1 and   
lank1 and brown1        ,as is the      
ribbed sea sand4    #gg ,compare        
parallel passage1 making ,dante hard or 
changeless in        good ,purg4 viii4  
#aad4    #gh ,so also in ,isa4 xxxv4    
#g41 the prevalence of righteousness and

        peace over all evil is thus     
foretold3         ,in the habitation of 
dragons1 where each lay1 shall be       
grass1 with reeds and rushes4           
,,chapter ,,xv4  ,,of ,,mediaeval       
,,landscape3--,,secondly1 ,,the ,,rocks4
   ,sec4 #a4 ,i closed the last chapter1
 not because our subject was exhausted1 
but to give the reader breathing time1  
and because ,i supposed he would hardly 
care to turn back suddenly from the     
subjects of thought last suggested1 to  
the less pregnant matters of inquiry    
connected with mediaeval landscape4 ,nor
 was the pause mistimed even as respects
 the order of our subjects2 for hitherto
 we have been arrested chiefly by the   
beauty of the pastures and fields1 and  
have followed the mediaeval mind in its 
fond regard of leaf and flower4 ,but now
 we have some hard hill-climbing to do2 
and the remainder of our investigation  
must be carried on1 for the most part1  
on hands and knees1 so that it is not   
ill done of us first to take breath4    

,sec4 #b4 ,it will be remembered that in
 the last chapter1 ,sec4 #ad41 we       
supposed it probable that there would be
 considerable inaccuracies in the       
mediaeval mode of regarding nature4     
,hitherto1 however1 we have found none2 
but1 on the contrary1 intense accuracy1 
precision1 and affection4 ,the reason of
 this is1 that all floral and foliaged  
beauty might be perfectly represented1  
as far as its form went1 in the         
sculpture and ornamental painting of the
 period2 hence the attention of men was 
thoroughly awakened to that beauty4 ,but
 as mountains and clouds and large      
features of natural scenery could not be
 accurately represented1 we must be     
prepared to find them not so carefully  
contemplated1--more carefully1 indeed1  
than by the ,greeks1 but still in no    
wise as the things themselves deserve4  
,sec4 #c4 ,it was besides noticed that  
mountains1 though regarded with         
reverence by the mediaeval1 were also   
the subjects of a certain dislike and   

dread4 ,and we have seen already that in
 fact the place of the soul's           
purification1 though a mountain1 is yet 
by ,dante subdued1 whenever there is any
 pleasantness to be found upon it1 from 
all mountainous character into grassy   
recesses1 or slopes to rushy shore2 and1
 in his general conception of it1       
resembles much more a castle mound1     
surrounded by terraced walks1--in the   
manner1 for instance1 of one of         
,turner's favorite scenes1 the bank     
under ,richmond ,castle 7,yorkshire72   
or1 still more1 one of the hill slopes  
divided by terraces1 above the ,rhine1  
in which the picturesqueness of the     
ground has been reduced to the form best
 calculated for the growing of costly   
wine1 than any scene to which we moderns
 should naturally attach the term       
,mountainous4 ,on the other hand1       
although the ,inferno is just as        
accurately measured and divided as the  
,purgatory1 it is nevertheless cleft    
into rocky chasms which possess         

something of true mountain              
nature--nature which we moderns of the  
north should most of us seek with       
delight1 but which1 to the great        
,florentine1 appeared adapted only for  
the punishment of lost spirits1 and     
which1 on the mind of nearly all his    
countrymen1 would to this day produce a 
very closely correspondent effect2 so   
that their graceful language1 dying away
 on the north side of the ,alps1 gives  
its departing accents to proclaim its   
detestation of hardness and ruggedness2 
and is heard for the last time1 as it   
bestows on the noblest defile in all the
 ,grisons1 if not in all the ,alpine    
chain1 the name of the evil way--la ,via
 ,mala4  ,sec4 #d4 ,this evil way1      
though much deeper and more sublime1    
corresponds closely in general character
 to ,dante's ,evil-pits1 just as the    
banks of ,richmond do to his mountain of
 ,purgatory2 and it is notable that     
,turner has been led to illustrate1 with
 his whole strength1 the character of   

both2 having founded1 as it seems to me1
 his early dreams of mountain form      
altogether on the sweet banks of the    
,yorkshire streams1 and rooted his      
hardier thoughts of it in the rugged    
clefts of the ,via ,mala4  ,sec4 #e4    
,nor of the ,via ,mala only3 a          
correspondent defile on the ,st4        
,gothard1--so terrible in one part of   
it1 that it can1 indeed1 suggest no     
ideas but those of horror to minds      
either of northern or southern temper1  
and whose wild bridge1 cast from rock to
 rock over a chasm as utterly hopeless  
and escapeless as any into which ,dante 
gazed from the arches of ,malebolge1 has
 been1 therefore1 ascribed both by      
northern and southern lips to the       
master-building of the great spirit of  
evil--supplied to ,turner the element of
 his most terrible thoughts in mountain 
vision1 even to the close of his life4  
,the noblest plate in the series of the 
,liber ,studiorum1#gi one engraved by   
his own hand1 is of that bridge2 the    

last mountain journey he ever took was  
up the defile2 and a rocky bank and     
arch1 in the last mountain drawing which
 he ever executed with his perfect      
power1 are remembrances of the path by  
which he had traversed in his youth this
 ,malebolge of the ,st4 ,gothard4  ,sec4
 #f4 ,it is therefore with peculiar     
interest1 as bearing on our own proper  
subject1 that we must examine ,dante's  
conception of the rocks of the eighth   
circle4 ,and first1 as to general tone  
of color3 from what we have seen of the 
love of the mediaeval for bright and    
variegated color1 we might guess that   
his chief cause of dislike to rocks     
would be1 in ,italy1 their comparative  
colorlessness4 ,with hardly an          
exception1 the range of the ,apennines  
is composed of a stone of which some    
special account is given hereafter in   
the chapters on ,materials of           
,mountains1 and of which one            
peculiarity1 there noticed1 is its      
monotony of hue4 ,our slates and        

granites are often of very lovely       
colors2 but the ,apennine limestone is  
so grey and toneless1 that ,i know not  
any mountain district so utterly        
melancholy as those which are composed  
of this rock1 when unwooded4 ,now1 as   
far as ,i can discover from the internal
 evidence in his poem1 nearly all       
,dante's mountain wanderings had been   
upon this ground4 ,he had journeyed once
 or twice among the ,alps1 indeed1 but  
seems to have been impressed chiefly by 
the road from ,garda to ,trent1 and that
 along the ,corniche1 both of which are 
either upon those limestones1 or a dark 
serpentine1 which shows hardly any color
 till it is polished4 ,it is not        
ascertainable that he had ever seen     
rocky scenery of the finely colored     
kind1 aided by the ,alpine mosses3 ,i do
 not know the fall at ,forli 7,inferno1 
xvi4 #ii471 but every other scene to    
which he alludes is among these         
,apennine limestones2 and when he wishes
 to give the idea of enormous mountain  

size1 he names ,tabernicch and          
,pietra-pana1--the one clearly chosen   
only for the sake of the last syllable  
of its name1 in order to make a sound as
 of cracking ice1 with the two sequent  
rhymes of the stanza1--and the other is 
an ,apennine near ,lucca4  ,sec4 #g4    
,his idea1 therefore1 of rock color1    
founded on these experiences1 is that of
 a dull or ashen grey1 more or less     
stained by the brown of iron ochre1     
precisely as the ,apennine limestones   
nearly always are2 the grey being       
peculiarly cold and disagreeable4 ,as we
 go down the very hill which stretches  
out from ,pietra-pana towards ,lucca1   
the stones laid by the road-side to mend
 it are of this ashen grey1 with        
efflorescences of manganese and iron in 
the fissures4 ,the whole of ,malebolge  
is made of this rock1 ,all wrought in   
stone of iron-colored grain4#hj         
,perhaps the iron color may be meant to 
predominate in ,evil-pits2 but the      
definite grey limestone color is stated 

higher up1 the river ,styx flowing at   
the base of malignant grey cliffs#ha    
7the word malignant being given to the  
iron-colored ,malebolge also72 and the  
same whitish-grey idea is given again   
definitely in describing the robe of the
 purgatorial or penance angel1 which is 
of the color of ashes1 or earth dug dry4
 ,ashes necessarily mean wood-ashes in  
an ,italian mind1 so that we get the    
tone very pale2 and there can be no     
doubt whatever about the hue meant1     
because it is constantly seen on the    
sunny sides of the ,italian hills1      
produced by the scorching of the ground1
 a dusty and lifeless whitish grey1     
utterly painful and oppressive2 and ,i  
have no doubt that this color1 assumed  
eminently also by limestone crags in the
 sun1 is the quality which ,homer means 
to express by a term he applies often to
 bare rocks1 and which is usually       
translated craggy1 or rocky4 ,now ,homer
 is indeed quite capable of talking of  
rocky rocks1 just as he talks sometimes 

of wet water2 but ,i think he means more
 by this word3 it sounds as if it were  
derived from another1 meaning meal1 or  
flour1 and ,i have little doubt it means
 mealy white2 the ,greek limestones     
being for the most part brighter in     
effect than the ,apennine ones4  ,sec4  
#h4 ,and the fact is1 that the great and
 pre-eminent fault of southern1 as      
compared with northern scenery1 is this 
rock-whiteness1 which gives to distant  
mountain ranges1 lighted by the sun1    
sometimes a faint and monotonous glow1  
hardly detaching itself from the whiter 
parts of the sky1 and sometimes a       
speckled confusion of white light with  
blue shadow1 breaking up the whole mass 
of the hills1 and making them look near 
and small2 the whiteness being still    
distinct at the distance of twenty or   
twenty-five miles4 ,the inferiority and 
meagreness of such effects of hill1     
compared with the massive purple and    
blue of our own heaps of crags and      
morass1 or the solemn grass-green and   

pine-purples of the ,alps1 have always  
struck me most painfully2 and they have 
rendered it impossible for any poet or  
painter studying in the south1 to enter 
with joy into hill scenery4 ,imagine the
 difference to ,walter ,scott1 if       
instead of the single lovely color      
which1 named by itself alone1 was enough
 to describe his hills1--        ,their 
southern rapine to renew1       ,far in 
the distant ,cheviot's blue1--  a dusty 
whiteness had been the image that first 
associated itself with a hill range1 and
 he had been obliged1 instead of blue   
,cheviots1 to say1 barley-meal-colored  
,cheviots4  ,sec4 #i4 ,but although this
 would cause a somewhat painful shock   
even to a modern mind1 it would be as   
nothing when compared with the pain     
occasioned by absence of color to a     
mediaeval one4 ,we have been trained1 by
 our ingenious principles of            
,renaissance architecture1 to think that
 meal-color and ash-color are the       
properest colors of all2 and that the   

most aristocratic harmonies are to be   
deduced out of grey mortar and creamy   
stucco4 ,any of our modern classical    
architects would delightedly face a     
heathery hill with ,roman cement2 and   
any ,italian sacristan would1 but for   
the cost of it1 at once whitewash the   
,cheviots4 ,but the mediaevals had not  
arrived at these abstract principles of 
taste4 ,they liked fresco better than   
whitewash2 and1 on the whole1 thought   
that ,nature was in the right in        
painting her flowers yellow1 pink1 and  
blue2--not grey4 ,accordingly1 this     
absence of color from rocks1 as compared
 with meadows and trees1 was in their   
eyes an unredeemable defect2 nor did it 
matter to them whether its place was    
supplied by the grey neutral tint1 or   
the iron-colored stain2 for both colors1
 grey and brown1 were1 to them1 hues of 
distress1 despair1 and mortification1   
hence adopted always for the dresses of 
monks2 only the word brown bore1 in     
their color vocabulary1 a still gloomier

 sense than with us4 ,i was for some    
time embarrassed by ,dante's use of it  
with respect to dark skies and water4   
,thus1 in describing a simple           
twilight--not a ,hades twilight1 but an 
ordinarily fair evening--7,inf4 ii4 #a47
 he says1 the brown air took the animals
 of earth away from their fatigues2--the
 waves under ,charon's boat are brown   
7,inf4 iii4 #aag472 and ,lethe1 which is
 perfectly clear and yet dark1 as with  
oblivion1 is bruna-bruna1 brown1        
exceeding brown4 ,now1 clearly in all   
these cases no warmth is meant to be    
mingled in the color4 ,dante had never  
seen one of our bog-streams1 with its   
porter-colored foam2 and there can be no
 doubt that1 in calling ,lethe brown1 he
 means that it was dark slate grey1     
inclining to black2 as1 for instance1   
our clear ,cumberland lakes1 which1     
looked straight down upon where they are
 deep1 seem to be lakes of ink4 ,i am   
sure this is the color he means2 because
 no clear stream or lake on the         

,continent ever looks brown1 but blue or
 green2 and ,dante1 by merely taking    
away the pleasant color1 would get at   
once to this idea of grave clear grey4  
,so1 when he was talking of twilight1   
his eye for color was far too good to   
let him call it brown in our sense4     
,twilight is not brown1 but purple1     
golden1 or dark grey2 and this last was 
what ,dante meant4 ,farther1 ,i find    
that this negation of color is always   
the means by which ,dante subdues his   
tones4 ,thus the fatal inscription on   
the ,hades gate is written in obscure   
color1 and the air which torments the   
passionate spirits is aer nero black air
 7,inf4 v4 #ea471 called presently      
afterwards 7line #ha47 malignant air1   
just as the grey cliffs are called      
malignant cliffs4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,i was    
not1 therefore1 at a loss to find out   
what ,dante meant by the word2 but ,i   
was at a loss to account for his not1 as
 it seemed1 acknowledging the existence 
of the color of brown at all2 for if he 

called dark neutral tint brown1 it      
remained a question what term he would  
use for things of the color of burnt    
umber4 ,but1 one day1 just when ,i was  
puzzling myself about this1 ,i happened 
to be sitting by one of our best living 
modern colorists1 watching him at his   
work1 when he said1 suddenly1 and by    
mere accident1 after we had been talking
 of other things1 ,do you know ,i have  
found that there is no brown in ,nature8
 ,what we call brown is always a variety
 either of orange or purple4 ,it never  
can be represented by umber1 unless     
altered by contrast4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,it is 
curious how far the significance of this
 remark extends1 how exquisitely it     
illustrates and confirms the mediaeval  
sense of hue2--how far1 on the other    
hand1 it cuts into the heart of the old 
umber idolatries of ,sir ,george        
,beaumont and his colleagues1 the where 
do you put your brown tree system2 the  
code of ,cremona-violin- colored        
foregrounds1 of brown varnish and       

asphaltum2 and all the old night-owl    
science1 which1 like ,young's pencil of 
sorrow1        ,in melancholy dipped1   
embrowns the whole4  ,nay1 ,i do ,young 
an injustice by associating his words   
with the asphalt schools2 for his eye   
for color was true1 and like ,dante's2  
and ,i doubt not that he means dark     
grey1 as ,byron purple-grey in that     
night piece in the ,siege of ,corinth1  
beginning        ',tis midnight2 on the 
mountains brown       ,the cold1 round  
moon looks deeply down2  and1 by the    
way1 ,byron's best piece of evening     
color farther certifies the hues of     
,dante's twilight1--it        ,dies like
 the dolphin1 when it gasps away--      
,the last still loveliest2 till 'tis    
gone1 and all is grey4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,let 
not1 however1 the reader confuse the use
 of brown1 as an expression of a natural
 tint1 with its use as a means of       
getting other tints4 ,brown is often an 
admirable ground1 just because it is the
 only tint which is not to be in the    

finished picture1 and because it is the 
best basis of many silver greys and     
purples1 utterly opposite to it in their
 nature4 ,but there is infinite         
difference between laying a brown ground
 as a representation of shadow1--and as 
a base for light2 and also an infinite  
difference between using brown shadows1 
associated with colored lights--always  
the characteristic of false schools of  
color--and using brown as a warm neutral
 tint for general study4 ,i shall have  
to pursue this subject farther          
hereafter1 in noticing how brown is used
 by great colorists in their studies1   
not as color1 but as the pleasantest    
negation of color1 possessing more      
transparency than black1 and having more
 pleasant and sunlike warmth4 ,hence    
,turner1 in his early studies1 used blue
 for distant neutral tint1 and brown for
 foreground neutral tint2 while1 as he  
advanced in color science1 he gradually 
introduced1 in the place of brown1      
strange purples1 altogether peculiar to 

himself1 founded1 apparently1 on ,indian
 red and vermilion1 and passing into    
various tones of russet and orange4#hb  
,but1 in the meantime1 we must go back  
to ,dante and his mountains4  ,sec4 #ac4
 ,we find1 then1 that his general type  
of rock color was meant1 whether pale or
 dark1 to be a colorless grey--the most 
melancholy hue which he supposed to     
exist in ,nature 7hence the synonym for 
it1 subsisting even till late times1 in 
mediaeval appellatives of dress1        
sad-colored7--with some rusty stain from
 iron2 or perhaps the color ferrigno of 
the ,inferno does not involve even so   
much of orange1 but ought to be         
translated iron grey4  ,this being his  
idea of the color of rocks1 we have next
 to observe his conception of their     
substance4 ,and ,i believe it will be   
found that the character on which he    
fixes first in them is frangibility     
--breakableness to bits1 as opposed to  
wood1 which can be sawn or rent1 but not
 shattered with a hammer1 and to metal1 

which is tough and malleable4  ,thus1 at
 the top of the abyss of the seventh    
circle1 appointed for the violent1 or   
souls who had done evil by force1 we are
 told1 first1 that the edge of it was   
composed of great broken stones in a    
circle2 then1 that the place was        
,alpine2 and1 becoming hereupon         
attentive1 in order to hear what an     
,alpine place is like1 we find that it  
was like the place beyond ,trent1 where 
the rock1 either by earthquake1 or      
failure of support1 has broken down to  
the plain1 so that it gives any one at  
the top some means of getting down to   
the bottom4 ,this is not a very elevated
 or enthusiastic description of an      
,alpine scene2 and it is far from mended
 by the following verses1 in which we   
are told that ,dante began to go down by
 this great unloading of stones1 and    
that they moved often under his feet by 
reason of the new weight4 ,the fact is  
that ,dante1 by many expressions        
throughout the poem1 shows himself to   

have been a notably bad climber2 and    
being fond of sitting in the sun1       
looking at his fair ,baptistery1 or     
walking in a dignified manner on flat   
pavement in a long robe1 it puts him    
seriously out of his way when he has to 
take to his hands and knees1 or look to 
his feet2 so that the first strong      
impression made upon him by any ,alpine 
scene whatever1 is1 clearly1 that it is 
bad walking4 ,when he is in a fright and
 hurry1 and has a very steep place to go
 down1 ,virgil has to carry him         
altogether1 and is obliged to encourage 
him1 again and again1 when they have a  
steep slope to go up1--the first ascent 
of the purgatorial mountain4 ,the       
similes by which he illustrates the     
steepness of that ascent are all taken  
from the ,riviera of ,genoa1 now        
traversed by a good carriage road under 
the name of the ,corniche2 but as this  
road did not exist in ,dante's time1 and
 the steep precipices and promontories  
were then probably traversed by         

footpaths1 which1 as they necessarily   
passed in many places over crumbling and
 slippery limestone1 were doubtless not 
a little dangerous1 and as in the manner
 they commanded the bays of sea below1  
and lay exposed to the full blaze of the
 south-eastern sun1 they corresponded   
precisely to the situation of the path  
by which he ascends above the           
purgatorial sea1 the image could not    
possibly have been taken from a better  
source for the fully conveying his idea 
to the reader3 nor1 by the way1 is there
 reason to discredit1 in this place1 his
 powers of climbing2 for1 with his usual
 accuracy1 he has taken the angle of the
 path for us1 saying it was considerably
 more than forty-five4 ,now a continuous
 mountain slope of forty-five degrees is
 already quite unsafe either for ascent 
or descent1 except by zigzag paths2 and 
a greater slope than this could not be  
climbed1 straightforward1 but by help of
 crevices or jags in the rock1 and great
 physical exertion besides4  ,sec4 #ad4 

,throughout these passages1 however1    
,dante's thoughts are clearly fixed     
altogether on the question of mere      
accessibility or inaccessibility4 ,he   
does not show the smallest interest in  
the rocks1 except as things to be       
conquered2 and his description of their 
appearance is utterly meagre1 involving 
no other epithets than erto 7steep or   
upright71 ,inf4 xix4 #aca41 ,purg4 iii4 
#dh4 c42 sconcio 7monstrous71 ,inf4 xix4
 #aca42 stagliata 7cut71 ,inf4 xvii4    
#acd42 maligno 7malignant71 ,inf4 vii4  
#ajh2 duro 7hard71 xx4 #be42 with large 
and broken 7rotto7 in various places4   
,no idea of roundness1 massiveness1 or  
pleasant form of any kind appears for a 
moment to enter his mind2 and the       
different names which are given to the  
rocks in various places seem merely to  
refer to variations in size3 thus a     
rocco is a part of a scoglio1 ,inf4 xx4 
#be4 and xxvi4 #bg42 a scheggio 7xxi4   
#fi4 and xxvi4 #ag47 is a less fragment 
yet2 a petrone1 or sasso1 is a large    

stone or boulder 7,purg4 iv4 #aja4      
#ajd471 and pietra1 a less stone1--both 
of these last terms1 especially sasso1  
being used for any large mountainous    
mass1 as in ,purg4 xxi4 #ajf42 and the  
vagueness of the word monte itself1 like
 that of the ,french montagne1          
applicable either to a hill on a        
post-road requiring the drag to be put  
on1--or to the ,mont ,blanc1 marks a    
peculiar carelessness in both nations1  
at the time of the formation of their   
languages1 as to the sublimity of the   
higher hills2 so that the effect        
produced on an ,english ear by the word 
mountain1 signifying always a mass of a 
certain large size1 cannot be conveyed  
either in ,french or ,italian4  ,sec4   
#ae4 ,in all these modes of regarding   
rocks we find 7rocks being in           
themselves1 as we shall see presently1  
by no means monstrous or frightful      
things7 exactly that inaccuracy in the  
mediaeval mind which we had been led to 
expect1 in its bearings on things       

contrary to the spirit of that          
symmetrical and perfect humanity which  
had formed its ideal2 and it is very    
curious to observe how closely in the   
terms he uses1 and the feelings they    
indicate1 ,dante here agrees with       
,homer4 ,for the word stagliata 7cut7   
corresponds very nearly to a favorite   
term of ,homer's respecting rocks       
sculptured1 used by him also of ships'  
sides2 and the frescoes and             
illuminations of the ,middle ,ages      
enable us to ascertain exactly what this
 idea of cut rock was4  ,sec4 #af4 ,in  
,plate #aj4 ,i have assembled some      
examples1 which will give the reader a  
sufficient knowledge of mediaeval       
rock-drawing1 by men whose names are    
known4 ,they are chiefly taken from     
engravings1 with which the reader has it
 in his power to compare them1#hc and   
if1 therefore1 any injustice is done to 
the original paintings the fault is not 
mine2 but the general impression        
conveyed is quite accurate1 and it would

 not have been worth while1 where work  
is so deficient in first conception1 to 
lose time in insuring accuracy of       
facsimile4 ,some of the crags may be    
taller here1 or broader there1 than in  
the original paintings2 but the         
character of the work is perfectly      
preserved1 and that is all with which we
 are at present concerned4              
,illustration3 #aj4 ,geology of the     
,middle ,ages4  ,figs4 #a4 and #e4 are  
by ,ghirlandajo2 #b4 by ,filippo        
,pesellino2 #d4 by ,leonardo da ,vinci2 
and #f4 by ,andrea del ,castagno4 ,all  
these are indeed workmen of a much later
 period than ,dante1 but the system of  
rock-drawing remains entirely unchanged 
from ,giotto's time to                  
,ghirlandajo's2--is then altered only by
 an introduction of stratification      
indicative of a little closer observance
 of nature1 and so remains until        
,titian's time4 ,fig #a4 is exactly     
representative of one of ,giotto's      
rocks1 though actually by ,ghirlandajo2 

and ,fig4 #b4 is rather less skilful    
than ,giotto's ordinary work4 ,both     
these figures indicate precisely what   
,homer and ,dante meant by cut rocks4   
,they had observed the concave          
smoothness of certain rock fractures as 
eminently distinctive of rock from      
earth1 and use the term cut or          
sculptured to distinguish the smooth    
surface from the knotty or sandy one1   
having observed nothing more respecting 
its real contours than is represented in
 ,figs4 #a4 and #b41 which look as if   
they had been hewn out with an adze4    
,lorenzo ,ghiberti preserves the same   
type1 even in his finest work4  ,fig4   
#c41 from an interesting sixteenth      
century ,,ms4 in the ,british ,museum   
7,cotton1 ,augustus1 ,a4 #e471 is       
characteristic of the best later        
illuminators' work2 and ,fig4 #e41 from 
,ghirlandajo1 is pretty illustrative of 
,dante's idea of terraces on the        
purgatorial mountain4 ,it is the road by
 which the ,magi descend in his picture 

of their ,adoration1 in the ,academy of 
,florence4 ,of the other examples ,i    
shall have more to say in the chapter on
 ,precipices2 meanwhile we have to      
return to the landscape of the poem4    
,sec4 #ag4 ,inaccurate as this          
conception of rock was1 it seems to have
 been the only one which1 in mediaeval  
art had place as representative of      
mountain scenery4 ,to ,dante1 mountains 
are inconceivable except as great broken
 stones or crags2 all their broad       
contours and undulations seem to have   
escaped his eye4 ,it is1 indeed1 with   
his usual undertone of symbolic meaning 
that he describes the great broken      
stones1 and the fall of the shattered   
mountain1 as the entrance to the circle 
appointed for the punishment of the     
violent2 meaning that the violent and   
cruel1 notwithstanding all their iron   
hardness of heart1 have no true         
strength1 but1 either by earthquake1 or 
want of support1 fall at last into      
desolate ruin1 naked1 loose1 and shaking

 under the tread4 ,but in no part of the
 poem do we find allusion to mountains  
in any other than a stern light2 nor the
 slightest evidence that ,dante cared to
 look at them4 ,from that hill of ,san  
,miniato1 whose steps he knew so well1  
the eye commands1 at the farther        
extremity of the ,val d',arno1 the whole
 purple range of the mountains of       
,carrara1 peaked and mighty1 seen always
 against the sunset light in silent     
outline1 the chief forms that rule the  
scene as twilight fades away4 ,by this  
vision ,dante seems to have been wholly 
unmoved1 and1 but for ,lucan's mention  
of ,aruns at ,luna1 would seemingly not 
have spoken of the ,carrara hills in the
 whole course of his poem3 when he does 
allude to them1 he speaks of their white
 marble1 and their command of stars and 
sea1 but has evidently no regard for the
 hills themselves4 ,there is not a      
single phrase or syllable throughout the
 poem which indicates such a regard4    
,ugolino1 in his dream1 seemed to       

himself to be in the mountains1 by cause
 of which the ,pisan cannot see ,lucca2 
and it is impossible to look up from    
,pisa to that hoary slope without       
remembering the awe that there is in the
 passage2 nevertheless1 it was as a     
hunting-ground only that he remembered  
those hills4 ,adam of ,brescia1         
tormented with eternal thirst1 remembers
 the hills of ,romena1 but only for the 
sake of their sweet waters3        ,the 
rills that glitter down the grassy      
slopes       ,of ,casentino1 making     
fresh and soft       ,the banks whereby 
they glide to ,arno's stream1           
,stand ever in my view4  ,and1 whenever 
hills are spoken of as having any       
influence on character1 the repugnance  
to them is still manifest2 they are     
always causes of rudeness or cruelty3   
,but that ungrateful and malignant race1
       ,who in old times came down from 
,fesole1       ,ay1 and still smack of  
their rough mountain flint1       ,will1
 for thy good deeds1 show thee enmity4  

,take heed thou cleanse thee of their   
ways4  ,so again--                  ,as 
one mountain-bred1       ,rugged1 and   
clownish1 if some city's walls       ,he
 chance to enter1 round him stares      
agape4  ,sec4 #ah4 ,finally1 although   
the ,carrara mountains are named as     
having command of the stars and sea1 the
 ,alps are never specially mentioned but
 in bad weather1 or snow4 ,on the sand  
of the circle of the blasphemers--      
,fell slowly wafting down       ,dilated
 flakes of fire1 as flakes of snow      
,on ,alpine summit1 when the wind is    
hushed4  ,so the ,paduans have to defend
 their town and castles against         
inundation1                ,ere the     
genial warmth be felt1       ,on        
,chiarentana's top4  ,the clouds of     
anger1 in ,purgatory1 can only be       
figured to the reader who has        ,on
 an ,alpine height been ta'en by cloud1 
,through which thou sawest no better    
than the mole       ,doth through       
opacous membrane4  ,and in approaching  

the second branch of ,lethe1 the seven  
ladies pause1--                         
,arriving at the verge       ,of a dim  
umbrage hoar1 such as is seen           
,beneath green leaves and gloomy        
branches oft       ,to overbrow a bleak 
and ,alpine cliff4  ,sec4 #ai4 ,truly1  
it is unfair of ,dante1 that when he is 
going to use snow for a lovely image1   
and speak of it as melting away under   
heavenly sunshine1 he must needs put it 
on the ,apennines1 not on the ,alps3    
,as snow that lies       ,amidst the    
living rafters1 on the back       ,of   
,italy1 congealed1 when drifted high    
,and closely piled by rough ,sclavonian 
blasts1       ,breathe but the land     
whereon no shadow falls1       ,and     
straightway melting1 it distils away1   
,like a fire-washed taper2 thus was ,i1 
,without a sigh1 or tear1 consumed in   
heart4  ,the reader will thank me for   
reminding him1 though out of its proper 
order1 of the exquisite passage of      
,scott which we have to compare with    

this3        ,as snow upon the          
mountain's breast       ,slides from the
 rock that gave it rest1       ,sweet   
,ellen glided from her stay1       ,and 
at the monarch's feet she lay4  ,examine
 the context of this last passage1 and  
its beauty is quite beyond praise2 but  
note the northern love of rocks in the  
very first words ,i have to quote from  
,scott1 ,the rocks that gave it rest4   
,dante could not have thought of his cut
 rocks as giving rest even to snow4 ,he 
must put it on the pine branches1 if it 
is to be at peace4  ,sec4 #bj4 ,there is
 only one more point to be noticed in   
the ,dantesque landscape2 namely1 the   
feeling entertained by the poet towards 
the sky4 ,and the love of mountains is  
so closely connected with the love of   
clouds1 the sublimity of both depending 
much on their association1 that having  
found ,dante regardless of the ,carrara 
mountains as seen from ,san ,miniato1 we
 may well expect to find him equally    
regardless of the clouds in which the   

sun sank behind them4 ,accordingly1 we  
find that his only pleasure in the sky  
depends on its white clearness1--that   
turning into bianca aspette di celestro 
which is so peculiarly characteristic of
 fine days in ,italy4 ,his pieces of    
pure pale light are always exquisite4   
,in the dawn on the purgatorial         
mountain1 first1 in its pale white1 he  
sees the tremola della marina--trembling
 of the sea2 then it becomes vermilion2 
and at last1 near sunrise1 orange4      
,these are precisely the changes of a   
calm and perfect dawn4 ,the scenery of  
,paradise begins with ,day added to day1
 the light of the sun so flooding the   
heavens1 that never rain nor river made 
lake so wide2 and throughout the        
,paradise all the beauty depends on     
spheres of light1 or stars1 never on    
clouds4 ,but the pit of the ,inferno is 
at first sight obscure1 deep1 and so    
cloudy that at its bottom nothing could 
be seen4 ,when ,dante and ,virgil reach 
the marsh in which the souls of those   

who have been angry and sad in their    
lives are for ever plunged1 they find it
 covered with thick fog2 and the        
condemned souls say to them1--          
,we once were sad1       ,in the sweet  
air1 made gladsome by the sun4          
,now in these murky settlings are we    
sad4  ,even the angel crossing the marsh
 to help them is annoyed by this bitter 
marsh smoke1 fummo acerbo1 and          
continually sweeps it with his hand from
 before his face4  ,anger1 on the       
purgatorial mountain1 is in like manner 
imaged1 because of its blindness and    
wildness1 by the ,alpine clouds4 ,as    
they emerge from its mist they see the  
white light radiated through the fading 
folds of it2 and1 except this appointed 
cloud1 no other can touch the mountain  
of purification4                ,tempest
 none1 shower1 hail1 or snow1           
,hoar-frost1 or dewy moistness1 higher  
falls1       ,than that brief scale of  
threefold steps4 ,thick clouds1         
,nor scudding rack1 are ever seen1 swift

 glance       ,ne'er lightens1 nor      
,thaumantian iris gleams4  ,dwell for a 
little while on this intense love of    
,dante for light1--taught1 as he is at  
last by ,beatrice1 to gaze on the sun   
itself like an eagle1--and endeavor to  
enter into his equally intense          
detestation of all mist1 rack of cloud1 
or dimness of rain2 and then consider   
with what kind of temper he would have  
regarded a landscape of ,copley         
,fielding's or passed a day in the      
,highlands4 ,he has1 in fact1 assigned  
to the souls of the gluttonous no other 
punishment in the ,inferno than         
perpetuity of ,highland weather3        
,showers       ,ceaseless1 accursed1    
heavy and cold1 unchanged       ,for    
ever1 both in kind and in degree1--     
,large hail1 discolored water1 sleety   
flaw1       ,through the dim midnight   
air streamed down amain4  ,sec4 #ba4    
,however1 in this immitigable dislike of
 clouds1 ,dante goes somewhat beyond the
 general temper of his age4 ,for        

although the calm sky was alone loved1  
and storm and rain were dreaded by all  
men1 yet the white horizontal clouds of 
serene summer were regarded with great  
affection by all early painters1 and    
considered as one of the accompaniments 
of the manifestation of spiritual power2
 sometimes1 for theological reasons     
which we shall soon have to examine1    
being received1 even without any other  
sign1 as the types of blessing or       
,divine acceptance3 and in almost every 
representation of the heavenly paradise1
 these level clouds are set by the early
 painters for its floor1 or for thrones 
of its angels2 whereas ,dante retains   
steadily1 through circle after circle1  
his cloudless thought1 and concludes his
 painting of heaven1 as he began it upon
 the purgatorial mountain1 with the     
image of shadowless morning3        ,i  
raised my eyes1 and as at morn is seen  
,the horizon's eastern quarter to excel1
       ,so likewise1 that pacific       
,oriflamb       ,glowed in the midmost1 

and toward every part1       ,with like 
gradation paled away its flame4  ,but   
the best way of regarding this feeling  
of ,dante's is as the ultimate and most 
intense expression of the love of light1
 color1 and clearness1 which1 as we saw 
above1 distinguished the mediaeval from 
the ,greek on one side1 and1 as we shall
 presently see1 distinguished him from  
the modern on the other4 ,for it is     
evident that precisely in the degree in 
which the ,greek was agriculturally     
inclined1 in that degree the sight of   
clouds would become to him more         
acceptable than to the mediaeval knight1
 who only looked for the fine afternoons
 in which he might gather the flowers in
 his garden1 and in no wise shared or   
imagined the previous anxieties of his  
gardener4 ,thus1 when we find ,ulysses  
comforted about ,ithaca1 by being told  
it had plenty of rain1 and the maids of 
,colonos boasting of their country for  
the same reason1 we may be sure that    
they had some regard for clouds2 and    

accordingly1 except ,aristophanes1 of   
whom more presently1 all the ,greek     
poets speak fondly of the clouds1 and   
consider them the fitting resting-places
 of the gods2 including in their idea of
 clouds not merely the thin clear       
cirrus1 but the rolling and changing    
volume of the thundercloud2 nor even    
these only1 but also the dusty whirlwind
 cloud of the earth1 as in that noble   
chapter of ,herodotus which tells us of 
the cloud1 full of mystic voices1 that  
rose out of the dust of ,eleusis1 and   
went down to ,salamis4 ,clouds and rain 
were of course regarded with a like     
gratitude by the eastern and southern   
nations--,jews and ,egyptians2 and it is
 only among the northern mediaevals1    
with whom fine weather was rarely so    
prolonged as to occasion painful        
drought1 or dangerous famine1 and over  
whom the clouds broke coldly and        
fiercely when they came1 that the love  
of serene light assumes its intense     
character1 and the fear of tempest is   

gloomiest2 so that the powers of the    
clouds which to the ,greek foretold his 
conquest at ,salamis1 and with whom he  
fought in alliance1 side by side with   
their lightnings1 under the crest of    
,parnassus1 seemed1 in the heart of the 
,middle ,ages1 to be only under the     
dominion of the spirit of evil4 ,i have 
reserved1 for our last example of the   
landscape of ,dante1 the passage in     
which this conviction is expressed2 a   
passage not less notable for its close  
description of what the writer feared   
and disliked1 than for the ineffable    
tenderness1 in which ,dante is always   
raised as much above all other poets1 as
 in softness the rose above all other   
flowers4 ,it is the spirit of ,buonconte
 da ,montefeltro who speaks3            
,then said another3 ',ah1 so may thy    
wish1       ,that takes thee o'er the   
mountain1 be fulfilled1       ,as thou  
shalt graciously give aid to mine6      
,of ,montefeltro ,i2 ,buonconte ,i3     
,giovanna1 nor none else1 have care for 

me2       ,sorrowing with these ,i      
therefore go4' ,i thus3       ,from     
,campaldino's field what force or chance
       ,drew thee1 that ne'er thy       
sepulchre was known8'       ',oh6'      
answered he1 'at ,casentino's foot      
,a stream there courseth1 named         
,archiano1 sprung       ,in ,apennine1  
above the hermit's seat4       ,e'en    
where its name is cancelled1 there came 
,i1       ,pierced in the throat1       
fleeing away on foot1       ,and        
bloodying the plain4 ,here sight and    
speech       failed me2 and finishing   
with ,mary's name1       ,i fell1 and   
tenantless my flesh remained4           
444       ,that evil will1 which in his 
intellect       ,still follows evil1    
came2                            444 the
 valley1 soon       ,as day was spent1  
he covered o'er with cloud4       ,from 
,pratomagno to the mountain range1      
,and stretched the sky above2 so that   
the air1       ,impregnate1 changed to  
water4 ,fell the rain2       ,and to the

 fosses came all that the land          
,contained not2 and as mightiest streams
 are wont4       ,to the great river1   
with such headlong sweep1       ,rushed1
 that nought stayed its course4 ,my     
stiffened frame1       ,laid at his     
mouth1 the fell ,archiano found1        
,and dashed it into ,arno2 from my      
breast       ,loosening the cross1 that 
of myself ,i made       ,when overcome  
with pain4 ,he hurled me on1            
,along the banks and bottom of his      
course2       ,then in his muddy spoils 
encircling wrapt4'  ,observe1           
,buonconte1 as he dies1 crosses his arms
 over his breast1 pressing them         
together1 partly in his pain1 partly in 
prayer4 ,his body thus lies by the river
 shore1 as on a sepulchral monument1 the
 arms folded into a cross4 ,the rage of 
the river1 under the influence of the   
evil demon1 unlooses this cross1 dashing
 the body supinely away1 and rolling it 
over and over by bank and bottom4       
,nothing can be truer to the action of a

 stream in fury than these lines4 ,and  
how desolate is it all6 ,the lonely     
flight1--the grisly wound1 pierced in   
the throat1--the death1 without help or 
pity1--only the name of ,mary on the    
lips1-and the cross folded over the     
heart4 ,then the rage of the demon and  
the river1--the noteless grave1--and1 at
 last1 even she who had been most       
trusted forgetting him1--               
,giovanna1 none else have care for me4  
,there is1 ,i feel assured1 nothing else
 like it in all the range of poetry2 a  
faint and harsh echo of it1 only1 exists
 in one ,scottish ballad1 ,the ,twa     
,corbies4  ,here1 then1 ,i think1 we may
 close our inquiry into the nature of   
the mediaeval landscape2 not but that   
many details yet require to be worked   
out2 but these will be best observed by 
recurrence to them1 for comparison with 
similar details in modern               
landscape1--our principal purpose1 the  
getting at the governing tones and      
temper of conception1 being1 ,i believe1

 now sufficiently accomplished4 ,and ,i 
think that our subject may be best      
pursued by immediately turning from the 
mediaeval to the perfectly modern       
landscape2 for although ,i have much to 
say respecting the transitional state of
 mind exhibited in the sixteenth and    
seventeenth centuries1 ,i believe the   
transitions may be more easily explained
 after we have got clear sight of the   
extremes2 and that by getting perfect   
and separate hold of the three great    
phases of art1--,greek1 mediaeval1 and  
modern1--we shall be enabled to trace1  
with least chance of error1 those       
curious vacillations which brought us to
 the modern temper while vainly         
endeavoring to resuscitate the ,greek4  
,i propose1 therefore1 in the next      
chapter1 to examine the spirit of modern
 landscape1 as seen generally in modern 
painting1 and especially in the poetry  
of ,scott4    #gi ,it is an unpublished 
plate4 ,i know only two impressions of  
it4    #hj 7,cayley47 ,tutto di pietra1 

e di color ferrigno--,inf4 xviii4 #b4   
#ha ,maligne piagge grige4--,inf4 vii4  
#ajh4    #hb ,it is in these subtle     
purples that even the more              
elaborate passages of the earlier       
drawings are worked2 as1        for     
instance1 the ,highland streams1 spoken 
of in        ,pre-,raphaelitism4 ,also1 
,turner could1 by opposition1 get what  
color he liked out of a brown4 ,i have  
seen cases in which he        had made  
it stand for the purest rose light4     
#hc ,the references are in ,appendix ,i4
     ,,chapter ,,xvi4  ,,of ,,modern    
,,landscape4   ,sec4 #a4 ,we turn our   
eyes1 therefore1 as boldly and as       
quickly as may be1 from these serene    
fields and skies of mediaeval art1 to   
the most characteristic examples of     
modern landscape4 ,and1 ,i believe1 the 
first thing that will strike us1 or that
 ought to strike us1 is their           
cloudiness4  ,out of perfect light and  
motionless air1 we find ourselves on a  
sudden brought under sombre skies1 and  

into drifting wind2 and1 with fickle    
sunbeams flashing in our face1 or       
utterly drenched with sweep of rain1 we 
are reduced to track the changes of the 
shadows on the grass1 or watch the rents
 of twilight through angry cloud4 ,and  
we find that whereas all the pleasure of
 the mediaeval was in stability1        
definiteness1 and luminousness1 we are  
expected to rejoice in darkness1 and    
triumph in mutability2 to lay the       
foundation of happiness in things which 
momentarily change or fade2 and to      
expect the utmost satisfaction and      
instruction from what is impossible to  
arrest1 and difficult to comprehend4    
,sec4 #b4 ,we find1 however1 together   
with this general delight in breeze and 
darkness1 much attention to the real    
form of clouds1 and careful drawing of  
effects of mist3 so that the appearance 
of objects1 as seen through it1 becomes 
a subject of science with us3 and the   
faithful representation of that         
appearance is made of primal importance1

 under the name of aerial perspective4  
,the aspects of sunset and sunrise1 with
 all their attendant phenomena of cloud 
and mist1 are watchfully delineated2 and
 in ordinary daylight landscape1 the sky
 is considered of so much importance1   
that a principal mass of foliage1 or a  
whole foreground1 is unhesitatingly     
thrown into shade merely to bring out   
the form of a white cloud4 ,so that1 if 
a general and characteristic name were  
needed for modern landscape art1 none   
better could be invented than the       
service of clouds4  ,sec4 #c4 ,and this 
name would1 unfortunately1 be           
characteristic of our art in more ways  
than one4 ,in the last chapter1 ,i said 
that all the ,greeks spoke kindly about 
the clouds1 except ,aristophanes2 and   
he1 ,i am sorry to say 7since his report
 is so unfavorable71 is the only ,greek 
who had studied them attentively4 ,he   
tells us1 first1 that they are great    
goddesses to idle men2 then1 that they  
are mistresses of disputings1 and logic1

 and monstrosities1 and noisy           
chattering2 declares that whoso believes
 in their divinity must first disbelieve
 in ,jupiter1 and place supreme power in
 the hands of an unknown god ,whirlwind2
 and1 finally1 he displays their        
influence over the mind of one of their 
disciples1 in his sudden desire to speak
 ingeniously concerning smoke4  ,there  
is1 ,i fear1 an infinite truth in this  
,aristophanic judgment applied to our   
modern cloud-worship4 ,assuredly1 much  
of the love of mystery in our romances1 
our poetry1 our art1 and1 above all1 in 
our metaphysics1 must come under that   
definition so long ago given by the     
great ,greek1 speaking ingeniously      
concerning smoke4 ,and much of the      
instinct1 which1 partially developed in 
painting1 may be now seen throughout    
every mode of exertion of mind1--the    
easily encouraged doubt1 easily excited 
curiosity1 habitual agitation1 and      
delight in the changing and the         
marvellous1 as opposed to the old quiet 

serenity of social custom and religious 
faith1--is again deeply defined in those
 few words1 the dethroning of ,jupiter1 
the coronation of the whirlwind4  ,sec4 
#d4 ,nor of whirlwind merely1 but also  
of darkness or ignorance respecting all 
stable facts4 ,that darkening of the    
foreground to bring out the white cloud1
 is1 in one aspect of it1 a type of the 
subjection of all plain and positive    
fact1 to what is uncertain and          
unintelligible4 ,and as we examine      
farther into the matter1 we shall be    
struck by another great difference      
between the old and modern landscape1   
namely1 that in the old no one ever     
thought of drawing anything but as well 
as he could4 ,that might not be well1 as
 we have seen in the case of rocks2 but 
it was as well as he could1 and always  
distinctly4 ,leaf1 or stone1 or animal1 
or man1 it was equally drawn with care  
and clearness1 and its essential        
characters shown4 ,if it was an oak     
tree1 the acorns were drawn2 if a flint 

pebble1 its veins were drawn2 if an arm 
of the sea1 its fish were drawn2 if a   
group of figures1 their faces and       
dresses were drawn--to the very last    
subtlety of expression and end of thread
 that could be got into the space1 far  
off or near4 ,but now our ingenuity is  
all concerning smoke4 ,nothing is truly 
drawn but that2 all else is vague1      
slight1 imperfect2 got with as little   
pains as possible4 ,you examine your    
closest foreground1 and find no leaves2 
your largest oak1 and find no acorns2   
your human figure1 and find a spot of   
red paint instead of a face2 and in all 
this1 again and again1 the ,aristophanic
 words come true1 and the clouds seem to
 be great goddesses to idle men4  ,sec4 
#e4 ,the next thing that will strike us1
 after this love of clouds1 is the love 
of liberty4 ,whereas the mediaeval was  
always shutting himself into castles1   
and behind fosses1 and drawing brickwork
 neatly1 and beds of flowers primly1 our
 painters delight in getting to the open

 fields and moors2 abhor all hedges and 
moats2 never paint anything but         
free-growing trees1 and rivers gliding  
at their own sweet will2 eschew         
formality down to the smallest detail2  
break and displace the brickwork which  
the mediaeval would have carefully      
cemented2 leave unpruned the thickets he
 would have delicately trimmed2 and1    
carrying the love of liberty even to    
license1 and the love of wildness even  
to ruin1 take pleasure at last in every 
aspect of age and desolation which      
emancipates the objects of nature from  
the government of men2--on the castle   
wall displacing its tapestry with ivy1  
and spreading1 through the garden1 the  
bramble for the rose4  ,sec4 #f4        
,connected with this love of liberty we 
find a singular manifestation of love of
 mountains1 and see our painters        
traversing the wildest places of the    
globe in order to obtain subjects with  
craggy foregrounds and purple distances4
 ,some few of them remain content with  

pollards and flat land2 but these are   
always men of third-rate order2 and the 
leading masters1 while they do not      
reject the beauty of the low grounds1   
reserve their highest powers to paint   
,alpine peaks or ,italian promontories4 
,and it is eminently noticeable1 also1  
that this pleasure in the mountains is  
never mingled with fear1 or tempered by 
a spirit of meditation1 as with the     
mediaeval2 but it is always free and    
fearless1 brightly exhilarating1 and    
wholly unreflective2 so that the painter
 feels that his mountain foreground may 
be more consistently animated by a      
sportsman than a hermit2 and our modern 
society in general goes to the          
mountains1 not to fast1 but to feast1   
and leaves their glaciers covered with  
chicken-bones and egg-shells4  ,sec4 #g4
 ,connected with this want of any sense 
of solemnity in mountain scenery1 is a  
general profanity of temper in regarding
 all the rest of nature2 that is to say1
 a total absence of faith in the        

presence of any deity therein4 ,whereas 
the mediaeval never painted a cloud1 but
 with the purpose of placing an angel in
 it2 and a ,greek never entered a wood  
without expecting to meet a god in it2  
we should think the appearance of an    
angel in the cloud wholly unnatural1 and
 should be seriously surprised by       
meeting a god anywhere4 ,our chief ideas
 about the wood are connected with      
poaching4 ,we have no belief that the   
clouds contain more than so many inches 
of rain or hail1 and from our ponds and 
ditches expect nothing more divine than 
ducks and watercresses4  ,sec4 #h4      
,finally3 connected with this profanity 
of temper is a strong tendency to deny  
the sacred element of color1 and make   
our boast in blackness4 ,for though     
occasionally glaring1 or violent1 modern
 color is on the whole eminently sombre1
 tending continually to grey or brown1  
and by many of our best painters        
consistently falsified1 with a confessed
 pride in what they call chaste or      

subdued tints2 so that1 whereas a       
mediaeval paints his sky bright blue1   
and his foreground bright green1 gilds  
the towers of his castles1 and clothes  
his figures with purple and white1 we   
paint our sky grey1 our foreground      
black1 and our foliage brown1 and think 
that enough is sacrificed to the sun in 
admitting the dangerous brightness of a 
scarlet cloak or a blue jacket4  ,sec4  
#i4 ,these1 ,i believe1 are the         
principal points which would strike us  
instantly1 if we were to be brought     
suddenly into an exhibition of modern   
landscapes out of a room filled with    
mediaeval work4 ,it is evident that     
there are both evil and good in this    
change2 but how much evil1 or how much  
good1 we can only estimate by           
considering1 as in the former divisions 
of our inquiry1 what are the real roots 
of the habits of mind which have caused 
them4  ,sidenote3 ,distinctive          
characters of the modern mind3  ,and    
first1 it is evident that the title     

,dark ,ages1 given to the mediaeval     
centuries1 is1 respecting art1 wholly   
inapplicable4 ,they were1 on the        
contrary1 the bright ages2 ours are the 
dark ones4 ,i do not mean               
metaphysically1 but literally4 ,they    
were the ages of gold3 ours are the ages
 of umber4  ,sidenote3 #a4 ,despondency 
arising from faithlessness4  ,this is   
partly mere mistake in us2 we build     
brown brick walls1 and wear brown coats1
 because we have been blunderingly      
taught to do so1 and go on doing so     
mechanically4 ,there is1 however1 also  
some cause for the change in our own    
tempers4 ,on the whole1 these are much  
sadder ages than the early ones2 not    
sadder in a noble and deep way1 but in a
 dim1 wearied way1--the way of ennui1   
and jaded intellect1 and                
uncomfortableness of soul and body4 ,the
 ,middle ,ages had their wars and       
agonies1 but also intense delights4     
,their gold was dashed with blood2 but  
ours is sprinkled with dust4 ,their life

 was interwoven with white and purple2  
ours is one seamless stuff of brown4    
,not that we are without apparent       
festivity1 but festivity more or less   
forced1 mistaken1 embittered1           
incomplete--not of the heart4 ,how      
wonderfully1 since ,shakspere's time1   
have we lost the power of laughing at   
bad jests6 ,the very finish of our wit  
belies our gaiety4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,the     
profoundest reason of this darkness of  
heart is1 ,i believe1 our want of faith4
 ,there never yet was a generation of   
men 7savage or civilized7 who1 taken as 
a body1 so wofully fulfilled the words1 
having no hope1 and without ,god in the 
world1 as the present civilized         
,european race4 ,a ,red ,indian or      
,otaheitan savage has more sense of a   
,divine existence round him1 or         
government over him1 than the plurality 
of refined ,londoners and ,parisians2   
and those among us who may in some sense
 be said to believe1 are divided almost 
without exception into two broad        

classes1 ,romanist and ,puritan2 who1   
but for the interference of the         
unbelieving portions of society1 would1 
either of them1 reduce the other sect as
 speedily as possible to ashes2 the     
,romanist having always done so whenever
 he could1 from the beginning of their  
separation1 and the ,puritan at this    
time holding himself in complacent      
expectation of the destruction of ,rome 
by volcanic fire4 ,such division as this
 between persons nominally of one       
religion1 that is to say1 believing in  
the same ,god1 and the same ,revelation1
 cannot but become a stumbling-block of 
the gravest kind to all thoughtful and  
far-sighted men1--a stumbling-block     
which they can only surmount under the  
most favorable circumstances of early   
education4 ,hence1 nearly all our       
powerful men in this age of the world   
are unbelievers2 the best of them in    
doubt and misery2 the worst in reckless 
defiance2 the plurality in plodding     
hesitation1 doing1 as well as they can1 

what practical work lies ready to their 
hands4 ,most of our scientific men are  
in this last class2 our popular authors 
either set themselves definitely against
 all religious form1 pleading for simple
 truth and benevolence 7,thackeray1     
,dickens71 or give themselves up to     
bitter and fruitless statement of facts 
7,de ,balzac71 or surface-painting      
7,scott71 or careless blasphemy1 sad or 
smiling 7,byron1 ,beranger74 ,our       
earnest poets1 and deepest thinkers1 are
 doubtful and indignant 7,tennyson1     
,carlyle72 one or two1 anchored1 indeed1
 but anxious1 or weeping 7,wordsworth1  
,mrs4 ,browning72 and of these two1 the 
first is not so sure of his anchor1 but 
that now and then it drags with him1    
even to make him cry out1--             
,great ,god1 ,i had rather be       ,a  
,pagan suckled in some creed outworn3   
,so might ,i1 standing on this pleasant 
lea1       ,have glimpses that would    
make me less forlorn4  ,in politics1    
religion is now a name2 in art1 a       

hypocrisy or affectation4 ,over ,german 
religious pictures the inscription1 ,see
 how ,pious ,i am1 can be read at a     
glance by any clear-sighted person4     
,over ,french and ,english religious    
pictures1 the inscription1 ,see how     
,impious ,i am1 is equally legible4 ,all
 sincere and modest art is1 among us1   
profane4#hd  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #aa4 #b4  
,levity from the same cause4  ,this     
faithlessness operates among us         
according to our tempers1 producing     
either sadness or levity1 and being the 
ultimate root alike of our discontents  
and of our wantonnesses4 ,it is         
marvellous how full of contradiction it 
makes us2 we are first dull1 and seek   
for wild and lonely places because we   
have no heart for the garden2 presently 
we recover our spirits1 and build an    
assembly room among the mountains1      
because we have no reverence for the    
desert4 ,i do not know if there be game 
on ,sinai1 but ,i am always expecting to
 hear of some one's shooting over it4   

,sec4 #ab4 ,there is1 however1 another1 
and a more innocent root of our delight 
in wild scenery4  ,sidenote3 #c4        
,reactionary love of inanimate beauty4  
,all the ,renaissance principles of art 
tended1 as ,i have before often         
explained1 to the setting ,beauty above 
,truth1 and seeking for it always at the
 expense of truth4 ,and the proper      
punishment of such pursuit--the         
punishment which all the laws of the    
universe rendered inevitable--was1 that 
those who thus pursued beauty should    
wholly lose sight of beauty4 ,all the   
thinkers of the age1 as we saw          
previously1 declared that it did not    
exist4 ,the age seconded their efforts1 
and banished beauty1 so far as human    
effort could succeed in doing so1 from  
the face of the earth1 and the form of  
man4 ,to powder the hair1 to patch the  
cheek1 to hoop the body1 to buckle the  
foot1 were all part and parcel of the   
same system which reduced streets to    
brick walls1 and pictures to brown      

stains4 ,one desert of ,ugliness was    
extended before the eyes of mankind2 and
 their pursuit of the beautiful1 so     
recklessly continued1 received          
unexpected consummation in high-heeled  
shoes and periwigs1--,gower ,street1 and
 ,gaspar ,poussin4  ,sec4 #ac4 ,reaction
 from this state was inevitable1 if any 
true life was left in the races of      
mankind2 and1 accordingly1 though still 
forced1 by rule and fashion1 to the     
producing and wearing all that is ugly1 
men steal out1 half-ashamed of          
themselves for doing so1 to the fields  
and mountains2 and1 finding among these 
the color1 and liberty1 and variety1 and
 power1 which are for ever grateful to  
them1 delight in these to an extent     
never before known2 rejoice in all the  
wildest shattering of the mountain side1
 as an opposition to ,gower ,street2    
gaze in a rapt manner at sunsets and    
sunrises1 to see there the blue1 and    
gold1 and purple1 which glow for them no
 longer on knight's armor or temple     

porch2 and gather with care out of the  
fields1 into their blotted herbaria1 the
 flowers which the five orders of       
architecture have banished from their   
doors and casements4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4  
#ad4 #d4 ,disdain of beauty in man4     
,the absence of care for personal       
beauty1 which is another great          
characteristic of the age1 adds to this 
feeling in a twofold way3 first1 by     
turning all reverent thoughts away from 
human nature2 and making us think of men
 as ridiculous or ugly creatures1       
getting through the world as well as    
they can1 and spoiling it in doing so2  
not ruling it in a kingly way and       
crowning all its loveliness4 ,in the    
,middle ,ages hardly anything but vice  
could be caricatured1 because virtue was
 always visibly and personally noble2   
now virtue itself is apt to inhabit such
 poor human bodies1 that no aspect of it
 is invulnerable to jest2 and for all   
fairness we have to seek to the flowers1
 for all sublimity1 to the hills4  ,the 

same want of care operates1 in another  
way1 by lowering the standard of health1
 increasing the susceptibility to       
nervous or sentimental impressions1 and 
thus adding to the other powers of      
nature over us whatever charm may be    
felt in her fostering the melancholy    
fancies of brooding idleness4           
,sidenote3 ,sec4 #ae4 #e4 ,romantic     
imagination of the past4  ,it is not1   
however1 only to existing inanimate     
nature that our want of beauty in person
 and dress has driven us4 ,the          
imagination of it1 as it was seen in our
 ancestors1 haunts us continually2 and  
while we yield to the present fashions1 
or act in accordance with the dullest   
modern principles of economy and        
utility1 we look fondly back to the     
manners of the ages of chivalry1 and    
delight in painting1 to the fancy1 the  
fashions we pretend to despise1 and the 
splendors we think it wise to abandon4  
,the furniture and personages of our    
romance are sought1 when the writer     

desires to please most easily1 in the   
centuries which we profess to have      
surpassed in everything2 the art which  
takes us into the present times is      
considered as both daring and degraded2 
and while the weakest words please us1  
and are regarded as poetry1 which recall
 the manners of our forefathers1 or of  
strangers1 it is only as familiar and   
vulgar that we accept the description of
 our own4  ,in this we are wholly       
different from all the races that       
preceded us4 ,all other nations have    
regarded their ancestors with reverence 
as saints or heroes2 but have           
nevertheless thought their own deeds and
 ways of life the fitting subjects for  
their arts of painting or of verse4 ,we1
 on the contrary1 regard our ancestors  
as foolish and wicked1 but yet find our 
chief artistic pleasures in descriptions
 of their ways of life4  ,the ,greeks   
and mediaevals honored1 but did not     
imitate1 their forefathers2 we imitate1 
but do not honor4  ,sidenote3 ,sec4 #af4

 #f4 ,interest in science4  ,sidenote3  
#g4 ,fear of war4  ,with this romantic  
love of beauty1 forced to seek in       
history1 and in external nature1 the    
satisfaction it cannot find in ordinary 
life1 we mingle a more rational passion1
 the due and just result of newly       
awakened powers of attention4 ,whatever 
may first lead us to the scrutiny of    
natural objects1 that scrutiny never    
fails of its reward4 ,unquestionably    
they are intended to be regarded by us  
with both reverence and delight2 and    
every hour we give to them renders their
 beauty more apparent1 and their        
interest more engrossing4 ,natural      
science--which can hardly be considered 
to have existed before modern           
times--rendering our knowledge fruitful 
in accumulation and exquisite in        
accuracy1 has acted for good or evil1   
according to the temper of the mind     
which received it2 and though it has    
hardened the faithlessness of the dull  
and proud1 has shown new grounds for    

reverence to hearts which were          
thoughtful and humble4 ,the neglect of  
the art of war1 while it has somewhat   
weakened and deformed the body1#he has  
given us leisure and opportunity for    
studies to which1 before1 time and space
 were equally wanting2 lives which once 
were early wasted on the battle field   
are now passed usefully in the study2   
nations which exhausted themselves in   
annual warfare now dispute with each    
other the discovery of new planets2 and 
the serene philosopher dissects the     
plants1 and analyzes the dust1 of lands 
which were of old only traversed by the 
knight in hasty march1 or by the        
borderer in heedless rapine4  ,sec4 #ag4
 ,the elements of progress and decline  
being thus strangely mingled in the     
modern mind1 we might beforehand        
anticipate that one of the notable      
characters of our art would be its      
inconsistency2 that efforts would be    
made in every direction1 and arrested by
 every conceivable cause and manner of  

failure2 that in all we did1 it would   
become next to impossible to distinguish
 accurately the grounds for praise or   
for regret2 that all previous canons of 
practice and methods of thought would be
 gradually overthrown1 and criticism    
continually defied by successes which no
 one had expected1 and sentiments which 
no one could define4  ,sec4 #ah4        
,accordingly1 while1 in our inquiries   
into ,greek and mediaeval art1 ,i was   
able to describe1 in general terms1 what
 all men did or felt1 ,i find now many  
characters in many men2 some1 it seems  
to me1 founded on the inferior and      
evanescent principles of modernism1 on  
its recklessness1 impatience1 or        
faithlessness2 others founded on its    
science1 its new affection for nature1  
its love of openness and liberty4 ,and  
among all these characters1 good or     
evil1 ,i see that some1 remaining to us 
from old or transitional periods1 do not
 properly belong to us1 and will soon   
fade away2 and others1 though not yet   

distinctly developed1 are yet properly  
our own1 and likely to grow forward into
 greater strength4  ,for instance3 our  
reprobation of bright color is1 ,i      
think1 for the most part1 mere          
affectation1 and must soon be done away 
with4 ,vulgarity1 dulness1 or impiety1  
will indeed always express themselves   
through art in brown and grey1 as in    
,rembrandt1 ,caravaggio1 and ,salvator2 
but we are not wholly vulgar1 dull1 or  
impious2 nor1 as moderns1 are we        
necessarily obliged to continue so in   
any wise4 ,our greatest men1 whether sad
 or gay1 still delight1 like the great  
men of all ages1 in brilliant hues4 ,the
 coloring of ,scott and ,byron is full  
and pure2 that of ,keats and ,tennyson  
rich even to excess4 ,our practical     
failures in coloring are merely the     
necessary consequences of our prolonged 
want of practice during the periods of  
,renaissance affectation and ignorance2 
and the only durable difference between 
old and modern coloring1 is the         

acceptance of certain hues1 by the      
modern1 which please him by expressing  
that melancholy peculiar to his more    
reflective or sentimental character1 and
 the greater variety of them necessary  
to express his greater science4  ,sec4  
#ai4 ,again3 if we ever become wise     
enough to dress consistently and        
gracefully1 to make health a principal  
object in education1 and to render our  
streets beautiful with art1 the external
 charm of past history will in great    
measure disappear4 ,there is no         
essential reason1 because we live after 
the fatal seventeenth century1 that we  
should never again be able to confess   
interest in sculpture1 or see brightness
 in embroidery2 nor1 because now we     
choose to make the night deadly with our
 pleasures1 and the day with our labors1
 prolonging the dance till dawn1 and the
 toil to twilight1 that we should never 
again learn how rightly to employ the   
sacred trusts of strength1 beauty1 and  
time4 ,whatever external charm attaches 

itself to the past1 would then be seen  
in proper subordination to the          
brightness of present life2 and the     
elements of romance would exist1 in the 
earlier ages1 only in the attraction    
which must generally belong to whatever 
is unfamiliar2 in the reverence which a 
noble nation always pays to its         
ancestors2 and in the enchanted light   
which races1 like individuals1 must     
perceive in looking back to the days of 
their childhood4  ,sec4 #bj4 ,again3 the
 peculiar levity with which natural     
scenery is regarded by a large number of
 modern minds cannot be considered as   
entirely characteristic of the age1     
inasmuch as it never can belong to its  
greatest intellects4 ,men of any high   
mental power must be serious1 whether in
 ancient or modern days3 a certain      
degree of reverence for fair scenery is 
found in all our great writers without  
exception1--even the one who has made us
 laugh oftenest1 taking us to the valley
 of ,chamouni1 and to the sea beach1    

there to give peace after suffering1 and
 change revenge into pity4#hf ,it is    
only the dull1 the uneducated1 or the   
worldly1 whom it is painful to meet on  
the hill sides2 and levity1 as a ruling 
character1 cannot be ascribed to the    
whole nation1 but only to its           
holiday-making apprentices1 and its     
,house of ,commons4  ,sec4 #ba4 ,we need
 not1 therefore1 expect to find any     
single poet or painter representing the 
entire group of powers1 weaknesses1 and 
inconsistent instincts which govern or  
confuse our modern life4 ,but we may    
expect that in the man who seems to be  
given by ,providence as the type of the 
age 7as ,homer and ,dante were given1 as
 the types of classical and mediaeval   
mind71 we shall find whatever is        
fruitful and substantial to be          
completely present1 together with those 
of our weaknesses1 which are indeed     
nationally characteristic1 and          
compatible with general greatness of    
mind2 just as the weak love of fences1  

and dislike of mountains1 were found    
compatible with ,dante's greatness in   
other respects4  ,sec4 #bb4 ,farther3 as
 the admiration of mankind is found1 in 
our times1 to have in great part passed 
from men to mountains1 and from human   
emotion to natural phenomena1 we may    
anticipate that the great strength of   
art will also be warped in this         
direction2 with this notable result for 
us1 that whereas the greatest painters  
or painter of classical and mediaeval   
periods1 being wholly devoted to the    
representation of humanity1 furnished us
 with but little to examine in          
landscape1 the greatest painters or     
painter of modern times will in all     
probability be devoted to landscape     
principally2 and farther1 because in    
representing human emotion words surpass
 painting1 but in representing natural  
scenery painting surpasses words1 we may
 anticipate also that the painter and   
poet 7for convenience' sake ,i here use 
the words in opposition7 will somewhat  

change their relations of rank in       
illustrating the mind of the age2 that  
the painter will become of more         
importance1 the poet of less2 and that  
the relations between the men who are   
the types and firstfruits of the age in 
word and work1--namely1 ,scott and      
,turner1--will be1 in many curious      
respects1 different from those between  
,homer and ,phidias1 or ,dante and      
,giotto4  ,it is this relation which we 
have now to examine4  ,sec4 #bc4 ,and1  
first1 ,i think it probable that many   
readers may be surprised at my calling  
,scott the great representative of the  
mind of the age in literature4 ,those   
who can perceive the intense penetrative
 depth of ,wordsworth1 and the exquisite
 finish and melodious power of          
,tennyson1 may be offended at my placing
 in higher rank that poetry of careless 
glance1 and reckless rhyme1 in which    
,scott poured out the fancies of his    
youth2 and those who are familiar with  
the subtle analysis of the ,french      

novelists1 or who have in any wise      
submitted themselves to the influence of
 ,german philosophy1 may be equally     
indignant at my ascribing a principality
 to ,scott among the literary men of    
,europe1 in an age which has produced   
,de ,balzac and ,goethe4  ,so also in   
painting1 those who are acquainted with 
the sentimental efforts made at present 
by the ,german religious and historical 
schools1 and with the disciplined power 
and learning of the ,french1 will think 
it beyond all explanation absurd to call
 a painter of light water-color         
landscapes1 eighteen inches by twelve1  
the first representative of the arts of 
the age4 ,i can only crave the reader's 
patience1 and his due consideration of  
the following reasons for my doing so1  
together with those advanced in the     
farther course of the work4  ,sec4 #bd4 
,i believe the first test of a truly    
great man is his humility4 ,i do not    
mean1 by humility1 doubt of his own     
power1 or hesitation in speaking of his 

opinions2 but a right understanding of  
the relation between what he can do and 
say1 and the rest of the world's sayings
 and doings4 ,all great men not only    
know their business1 but usually know   
that they know it2 and are not only     
right in their main opinions1 but they  
usually know that they are right in     
them2 only1 they do not think much of   
themselves on that account4 ,arnolfo    
knows he can build a good dome at       
,florence2 ,albert ,durer writes calmly 
to one who had found fault with his     
work1 ,it cannot be better done2 ,sir   
,isaac ,newton knows that he has worked 
out a problem or two that would have    
puzzled anybody else2--only they do not 
expect their fellow-men therefore to    
fall down and worship them2 they have a 
curious under-sense of powerlessness1   
feeling that the greatness is not in    
them1 but through them2 that they could 
not do or be anything else than         
,god-made them4 ,and they see something 
divine and ,god-made in every other man 

they meet1 and are endlessly1 foolishly1
 incredibly merciful4  ,sec4 #be4 ,now1 
,i find among the men of the present    
age1 as far as ,i know them1 this       
character in ,scott and ,turner         
preeminently2 ,i am not sure if it is   
not in them alone4 ,i do not find ,scott
 talking about the dignity of           
literature1 nor ,turner about the       
dignity of painting4 ,they do their     
work1 feeling that they cannot well help
 it2 the story must be told1 and the    
effect put down2 and if people like it1 
well and good2 and if not1 the world    
will not be much the worse4  ,i believe 
a very different impression of their    
estimate of themselves and their doings 
will be received by any one who reads   
the conversations of ,wordsworth or     
,goethe4 ,the slightest manifestation of
 jealousy or self-complacency is enough 
to mark a second-rate character of the  
intellect2 and ,i fear that especially  
in ,goethe1 such manifestations are     
neither few nor slight4  ,sec4 #bf4     

,connected with this general humility is
 the total absence of affectation in    
these men1--that is to say1 of any      
assumption of manner or behavior in     
their work1 in order to attract         
attention4 ,not but that they are       
mannerists both4 ,scott's verse is      
strongly mannered1 and ,turner's oil    
painting2 but the manner of it is       
necessitated by the feelings of the men1
 entirely natural to both1 never        
exaggerated for the sake of show4 ,i    
hardly know any other literary or       
pictorial work of the day which is not  
in some degree affected4 ,i am afraid   
,wordsworth was often affected in his   
simplicity1 and ,de ,balzac in his      
finish4 ,many fine ,french writers are  
affected in their reserve1 and full of  
stage tricks in placing of sentences4   
,it is lucky if in ,german writers we   
ever find so much as a sentence without 
affectation4 ,i know no painters without
 it1 except one or two ,pre-,raphaelites
 7chiefly ,holman ,hunt71 and some      

simple water-color painters1 as ,william
 ,hunt1 ,william ,turner of ,oxford1 and
 the late ,george ,robson2 but these    
last have no invention1 and therefore by
 our fourth canon1 ,chap4 ,,iii4 sec4   
#ba41 are excluded from the first rank  
of artists2 and of the ,pre-,raphaelites
 there is here no question1 as they in  
no wise represent the modern school4    
,sec4 #bg4 ,again3 another very         
important1 though not infallible1 test  
of greatness is1 as we have often said1 
the appearance of ,ease with which the  
thing is done4 ,it may be that1 as with 
,dante and ,leonardo1 the finish given  
to the work effaces the evidence of     
ease2 but where the ease is manifest1 as
 in ,scott1 ,turner1 and ,tintoret2 and 
the thing done is very noble1 it is a   
strong reason for placing the men above 
those who confessedly work with great   
pains4 ,scott writing his chapter or two
 before breakfast--not retouching1      
,turner finishing a whole drawing in a  
forenoon before he goes out to shoot    

7providing always the chapter and       
drawing be good71 are instantly to be   
set above men who confessedly have spent
 the day over the work1 and think the   
hours well spent if it has been a little
 mended between sunrise and sunset4     
,indeed1 it is no use for men to think  
to appear great by working fast1        
dashing1 and scrawling2 the thing they  
do must be good and great1 cost what    
time it may2 but if it be so1 and they  
have honestly and unaffectedly done it  
with no effort1 it is probably a greater
 and better thing than the result of the
 hardest efforts of others4  ,sec4 #bh4 
,then1 as touching the kind of work done
 by these two men1 the more ,i think of 
it ,i find this conclusion more         
impressed upon me1--that the greatest   
thing a human soul ever does in this    
world is to see something1 and tell what
 it saw in a plain way4 ,hundreds of    
people can talk for one who can think1  
but thousands can think for one who can 
see4 ,to see clearly is poetry1         

prophecy1 and religion1--all in one4    
,therefore1 finding the world of        
,literature more or less divided into   
,thinkers and ,seers1 ,i believe we     
shall find also that the ,seers are     
wholly the greater race of the two4 ,a  
true ,thinker1 who has practical purpose
 in his thinking1 and is sincere1 as    
,plato1 or ,carlyle1 or ,helps1 becomes 
in some sort a seer1 and must be always 
of infinite use in his generation2 but  
an affected ,thinker1 who supposes his  
thinking of any other importance than as
 it tends to work1 is about the vainest 
kind of person that can be found in the 
occupied classes4 ,nay1 ,i believe that 
metaphysicians and philosophers are1 on 
the whole1 the greatest troubles the    
world has got to deal with2 and that    
while a tyrant or bad man is of some use
 in teaching people submission or       
indignation1 and a thoroughly idle man  
is only harmful in setting an idle      
example1 and communicating to other lazy
 people his own lazy misunderstandings1 

busy metaphysicians are always          
entangling good and active people1 and  
weaving cobwebs among the finest wheels 
of the world's business2 and are as much
 as possible1 by all prudent persons1 to
 be brushed out of their way1 like      
spiders1 and the meshed weed that has   
got into the ,cambridgeshire canals1 and
 other such impediments to barges and   
business4 ,and if we thus clear the     
metaphysical element out of modern      
literature1 we shall find its bulk      
amazingly diminished1 and the claims of 
the remaining writers1 or of those whom 
we have thinned by this abstraction of  
their straw stuffing1 much more easily  
adjusted4#hg  ,sec4 #bi4 ,again3 the    
mass of sentimental literature1         
concerned with the analysis and         
description of emotion1 headed by the   
poetry of ,byron1 is altogether of lower
 rank than the literature which merely  
describes what it saw4 ,the true ,seer  
always feels as intensely as any one    
else2 but he does not much describe his 

feelings4 ,he tells you whom he met1 and
 what they said2 leaves you to make out1
 from that1 what they feel1 and what he 
feels1 but goes into little detail4     
,and1 generally speaking1 pathetic      
writing and careful explanation of      
passion are quite easy1 compared with   
this plain recording of what people said
 or did1 or with the right invention of 
what they are likely to say and do2 for 
this reason1 that to invent a story1 or 
admirably and thoroughly tell any part  
of a story1 it is necessary to grasp the
 entire mind of every personage         
concerned in it1 and know precisely how 
they would be affected by what happens2 
which to do requires a colossal         
intellect2 but to describe a separate   
emotion delicately1 it is only needed   
that one should feel it oneself2 and    
thousands of people are capable of      
feeling this or that noble emotion1 for 
one who is able to enter into all the   
feelings of somebody sitting on the     
other side of the table4 ,even1         

therefore1 when this sentimental        
literature is first rate1 as in passages
 of ,byron1 ,tennyson1 and ,keats1 it   
ought not to be ranked so high as the   
,creative2 and though perfection1 even  
in narrow fields1 is perhaps as rare as 
in the wider1 and it may be as long     
before we have another ,in ,memoriam as 
another ,guy ,mannering1 ,i             
unhesitatingly receive as a greater     
manifestation of power the right        
invention of a few sentences spoken by  
,pleydell and ,mannering across their   
supper-table1 than the most tender and  
passionate melodies of the              
self-examining verse4  ,sec4 #cj4       
,having1 therefore1 cast metaphysical   
writers out of our way1 and sentimental 
writers into the second rank1 ,i do not 
think ,scott's supremacy among those who
 remain will any more be doubtful2 nor  
would it1 perhaps1 have been doubtful   
before1 had it not been encumbered by   
innumerable faults and weaknesses4 ,but 
it is preeminently in these faults and  

weaknesses that ,scott is representative
 of the mind of his age3 and because he 
is the greatest man born amongst us1 and
 intended for the enduring type of us1  
all our principal faults must be laid on
 his shoulders1 and he must bear down   
the dark marks to the latest ages2 while
 the smaller men1 who have some special 
work to do1 perhaps not so much         
belonging to this age as leading out of 
it to the next1 are often kept          
providentially quit of the encumbrances 
which they had not strength to sustain1 
and are much smoother and pleasanter to 
look at1 in their way2 only that is a   
smaller way4  ,sec4 #ca4 ,thus1 the most
 startling fault of the age being its   
faithlessness1 it is necessary that its 
greatest man should be faithless4       
,nothing is more notable or sorrowful in
 ,scott's mind than its incapacity of   
steady belief in anything4 ,he cannot   
even resolve hardily to believe in a    
ghost1 or a water-spirit2 always        
explains them away in an apologetic     

manner1 not believing1 all the while1   
even his own explanation4 ,he never can 
clearly ascertain whether there is      
anything behind the arras but rats2     
never draws sword1 and thrusts at it for
 life or death2 but goes on looking at  
it timidly1 and saying1 it must be the  
wind4 ,he is educated a ,presbyterian1  
and remains one1 because it is the most 
sensible thing he can do if he is to    
live in ,edinburgh2 but he thinks       
,romanism more picturesque1 and         
profaneness more gentlemanly3 does not  
see that anything affects human life but
 love1 courage1 and destiny2 which are1 
indeed1 not matters of faith at all1 but
 of sight4 ,any gods but those are very 
misty in outline to him2 and when the   
love is laid ghastly in poor            
,charlotte's coffin2 and the courage is 
no more of use1--the pen having fallen  
from between the fingers2 and destiny is
 sealing the scroll1--the ,god-light is 
dim in the tears that fall on it4  ,he  
is in all this the epitome of his epoch4

  ,sec4 #cb4 ,again3 as another notable 
weakness of the age is its habit of     
looking back1 in a romantic and         
passionate idleness1 to the past ages1  
not understanding them all the while1   
nor really desiring to understand them1 
so ,scott gives up nearly the half of   
his intellectual power to a fond1 yet   
purposeless1 dreaming over the past1 and
 spends half his literary labors in     
endeavors to revive it1 not in reality1 
but on the stage of fiction2 endeavors  
which were the best of the kind that    
modernism made1 but still successful    
only so far as ,scott put1 under the old
 armor1 the everlasting human nature    
which he knew2 and totally unsuccessful1
 so far as concerned the painting of the
 armor itself1 which he knew not4 ,the  
excellence of ,scott's work is precisely
 in proportion to the degree in which it
 is sketched from present nature4 ,his  
familiar life is inimitable2 his quiet  
scenes of introductory conversation1 as 
the beginning of ,rob ,roy and          

,redgauntlet1 and all his living ,scotch
 characters1 mean or noble1 from ,andrew
 ,fairservice to ,jeanie ,deans1 are    
simply right1 and can never be bettered4
 ,but his romance and antiquarianism1   
his knighthood and monkery1 are all     
false1 and he knows them to be false2   
does not care to make them earnest2     
enjoys them for their strangeness1 but  
laughs at his own antiquarianism1 all   
through his own third novel1--with      
exquisite modesty indeed1 but with total
 misunderstanding of the function of an 
,antiquary4 ,he does not see how        
anything is to be got out of the past   
but confusion1 old iron on drawingroom  
chairs1 and serious inconvenience to    
,dr4 ,heavysterne4  ,sec4 #cc4 ,again3  
more than any age that had preceded it1 
ours had been ignorant of the meaning of
 the word ,art4 ,it had not a single    
fixed principle1 and what unfixed       
principles it worked upon were all      
wrong4 ,it was necessary that ,scott    
should know nothing of art4 ,he neither 

cared for painting nor sculpture1 and   
was totally incapable of forming a      
judgment about them4 ,he had some       
confused love of ,gothic architecture1  
because it was dark1 picturesque1 old1  
and like nature2 but could not tell the 
worst from the best1 and built for      
himself perhaps the most incongruous and
 ugly pile that gentlemanly modernism   
ever designed2 marking1 in the most     
curious and subtle way1 that mingling of
 reverence with irreverence which is so 
striking in the age2 he reverences      
,melrose1 yet casts one of its piscinas1
 puts a modern steel grate into it1 and 
makes it his fireplace4 ,like all pure  
moderns1 he supposes the ,gothic        
barbarous1 notwithstanding his love of  
it2 admires1 in an equally ignorant way1
 totally opposite styles2 is delighted  
with the new town of ,edinburgh2        
mistakes its dulness for purity of      
taste1 and actually compares it1 in its 
deathful formality of street1 as        
contrasted with the rudeness of the old 

town1 to ,britomart taking off her      
armor4  ,sec4 #cd4 ,again3 as in        
reverence and irreverence1 so in levity 
and melancholy1 we saw that the spirit  
of the age was strangely interwoven4    
,therefore1 also1 it is necessary that  
,scott should be light1 careless1       
unearnest1 and yet eminently sorrowful4 
,throughout all his work there is no    
evidence of any purpose but to while    
away the hour4 ,his life had no other   
object than the pleasure of the instant1
 and the establishing of a family name4 
,all his thoughts were1 in their outcome
 and end1 less than nothing1 and vanity4
 ,and yet1 of all poetry that ,i know1  
none is so sorrowful as ,scott's4 ,other
 great masters are pathetic in a        
resolute and predetermined way1 when    
they choose2 but1 in their own minds1   
are evidently stern1 or hopeful1 or     
serene2 never really melancholy4 ,even  
,byron is rather sulky and desperate    
than melancholy2 ,keats is sad because  
he is sickly2 ,shelley because he is    

impious2 but ,scott is inherently and   
consistently sad4 ,around all his power1
 and brightness1 and enjoyment of eye   
and heart1 the far-away ,a,eolian knell 
is for ever sounding2 there is not one  
of those loving or laughing glances of  
his but it is brighter for the film of  
tears2 his mind is like one of his own  
hill rivers1--it is white1 and flashes  
in the sun fairly1 careless1 as it      
seems1 and hasty in its going1 but      
,far beneath1 where slow they creep     
,from pool to eddy1 dark and deep1      
,where alders moist1 and willows weep1  
,you hear her streams repine4  ,life    
begins to pass from him very early2 and 
while ,homer sings cheerfully in his    
blindness1 and ,dante retains his       
courage1 and rejoices in hope of        
,paradise1 through all his exile1       
,scott1 yet hardly past his youth1 lies 
pensive in the sweet sunshine and among 
the harvest of his native hills4        
,blackford1 on whose uncultured breast1 
,among the broom1 and thorn1 and whin1  

,a truant boy1 ,i sought the nest1      
,or listed as ,i lay at rest1           
,while rose on breezes thin       ,the  
murmur of the city crowd1       ,and1   
from his steeple jangling loud1         
,st4 ,giles's mingling din6       ,now1 
from the summit to the plain1           
,waves all the hill with yellow grain2  
,and on the landscape as ,i look1       
,nought do ,i see unchanged remain1     
,save the rude cliffs and chiming brook2
       ,to me they make a heavy moan    
,of early friendships past and gone4    
,sec4 #ce4 ,such1 then1 being the       
weaknesses which it was necessary that  
,scott should share with his age1 in    
order that he might sufficiently        
represent it1 and such the grounds for  
supposing him1 in spite of all these    
weaknesses1 the greatest literary man   
whom that age produced1 let us glance at
 the principal points in which his view 
of landscape differs from that of the   
mediaevals4  ,i shall not endeavor now1 
as ,i did with ,homer and ,dante1 to    

give a complete analysis of all the     
feelings which appear to be traceable in
 ,scott's allusions to landscape        
scenery1--for this would require a      
volume1--but only to indicate the main  
points of differing character between   
his temper and ,dante's4 ,then we will  
examine in detail1 not the landscape of 
literature1 but that of painting1 which 
must1 of course1 be equally1 or even in 
a higher degree1 characteristic of the  
age4  ,sec4 #cf4 ,and1 first1 observe   
,scott's habit of looking at nature     
neither as dead1 or merely material1 in 
the way that ,homer regards it1 nor as  
altered by his own feelings1 in the way 
that ,keats and ,tennyson regard it1 but
 as having an animation and pathos of   
its own1 wholly irrespective of human   
presence or passion1--an animation which
 ,scott loves and sympathizes with1 as  
he would with a fellow creature1        
forgetting himself altogether1 and      
subduing his own humanity before what   
seems to him the power of the landscape4

        ,yon lonely thorn1--would he    
could tell       ,the changes of his    
parent dell1       ,since he1 so grey   
and stubborn now1       ,waved in each  
breeze a sapling bough6       ,would he 
could tell1 how deep the shade       ,a 
thousand mingled branches made1         
,how broad the shadows of the oak1      
,how clung the rowan to the rock1       
,and through the foliage showed his     
head1       ,with narrow leaves and     
berries red6  ,scott does not dwell on  
the grey stubbornness of the thorn1     
because he himself is at that moment    
disposed to be dull1 or stubborn2       
neither on the cheerful peeping forth of
 the rowan1 because he himself is that  
moment cheerful or curious3 but he      
perceives them both with the kind of    
interest that he would take in an old   
man1 or a climbing boy2 forgetting      
himself1 in sympathy with either age or 
youth4        ,and from the grassy slope
 he sees       ,the ,greta flow to meet 
the ,tees1       ,where issuing from her

 darksome bed1       ,she caught the    
morning's eastern red1       ,and       
through the softening vale below        
,rolled her bright waves in rosy glow1  
,all blushing to her bridal bed1        
,like some shy maid1 in convent bred2   
,while linnet1 lark1 and blackbird gay  
,sing forth her nuptial roundelay4  ,is 
,scott1 or are the persons of his story1
 gay at this moment8 ,far from it4      
,neither ,scott nor ,risingham are      
happy1 but the ,greta is2 and all       
,scott's sympathy is ready for the      
,greta1 on the instant4  ,sec4 #cg4     
,observe1 therefore1 this is not        
pathetic fallacy2 for there is no       
passion in ,scott which alters nature4  
,it is not the lover's passion1 making  
him think the larkspurs are listening   
for his lady's foot2 it is not the      
miser's passion1 making him think that  
dead leaves are falling coins2 but it is
 an inherent and continual habit of     
thought1 which ,scott shares with the   
moderns in general1 being1 in fact1     

nothing else than the instinctive sense 
which men must have of the ,divine      
presence1 not formed into distinct      
belief4 ,in the ,greek it created1 as we
 saw1 the faithfully believed gods of   
the elements3 in ,dante and the         
mediaevals1 it formed the faithfully    
believed angelic presence2 in the       
modern1 it creates no perfect form1 does
 not apprehend distinctly any ,divine   
being or operation2 but only a dim1     
slightly credited animation in the      
natural object1 accompanied with great  
interest and affection for it4 ,this    
feeling is quite universal with us1 only
 varying in depth according to the      
greatness of the heart that holds it2   
and in ,scott1 being more than usually  
intense1 and accompanied with infinite  
affection and quickness of sympathy1 it 
enables him to conquer all tendencies to
 the pathetic fallacy1 and1 instead of  
making ,nature anywise subordinate to   
himself1 he makes himself subordinate to
 her--follows her lead simply--does not 

venture to bring his own cares and      
thoughts into her pure and quiet        
presence--paints her in her simple and  
universal truth1 adding no result of    
momentary passion or fancy1 and appears1
 therefore1 at first shallower than     
other poets1 being in reality wider and 
healthier4 ,what am ,i8 he says         
continually1 that ,i should trouble this
 sincere nature with my thoughts4 ,i    
happen to be feverish and depressed1 and
 ,i could see a great many sad and      
strange things in those waves and       
flowers2 but ,i have no business to see 
such things4 ,gay ,greta6 sweet         
harebells6 you are not sad nor strange  
to most people2 you are but bright water
 and blue blossoms2 you shall not be    
anything else to me1 except that ,i     
cannot help thinking you are a little   
alive1--no one can help thinking that4  
,and thus1 as ,nature is bright1 serene1
 or gloomy1 ,scott takes her temper1 and
 paints her as she is2 nothing of       
himself being ever intruded1 except that

 far-away ,eolian tone1 of which he is  
unconscious2 and sometimes a stray      
syllable or two1 like that about        
,blackford ,hill1 distinctly stating    
personal feeling1 but all the more      
modestly for that distinctness and for  
the clear consciousness that it is not  
the chiming brook1 nor the cornfields1  
that are sad1 but only the boy that     
rests by them2 so returning on the      
instant to reflect1 in all honesty1 the 
image of ,nature as she is meant by all 
to be received2 nor that in fine words1 
but in the first that come2 nor with    
comment of far-fetched thoughts1 but    
with easy thoughts1 such as all sensible
 men ought to have in such places1 only 
spoken sweetly2 and evidently also with 
an undercurrent of more profound        
reflection1 which here and there murmurs
 for a moment1 and which ,i think1 if we
 choose1 we may continually pierce down 
to1 and drink deeply from1 but which    
,scott leaves us to seek1 or shun1 at   
our pleasure4  ,sec4 #ch4 ,and in       

consequence of this unselfishness and   
humility1 ,scott's enjoyment of ,nature 
is incomparably greater than that of any
 other poet ,i know4 ,all the rest carry
 their cares to her1 and begin          
maundering in her ears about their own  
affairs4 ,tennyson goes out on a furzy  
common1 and sees it is calm autumn      
sunshine1 but it gives him no pleasure4 
,he only remembers that it is           
,dead calm in that noble breast         
,which heaves but with the heaving deep4
  ,he sees a thundercloud in the        
evening1 and would have doted and pored 
on it1 but cannot1 for fear it should   
bring the ship bad weather4 ,keats      
drinks the beauty of ,nature violently2 
but has no more real sympathy with her  
than he has with a bottle of claret4    
,his palate is fine2 but he bursts joy's
 grape against it1 gets nothing but     
misery1 and a bitter taste of dregs out 
of his desperate draught4  ,byron and   
,shelley are nearly the same1 only with 
less truth of perception1 and even more 

troublesome selfishness4 ,wordsworth is 
more like ,scott1 and understands how to
 be happy1 but yet cannot altogether rid
 himself of the sense that he is a      
philosopher1 and ought always to be     
saying something wise4 ,he has also a   
vague notion that ,nature would not be  
able to get on well without ,wordsworth2
 and finds a considerable part of his   
pleasure in looking at himself as well  
as at her4 ,but with ,scott the love is 
entirely humble and unselfish4 ,i1      
,scott1 am nothing1 and less than       
nothing2 but these crags1 and heaths1   
and clouds1 how great they are1 how     
lovely1 how for ever to be beloved1 only
 for their own silent1 thoughtless sake6
  ,sec4 #ci4 ,this pure passion for     
nature in its abstract being1 is still  
increased in its intensity by the two   
elements above taken notice of1--the    
love of antiquity1 and the love of color
 and beautiful form1 mortified in our   
streets1 and seeking for food in the    
wilderness and the ruin3 both feelings1 

observe1 instinctive in ,scott from his 
childhood1 as everything that makes a   
man great is always4        ,and well   
the lonely infant knew       ,recesses  
where the wallflower grew1       ,and   
honeysuckle loved to crawl       ,up the
 long crag and ruined wall4       ,i    
deemed such nooks the sweetest shade    
,the sun in all its round surveyed4     
,not that these could have been         
instinctive in a child in the ,middle   
,ages4 ,the sentiments of a people      
increase or diminish in intensity from  
generation to generation1--every        
disposition of the parents affecting the
 frame of the mind in their offspring3  
the soldier's child is born to be yet   
more a soldier1 and the politician's to 
be still more a politician2 even the    
slightest colors of sentiment and       
affection are transmitted to the heirs  
of life2 and the crowning expression of 
the mind of a people is given when some 
infant of highest capacity1 and sealed  
with the impress of this national       

character1 is born where providential   
circumstances permit the full           
development of the powers it has        
received straight from ,heaven1 and the 
passions which it has inherited from its
 fathers4  ,sec4 #dj4 ,this love of     
ancientness1 and that of natural beauty1
 associate themselves also in ,scott    
with the love of liberty1 which was     
indeed at the root even of all his      
,jacobite tendencies in politics4 ,for1 
putting aside certain predilections     
about landed property1 and family name1 
and gentlemanliness in the club sense of
 the word1--respecting which ,i do not  
now inquire whether they were weak or   
wise1--the main element which makes     
,scott like ,cavaliers better than      
,puritans is1 that he thinks the former 
free and masterful as well as loyal2 and
 the latter formal and slavish4 ,he is  
loyal1 not so much in respect for law1  
as in unselfish love for the king2 and  
his sympathy is quite as ready for any  
active borderer who breaks the law1 or  

fights the king1 in what ,scott thinks a
 generous way1 as for the king himself4 
,rebellion of a rough1 free1 and bold   
kind he is always delighted by2 he only 
objects to rebellion on principle and in
 form3 bare-headed and open-throated    
treason he will abet to any extent1 but 
shrinks from it in a peaked hat and     
starched collar3 nay1 politically1 he   
only delights in kingship itself1       
because he looks upon it as the head and
 centre of liberty2 and thinks that1    
keeping hold of a king's hand1 one may  
get rid of the cramps and fences of law2
 and that the people may be governed by 
the whistle1 as a ,highland clan on the 
open hill-side1 instead of being shut up
 into hurdled folds or hedged fields1 as
 sheep or cattle left masterless4  ,sec4
 #da4 ,and thus nature becomes dear to  
,scott in a threefold way3 dear to him1 
first1 as containing those remains or   
memories of the past1 which he cannot   
find in cities1 and giving hope of      
,praetorian mound or knight's grave1 in 

every green slope and shade of its      
desolate places2--dear1 secondly1 in its
 moorland liberty1 which has for him    
just as high a charm as the fenced      
garden had for the mediaeval3           
,for ,i was wayward1 bold1 and wild1    
,a self-willed imp--a grandame's child2 
,but1 half a plague1 and half a jest1   
,was still endured1 beloved1 caressed4  
,for me1 thus nurtured1 dost thou ask   
,the classic poet's well-conned task8   
,nay1 ,erskine1 nay4 ,on the wild hill  
,let the wild heathbell flourish still2 
,cherish the tulip1 prune the vine2     
,but freely let the woodbine twine1     
,and leave untrimmed the eglantine2     
--and dear to him1 finally1 in that     
perfect beauty1 denied alike in cities  
and in men1 for which every modern heart
 had begun at last to thirst1 and       
,scott's1 in its freshness and power1 of
 all men's1 most earnestly4  ,sec4 #db4 
,and in this love of beauty1 observe1   
that 7as ,i said we might except7 the   
love of color is a leading element1 his 

healthy mind being incapable of losing1 
under any modern false teaching1 its joy
 in brilliancy of hue4 ,though not so   
subtle a colorist as ,dante1 which1     
under the circumstances of the age1 he  
could not be1 he depends quite as much  
upon color for his power or pleasure4   
,and1 in general1 if he does not mean to
 say much about things1 the one         
character which he will give is color1  
using it with the most perfect mastery  
and faithfulness1 up to the point of    
possible modern perception4 ,for        
instance1 if he has a sea-storm to paint
 in a single line1 he does not1 as a    
feebler poet would probably have done1  
use any expression about the temper or  
form of the waves2 does not call them   
angry or mountainous4 ,he is content to 
strike them out with two dashes of      
,tintoret's favorite colors3        ,the
 blackening wave edged with white2      
,to inch and rock the seamews fly4      
,there is no form in this4 ,nay1 the    
main virtue of it is1 that it gets rid  

of all form4 ,the dark raging of the    
sea--what form has that8 ,but out of the
 cloud of its darkness those lightning  
flashes of the foam1 coming at their    
terrible intervals--you need no more4   
,again3 where he has to describe tents  
mingled among oaks1 he says nothing     
about the form of either tent or tree1  
but only gives the two strokes of color3
        ,thousand pavilions1 white as   
snow1       ,chequered the borough moor 
below1       ,oft giving way1 where     
still there stood       ,some relics of 
the old oak wood1       ,that darkly    
huge did intervene1       ,and tamed the
 glaring white with green4  ,again3 of  
tents at ,flodden3        ,next morn the
 ,baron climbed the tower1       ,to    
view1 afar1 the ,scottish power1        
,encamped on ,flodden edge4       ,the  
white pavilions made a show1       ,like
 remnants of the winter snow1           
,along the dusky ridge4  ,again3 of     
trees mingled with dark rocks3          
,until1 where ,teith's young waters roll

       ,betwixt him and a wooded knoll1 
,that graced the sable strath with      
green1       ,the chapel of ,st4 ,bride 
was seen4  ,again3 there is hardly any  
form1 only smoke and color1 in his      
celebrated description of ,edinburgh3   
,the wandering eye could o'er it go1    
,and mark the distant city glow         
,with gloomy splendor red2       ,for on
 the smoke-wreaths1 huge and slow1      
,that round her sable turrets flow1     
,the morning beams were shed1       ,and
 tinged them with a lustre proud1       
,like that which streaks a thundercloud4
       ,such dusky grandeur clothed the 
height1       ,where the huge castle    
holds its state1         ,and all the   
steep slope down1       ,whose ridgy    
back heaves to the sky1       ,piled    
deep and massy1 close and high1         
,mine own romantic town6       ,but     
northward far with purer blaze1         
,on ,ochil mountains fell the rays1     
,and as each heathy top they kissed1    
,it gleamed a purple amethyst4          

,yonder the shores of ,fife you saw2    
,here ,preston ,bay and ,berwick ,law3  
,and1 broad between them rolled1        
,the gallant ,frith the eye might note1 
,whose islands on its bosom float1      
,like emeralds chased in gold4  ,i do   
not like to spoil a fine passage by     
italicizing it2 but observe1 the only   
hints at form1 given throughout1 are in 
the somewhat vague words1 ridgy1 massy1 
close1 and high2 the whole being still  
more obscured by modern mystery1 in its 
most tangible form of smoke4 ,but the   
colors are all definite2 note the       
rainbow band of them--gloomy or dusky   
red1 sable 7pure black71 amethyst 7pure 
purple71 green1 and gold--a noble chord 
throughout2 and then1 moved doubtless   
less by the smoky than the amethystine  
part of the group1        ,fitz         
,eustace' heart felt closely pent1      
,the spur he to his charger lent1       
,and raised his bridle hand4       ,and 
making demivolte in air1       ,cried1  
',where's the coward would not dare     

,to fight for such a laud8'  ,i need not
 multiply examples3 the reader can      
easily trace for himself1 through verse 
familiar to us all1 the force of these  
color instincts4 ,i will therefore add  
only two passages1 not so completely    
known by heart as most of the poems in  
which they occur4        ',twas silence 
all4 ,he laid him down       ,where     
purple heath profusely strown1          
,and throatwort1 with its azure bell1   
,and moss and thyme his cushion swell4  
,there1 spent with toil1 he listless    
eyed       ,the course of ,greta's      
playful tide2       ,beneath her banks1 
now eddying dun1       ,now brightly    
gleaming to the sun1       ,as1 dancing 
over rock and stone1       ,in yellow   
light her currents shone1               
,matching in hue the favorite gem       
,of ,albin's mountain diadem4           
,then tired to watch the current play1  
,he turned his weary eyes away       ,to
 where the bank opposing showed         
,its huge square cliffs through shaggy  

wood4       ,one1 prominent above the   
rest1       ,reared to the sun its pale 
grey breast2       ,around its broken   
summit grew       ,the hazel rude1 and  
sable yew2       ,a thousand varied     
lichens dyed       ,its waste and       
weather-beaten side2       ,and round   
its rugged basis lay1       ,by time or 
thunder rent away1       ,fragments1    
that1 from its frontlet torn1           
,were mantled now by verdant thorn4     
,sec4 #dc4 ,note1 first1 what an        
exquisite chord of color is given in the
 succession of this passage4 ,it begins 
with purple and blue2 then passes to    
gold1 or cairngorm color 7topaz color72 
then to pale grey1 through which the    
yellow passes into black2 and the black1
 through broken dyes of lichen1 into    
green4 ,note1 secondly1--what is indeed 
so manifest throughout ,scott's         
landscape as hardly to need pointing    
out1--the love of rocks1 and true       
understanding of their colors and       
characters1 opposed as it is in every   

conceivable way to ,dante's hatred and  
misunderstanding of them4  ,i have      
already traced1 in various places1 most 
of the causes of this great difference3 
namely1 first1 the ruggedness of        
northern temper 7compare ,sec4 #h4 of   
the chapter on the ,nature of ,gothic in
 the ,stones of ,venice72 then the      
really greater beauty of the northern   
rocks1 as noted when we were speaking of
 the ,apennine limestone2 then the need 
of finding beauty among them1 if it were
 to be found anywhere1--no well-arranged
 colors being any more to be seen in    
dress1 but only in rock lichens2 and1   
finally1 the love of irregularity1      
liberty1 and power1 springing up in     
glorious opposition to laws of prosody1 
fashion1 and the five orders4  ,sec4    
#dd4 ,the other passage ,i have to quote
 is still more interesting2 because it  
has no form in it at all except in one  
word 7chalice71 but wholly composes its 
imagery either of color1 or of that     
delicate half-believed life which we    

have seen to be so important an element 
in modern landscape4        ,the summer 
dawn's reflected hue       ,to purple   
changed ,loch ,katrine blue2            
,mildly and soft the western breeze     
,just kissed the lake2 just stirred the 
trees2       ,and the pleased lake1 like
 maiden coy1       ,trembled1 but       
dimpled not1 for joy2       ,the        
mountain-shadows on her breast          
,were neither broken nor at rest2       
,in bright uncertainty they lie1        
,like future joys to ,fancy's eye4      
,the water-lily to the light       ,her 
chalice reared of silver bright3        
,the doe awoke1 and to the lawn1        
,begemmed with dew-drops1 led her fawn2 
,the grey mist left the mountain side2  
,the torrent showed its glistening      
pride2       ,invisible in flecked sky1 
,the lark sent down her revelry2        
,the blackbird and the speckled thrush  
,good-morrow gave from brake and bush2  
,in answer cooed the cushat dove        
,her notes of peace1 and rest1 and love4

  ,two more considerations are1 however1
 suggested by the above passage4 ,the   
first1 that the love of natural history1
 excited by the continual attention now 
given to all wild landscape1 heightens  
reciprocally the interest of that       
landscape1 and becomes an important     
element in ,scott's description1 leading
 him to finish1 down to the minutest    
speckling of breast1 and slightest shade
 of attributed emotion1 the portraiture 
of birds and animals2 in strange        
opposition to ,homer's slightly named   
sea-crows1 who have care of the works of
 the sea1 and ,dante's singing-birds1 of
 undefined species4 ,compare carefully a
 passage1 too long to be quoted1--the   
#bnd and #crd stanzas of canto ,,vi4 of 
,rokeby4  ,sec4 #de4 ,the second1 and   
the last point ,i have to note1 is      
,scott's habit of drawing a slight moral
 from every scene1 just enough to excuse
 to his conscience his want of definite 
religious feeling2 and that this slight 
moral is almost always melancholy4 ,here

 he has stopped short without entirely  
expressing it--        ,the mountain    
shadows 444                             
444 lie       ,like future joys to      
,fancy's eye4  ,his completed thought   
would be1 that those future joys1 like  
the mountain shadows1 were never to be  
attained4 ,it occurs fully uttered in   
many other places4 ,he seems to have    
been constantly rebuking his own worldly
 pride and vanity1 but never            
purposefully3        ,the foam-globes on
 her eddies ride1       ,thick as the   
schemes of human pride       ,that down 
life's current drive amain1       ,as   
frail1 as frothy1 and as vain4          
,foxglove1 and nightshade1 side by side1
       ,emblems of punishment and pride4
        ,her dark eye flashed2 she      
paused and sighed2--       ',ah1 what   
have ,i to do with pride6'  ,and hear   
the thought he gathers from the sunset  
7noting first the ,turnerian color1--as 
usual1 its principal element73          
,the sultry summer day is done4         

,the western hills have hid the sun1    
,but mountain peak and village spire    
,retain reflection of his fire4         
,old ,barnard's towers are purple still1
       ,to those that gaze from ,toller 
,hill2       ,distant and high the tower
 of ,bowes       ,like steel upon the   
anvil glows2       ,and ,stanmore's     
ridge1 behind that lay1       ,rich with
 the spoils of parting day1       ,in   
crimson and in gold arrayed1            
,streaks yet awhile the closing shade2  
,then slow resigns to darkening heaven  
,the tints which brighter hours had     
given       ,thus1 aged men1 full loth  
and slow1       ,the vanities of life   
forego1       ,and count their youthful 
follies o'er       ,till ,memory lends  
her light no more4  ,that is1 as far as 
,i remember1 one of the most finished   
pieces of sunset he has given2 and it   
has a woful moral2 yet one which1 with  
,scott1 is inseparable from the scene4  
,hark1 again3        ',twere sweet to   
mark the setting day       ,on          

,bourhope's lonely top decay2           
,and1 as it faint and feeble died       
,on the broad lake and mountain's side1 
,to say1 ',thus pleasures fade away2    
,youth1 talents1 beauty1 thus decay1    
,and leave us dark1 forlorn1 and grey4' 
,and again1 hear ,bertram3        ,mine 
be the eve of tropic sun3       ,with   
disk like battle target red1       ,he  
rushes to his burning bed1       ,dyes  
the wide wave with bloody light1        
,then sinks at once2 and all is night4  
,in all places of this kind1 where a    
passing thought is suggested by some    
external scene1 that thought is at once 
a slight and sad one4 ,scott's deeper   
moral sense is marked in the conduct of 
his stories1 and in casual reflections  
or exclamations arising out of their    
plot1 and therefore sincerely uttered2  
as that of ,marmion3        ,oh1 what a 
tangled web we weave1       ,when first 
we practise to deceive6  ,but the       
reflections which are founded1 not on   
events1 but on scenes1 are1 for the most

 part1 shallow1 partly insincere1 and1  
as far as sincere1 sorrowful4 ,this     
habit of ineffective dreaming and       
moralizing over passing scenes1 of which
 the earliest type ,i know is given in  
,jaques1 is1 as aforesaid1 usually the  
satisfaction made to our modern         
consciences for the want of a sincere   
acknowledgment of ,god in nature3 and   
,shakspere has marked it as the         
characteristic of a mind compact of jars
 7,act ,,ii4 ,sc4 ,,vii41 ,as ,you ,like
 ,it74 ,that description attaches but   
too accurately to all the moods which we
 have traced in the moderns generally1  
and in ,scott as the first              
representative of them2 and the question
 now is1 what this love of landscape1 so
 composed1 is likely to lead us to1 and 
what use can be made of it4  ,we began  
our investigation1 it will be           
remembered1 in order to determine       
whether landscape-painting was worth    
studying or not4 ,we have now reviewed  
the three principal phases of temper in 

the civilized human race1 and we find   
that landscape has been mostly          
disregarded by great men1 or cast into a
 second place1 until now2 and that now  
it seems dear to us1 partly in          
consequence of our faults1 and partly   
owing to accidental circumstances1 soon1
 in all likelihood1 to pass away3 and   
there seems great room for question     
still1 whether our love of it is a      
permanent and healthy feeling1 or only a
 healthy crisis in a generally diseased 
state of mind4 ,if the former1 society  
will for ever hereafter be affected by  
its results2 and ,turner1 the first     
great landscape painter1 must take a    
place in the history of nations         
corresponding in art accurately to that 
of ,bacon in philosophy2--,bacon having 
first opened the study of the laws of   
material nature1 when1 formerly1 men had
 thought only of the laws of human mind2
 and ,turner having first opened the    
study of the aspect of material nature1 
when1 before1 men had thought only of   

the aspect of the human form4 ,whether1 
therefore1 the love of landscape be     
trivial and transient1 or important and 
permanent1 it now becomes necessary to  
consider4 ,we have1 ,i think1 data      
enough before us for the solution of the
 question1 and we will enter upon it1   
accordingly1 in the following chapter4  
#hd ,pre-,raphaelitism1 of course1      
excepted1 which is a new phase        of
 art1 in no wise considered in this     
chapter4 ,blake was        sincere1 but 
full of wild creeds1 and somewhat       
diseased in        brain4    #he ,of    
course this is only meant of the modern 
citizen or country        gentleman1 as 
compared with a citizen of ,sparta or   
old        ,florence4 ,i leave it to    
others to say whether the neglect of    
the art of war may or may not1 in a yet 
more fatal sense1        be predicated  
of the ,english nation4 ,war1 without   
art1 we        seem1 with ,god's help1  
able still to wage nobly4    #hf ,see   
,david ,copperfield1 chap4 lv4 and      

lviii4    #hg ,observe1 ,i do not speak 
thus of metaphysics because ,i have no  
pleasure in them4 ,when ,i speak        
contemptuously of philology1        it  
may be answered me1 that ,i am a bad    
scholar2 but ,i cannot        be so     
answered touching metaphysics1 for every
 one conversant        with such        
subjects may see that ,i have strong    
inclination        that way1 which      
would1 indeed1 have led me far astray   
long        ago1 if ,i had not learned  
also some use of my hands1 eyes1        
and feet4     ,,chapter ,,xvii4  ,,the  
,,moral ,,of ,,landscape4   ,sec4 #a4   
,,supposing then the preceding          
conclusions correct1 respecting the     
grounds and component elements of the   
pleasure which the moderns take in      
landscape1 we have here to consider what
 are the probable or usual effects of   
this pleasure4 ,is it a safe or a       
seductive one8 ,may we wisely boast of  
it1 and unhesitatingly indulge it8 or is
 it rather a sentiment to be despised   

when it is slight1 and condemned when it
 is intense2 a feeling which disinclines
 us to labor1 and confuses us in        
thought2 a joy only to the inactive and 
the visionary1 incompatible with the    
duties of life1 and the accuracies of   
reflection8  ,sec4 #b4 ,it seems to me  
that1 as matters stand at present1 there
 is considerable ground for the latter  
opinion4 ,we saw1 in the preceding      
chapter1 that our love of nature had    
been partly forced upon us by mistakes  
in our social economy1 and led to no    
distinct issues of action or thought4   
,and when we look to ,scott--the man who
 feels it most deeply--for some         
explanation of its effect upon him1 we  
find a curious tone of apology 7as if   
for involuntary folly7 running through  
his confessions of such sentiment1 and a
 still more curious inability to define1
 beyond a certain point1 the character  
of this emotion4 ,he has lost the       
company of his friends among the hills1 
and turns to these last for comfort4 ,he

 says1 there is a pleasure in the pain  
consisting in such thoughts          ,as
 oft awake       ,by lone ,st4 ,mary's  
silent lake2  but1 when we look for some
 definition of these thoughts1 all that 
we are told is1 that they compose       
,a mingled sentiment       ,of          
resignation and content6#hh  a sentiment
 which1 ,i suppose1 many people can     
attain to on the loss of their friends1 
without the help of lakes or mountains2 
while ,wordsworth definitely and        
positively affirms that thought has     
nothing whatever to do with the matter1 
and that though1 in his youth1 the      
cataract and wood haunted him like a    
passion1 it was without the help of any 
remoter charm1 by thought supplied4     
,sec4 #c4 ,there is not1 however1 any   
question1 but that both ,scott and      
,wordsworth are here mistaken in their  
analysis of their feelings4 ,their      
delight1 so far from being without      
thought1 is more than half made up of   
thought1 but of thought in so curiously 

languid and neutralized a condition that
 they cannot trace it4 ,the thoughts are
 beaten to a powder so small that they  
know not what they are2 they know only  
that in such a state they are not good  
for much1 and disdain to call them      
thoughts4 ,but the way in which thought1
 even thus broken1 acts in producing the
 delight will be understood by glancing 
back to ,sec4,sec4 #i4 and #aj4 of the  
tenth chapter1 in which we observed the 
power of the imagination in exalting any
 visible object1 by gathering round it1 
in farther vision1 all the facts        
properly connected with it2 this being1 
as it were1 a spiritual or second sight1
 multiplying the power of enjoyment     
according to the fulness of the vision4 
,for1 indeed1 although in all lovely    
nature there is1 first1 an excellent    
degree of simple beauty1 addressed to   
the eye alone1 yet often what impresses 
us most will form but a very small      
portion of that visible beauty4 ,that   
beauty may1 for instance1 be composed of

 lovely flowers and glittering streams1 
and blue sky1 and white clouds2 and yet 
the thing that impresses us most1 and   
which we should be sorriest to lose1 may
 be a thin grey film on the extreme     
horizon1 not so large1 in the space of  
the scene it occupies1 as a piece of    
gossamer on a near at hand bush1 nor in 
any wise prettier to the eye than the   
gossamer2 but1 because the gossamer is  
known by us for a little bit of spider's
 work1 and the other grey film is known 
to mean a mountain ten thousand feet    
high1 inhabited by a race of noble      
mountaineers1 we are solemnly impressed 
by the aspect of it2 and yet1 all the   
while the thoughts and knowledge which  
cause us to receive this impression are 
so obscure that we are not conscious of 
them2 we think we are only enjoying the 
visible scene2 and the very men whose   
minds are fullest of such thoughts      
absolutely deny1 as we have just heard1 
that they owe their pleasure to anything
 but the eye1 or that the pleasure      

consists in anything else than          
,tranquillity4  ,sec4 #d4 ,and observe1 
farther1 that this comparative ,dimness 
and ,untraceableness of the thoughts    
which are the sources of our admiration1
 is not a fault in the thoughts1 at such
 a time4 ,it is1 on the contrary1 a     
necessary condition of their            
subordination to the pleasure of ,sight4
 ,if the thoughts were more distinct we 
should not see so well2 and beginning   
definitely to think1 we must            
comparatively cease to see4 ,in the     
instance just supposed1 as long as we   
look at the film of mountain or ,alp1   
with only an obscure consciousness of   
its being the source of mighty rivers1  
that consciousness adds to our sense of 
its sublimity2 and if we have ever seen 
the ,rhine or the ,rhone near their     
mouths1 our knowledge1 so long as it is 
only obscurely suggested1 adds to our   
admiration of the ,alp2 but once let the
 idea define itself1--once let us begin 
to consider seriously what rivers flow  

from that mountain1 to trace their      
course1 and to recall determinately our 
memories of their distant aspects1--and 
we cease to behold the ,alp2 or1 if we  
still behold it1 it is only as a point  
in a map which we are painfully         
designing1 or as a subordinate object   
which we strive to thrust aside1 in     
order to make room for our remembrances 
of ,avignon or ,rotterdam4  ,again3 so  
long as our idea of the multitudes who  
inhabit the ravines at its foot remains 
indistinct1 that idea comes to the aid  
of all the other associations which     
increase our delight4 ,but let it once  
arrest us1 and entice us to follow out  
some clear course of thought respecting 
the causes of the prosperity or         
misfortune of the ,alpine villagers1 and
 the snowy peak again ceases to be      
visible1 or holds its place only as a   
white spot upon the retina1 while we    
pursue our meditations upon the religion
 or the political economy of the        
mountaineers4  ,sec4 #e4 ,it is thus    

evident that a curiously balanced       
condition of the powers of mind is      
necessary to induce full admiration of  
any natural scene4 ,let those powers be 
themselves inert1 and the mind vacant of
 knowledge1 and destitute of            
sensibility1 and the external object    
becomes little more to us than it is to 
birds or insects2 we fall into the      
temper of the clown4 ,on the other hand1
 let the reasoning powers be shrewd in  
excess1 the knowledge vast1 or          
sensibility intense1 and it will go hard
 but that the visible object will       
suggest so much that it shall be soon   
itself forgotten1 or become1 at the     
utmost1 merely a kind of key-note to the
 course of purposeful thought4 ,newton1 
probably1 did not perceive whether the  
apple which suggested his meditations on
 gravity was withered or rosy2 nor could
 ,howard be affected by the             
picturesqueness of the architecture     
which held the sufferers it was his     
occupation to relieve4  ,sec4 #f4 ,this 

wandering away in thought from the thing
 seen to the business of life1 is not1  
however1 peculiar to men of the highest 
reasoning powers1 or most active        
benevolence4 ,it takes place more or    
less in nearly all persons of average   
mental endowment4 ,they see and love    
what is beautiful1 but forget their     
admiration of it in following some train
 of thought which it suggested1 and     
which is of more personal interest to   
them4 ,suppose that three or four       
persons come in sight of a group of     
pine-trees1 not having seen pines for   
some time4 ,one1 perhaps an engineer1 is
 struck by the manner in which their    
roots hold the ground1 and sets himself 
to examine their fibres1 in a few       
minutes retaining little more           
consciousness of the beauty of the trees
 than if he were a rope-maker untwisting
 the strands of a cable3 to another1 the
 sight of the trees calls up some happy 
association1 and presently he forgets   
them1 and pursues the memories they     

summoned3 a third is struck by certain  
groupings of their colors1 useful to him
 as an artist1 which he proceeds        
immediately to note mechanically for    
future use1 with as little feeling as a 
cook setting down the constituents of a 
newly discovered dish2 and a fourth1    
impressed by the wild coiling of boughs 
and roots1 will begin to change them in 
his fancy into dragons and monsters1 and
 lose his grasp of the scene in         
fantastic metamorphosis3 while1 in the  
mind of the man who has most the power  
of contemplating the thing itself1 all  
these perceptions and trains of idea are
 partially present1 not distinctly1 but 
in a mingled and perfect harmony4 ,he   
will not see the colors of the tree so  
well as the artist1 nor its fibres so   
well as the engineer2 he will not       
altogether share the emotion of the     
sentimentalist1 nor the trance of the   
idealist2 but fancy1 and feeling1 and   
perception1 and imagination1 will all   
obscurely meet and balance themselves in

 him1 and he will see the pine-trees    
somewhat in this manner3                
,worthier still of note       ,are those
 fraternal ,four of ,borrowdale1        
,joined in one solemn and capacious     
grove2       ,huge trunks6 and each     
particular trunk a growth       ,of     
intertwisted fibres serpentine          
,up-coiling1 and inveterately convolved2
       ,nor uniformed with ,phantasy1   
and looks       ,that threaten the      
profane2 a pillared shade1       ,upon  
whose grassless floor of red-brown hue1 
,by sheddings from the pining umbrage   
tinged       ,perennially1--beneath     
whose sable roof       ,of boughs1 as if
 for festal purpose1 decked       ,with 
unrejoicing berries1 ghostly ,shapes    
,may meet at noontide2 ,fear and        
trembling ,hope1       ,silence and     
,foresight2 ,death the ,skeleton1       
,and ,time the ,shadow2 there to        
celebrate1       ,as in a natural temple
 scattered o'er       ,with altars      
undisturbed of mossy stone1             

,united worship4  ,sec4 #g4 ,the power1 
therefore1 of thus fully perceiving any 
natural object depends on our being able
 to group and fasten all our fancies    
about it as a centre1 making a garland  
of thoughts for it1 in which each       
separate thought is subdued and         
shortened of its own strength1 in order 
to fit it for harmony with others2 the  
intensity of our enjoyment of the object
 depending1 first1 on its own beauty1   
and then on the richness of the garland4
 ,and men who have this habit of        
clustering and harmonizing their        
thoughts are a little too apt to look   
scornfully upon the harder workers who  
tear the bouquet to pieces to examine   
the stems4 ,this was the chief          
narrowness of ,wordsworth's mind2 he    
could not understand that to break a    
rock with a hammer in search of crystal 
may sometimes be an act not disgraceful 
to human nature1 and that to dissect a  
flower may sometimes be as proper as to 
dream over it2 whereas all experience   

goes to teach us1 that among men of     
average intellect the most useful       
members of society are the dissectors1  
not the dreamers4 ,it is not that they  
love nature or beauty less1 but that    
they love result1 effect1 and progress  
more2 and when we glance broadly along  
the starry crowd of benefactors to the  
human race1 and guides of human thought1
 we shall find that this dreaming love  
of natural beauty--or at least its      
expression--has been more or less       
checked by them all1 and subordinated   
either to hard work or watching of human
 nature4 ,thus in all the classical and 
mediaeval periods1 it was1 as we have   
seen1 subordinate to agriculture1 war1  
and religion2 and in the modern period1 
in which it has become far more         
powerful1 observe in what persons it is 
chiefly manifested4    7#a47 ,it is     
subordinate in        7#b47 ,it is      
intense in           ,bacon4            
,mrs4 ,radclyffe4           ,milton4    
,st4 ,pierre4           ,johnson4       

,shenstone4           ,richardson4      
,byron4           ,goldsmith4           
,shelley4           ,young4             
,keats4           ,newton4              
,burns4           ,howard4              
,eugene ,sue4           ,fenelon4       
,george ,sand4           ,pascal4       
,dumas4  ,sec4 #h4 ,i have purposely    
omitted the names of ,wordsworth1       
,tennyson1 and ,scott1 in the second    
list1 because1 glancing at the two      
columns as they now stand1 we may1 ,i   
think1 draw some useful conclusions from
 the high honorableness and dignity of  
the names on one side1 and the          
comparative slightness of those on the  
other1--conclusions which may help us to
 a better understanding of ,scott and   
,tennyson themselves4 ,glancing1 ,i say1
 down those columns in their present    
form1 we shall at once perceive that the
 intense love of nature is1 in modern   
times1 characteristic of persons not of 
the first order of intellect1 but of    
brilliant imagination1 quick sympathy1  

and undefined religious principle1      
suffering also usually under strong and 
ill-governed passions3 while in the same
 individual it will be found to vary at 
different periods1 being1 for the most  
part1 strongest in youth1 and associated
 with force of emotion1 and with        
indefinite and feeble powers of thought2
 also1 throughout life1 perhaps         
developing itself most at times when the
 mind is slightly unhinged by love1     
grief1 or some other of the passions4   
,sec4 #i4 ,but1 on the other hand1 while
 these feelings of delight in natural   
objects cannot be construed into signs  
of the highest mental powers1 or purest 
moral principles1 we see that they are  
assuredly indicative of minds above the 
usual standard of power1 and endowed    
with sensibilities of great preciousness
 to humanity2 so that those who find    
themselves entirely destitute of them1  
must make this want a subject of        
humiliation1 not of pride4 ,the apathy  
which cannot perceive beauty is very    

different from the stern energy which   
disdains it2 and the coldness of heart  
which receives no emotion from external 
nature1 is not to be confounded with the
 wisdom of purpose which represses      
emotion in action4 ,in the case of most 
men1 it is neither acuteness of the     
reason1 nor breadth of humanity1 which  
shields them from the impressions of    
natural scenery1 but rather low         
anxieties1 vain discontents1 and mean   
pleasures2 and for one who is blinded to
 the works of ,god by profound          
abstraction or lofty purpose1 tens of   
thousands have their eyes sealed by     
vulgar selfishness1 and their           
intelligence crushed by impious care4   
,observe1 then3 we have1 among mankind  
in general1 the three orders of         
being2--the lowest1 sordid and selfish1 
which neither sees nor feels2 the       
second1 noble and sympathetic1 but which
 sees and feels without concluding or   
acting2 the third and highest1 which    
loses sight in resolution1 and feeling  

in work4#hi  ,thus1 even in ,scott and  
,wordsworth themselves1 the love of     
nature is more or less associated with  
their weaknesses4 ,scott shows it most  
in the cruder compositions of his youth1
 his perfect powers of mind being       
displayed only in dialogues with which  
description has nothing whatever to do4 
,wordsworth's distinctive work was a war
 with pomp and pretence1 and a display  
of the majesty of simple feelings and   
humble hearts1 together with high       
reflective truth in his analysis of the 
courses of politics and ways of men2    
without these1 his love of nature would 
have been comparatively worthless4      
,sec4 #aj4 ,if this be so1 it is not    
well to encourage the observance of     
landscape1 any more than other ways of  
dreamily and ineffectually spending     
time8  ,stay a moment4 ,we have hitherto
 observed this love of natural beauty   
only as it distinguishes one man from   
another1 not as it acts for good or evil
 on those minds to which it necessarily 

belongs4 ,it may1 on the whole1         
distinguish weaker men from stronger    
men1 and yet in those weaker men may be 
of some notable use4 ,it may distinguish
 ,byron from ,st4 ,bernard1 and ,shelley
 from ,sir ,isaac ,newton1 and yet may1 
perhaps1 be the best thing that ,byron  
and ,shelley possess--a saving element  
in them2 just as a rush may be          
distinguished from an oak by its        
bending1 and yet the bending may be the 
saving element in the rush1 and an      
admirable gift in its place and way4 ,so
 that1 although ,st4 ,bernard journeys  
all day by the ,lake of ,geneva1 and    
asks at evening where it is1 and ,byron 
learns by it to love earth only for its 
earthly sake1#ij it does not follow that
 ,byron1 hating men1 was the worse for  
loving the earth1 nor that ,st4         
,bernard1 loving men1 was the better or 
wiser for being blind to it4 ,and this  
will become still more manifest if we   
examine somewhat farther into the nature
 of this instinct1 as characteristic    

especially of youth4  ,sec4 #aa4 ,we saw
 above that ,wordsworth described the   
feeling as independent of thought1 and1 
in the particular place then quoted1 he 
therefore speaks of it depreciatingly4  
,but in other places he does not speak  
of it depreciatingly1 but seems to think
 the absence of thought involves a      
certain nobleness3            ,in such  
high hour       ,of visitation from the 
living ,god       ,thought was not4     
,and he refers to the intense delight   
which he himself felt1 and which he     
supposes other men feel1 in nature1     
during their thoughtless youth1 as an   
intimation of their immortality1 and a  
joy which indicates their having come   
fresh from the hand of ,god4  ,now1 if  
,wordsworth be right in supposing this  
feeling to be in some degree common to  
all men1 and most vivid in youth1 we may
 question if it can be entirely         
explained as ,i have now tried to       
explain it4 ,for if it entirely depended
 on multitudes of ideas1 clustering     

about a beautiful object1 it might seem 
that the youth could not feel it so     
strongly as the man1 because the man    
knows more1 and must have more ideas to 
make the garland of4 ,still less can we 
suppose the pleasure to be of that      
melancholy and languid kind1 which      
,scott defines as ,resignation and      
,content2 boys being not distinguished  
for either of those characters1 but for 
eager effort and delightsome discontent4
 ,if ,wordsworth is at all right in this
 matter1 therefore1 there must surely be
 some other element in the feeling not  
yet detected4  ,sec4 #ab4 ,now1 in a    
question of this subtle kind1 relating  
to a period of life when                
self-examination is rare1 and expression
 imperfect1 it becomes exceedingly      
difficult to trace1 with any certainty1 
the movements of the minds of others1   
nor always easy to remember those of our
 own4 ,i cannot1 from observation1 form 
any decided opinion as to the extent in 
which this strange delight in nature    

influences the hearts of young persons  
in general2 and1 in stating what has    
passed in my own mind1 ,i do not mean to
 draw any positive conclusion as to the 
nature of the feeling in other children2
 but the inquiry is clearly one in which
 personal experience is the only safe   
ground to go upon1 though a narrow one2 
and ,i will make no excuse for talking  
about myself with reference to this     
subject1 because1 though there is much  
egotism in the world1 it is often the   
last thing a man thinks of doing1--and1 
though there is much work to be done in 
the world1 it is often the best thing a 
man can do1--to tell the exact truth    
about the movements of his own mind2 and
 there is this farther reason1 that1    
whatever other faculties ,i may or may  
not possess1 this gift of taking        
pleasure in landscape ,i assuredly      
possess in a greater degree than most   
men2 it having been the ruling passion  
of my life1 and the reason for the      
choice of its field of labor4  ,sec4    

#ac4 ,the first thing which ,i remember 
as an event in life1 was being taken by 
my nurse to the brow of ,friar's ,crag  
on ,derwentwater2 the intense joy1      
mingled with awe1 that ,i had in looking
 through the hollows in the mossy roots1
 over the crag1 into the dark lake1 has 
associated itself more or less with all 
twining roots of trees ever since4 ,two 
other things ,i remember1 as1 in a sort1
 beginnings of life2--crossing          
,shapfells 7being let out of the chaise 
to run up the hills71 and going through 
,glenfarg1 near ,kinross1 in a winter's 
morning1 when the rocks where hung with 
icicles2 these being culminating points 
in an early life of more travelling than
 is usually indulged to a child4 ,in    
such journeyings1 whenever they brought 
me near hills1 and in all mountain      
ground and scenery1 ,i had a pleasure1  
as early as ,i can remember1 and        
continuing till ,i was eighteen or      
twenty1 infinitely greater than any     
which has been since possible to me in  

anything2 comparable for intensity only 
to the joy of a lover in being near a   
noble and kind mistress1 but no more    
explicable or definable than that       
feeling of love itself4 ,only thus much 
,i can remember1 respecting it1 which is
 important to our present subject4      
,sec4 #ad4 ,first3 it was never         
independent of associated thought4      
,almost as soon as ,i could see or hear1
 ,i had got reading enough to give me   
associations with all kinds of scenery2 
and mountains1 in particular1 were      
always partly confused with those of my 
favorite book1 ,scott's ,monastery2 so  
that ,glenfarg and all other glens were 
more or less enchanted to me1 filled    
with forms of hesitating creed about    
,christie of the ,clint ,hill1 and the  
monk ,eustace2 and with a general       
presence of ,white ,lady everywhere4 ,i 
also generally knew1 or was told by my  
father and mother1 such simple facts of 
history as were necessary to give more  
definite and justifiable association to 

other scenes which chiefly interested   
me1 such as the ruins of ,lochleven and 
,kenilworth2 and thus my pleasure in    
mountains or ruins was never1 even in   
earliest childhood1 free from a certain 
awe and melancholy1 and general sense of
 the meaning of death1 though in its    
principal influence1 entirely           
exhilarating and gladdening4  ,sec4 #ae4
 ,secondly3 it was partly dependent on  
contrast with a very simple and unamused
 mode of general life2 ,i was born in   
,london1 and accustomed1 for two or     
three years1 to no other prospect than  
that of the brick walls over the way2   
had no brothers1 nor sisters1 nor       
companions2 and though ,i could always  
make myself happy in a quiet way1 the   
beauty of the mountains had an          
additional charm of change and adventure
 which a country-bred child would not   
have felt4  ,sec4 #af4 ,thirdly3 there  
was no definite religious feeling       
mingled with it4 ,i partly believed in  
ghosts and fairies2 but supposed that   

angels belonged entirely to the ,mosaic 
dispensation1 and cannot remember any   
single thought or feeling connected with
 them4 ,i believed that ,god was in     
heaven1 and could hear me and see me2   
but this gave me neither pleasure nor   
pain1 and ,i seldom thought of it at    
all4 ,i never thought of nature as      
,god's work1 but as a separate fact or  
existence4  ,sec4 #ag4 ,fourthly3 it was
 entirely unaccompanied by powers of    
reflection or invention4 ,every fancy   
that ,i had about nature was put into my
 head by some book2 and ,i never        
reflected about anything till ,i grew   
older2 and then1 the more ,i reflected1 
the less nature was precious to me3 ,i  
could then make myself happy1 by        
thinking1 in the dark1 or in the dullest
 scenery2 and the beautiful scenery     
became less essential to my pleasure4   
,sec4 #ah4 ,fifthly3 it was1 according  
to its strength1 inconsistent with every
 evil feeling1 with spite1 anger1       
covetousness1 discontent1 and every     

other hateful passion2 but would        
associate itself deeply with every just 
and noble sorrow1 joy1 or affection4 ,it
 had not1 however1 always the power to  
repress what was inconsistent with it2  
and1 though only after stout contention1
 might at last be crushed by what it had
 partly repressed4 ,and as it only acted
 by setting one impulse against another1
 though it had much power in moulding   
the character1 it had hardly any in     
strengthening it2 it formed temperament1
 but never instilled principle2 it kept 
me generally good-humored and kindly1   
but could not teach me perseverance or  
self-denial3 what firmness or principle 
,i had was quite independent of it2 and 
it came itself nearly as often in the   
form of a temptation as of a safeguard1 
leading me to ramble over hills when ,i 
should have been learning lessons1 and  
lose days in reveries which ,i might    
have spent in doing kindnesses4  ,sec4  
#ai4 ,lastly3 although there was no     
definite religious sentiment mingled    

with it1 there was a continual          
perception of ,sanctity in the whole of 
nature1 from the slightest thing to the 
vastest3--an instinctive awe1 mixed with
 delight2 an indefinable thrill1 such as
 we sometimes imagine to indicate the   
presence of a disembodied spirit4 ,i    
could only feel this perfectly when ,i  
was alone2 and then it would often make 
me shiver from head to foot with the joy
 and fear of it1 when after being some  
time away from the hills1 ,i first got  
to the shore of a mountain river1 where 
the brown water circled among the       
pebbles1 or when ,i saw the first swell 
of distant land against the sunset1 or  
the first low broken wall1 covered with 
mountain moss4 ,i cannot in the least   
describe the feeling2 but ,i do not     
think this is my fault1 nor that of the 
,english language1 for1 ,i am afraid1 no
 feeling is describable4 ,if we had to  
explain even the sense of bodily hunger 
to a person who had never felt it1 we   
should be hard put to it for words2 and 

this joy in nature seemed to me to come 
of a sort of heart-hunger1 satisfied    
with the presence of a ,great and ,holy 
,spirit4 ,these feelings remained in    
their full intensity till ,i was        
eighteen or twenty1 and then1 as the    
reflective and practical power          
increased1 and the cares of this world  
gained upon me1 faded gradually away1 in
 the manner described by ,wordsworth in 
his ,intimations of ,immortality4  ,sec4
 #bj4 ,i cannot1 of course1 tell how far
 ,i am justified in supposing that these
 sensations may be reasoned upon as     
common to children in general4 ,in the  
same degree they are not of course      
common1 otherwise children would be1    
most of them1 very different from what  
they are in their choice of pleasures4  
,but1 as far as such feelings exist1 ,i 
apprehend they are more or less similar 
in their nature and influence2 only     
producing different characters according
 to the elements with which they are    
mingled4 ,thus1 a very religious child  

may give up many pleasures to which its 
instincts lead it1 for the sake of      
irksome duties2 and an inventive child  
would mingle its love of nature with    
watchfulness of human sayings and       
doings3 but ,i believe the feelings ,i  
have endeavored to describe are the pure
 landscape-instinct2 and the likelihoods
 of good or evil resulting from them may
 be reasoned upon as generally          
indicating the usefulness or danger of  
the modern love and study of landscape4 
,sec4 #ba4 ,and1 first1 observe that the
 charm of romantic association 7,sec4   
#ad47 can be felt only by the modern    
,european child4 ,it rises eminently out
 of the contrast of the beautiful past  
with the frightful and monotonous       
present2 and it depends for its force on
 the existence of ruins and traditions1 
on the remains of architecture1 the     
traces of battlefields1 and the         
precursorship of eventful history4 ,the 
instinct to which it appeals can hardly 
be felt in ,america1 and every day that 

either beautifies our present           
architecture and dress1 or overthrows a 
stone of mediaeval monument1 contributes
 to weaken it in ,europe4 ,of its       
influence on the mind of ,turner and    
,prout1 and the permanent results which1
 through them1 it is likely to effect1  
,i shall have to speak presently4  ,sec4
 #bb4 ,again3 the influence of surprise 
in producing the delight1 is to be noted
 as a suspicious or evanescent element  
in it4 ,observe1 my pleasure was chiefly
 7,sec4 #ai47 when ,i first got into    
beautiful scenery1 out of ,london4 ,the 
enormous influence of novelty--the way  
in which it quickens observation1       
sharpens sensation1 and exalts          
sentiment--is not half enough taken note
 of by us1 and is to me a very sorrowful
 matter4 ,i think that what ,wordsworth 
speaks of as a glory in the child1      
because it has come fresh from ,god's   
hands1 is in reality nothing more than  
the freshness of all things to its newly
 opened sight4 ,i find that by keeping  

long away from hills1 ,i can in great   
part still restore the old childish     
feeling about them2 and the more ,i live
 and work among them1 the more it       
vanishes4  ,sec4 #bc4 ,this evil is     
evidently common to all minds2          
,wordsworth himself mourning over it in 
the same poem3        ,custom hangs upon
 us1 with a weight       ,heavy as      
frost1 and deep almost as life4  ,and if
 we grow impatient under it1 and seek to
 recover the mental energy by more      
quickly repeated and brighter novelty1  
it is all over with our enjoyment4      
,there is no cure for this evil1 any    
more than for the weariness of the      
imagination already described1 but in   
patience and rest3 if we try to obtain  
perpetual change1 change itself will    
become monotonous2 and then we are      
reduced to that old despair1 ,if water  
chokes1 what will you drink after it8   
,and the two points of practical wisdom 
in this matter are1 first1 to be content
 with as little novelty as possible at a

 time2 and1 secondly1 to preserve1 as   
much as possible in the world1 the      
sources of novelty4  ,sec4 #bd4 ,i say1 
first1 to be content with as little     
change as possible4 ,if the attention is
 awake1 and the feelings in proper      
train1 a turn of a country road1 with a 
cottage beside it1 which we have not    
seen before1 is as much as we need for  
refreshment2 if we hurry past it1 and   
take two cottages at a time1 it is      
already too much3 hence1 to any person  
who has all his senses about him1 a     
quiet walk along not more than ten or   
twelve miles of road a day1 is the most 
amusing of all travelling2 and all      
travelling becomes dull in exact        
proportion to its rapidity4 ,going by   
railroad ,i do not consider as          
travelling at all2 it is merely being   
sent to a place1 and very little        
different from becoming a parcel2 the   
next step to it would of course be      
telegraphic transport1 of which1        
however1 ,i suppose it has been truly   

said by ,octave ,feuillet1      ,il y   
aurait des gens assez betes pour trouver
 ca amusant4#ia  ,if we walk more than  
ten or twelve miles1 it breaks up the   
day too much2 leaving no time for       
stopping at the stream sides or shady   
banks1 or for any work at the end of the
 day2 besides that the last few miles   
are apt to be done in a hurry1 and may  
then be considered as lost ground4 ,but 
if1 advancing thus slowly1 after some   
days we approach any more interesting   
scenery1 every yard of the changeful    
ground becomes precious and piquant2 and
 the continual increase of hope1 and of 
surrounding beauty1 affords one of the  
most exquisite enjoyments possible to   
the healthy mind2 besides that real     
knowledge is acquired of whatever it is 
the object of travelling to learn1 and a
 certain sublimity given to all places1 
so attained1 by the true sense of the   
spaces of earth that separate them4 ,a  
man who really loves travelling would as
 soon consent to pack a day of such     

happiness into an hour of railroad1 as  
one who loved eating would agree1 if it 
were possible1 to concentrate his dinner
 into a pill4  ,sec4 #be4 ,and1         
secondly1 ,i say that it is wisdom to   
preserve as much as possible the        
innocent sources of novelty2--not       
definite inferiorities of one place to  
another1 if such can be done away2 but  
differences of manners and customs1 of  
language and architecture4 ,the greatest
 effort ought especially to be made by  
all wise and far-sighted persons1 in the
 present crisis of civilization1 to     
enforce the distinction between         
wholesome reform1 and heartless         
abandonment of ancestral custom2 between
 kindly fellowship of nation with       
nation1 and ape-like adoption1 by one1  
of the habits of another4 ,it is        
ludicrously awful to see the luxurious  
inhabitants of ,london and ,paris       
rushing over the ,continent 7as they    
say1 to see it71 and transposing every  
place1 as far as lies in their power1   

instantly into a likeness of ,regent    
,street and the ,rue de la ,paix1 which 
they need not certainly have come so far
 to see4 ,of this evil ,i shall have    
more to say hereafter2 meantime ,i      
return to our main subject4  ,sec4 #bf4 
,the next character we have to note in  
the landscape-instinct 7and on this much
 stress is to be laid71 is its total    
inconsistency with all evil passion2 its
 absolute contrariety 7whether in the   
contest it were crushed or not7 to all  
care1 hatred1 envy1 anxiety1 and        
moroseness4 ,a feeling of this kind is  
assuredly not one to be lightly         
repressed1 or treated with contempt4    
,but how1 if it be so1 the reader asks1 
can it be characteristic of passionate  
and unprincipled men1 like ,byron1      
,shelley1 and such others1 and not      
characteristic of the noblest and most  
highly principled men8  ,first1 because 
it is itself a passion1 and therefore   
likely to be characteristic of          
passionate men4 ,secondly1 because it is

 7,sec4 #ah7 wholly a separate thing    
from moral principle1 and may or may not
 be joined to strength of will1 or      
rectitude of purpose#ib2 only1 this much
 is always observable in the men whom it
 characterizes1 that1 whatever their    
faults or failings1 they always         
understand and love noble qualities of  
character2 they can conceive 7if not    
certain phases of piety71 at all events1
 self-devotion of the highest kind2 they
 delight in all that is good1 gracious1 
and noble2 and though warped often to   
take delight also in what is dark or    
degraded1 that delight is mixed with    
bitter self-reproach2 or else is wanton1
 careless1 or affected1 while their     
delight in noble things is constant and 
sincere4  ,sec4 #bg4 ,look back to the  
two lists given above1 ,sec4 #g4 ,i have
 not lately read anything by ,mrs4      
,radclyffe or ,george ,sand1 and cannot1
 therefore1 take instances from them2   
,keats hardly introduced human character
 into his work2 but glance over the     

others1 and note the general tone of    
their conceptions4 ,take ,st4 ,pierre's 
,virginia1 ,byron's ,myrrha1 ,angiolina1
 and ,marina1 and ,eugene ,sue's ,fleur 
de ,marie2 and out of the other lists   
you will only be able to find ,pamela1  
,clementina1 and1 ,i suppose1           
,clarissa1#ic to put beside them2 and   
these will not more than match ,myrrha  
and ,marina2 leaving ,fleur de ,marie   
and ,virginia rivalless4 ,then meditate 
a little1 with all justice and mercy1   
over the two groups of names2 and ,i    
think you will1 at last1 feel that there
 is a pathos and tenderness of heart    
among the lovers of nature in the second
 list1 of which it is nearly impossible 
to estimate either the value or the     
danger2 that the sterner consistency of 
the men in the first may1 in great part1
 have arisen only from the1 to them1    
most merciful1 appointment of having had
 religious teaching or disciplined      
education in their youth2 while their   
want of love for nature1 whether that   

love be originally absent1 or           
artificially repressed1 is to none of   
them an advantage4 ,johnson's indolence1
 ,goldsmith's improvidence1 ,young's    
worldliness1 ,milton's severity1 and    
,bacon's servility1 might all have been 
less1 if they could in any wise have    
sympathized with ,byron's lonely joy in 
a ,jura storm1#id or with ,shelley's    
interest in floating paper boats down   
the ,serchio4  ,sec4 #bh4 ,and then     
observe1 farther1 as ,i kept the names  
of ,wordsworth and ,scott out of the    
second list1 ,i withdrew1 also1 certain 
names from the first2 and for this      
reason1 that in all the men who are     
named in that list1 there is evidently  
some degree of love for nature1 which   
may have been originally of more power  
than we suppose1 and may have had an    
infinitely hallowing and protective     
influence upon them4 ,but there also    
lived certain men of high intellect in  
that age who had no love of nature      
whatever4 ,they do not appear ever to   

have received the smallest sensation of 
ocular delight from any natural scene1  
but would have lived happily all their  
lives in drawingrooms or studies4 ,and1 
therefore1 in these men we shall be able
 to determine1 with the greatest chance 
of accuracy1 what the real influence of 
natural beauty is1 and what the         
character of a mind destitute of its    
love4 ,take1 as conspicuous instances1  
,le ,sage and ,smollett1 and you will   
find1 in meditating over their works1   
that they are utterly incapable of      
conceiving a human soul as endowed with 
any nobleness whatever2 their heroes are
 simply beasts endowed with some degree 
of human intellect2--cunning1 false1    
passionate1 reckless1 ungrateful1 and   
abominable1 incapable of noble joy1 of  
noble sorrow1 of any spiritual          
perception or hope4 ,i said1 beasts with
 human intellect2 but neither ,gil ,blas
 nor ,roderick ,random reach1 morally1  
anything near the level of dogs2 while  
the delight which the writers themselves

 feel in mere filth and pain1 with an   
unmitigated foulness and cruelty of     
heart1 is just as manifest in every     
sentence as the distress and indignation
 which with pain and injustice are seen 
by ,shelley and ,byron4  ,sec4 #bi4     
,distinguished from these men by some   
evidence of love for nature1 yet an     
evidence much less clear than that for  
any of those named even in the first    
list1 stand ,cervantes1 ,pope1 and      
,moliere4 ,it is not easy to say how    
much the character of these last        
depended on their epoch and education2  
but it is noticeable that the first two 
agree thus far in temper with ,le ,sage 
and ,smollett1--that they delight in    
dwelling upon vice1 misfortune1 or      
folly1 as subjects of amusement2 while  
yet they are distinguished from ,le     
,sage and ,smollett by capacity of      
conceiving nobleness of character1 only 
in a humiliating and hopeless way2 the  
one representing all chivalry as        
insanity1 the other placing the wisdom  

of man in a serene and sneering         
reconciliation of good with evil4 ,of   
,moliere ,i think very differently4     
,living in the blindest period of the   
world's history1 in the most luxurious  
city1 and the most corrupted court1 of  
the time1 he yet manifests through all  
his writings an exquisite natural       
wisdom2 a capacity for the most simple  
enjoyment2 a high sense of all          
nobleness1 honor1 and purity1 variously 
marked throughout his slighter work1 but
 distinctly made the theme of his two   
perfect plays--the ,tartuffe and        
,misanthrope2 and in all that he says of
 art or science he has an unerring      
instinct for what is useful and sincere1
 and uses his whole power to defend it1 
with as keen a hatred of everything     
affected and vain4 ,and1 singular as it 
may seem1 the first definite lesson read
 to ,europe1 in that school of          
simplicity of which ,wordsworth was the 
supposed originator among the mountains 
of ,cumberland1 was1 in fact1 given in  

the midst of the court of ,louis ,,xiv41
 and by ,moliere4 ,the little canzonet  
,j'aime mieux ma mie1 is1 ,i believe1   
the first ,wordsworthian poem brought   
forward on philosophical principles to  
oppose the schools of art and           
affectation4  ,sec4 #cj4 ,i do not know 
if1 by a careful analysis1 ,i could     
point out any evidences of a capacity   
for the love of natural scenery in      
,moliere stealing forth through the     
slightness of his pastorals2 but1 if    
not1 we must simply set him aside as    
exceptional1 as a man uniting           
,wordsworth's philosophy with ,le       
,sage's wit1 turned by circumstances    
from the observance of natural beauty to
 that of human frailty4 ,and thus       
putting him aside for the moment1 ,i    
think we cannot doubt of our main       
conclusion1 that1 though the absence of 
the love of nature is not an assured    
condemnation1 its presence is an        
invariable sign of goodness of heart and
 justness of moral perception1 though by

 no means of moral practice2 that in    
proportion to the degree in which it is 
felt1 will probably be the degree in    
which all nobleness and beauty of       
character will also be felt2 that when  
it is originally absent from any mind1  
that mind is in many other respects     
hard1 worldly1 and degraded2 that where1
 having been originally present1 it is  
repressed by art or education1 that     
repression appears to have been         
detrimental to the person suffering it2 
and that wherever the feeling exists1 it
 acts for good on the character to which
 it belongs1 though1 as it may often    
belong to characters weak in other      
respects1 it may carelessly be mistaken 
for a source of evil in them4  ,sec4    
#ca4 ,and having arrived at this        
conclusion by a review of facts1 which  
,i hope it will be admitted1 whether    
accurate or not1 has at least been      
candid1 these farther considerations may
 confirm our belief in its truth4       
,observe3 the whole force of education1 

until very lately1 has been directed in 
every possible way to the destruction of
 the love of nature4 ,the only knowledge
 which has been considered essential    
among us is that of words1 and1 next    
after it1 of the abstract sciences2     
while every liking shown by children for
 simple natural history has been either 
violently checked1 7if it took an       
inconvenient form for the housemaids17  
or else scrupulously limited to hours of
 play3 so that it has really been       
impossible for any child earnestly to   
study the works of ,god but against its 
conscience2 and the love of nature has  
become inherently the characteristic of 
truants and idlers4 ,while also the art 
of drawing1 which is of more real       
importance to the human race than that  
of writing 7because people can hardly   
draw anything without being of some use 
both to themselves and others1 and can  
hardly write anything without wasting   
their own time and that of              
others71--this art of drawing1 ,i say1  

which on plain and stern system should  
be taught to every child1 just as       
writing is1--has been so neglected and  
abused1 that there is not one man in a  
thousand1 even of its professed         
teachers1 who knows its first           
principles3 and thus it needs much      
ill-fortune or obstinacy--much neglect  
on the part of his teachers1 or         
rebellion on his own--before a boy can  
get leave to use his eyes or his        
fingers2 so that those who can use them 
are for the most part neglected or      
rebellious lads--runaways and bad       
scholars--passionate1 erratic1          
self-willed1 and restive against all    
forms of education2 while your          
well-behaved and amiable scholars are   
disciplined into blindness and palsy of 
half their faculties4 ,wherein there is 
at once a notable ground for what       
difference we have observed between the 
lovers of nature and its despisers2     
between the somewhat immoral and        
unrespectable watchfulness of the one1  

and the moral and respectable blindness 
of the other4  ,sec4 #cb4 ,one more     
argument remains1 and that1 ,i believe1 
an unanswerable one4 ,as1 by the        
accident of education1 the love of      
nature has been1 among us1 associated   
with wilfulness1 so1 by the accident of 
time1 it has been associated with       
faithlessness4 ,i traced1 above1 the    
peculiar mode in which this             
faithlessness was indicated2 but ,i     
never intended to imply1 therefore1 that
 it was an invariable concomitant of the
 love4 ,because it happens that1 by     
various concurrent operations of evil1  
we have been led1 according to those    
words of the ,greek poet already quoted1
 to dethrone the gods1 and crown the    
whirlwind1 it is no reason that we      
should forget there was once a time when
 the ,lord answered ,job out of the     
whirlwind4 ,and if we now take final and
 full view of the matter1 we shall find 
that the love of nature1 wherever it has
 existed1 has been a faithful and sacred

 element of human feeling2 that is to   
say1 supposing all circumstances        
otherwise the same with respect to two  
individuals1 the one who loves nature   
most will be always found to have more  
faith in ,god than the other4 ,it is    
intensely difficult1 owing to the       
confusing and counter influences which  
always mingle in the data of the        
problem1 to make this abstraction       
fairly2 but so far as we can do it1 so  
far1 ,i boldly assert1 the result is    
constantly the same3 the nature-worship 
will be found to bring with it such a   
sense of the presence and power of a    
,great ,spirit as no mere reasoning can 
either induce or controvert2 and where  
that nature-worship is innocently       
pursued1--i4e4 with due respect to other
 claims on time1 feeling1 and exertion1 
and associated with the higher          
principles of religion1--it becomes the 
channel of certain sacred truths1 which 
by no other means can be conveyed4      
,sec4 #cc4 ,this is not a statement     

which any investigation is needed to    
prove4 ,it comes to us at once from the 
highest of all authority4 ,the greater  
number of the words which are recorded  
in ,scripture1 as directly spoken to men
 by the lips of the ,deity1 are either  
simple revelations of ,his law1 or      
special threatenings1 commands1 and     
promises relating to special events4    
,but two passages of ,god's speaking1   
one in the ,old and one in the ,new     
,testament1 possess1 it seems to me1 a  
different character from any of the     
rest1 having been uttered1 the one to   
effect the last necessary change in the 
mind of a man whose piety was in other  
respects perfect2 and the other1 as the 
first statement to all men of the       
principles of ,christianity by ,christ  
,himself--,i mean the #chth to #dast    
chapters of the book of ,job1 and the   
,sermon on the ,mount4 ,now the first of
 these passages is1 from beginning to   
end1 nothing else than a direction of   
the mind which was to be perfected to   

humble observance of the works of ,god  
in nature4 ,and the other consists only 
in the inculcation of three things3     
#ast1 right conduct2 #bnd1 looking for  
eternal life2 #crd1 trusting ,god1      
through watchfulness of ,his dealings   
with ,his creation3 and the entire      
contents of the book of ,job1 and of the
 ,sermon on the ,mount1 will be found   
resolvable simply into these three      
requirements from all men1--that they   
should act rightly1 hope for heaven1 and
 watch ,god's wonders and work in the   
earth2 the right conduct being always   
summed up under the three heads of      
justice1 mercy1 and truth1 and no       
mention of any doctrinal point          
whatsoever occurring in either piece of 
divine teaching4  ,sec4 #cd4 ,as far as 
,i can judge of the ways of men1 it     
seems to me that the simplest and most  
necessary truths are always the last    
believed2 and ,i suppose that           
well-meaning people in general would    
rather regulate their conduct and creed 

by almost any other portion of          
,scripture whatsoever1 than by that     
,sermon on the ,mount1 which contains   
the things that ,christ thought it first
 necessary for all men to understand4   
,nevertheless1 ,i believe the time will 
soon come for the full force of these   
two passages of ,scripture to be        
accepted4 ,instead of supposing the love
 of nature necessarily connected with   
the faithlessness of the age1 ,i believe
 it is connected properly with the      
benevolence and liberty of the age2 that
 it is precisely the most healthy       
element which distinctively belongs to  
us2 and that out of it1 cultivated no   
longer in levity or ignorance1 but in   
earnestness and as a duty1 results will 
spring of an importance at present      
inconceivable2 and lights arise1 which1 
for the first time in man's history1    
will reveal to him the true nature of   
his life1 the true field for his        
energies1 and the true relations between
 him and his ,maker4  ,sec4 #ce4 ,i will

 not endeavor here to trace the various 
modes in which these results are likely 
to be effected1 for this would involve  
an essay on education1 on the uses of   
natural history1 and the probable future
 destiny of nations4 ,somewhat on these 
subjects ,i have spoken in other places2
 and ,i hope to find time1 and proper   
place1 to say more4 ,but one or two     
observations maybe made merely to       
suggest the directions in which the     
reader may follow out the subject for   
himself4  ,the great mechanical impulses
 of the age1 of which most of us are so 
proud1 are a mere passing fever1        
half-speculative1 half-childish4 ,people
 will discover at last that royal roads 
to anything can no more be laid in iron 
than they can in dust2 that there are1  
in fact1 no royal roads to anywhere     
worth going to2 that if there were1 it  
would that instant cease to be worth    
going to1--,i mean so far as the things 
to be obtained are in any way estimable 
in terms of price4 ,for there are two   

classes of precious things in the world3
 those that ,god gives us for           
nothing--sun1 air1 and life 7both mortal
 life and immortal72 and the secondarily
 precious things which he gives us for a
 price3 these secondarily precious      
things1 worldly wine and milk1 can only 
be bought for definite money2 they never
 can be cheapened4 ,no cheating nor     
bargaining will ever get a single thing 
out of nature's establishment at        
half-price4 ,do we want to be           
strong8--we must work4 ,to be           
hungry8--we must starve4 ,to be         
happy8--we must be kind4 ,to be         
wise8--we must look and think4 ,no      
changing of place at a hundred miles an 
hour1 nor making of stuffs a thousand   
yards a minute1 will make us one whit   
stronger1 happier1 or wiser4 ,there was 
always more in the world than men could 
see1 walked they ever so slowly2 they   
will see it no better for going fast4   
,and they will at last1 and soon too1   
find out that their grand inventions for

 conquering 7as they think7 space and   
time1 do1 in reality1 conquer nothing2  
for space and time are1 in their own    
essence1 unconquerable1 and besides did 
not want any sort of conquering2 they   
wanted using4 ,a fool always wants to   
shorten space and time3 a wise man wants
 to lengthen both4 ,a fool wants to kill
 space and kill time3 a wise man1 first 
to gain them1 then to animate them4     
,your railroad1 when you come to        
understand it1 is only a device for     
making the world smaller3 and as for    
being able to talk from place to place1 
that is1 indeed1 well and convenient2   
but suppose you have1 originally1       
nothing to say4#ie ,we shall be obliged 
at last to confess1 what we should long 
ago have known1 that the really precious
 things are thought and sight1 not pace4
 ,it does a bullet no good to go fast2  
and a man1 if he be truly a man1 no harm
 to go slow2 for his glory is not at all
 in going1 but in being4  ,sec4 #cf4    
,well2 but railroads and telegraphs are 

so useful for communicating knowledge to
 savage nations4 ,yes1 if you have any  
to give them4 ,if you know nothing but  
railroads1 and can communicate nothing  
but aqueous vapor and gunpowder1--what  
then8 ,but if you have any other thing  
than those to give1 then the railroad is
 of use only because it communicates    
that other thing and the question       
is--what that other thing may be4 ,is it
 religion8 ,i believe if we had really  
wanted to communicate that1 we could    
have done it in less than #ahjj years1  
without steam4 ,most of the good        
religious communication that ,i remember
 has been done on foot2 and it cannot be
 easily done faster than at foot pace4  
,is it science8 ,but what science--of   
motion1 meat1 and medicine8 ,well2 when 
you have moved your savage1 and dressed 
your savage1 fed him with white bread1  
and shown him how to set a limb1--what  
next8 ,follow out that question4        
,suppose every obstacle overcome2 give  
your savage every advantage of          

civilization to the full3 suppose that  
you have put the ,red ,indian in tight  
shoes2 taught the ,chinese how to make  
,wedgwood's ware1 and to paint it with  
colors that will rub off2 and persuaded 
all ,hindoo women that it is more pious 
to torment their husbands into graves   
than to burn themselves at the          
burial1--what next8 ,gradually1 thinking
 on from point to point1 we shall come  
to perceive that all true happiness and 
nobleness are near us1 and yet neglected
 by us2 and that till we have learned   
how to be happy and noble1 we have not  
much to tell1 even to ,red ,indians4    
,the delights of horse-racing and       
hunting1 of assemblies in the night     
instead of the day1 of costly and       
wearisome music1 of costly and          
burdensome dress1 of chagrined          
contention for place or power1 or       
wealth1 or the eyes of the multitude2   
and all the endless occupation without  
purpose1 and idleness without rest1 of  
our vulgar world1 are not1 it seems to  

me1 enjoyments we need be ambitious to  
communicate4 ,and all real and wholesome
 enjoyments possible to man have been   
just as possible to him1 since first he 
was made of the earth1 as they are now2 
and they are possible to him chiefly in 
peace4 ,to watch the corn grow1 and the 
blossoms set2 to draw hard breath over  
ploughshare or spade2 to read1 to think1
 to love1 to hope1 to pray1--these are  
the things that make men happy2 they    
have always had the power of doing      
these1 they never will have power to do 
more4 ,the world's prosperity or        
adversity depends upon our knowing and  
teaching these few things3 but upon     
iron1 or glass1 or electricity1 or      
steam1 in no wise4  ,sec4 #cg4 ,and ,i  
am ,utopian and enthusiastic enough to  
believe1 that the time will come when   
the world will discover this4 ,it has   
now made its experiments in every       
possible direction but the right one2   
and it seems that it must1 at last1 try 
the right one1 in a mathematical        

necessity4 ,it has tried fighting1 and  
preaching1 and fasting1 buying and      
selling1 pomp and parsimony1 pride and  
humiliation1--every possible manner of  
existence in which it could conjecture  
there was any happiness or dignity2 and 
all the while1 as it bought1 sold1 and  
fought1 and fasted1 and wearied itself  
with policies1 and ambitions1 and       
self-denials1 ,god had placed its real  
happiness in the keeping of the little  
mosses of the wayside1 and of the clouds
 of the firmament4 ,now and then a weary
 king1 or a tormented slave1 found out  
where the true kingdoms of the world    
were1 and possessed himself1 in a furrow
 or two of garden ground1 of a truly    
infinite dominion4 ,but the world would 
not believe their report1 and went on   
trampling down the mosses1 and          
forgetting the clouds1 and seeking      
happiness in its own way1 until1 at     
last1 blundering and late1 came natural 
science2 and in natural science not only
 the observation of things1 but the     

finding out of new uses for them4 ,of   
course the world1 having a choice left  
to it1 went wrong as usual1 and thought 
that these mere material uses were to be
 the sources of its happiness4 ,it got  
the clouds packed into iron cylinders1  
and made it carry its wise self at their
 own cloud pace4 ,it got weavable fibres
 out of the mosses1 and made clothes for
 itself1 cheap and fine1--here was      
happiness at last4 ,to go as fast as the
 clouds1 and manufacture everything out 
of anything1--here was paradise1 indeed6
  ,sec4 #ch4 ,and now1 when1 in a little
 while1 it is unparadised again1 if     
there were any other mistake that the   
world could make1 it would of course    
make it4 ,but ,i see not that there is  
any other2 and1 standing fairly at its  
wits' end1 having found that going fast1
 when it is used to it1 is no more      
paradisiacal than going slow2 and that  
all the prints and cottons in           
,manchester cannot make it comfortable  
in its mind1 ,i do verily believe it    

will come1 finally1 to understand that  
,god paints the clouds and shapes the   
moss-fibres1 that men may be happy in   
seeing ,him at ,his work1 and that in   
resting quietly beside ,him1 and        
watching ,his working1 and--according to
 the power ,he has communicated to      
ourselves1 and the guidance ,he         
grants1--in carrying out ,his purposes  
of peace and charity among all ,his     
creatures1 are the only real happinesses
 that ever were1 or will be1 possible to
 mankind4  ,sec4 #ci4 ,how far art is   
capable of helping us in such happiness 
we hardly yet know2 but ,i hope to be   
able1 in the subsequent parts of this   
work1 to give some data for arriving at 
a conclusion in the matter4 ,enough has 
been advanced to relieve the reader from
 any lurking suspicion of unworthiness  
in our subject1 and to induce him to    
take interest in the mind and work of   
the great painter who has headed the    
landscape school among us4 ,what farther
 considerations may1 within any         

reasonable limits1 be put before him1   
respecting the effect of natural scenery
 on the human heart1 ,i will introduce  
in their proper places either as we     
examine1 under ,turner's guidance1 the  
different classes of scenery1 or at the 
close of the whole work2 and therefore  
,i have only one point more to notice   
here1 namely1 the exact relation between
 landscape-painting and natural science1
 properly so-called4  ,sec4 #dj4 ,for it
 may be thought that ,i have rashly     
assumed that the ,scriptural authorities
 above quoted apply to that partly      
superficial view of nature which is     
taken by the landscape-painter1 instead 
of to the accurate view taken by the man
 of science4 ,so far from there being   
rashness in such an assumption1 the     
whole language1 both of the book of ,job
 and the ,sermon on the ,mount1 gives   
precisely the view of nature which is   
taken by the uninvestigating affection  
of a humble1 but powerful mind4 ,there  
is no dissection of muscles or counting 

of elements1 but the boldest and        
broadest glance at the apparent facts1  
and the most magnificent metaphor in    
expressing them4 ,his eyes are like the 
eyelids of the morning4 ,in his neck    
remaineth strength1 and sorrow is turned
 into joy before him4 ,and in the often 
repeated1 never obeyed1 command1        
,consider the lilies of the field1      
observe there is precisely the delicate 
attribution of life which we have seen  
to be the characteristic of the modern  
view of landscape1--,they toil not1     
,there is no science1 or hint of        
science2 no counting of petals1 nor     
display of provisions for sustenance3   
nothing but the expression of sympathy1 
at once the most childish1 and the most 
profound1--,they toil not4  ,sec4 #da4  
,and we see in this1 therefore1 that the
 instinct which leads us thus to        
attribute life to the lowest forms of   
organic nature1 does not necessarily    
spring from faithlessness1 nor the      
deducing a moral out of them from an    

irregular and languid conscientiousness4
 ,in this1 as in almost all things      
connected with moral discipline1 the    
same results may follow from contrary   
causes2 and as there are a good and evil
 contentment1 a good and evil           
discontent1 a good and evil care1 fear1 
ambition1 and so on1 there are also good
 and evil forms of this sympathy with   
nature1 and disposition to moralize over
 it4#if ,in general1 active men1 of     
strong sense and stern principle1 do not
 care to see anything in a leaf1 but    
vegetable tissue1 and are so well       
convinced of useful moral truth1 that it
 does not strike them as a new or       
notable thing when they find it in any  
way symbolized by material nature2 hence
 there is a strong presumption1 when    
first we perceive a tendency in any one 
to regard trees as living1 and enunciate
 moral aphorisms over every pebble they 
stumble against1 that such tendency     
proceeds from a morbid temperament1 like
 ,shelley's1 or an inconsistent one1    

like ,jaques's4 ,but when the active    
life is nobly fulfilled1 and the mind is
 then raised beyond it into clear and   
calm beholding of the world around us1  
the same tendency again manifests itself
 in the most sacred way3 the simplest   
forms of nature are strangely animated  
by the sense of the ,divine presence2   
the trees and flowers seem all1 in a    
sort1 children of ,god2 and we          
ourselves1 their fellows1 made out of   
the same dust1 and greater than they    
only in having a greater portion of the 
,divine power exerted on our frame1 and 
all the common uses and palpably visible
 forms of things1 become subordinate in 
our minds to their inner glory1--to the 
mysterious voices in which they talk to 
us about ,god1 and the changeful and    
typical aspects by which they witness to
 us of holy truth1 and fill us with     
obedient1 joyful1 and thankful emotion4 
,sec4 #db4 ,it is in raising us from the
 first state of inactive reverie to the 
second of useful thought1 that          

scientific pursuits are to be chiefly   
praised4 ,but in restraining us at this 
second stage1 and checking the impulses 
towards higher contemplation1 they are  
to be feared or blamed4 ,they may in    
certain minds be consistent with such   
contemplation2 but only by an effort3 in
 their nature they are always adverse to
 it1 having a tendency to chill and     
subdue the feelings1 and to resolve all 
things into atoms and numbers4 ,for most
 men1 an ignorant enjoyment is better   
than an informed one2 it is better to   
conceive the sky as a blue dome than a  
dark cavity1 and the cloud as a golden  
throne than a sleety mist4 ,i much      
question whether any one who knows      
optics1 however religious he may be1 can
 feel in equal degree the pleasure or   
reverence which an unlettered peasant   
may feel at the sight of a rainbow4 ,and
 it is mercifully thus ordained1 since  
the law of life1 for a finite being1    
with respect to the works of an infinite
 one1 must be always an infinite        

ignorance4 ,we cannot fathom the mystery
 of a single flower1 nor is it intended 
that we should2 but that the pursuit of 
science should constantly be stayed by  
the love of beauty1 and accuracy of     
knowledge by tenderness of emotion4     
,sec4 #dc4 ,nor is it even just to speak
 of the love of beauty as in all        
respects unscientific2 for there is a   
science of the aspects of things as well
 as of their nature2 and it is as much a
 fact to be noted in their constitution1
 that they produce such and such an     
effect upon the eye or heart 7as1 for   
instance1 that minor scales of sound    
cause melancholy71 as that they are made
 up of certain atoms or vibrations of   
matter4  ,it is as the master of this   
science of ,aspects1 that ,i said1 some 
time ago1 ,turner must eventually be    
named always with ,bacon1 the master of 
the science of ,essence4 ,as the first  
poet who has1 in all their range1       
understood the grounds of noble emotion 
which exist in ,landscape1 his future   

influence will be of a still more subtle
 and important character4 ,the rest of  
this work will therefore be dedicated to
 the explanation of the principles on   
which he composed1 and of the aspects of
 nature which he was the first to       
discern4    #hh ,marmion1 ,introduction 
to canto ,,ii4    #hi ,the investigation
 of this subject becomes1 therefore1    
difficult beyond all other parts of our 
inquiry1 since        precisely the same
 sentiments may arise in different minds
        from totally opposite causes2   
and the extreme of frivolity        may 
sometimes for a moment desire the same  
things as the        extreme of moral   
power and dignity4 ,in the following    
extract        from ,marriage1 the      
sentiment expressed by ,lady ,juliana   
7the        ineffably foolish and       
frivolous heroine of the story7 is as   
nearly as possible what ,dante would    
have felt1 under the same               
circumstances3         ,the air was soft
 and genial2 not a cloud stained the    

bright        azure of the heavens2 and 
the sun shone out in all his            
splendor1 shedding life and beauty even 
over the desolate        heath-clad     
hills of ,glenfern4 ,but1 after they had
 journeyed a        few miles1 suddenly 
emerging from the valley1 a scene of    
matchless beauty burst at once upon the 
eye4 ,before them lay        the dark   
blue waters of ,lochmarlie1 reflecting1 
as in a        mirror1 every surrounding
 object1 and bearing on its placid1     
transparent bosom a fleet of            
herring-boats1 the drapery of           
whose black1 suspended nets contrasted1 
with picturesque        effect1 the     
white sails of the larger vessels1 which
 were        vainly spread to catch a   
breeze4 ,all around1 rocks1 meadows1    
woods1 and hills mingled in wild and    
lovely irregularity4         ,not a     
breath was stirring1 not a sound was    
heard1 save the        rushing of a     
waterfall1 the tinkling of some silver  
rivulet1        or the calm rippling of 

the tranquil lake2 now and then1 at     
intervals1 the fisherman's ,gaelic      
ditty1 chanted as he lay                
stretched on the sand in some sunny     
nook2 or the shrill1        distant     
sound of childish glee4 ,how delicious  
to the feeling        heart to behold so
 fair a scene of unsophisticated nature1
 and        to listen to her voice      
alone1 breathing the accents of         
innocence and joy6 ,but none of the     
party who now gazed on it        had    
minds capable of being touched with the 
emotions it was        calculated to    
inspire4         ,henry1 indeed1 was    
rapturous in his expressions of         
admiration2        but he concluded his 
panegyrics by wondering his brother did 
not keep a cutter1 and resolving to pass
 a night on board one        of the     
herring-boats1 that he might eat the    
fish in perfection4         ,lady       
,juliana thought it might be very       
pretty1 if1 instead of        those     
frightful rocks and shabby cottages1    

there could be        villas1 and       
gardens1 and lawns1 and conservatories1 
and        summer-houses1 and statues4  
,miss ,bella observed1 if it was hers   
she would cut down the        woods1 and
 level the hills1 and have races4    #ij
 ,childe ,harold1 canto iii4 st4 #ga4   
#ia ,scenes et ,proverbes4 ,la ,crise2  
7,scene en caleche1 hors        ,paris47
    #ib ,compare the characters of      
,fleur de ,marie and ,rigolette1 in     
the ,mysteres de ,paris4 ,i know no     
other instance in which the        two  
tempers are so exquisitely delineated   
and opposed4 ,read        carefully the 
beautiful pastoral1 in the eighth       
chapter of        the first ,part1 where
 ,fleur de ,marie is first taken into   
the        fields under ,montmartre1 and
 compare it with the sixth of the       
second ,part1 its accurately traced     
companion sketch1 noting                
carefully ,rigolette's ,non1 je deteste 
la campagne4 ,she        does not1      
however1 dislike flowers or birds3      

,cette caisse de        bois1 que       
,rigolette appellait le jardin de ses   
oiseaux1 etait        remplie de terre  
recouverte de mousse1 pendant l'hiver4  
,elle        travaillait aupres de la   
fenetre ouverte1 a-demi-voilee par      
un verdoyant rideau de pois de senteur  
roses1 de capucines        oranges1 de  
volubilis bleus et blancs4    #ic ,i    
have not read ,clarissa4    #id ,it     
might be thought that ,young could have 
sympathized with        it4 ,he would   
have made better use of it1 but he would
 not        have had the same delight in
 it4 ,he turns his solitude to          
good account2 but this is because1 to   
him1 solitude is        sorrow1 and his 
real enjoyment would have been of       
amiable        society1 and a place at  
court4    #ie ,the light-outspeeding    
telegraph        ,bears nothing on its  
beam4    ,,emerson4         ,see        
,appendix ,,iii41 ,plagiarism4    #if   
,compare what is said before in various 
places of good and bad        finish1   

good and bad mystery1 c4 ,if a man were 
disposed to        system-making1 he    
could easily throw together a           
counter-system to ,aristotle's1 showing 
that in all things        there were two
 extremes which exactly resembled each  
other1        but of which one was bad1 
the other good2 and a mean1             
resembling neither1 but better than the 
one1 and worse than        the other4   
,,chapter ,,xviii4  ,,of ,,the          
,,teachers ,,of ,,turner4   ,sec4 #a4   
,the first step to the understanding    
either the mind or position of a great  
man ought1 ,i think1 to be an inquiry   
into the elements of his early          
instruction1 and the mode in which he   
was affected by the circumstances of    
surrounding life4 ,in making this       
inquiry1 with respect to ,turner1 we    
shall be necessarily led to take note of
 the causes which had brought           
landscape-painting into the state in    
which he found it2 and1 therefore1 of   
those transitions of style which1 it    

will be remembered1 we overleaped       
7hoping for a future opportunity of     
examining them7 at the close of the     
fifteenth chapter4  ,sec4 #b4 ,and      
first1 ,i said1 it will be remembered1  
some way back1 that the relations       
between ,scott and ,turner would        
probably be found to differ very        
curiously from those between ,dante and 
,giotto4 ,they differ primarily in      
this1--that ,dante and ,giotto1 living  
in a consistent age1 were subjected to  
one and the same influence1 and maybe   
reasoned about almost in similar terms4 
,but ,scott and ,turner1 living in an   
inconsistent age1 became subjected to   
inconsistent influences2 and are at once
 distinguished by notable contrarieties1
 requiring separate examination in each4
  ,sec4 #c4 ,of these1 the chief was    
that ,scott1 having had the blessing of 
a totally neglected education1 was able 
early to follow most of his noble       
instincts2 but ,turner1 having suffered 
under the instruction of the ,royal     

,academy1 had to pass nearly thirty     
years of his life in recovering from its
 consequences2#ig this permanent result 
following for both1--that ,scott never  
was led into any fault foreign to his   
nature1 but spoke what was in him1 in   
rugged or idle simplicity2 erring only  
where it was natural to err1 and failing
 only where it was impossible to        
succeed4 ,but ,turner1 from the         
beginning1 was led into constrained and 
unnatural error2 diligently debarred    
from every ordinary help to success4    
,the one thing which the ,academy ought 
to have taught him 7namely1 the simple  
and safe use of oil color71 it never    
taught him2 but it carefully repressed  
his perceptions of truth1 his capacities
 of invention1 and his tendencies of    
choice4 ,for him it was impossible to do
 right but in the spirit of defiance2   
and the first condition of his progress 
in learning1 was the power to forget4   
,sec4 #d4 ,one most important           
distinction in their feelings throughout

 life was necessitated by this          
difference in early training4 ,scott    
gathered what little knowledge of       
architecture he possessed1 in wanderings
 among the rocky walls of ,crichtoun1   
,lochleven1 and ,linlithgow1 and among  
the delicate pillars of ,holyrood1      
,roslin1 and ,melrose4 ,turner acquired 
his knowledge of architecture at the    
desk1 from academical elevations of the 
,parthenon and ,st4 ,paul's2 and spent a
 large portion of his early years in    
taking views of gentlemen's seats1      
temples of the ,muses1 and other        
productions of modern taste and         
imagination2 being at the same time     
directed exclusively to classical       
sources for information as to the proper
 subjects of art4 ,hence1 while ,scott  
was at once directed to the history of  
his native land1 and to the ,gothic     
fields of imagination2 and his mind was 
fed in a consistent1 natural1 and       
felicitous way from his youth up1 poor  
,turner for a long time knew no         

inspiration but that of ,twickenham2 no 
sublimity but that of ,virginia ,water4 
,all the history and poetry presented to
 him at the age when the mind receives  
its dearest associations1 were those of 
the gods and nations of long ago2 and   
his models of sentiment and style were  
the worst and last wrecks of the        
,renaissance affectations4  ,sec4 #e4   
,therefore 7though utterly free from    
affectation71 his early works are full  
of an enforced artificialness1 and of   
things ill-done and ill-conceived1      
because foreign to his own instincts2   
and1 throughout life1 whatever he did1  
because he thought he ought to do it1   
was wrong2 all that he planned on any   
principle1 or in supposed obedience to  
canons of taste1 was false and abortive3
 he only did right when he ceased to    
reflect2 was powerful only when he made 
no effort1 and successful only when he  
had taken no aim4  ,sec4 #f4 ,and it is 
one of the most interesting things      
connected with the study of his art1 to 

watch the way in which his own strength 
of ,english instinct breaks gradually   
through fetter and formalism2 how from  
,egerian wells he steals away to        
,yorkshire streamlets2 how from ,homeric
 rocks1 with laurels at the top and     
caves in the bottom1 he climbs1 at last1
 to ,alpine precipices fringed with     
pine1 and fortified with the slopes of  
their own ruins2 and how from ,temples  
of ,jupiter and ,gardens of the         
,hesperides1 a spirit in his feet guides
 him1 at last1 to the lonely arches of  
,whitby1 and bleak sands of ,holy ,isle4
  ,sec4 #g4 ,as1 however1 is the case   
with almost all inevitable evil1 in its 
effect on great minds1 a certain good   
rose even out of this warped education2 
namely1 his power of more completely    
expressing all the tendencies of his    
epoch1 and sympathizing with many       
feelings and many scenes which must     
otherwise have been entirely profitless 
to him4 ,scott's mind was just as large 
and full of sympathy as ,turner's2 but  

having been permitted always to take his
 own choice among sources of enjoyment1 
,scott was entirely incapable of        
entering into the spirit of any         
classical scene4 ,he was strictly a     
,goth and a ,scot1 and his sphere of    
sensation may be almost exactly limited 
by the growth of heather4 ,but ,turner  
had been forced to pay early attention  
to whatever of good and right there was 
even in things naturally distasteful to 
him4 ,the charm of early association had
 been cast around much that to other men
 would have been tame3 while making     
drawings of flower-gardens and          
,palladian mansions1 he had been taught 
sympathy with whatever grace or         
refinement the garden or mansion could  
display1 and to the close of life could 
enjoy the delicacy of trellis and       
parterre1 as well as the wildness of the
 wood and the moorland2 and watch the   
staying of the silver fountain at its   
appointed height in the sky1 with an    
interest as earnest1 if not as intense1 

as that with which he followed the crash
 of the ,alpine cataract into its clouds
 of wayward rage4  ,sec4 #h4 ,the       
distinct losses to be weighed against   
this gain are1 first1 the waste of time 
during youth in painting subjects of no 
interest whatsoever1--parks1 villas1 and
 ugly architecture in general3 secondly1
 the devotion of its utmost strength in 
later years to meaningless classical    
compositions1 such as the ,fall and     
,rise of ,carthage1 ,bay of ,baiae1     
,daphne and ,leucippus1 and such others1
 which1 with infinite accumulation of   
material1 are yet utterly heartless and 
emotionless1 dead to the very root of   
thought1 and incapable of producing     
wholesome or useful effect on any human 
mind1 except only as exhibitions of     
technical skill and graceful            
arrangement3 and1 lastly1 his           
incapacity1 to the close of life1 of    
entering heartily into the spirit of any
 elevated architecture2 for those       
,palladian and classical buildings which

 he had been taught that it was right to
 admire1 being wholly devoid of         
interest1 and in their own formality and
 barrenness quite unmanageable1 he was  
obliged to make them manageable in his  
pictures by disguising them1 and to use 
all kinds of playing shadows and        
glittering lights to obscure their ugly 
details2 and as in their best state such
 buildings are white and colorless1 he  
associated the idea of whiteness with   
perfect architecture generally1 and was 
confused and puzzled when he found it   
grey4 ,hence he never got thoroughly    
into the feeling of ,gothic2 its        
darkness and complexity embarrassed him2
 he was very apt to whiten by way of    
idealizing it1 and to cast aside its    
details in order to get breadth of      
delicate light4 ,in ,venice1 and the    
towns of ,italy generally1 he fastened  
on the wrong buildings1 and used those  
which he chose merely as kind of white  
clouds1 to set off his brilliant groups 
of boats1 or burning spaces of lagoon4  

,in various other minor ways1 which we  
shall trace in their proper place1 his  
classical education hindered or hurt    
him2 but ,i feel it very difficult to   
say how far the loss was balanced by the
 general grasp it gave his mind2 nor am 
,i able to conceive what would have been
 the result1 if his aims had been made  
at once narrower and more natural1 and  
he had been led in his youth to delight 
in ,gothic legends instead of classical 
mythology2 and1 instead of the porticos 
of the ,parthenon1 had studied in the   
aisles of ,notre ,dame4  ,sec4 #i4 ,it  
is still more difficult to conjecture   
whether he gathered most good or evil   
from the pictorial art which surrounded 
him in his youth4 ,what that art was1   
and how the ,european schools had       
arrived at it1 it now becomes necessary 
briefly to inquire4  ,it will be        
remembered that1 in the #adth chapter1  
we left our mediaeval landscape 7,sec4  
#ah47 in a state of severe formality1   
and perfect subordination to the        

interest of figure subject4 ,i will now 
rapidly trace the mode and progress of  
its emancipation4  ,sec4 #aj4 ,the      
formalized conception of scenery        
remained little altered until the time  
of ,raphael1 being only better executed 
as the knowledge of art advanced2 that  
is to say1 though the trees were still  
stiff1 and often set one on each side of
 the principal figures1 their color and 
relief on the sky were exquisitely      
imitated1 and all groups of near leaves 
and flowers drawn with the most tender  
care1 and studious botanical accuracy4  
,the better the subjects were painted1  
however1 the more logically absurd they 
became3 a background wrought in ,chinese
 confusion of towers and rivers1 was in 
early times passed over carelessly1 and 
forgiven for the sake of its pleasant   
color2 but it appealed somewhat too far 
to imaginative indulgence when          
,ghirlandajo drew an exquisite          
perspective view of ,venice and her     
lagoons behind an ,adoration of the     

,magi2#ih and the impossibly small boats
 which might be pardoned in a mere      
illumination1 representing the          
miraculous draught of fishes1 became1   
whatever may be said to the contrary1   
inexcusably absurd in ,raphael's fully  
realized landscape2 so as at once to    
destroy the credibility of every        
circumstance of the event4  ,sec4 #aa4  
,a certain charm1 however1 attached     
itself to many forms of this landscape1 
owing to their very unnaturalness1 as ,i
 have endeavored to explain already in  
the last chapter of the second volume1  
,sec4,sec4 #i4 to #ab42 noting1 however1
 there1 that it was in no wise to be    
made a subject of imitation2 a          
conclusion which ,i have since seen more
 and more ground for holding finally4   
,the longer ,i think over the subject1  
the more ,i perceive that the pleasure  
we take in such unnatural landscapes is 
intimately connected with our habit of  
regarding the ,new ,testament as a      
beautiful poem1 instead of a statement  

of plain facts4 ,he who believes        
thoroughly that the events are true will
 expect1 and ought to expect1 real olive
 copse behind real ,madonna1 and no     
sentimental absurdities in either4      
,illustration3 #aa4 ,latest ,purism4    
,sec4 #ab4 ,nor am ,i at all sure how   
far the delight which we take 7when ,i  
say we1 ,i mean1 in general1 lovers of  
old sacred art7 in such quaint          
landscape1 arises from its peculiar     
falsehood1 and how far from its peculiar
 truth4 ,for as it falls into certain   
errors more boldly1 so1 also1 what truth
 it states1 it states more firmly than  
subsequent work4 ,no engravings1 that ,i
 know1 render the backgrounds of sacred 
pictures with sufficient care to enable 
the reader to judge of this matter      
unless before the works themselves4 ,i  
have1 therefore1 engraved1 on the       
opposite page1 a bit of the background  
of ,raphael's ,holy ,family1 in the     
,tribune of the ,uffizii1 at ,florence4 
,i copied the trees leaf for leaf1 and  

the rest of the work with the best care 
,i could2 the engraver1 ,mr4 ,armytage1 
has admirably rendered the delicate     
atmosphere which partly veils the       
distance4 ,now ,i do not know how far it
 is necessary to such pleasure as we    
receive from this landscape1 that the   
trees should be both so straight and    
formal in stem1 and should have branches
 no thicker than threads2 or that the   
outlines of the distant hills should    
approximate so closely to those on any  
ordinary ,wedgewood's china pattern4 ,i 
know that1 on the contrary1 a great part
 of the pleasure arises from the sweet  
expression of air and sunshine2 from the
 traceable resemblance of the city and  
tower to ,florence and ,fesole2 from the
 fact that1 though the boughs are too   
thin1 the lines of ramification are true
 and beautiful2 and from the expression 
of continually varied form in the       
clusters of leafage4 ,and although all  
lovers of sacred art would shrink in    
horror from the idea of substituting for

 such a landscape a bit of ,cuyp or     
,rubens1 ,i do not think that the horror
 they feel is because ,cuyp and         
,rubens's landscape is truer1 but       
because it is coarser and more vulgar in
 associated idea than ,raphael's2 and ,i
 think it possible that the true forms  
of hills1 and true thicknesses of       
boughs1 might be tenderly stolen into   
this background of ,raphael's without   
giving offence to any one4  ,sec4 #ac4  
,take a somewhat more definite instance4
 ,the rock in ,fig4 #e41 at the side1 is
 one put by ,ghirlandajo into the       
background of his ,baptism of ,christ4  
,i have no doubt ,ghirlandajo's own     
rocks and trees are better1 in several  
respects1 than those here represented1  
since ,i have copied them from one of   
,lasinio's execrable engravings2 still1 
the harsh outline1 and generally stiff  
and uninventful blankness of the design 
are true enough1 and characteristic of  
all rock-painting of the period4 ,in the
 plate below ,i have etched#ii the      

outline of a fragment of one of         
,turner's cliffs1 out of his drawing of 
,bolton ,abbey2 and it does not seem to 
me that1 supposing them properly        
introduced in the composition1 the      
substitution of the soft natural lines  
for the hard unnatural ones would make  
,ghirlandajo's background one whit less 
sacred4  ,illustration3 ,,fig4 #e4      
,sec4 #ad4 ,but be this as it may1 the  
fact is1 as ill luck would have it1 that
 profanity of feeling1 and skill in art1
 increased together2 so that we do not  
find the backgrounds rightly painted    
till the figures become irreligious and 
feelingless2 and hence we associate     
necessarily the perfect landscape with  
want of feeling4 ,the first great       
innovator was either ,masaccio or       
,filippino ,lippi3 their works are so   
confused together in the ,chapel of the 
,carmine1 that ,i know not to whom ,i   
may attribute1--or whether1 without     
being immediately quarrelled with1 and  
contradicted1 ,i may attribute to       

anybody1--the landscape background of   
the fresco of the ,tribute ,money4 ,but 
that background1 with one or two other  
fragments in the same chapel1 is far in 
advance of all other work ,i have seen  
of the period1 in expression of the     
rounded contours and large slopes of    
hills1 and the association of their     
summits with the clouds4 ,the opposite  
engraving will give some better idea of 
its character than can be gained from   
the outlines commonly published2 though 
the dark spaces1 which in the original  
are deep blue1 come necessarily somewhat
 too harshly on the eye when translated 
into light and shade4 ,i shall have     
occasion to speak with greater          
speciality of this background in        
examining the forms of hills2 meantime1 
it is only as an isolated work that it  
can be named in the history of pictorial
 progress1 for ,masaccio died too young 
to carry out his purposes2 and the men  
around him were too ignorant of         
landscape to understand or take         

advantage of the little he had done4    
,raphael1 though he borrowed from him in
 the human figure1 never seems to have  
been influenced by his landscape1 and   
retains either1 as in ,plate #aa41 the  
upright formalities of ,perugino2 or1 by
 way of being natural1 expands his      
distances into flattish flakes of hill1 
nearly formless1 as in the backgrounds  
of the ,charge to ,peter and ,draught of
 ,fishes2 and thenceforward the ,tuscan 
and ,roman schools grew more and more   
artificial1 and lost themselves finally 
under round-headed niches and           
,corinthian porticos4  ,illustration3   
#ab4 ,the ,shores of ,wharfe4           
,illustration3 #ac4 ,first ,mountain    
,naturalism4  ,illustration3 #ad4 ,the  
,lombard ,apennine4  ,illustration3 #ae4
 ,st4 ,george of the ,seaweed4  ,sec4   
#ae4 ,it needed1 therefore1 the air of  
the northern mountains and of the sea to
 brace the hearts of men to the         
development of the true landscape       
schools4 ,i sketched by chance one      

evening the line of the ,apennines from 
the ramparts of ,parma1 and ,i have put 
the rough note of it1 and the sky that  
was over it1 in ,plate #ad41 and next to
 this 7,plate #ae47 a moment of sunset1 
behind the ,euganean hills at ,venice4  
,i shall have occasion to refer to both 
hereafter2 but they have some interest  
here as types of the kind of scenes     
which were daily set before the eyes of 
,correggio and ,titian1 and of the sweet
 free spaces of sky through which rose  
and fell1 to them1 the colored rays of  
the morning and evening4  ,sec4 #af4    
,and they are connected1 also1 with the 
forms of landscape adopted by the       
,lombardic masters1 in a very curious   
way4 ,we noticed that the ,flemings1    
educated entirely in flat land1 seemed  
to be always contented with the scenery 
it supplied2 and we should naturally    
have expected that ,titian and          
,correggio1 living in the midst of the  
levels of the lagoons1 and of the plain 
of ,lombardy1 would also have expressed1

 in their backgrounds1 some pleasure in 
such level scenery1 associated1 of      
course1 with the sublimity of the       
far-away ,apennine1 ,euganean1 or ,alp4 
,but not a whit4 ,the plains of mulberry
 and maize1 of sea and shoal1 by which  
they were surrounded1 never occur in    
their backgrounds but in cases of       
necessity2 and both of them1 in all     
their important landscapes1 bury        
themselves in wild wood2 ,correggio     
delighting to relieve with green        
darkness of oak and ivy the golden hair 
and snowy flesh of his figures2 and     
,titian1 whenever the choice of a scene 
was in his power1 retiring to the narrow
 glens and forests of ,cadore4  ,sec4   
#ag4 ,of the vegetation introduced by   
both1 ,i shall have to speak at length  
in the course of the chapters on        
,foliage2 meantime1 ,i give in ,plate   
#af4 one of ,titian's slightest bits of 
background1 from one of the frescoes in 
the little chapel behind ,st4 ,antonio1 
at ,padua1 which may be compared more   

conveniently than any of his more       
elaborate landscapes with the purist    
work from ,raphael4 ,for in both these  
examples the trees are equally slender  
and delicate1 only the formality of     
mediaeval art is1 by ,titian1 entirely  
abandoned1 and the old conception of the
 aspen grove and meadow done away with  
for ever4 ,we are now far from cities3  
the painter takes true delight in the   
desert2 the trees grow wild and free2   
the sky also has lost its peace1 and is 
writhed into folds of motion1 closely   
impendent upon earth1 and somewhat      
threatening1 through its solemn light4  
,sec4 #ah4 ,although1 however1 this     
example is characteristic of ,titian in 
its wildness1 it is not so in its       
looseness4 ,it is only in the distant   
backgrounds of the slightest work1 or   
when he is in a hurry1 that ,titian is  
vague3 in all his near and studied work 
he completes every detail with          
scrupulous care4 ,the next ,plate1 #ag41
 a background of ,tintoret's1 from his  

picture of the ,entombment at ,parma1 is
 more entirely characteristic of the    
,venetians4 ,some mistakes made in the  
reduction of my drawing during the      
course of engraving have cramped the    
curves of the boughs and leaves1 of     
which ,i will give the true outline     
farther on2 meantime the subject1 which 
is that described in ,sec4 #af4 of the  
chapter on ,penetrative ,imagination1   
,vol4 ,,ii41 will just as well answer   
the purpose of exemplifying the         
,venetian love of gloom and wildness1   
united with perfect definition of       
detail4 ,every leaf and separate blade  
of grass is drawn2 but observe how the  
blades of grass are broken1 how         
completely the aim at expression of     
faultlessness and felicity has been     
withdrawn1 as contrary to the laws of   
the existent world4  ,illustration3 #af4
 ,early ,naturalism4  ,illustration3    
#ag4 ,advanced ,naturalism4  ,sec4 #ai4 
,from this great ,venetian school of    
landscape ,turner received much         

important teaching1--almost the only    
healthy teaching which he owed to       
preceding art4 ,the designs of the      
,liber ,studiorum are founded first on  
nature1 but in many cases modified by   
forced imitation of ,claude1 and fond   
imitation of ,titian4 ,all the worst and
 feeblest studies in the book--as the   
pastoral with the nymph playing the     
tambourine1 that with the long bridge   
seen through trees1 and with the flock  
of goats on the walled road--owe the    
principal part of their imbecilities to 
,claude2 another group 7,solway ,moss1  
,peat ,bog1 ,lauffenbourg1 c47 is taken 
with hardly any modification by         
pictorial influence1 straight from      
nature2 and the finest works in the     
book--the ,grande ,chartreuse1 ,rizpah1 
,jason1 ,cephalus1 and one or two       
more--are strongly under the influence  
of ,titian4  ,sec4 #bj4 ,the ,venetian  
school of landscape expired with        
,tintoret1 in the year #aeid2 and the   
sixteenth century closed1 like a grave1 

over the great art of the world4 ,there 
is no entirely sincere or great art in  
the seventeenth century4 ,rubens and    
,rembrandt are its two greatest men1    
both deeply stained by the errors and   
affectations of their age4 ,the         
influence of the ,venetians hardly      
extended to them2 the tower of the      
,titianesque art fell southwards2 and on
 the dust of its ruins grew various     
art-weeds1 such as ,domenichino and the 
,carraccis4 ,their landscape1 which may 
in few words be accurately defined as   
,scum of ,titian1 possesses no single   
merit1 nor any ground for the           
forgiveness of demerit2 they are to be  
named only as a link through which the  
,venetian influence came dimly down to  
,claude and ,salvator4  ,sec4 #ba4      
,salvator possessed real genius1 but was
 crushed by misery in his youth1 and by 
fashionable society in his age4 ,he had 
vigorous animal life1 and considerable  
invention1 but no depth either of       
thought or perception4 ,he took some    

hints directly from nature1 and         
expressed some conditions of the        
grotesque of terror with original power2
 but his baseness of thought1 and       
bluntness of sight1 were unconquerable2 
and his works possess no value          
whatsoever for any person versed in the 
walks of noble art4 ,they had little1 if
 any1 influence on ,turner2 if any1 it  
was in blinding him for some time to the
 grace of tree trunks1 and making him   
tear them too much into splinters4      
,sec4 #bb4 ,not so ,claude1 who may be  
considered as ,turner's principal       
master4 ,claude's capacities were of the
 most limited kind2 but he had          
tenderness of perception1 and sincerity 
of purpose1 and he effected a revolution
 in art4 ,this revolution consisted     
mainly in setting the sun in heaven4#ajj
 ,till ,claude's time no one had        
seriously thought of painting the sun   
but conventionally2 that is to say1 as a
 red or yellow star1 7often7 with a face
 in it1 under which type it was         

constantly represented in illumination2 
else it was kept out of the picture1 or 
introduced in fragmentary distances1    
breaking through clouds with almost     
definite rays4 ,perhaps the honor of    
having first tried to represent the real
 effect of the sun in landscape belongs 
to ,bonifazio1 in his pictures of the   
camps of ,israel4#aja ,rubens followed  
in a kind of bravado1 sometimes making  
the rays issue from anything but the orb
 of the sun2--here1 for instance1 ,fig4 
#f41 is an outline of the position of   
the sun 7at s7 with respect to his own  
rays1 in a sunset behind a tournament in
 the ,louvre3 and various interesting   
effects of sunlight issuing from the    
conventional face-filled orb occur in   
contemporary missal-painting2 for       
instance1 very richly in the ,harleian  
,,ms4 ,brit4 ,mus4 #cdfi4 ,but all this 
was merely indicative of the tendency to
 transition which may always be traced  
in any age before the man comes who is  
to accomplish the transition4 ,claude   

took up the new idea seriously1 made the
 sun his subject1 and painted the       
effects of misty shadows cast by his    
rays over the landscape1 and other      
delicate aerial transitions1 as no one  
had ever done before1 and1 in some      
respects1 as no one has done in oil     
color since4  ,sec4 #bc4 ,but1 how1 if  
this were so1 could his capacities be of
 the meanest order8 ,because doing one  
thing well1 or better than others have  
done it1 does not necessarily imply     
large capacity4 ,capacity means breadth 
of glance1 understanding of the         
relations of things1 and invention1 and 
these are rare and precious2 but there  
are very few men who have not done      
something1 in the course of their lives1
 better than other people4 ,i could     
point out many engravers1 draughtsmen1  
and artists1 who have each a particular 
merit in their manner1 or particular    
field of perception1 that nobody else   
has1 or ever had4 ,but this does not    
make them great men1 it only indicates a

 small special capacity of some kind3   
and all the smaller if the gift be very 
peculiar and single2 for a great man    
never so limits himself to one thing1 as
 that we shall be able to say1 ,that's  
all he can do4 ,if ,claude had been a   
great man he would not have been so     
steadfastly set on painting effects of  
sun2 he would have looked at all nature1
 and at all art1 and would have painted 
sun effects somewhat worse1 and nature  
universally much better4  ,illustration3
 ,,fig4 #f4  ,sec4 #bd4 ,such as he was1
 however1 his discovery of the way to   
make pictures look warm was very        
delightful to the shallow connoisseurs  
of the age4 ,not that they cared for    
sunshine2 but they liked seeing         
jugglery4 ,they could not feel ,titian's
 noble color1 nor ,veronese's noble     
composition2 but they thought it highly 
amusing to see the sun brought into a   
picture3 and ,claude's works were bought
 and delighted in by vulgar people then1
 for their real-looking suns1 as        

pictures are now by vulgar people for   
having real timepieces in their church  
towers4  ,sec4 #be4 ,but when ,turner   
arose1 with an earnest desire to paint  
the whole of nature1 he found that the  
existence of the sun was an important   
fact1 and by no means an easily         
manageable one4 ,he loved sunshine for  
its own sake2 but he could not at first 
paint it4 ,most things else1 he would   
more or less manage without much        
technical difficulty2 but the burning   
orb and the golden haze could not1      
somehow1 be got out of the oil paint4   
,naturally he went to ,claude1 who      
really had got them out of oil paint2   
approached him with great reverence1 as 
having done that which seemed to ,turner
 most difficult of all technical        
matters1 and he became his faithful     
disciple4 ,how much he learned from him 
of manipulation1 ,i cannot tell2 but one
 thing is certain1 that he never quite  
equalled him in that particular forte of
 his4 ,i imagine that ,claude's way of  

laying on oil color was so methodical   
that it could not possibly be imitated  
by a man whose mechanism was interfered 
with by hundreds of thoughts and aims   
totally different from ,claude's2 and1  
besides1 ,i suppose that certain useful 
principles in the management of paint1  
of which our schools are now wholly     
ignorant1 had come down as far as       
,claude1 from the ,venetians4 ,turner at
 last gave up the attempt1 and adopted a
 manipulation of his own1 which indeed  
effected certain objects attainable in  
no other way1 but which still was in    
many respects unsatisfactory1 dangerous1
 and deeply to be regretted4  ,sec4 #bf4
 ,but meantime his mind had been        
strongly warped by ,claude's futilities 
of conception4 ,it was impossible to    
dwell on such works for any length of   
time without being grievously harmed by 
them2 and the style of ,turner's        
compositions was for ever afterwards    
weakened or corrupted4 ,for1 truly1 it  
is almost beyond belief into what depth 

of absurdity ,claude plunges continually
 in his most admired designs4 ,for      
instance2 undertaking to paint ,moses at
 the ,burning ,bush1 he represents a    
graceful landscape with a city1 a river1
 and a bridge1 and plenty of tall trees1
 and the sea1 and numbers of people     
going about their business and pleasure 
in every direction2 and the bush burning
 quietly upon a bank in the corner2     
rather in the dark1 and not to be seen  
without close inspection4 ,it would take
 some pages of close writing to point   
out1 one by one1 the inanities of heart1
 soul1 and brain which such a conception
 involves2 the ineffable ignorance of   
the nature of the event1 and of the     
scene of it2 the incapacity of          
conceiving anything even in ignorance1  
which should be impressive2 the dim1    
stupid1 serene1 leguminous enjoyment of 
his sunny afternoon--burn the bushes as 
much as they liked--these ,i leave the  
reader to think over at his leisure1    
either before the picture in ,lord      

,ellesmere's gallery1 or the sketch of  
it in the ,liber ,veritatis4 ,but all   
these kinds of fallacy sprung more or   
less out of the vices of the time in    
which ,claude lived2 his own peculiar   
character reaches beyond these1 to an   
incapacity of understanding the main    
point in anything he had to represent1  
down to the minutest detail1 which is   
quite unequalled1 as far as ,i know1 in 
human nugatoriness4 ,for instance2 here1
 in ,fig4 #g41 is the head1 with half   
the body1 of ,eneas drawing his ,bow1   
from ,no4 #ahj4 of the ,liber           
,veritatis4 ,observe1 the string is too 
long by half2 for if the bow were       
unbent1 it would be two feet longer than
 the whole bow4 ,then the arrow is too  
long by half1 has too heavy a head by   
half2 and finally1 it actually is under 
the bow-hand1 instead of above it4 ,of  
the ideal and heroic refinement of the  
head and drapery ,i will say nothing2   
but look only at the wretched archery1  
and consider if it would be possible for

 any child to draw the thing with less  
understanding1 or to make more mistakes 
in the given compass4#ajb               
,illustration3 ,,fig4 #g4  ,sec4 #bg4   
,and yet1 exquisite as is ,claude's     
instinct for blunder1 he has not        
strength of mind enough to blunder in a 
wholly original manner1 but he must     
needs falter out of his way to pick up  
other people's puerilities1 and be      
absurd at second-hand4 ,i have been     
obliged to laugh a little--though ,i    
hope reverently--at ,ghirlandajo's      
landscapes1 which yet we saw had a      
certain charm of quaintness in them when
 contrasted with his grand figures2 but 
could any one have believed that        
,claude1 with all the noble landscapes  
of ,titian set before him1 and all      
nature round about him1 should yet go   
back to ,ghirlandajo for types of form4 
,yet such is the case4 ,i said that the 
,venetian influence came dimly down to  
,claude2 but the old ,florentine        
influence came clearly4 ,the ,claudesque

 landscape is not1 as so commonly       
supposed1 an idealized abstract of the  
nature about ,rome4 ,it is an ultimate  
condition of the ,florentine            
conventional landscape1 more or less    
softened by reference to nature4 ,fig4  
#h41 from ,no4 #ade4 of the ,liber      
,veritatis1 is sufficiently             
characteristic of ,claude's             
rock-drawing2 and compared with ,fig4   
#e4 7p4 #cad71 will show exactly the    
kind of modification he made on old and 
received types4 ,we shall see other     
instances of it hereafter4              
,illustration3 ,,fig4 #h4  ,imagine this
 kind of reproduction of whatever other 
people had done worst1 and this kind of 
misunderstanding of all that he saw     
himself in nature1 carried out in       
,claude's trees1 rocks1 ships--in       
everything that he touched1--and then   
consider what kind of school this work  
was for a young and reverent disciple4  
,as ,i said1 ,turner never recovered the
 effects of it2 his compositions were   

always mannered1 lifeless1 and even     
foolish2 and he only did noble things   
when the immediate presence of nature   
had overpowered the reminiscences of his
 master4  ,sec4 #bh4 ,of the influence  
of ,gaspar and ,nicolo ,poussin on      
,turner1 there is hardly anything to be 
said1 nor much respecting that which    
they had on landscape generally4 ,nicolo
 ,poussin had noble powers of design1   
and might have been a thoroughly great  
painter had he been trained in ,venice2 
but his ,roman education kept him tame2 
his trenchant severity was contrary to  
the tendencies of the age1 and had few  
imitators compared to the dashing of    
,salvator1 and the mist of ,claude4     
,those few imitators adopted his manner 
without possessing either his science or
 invention2 and the ,italian school of  
landscape soon expired4 ,reminiscences  
of him occur sometimes in ,turner's     
compositions of sculptured stones for   
foreground2 and the beautiful ,triumph  
of ,flora1 in the ,louvre1 probably     

first showed ,turner the use of definite
 flower1 or blossom-painting1 in        
landscape4 ,i doubt if he took anything 
from ,gaspar2 whatever he might have    
learned from him respecting masses of   
foliage and golden distances1 could have
 been learned better1 and1 ,i believe1  
was learned1 from ,titian4  ,sec4 #bi4  
,meantime1 a lower1 but more living     
school had developed itself in the      
north2 ,cuyp had painted sunshine as    
truly as ,claude1 gilding with it a more
 homely1 but far more honestly conceived
 landscape2 and the effects of light of 
,de ,hooghe and ,rembrandt presented    
examples of treatment to which southern 
art could show no parallel4 ,turner     
evidently studied these with the        
greatest care1 and with great benefit in
 every way2 especially this1 that they  
neutralized the idealisms of ,claude1   
and showed the young painter what power 
might be in plain truth1 even of the    
most familiar kind4 ,he painted several 
pictures in imitation of these masters2 

and those in which he tried to rival    
,cuyp are healthy and noble works1      
being1 in fact1 just what most of       
,cuyp's own pictures are--faithful      
studies of ,dutch boats in calm weather1
 on smooth water4 ,de ,hooghe was too   
precise1 and ,rembrandt too dark1 to be 
successfully or affectionately followed 
by him2 but he evidently learned much   
from both4  ,sec4 #cj4 ,finally1 he     
painted many pictures in the manner of  
,vandevelde 7who was the accepted       
authority of his time in sea painting71 
and received much injury from him4 ,to  
the close of his life1 ,turner always   
painted the sea too grey1 and too       
opaque1 in consequence of his early     
study of ,vandevelde4 ,he never seemed  
to perceive color so truly in the sea as
 he saw it elsewhere4 ,but he soon      
discovered the poorness of ,vandevelde's
 forms of waves1 and raised their meanly
 divided surfaces into massive surge1   
effecting rapidly other changes1 of     
which more in another place4  ,such was 

the art to which ,turner1 in early      
years1 devoted his most earnest         
thoughts4 ,more or less respectful      
contemplation of ,reynolds1             
,loutherbourg1 ,wilson1 ,gainsborough1  
,morland1 and ,wilkie1 was incidentally 
mingled with his graver study2 and he   
maintained a questioning watchfulness of
 even the smallest successes of his     
brother artists of the modern landscape 
school4 ,it remains for us only to note 
the position of that living school when 
,turner1 helped or misled1 as the case  
may be1 by the study of the older       
artists1 began to consider what remained
 for him to do1 or design4  ,sec4 #ca4  
,the dead schools of landscape1 composed
 of the works we have just been         
examining1 were broadly divisible into  
northern and southern3 the ,dutch       
schools1 more or less natural1 but      
vulgar2 the ,italian1 more or less      
elevated1 but absurd4 ,there was a      
certain foolish elegance in ,claude1 and
 a dull dignity in ,gaspar2 but then    

their work resembled nothing that ever  
existed in the world4 ,on the contrary1 
a canal or cattle piece of ,cuyp's had  
many veracities about it2 but they were1
 at best1 truths of the ditch and dairy4
 ,the grace of nature1 or her gloom1 her
 tender and sacred seclusions1 or her   
reach of power and wrath1 had never been
 painted2 nor had anything been painted 
yet in true love of it2 for both ,dutch 
and ,italians agreed in this1 that they 
always painted for the picture's sake1  
to show how well they could imitate     
sunshine1 arrange masses1 or articulate 
straws1--never because they loved the   
scene1 or wanted to carry away some     
memory of it4  ,and thus1 all that      
landscape of the old masters is to be   
considered merely as a struggle of      
expiring skill to discover some new     
direction in which to display itself4   
,there was no love of nature in the age2
 only a desire for something new4       
,therefore those schools expired at     
last1 leaving the chasm of nearly utter 

emptiness between them and the true     
moderns1 out of which chasm the new     
school rises1 not engrafted on that old 
one1 but1 from the very base of all     
things1 beginning with mere washes of   
,indian ink1 touched upon with yellow   
and brown2 and gradually feeling its way
 to color4  ,but this infant school     
differed inherently from that ancienter 
one1 in that its motive was love4       
,however feeble its efforts might be1   
they were for the sake of the nature1   
not of the picture1 and therefore1      
having this germ of true life1 it grew  
and throve4 ,robson did not paint purple
 hills because he wanted to show how he 
could lay on purple2 but because he     
truly loved their dark peaks4 ,fielding 
did not paint downs to show how         
dexterously he could sponge out mists2  
but because he loved downs4  ,this      
modern school1 therefore1 became the    
only true school of landscape which had 
yet existed2 the artificial ,claude and 
,gaspar work may be cast aside out of   

our way1--as ,i have said in my         
,edinburgh lectures1 under the general  
title of pastoralism1--and from the last
 landscape of ,tintoret1 if we look for 
life1 we must pass at once to the first 
of ,turner4  ,sec4 #cb4 ,what help      
,turner received from this or that      
companion of his youth is of no         
importance to any one now4 ,of course   
every great man is always being helped  
by everybody1#ajc for his gift is to get
 good out of all things and all persons2
 and also there were two men associated 
with him in early study1 who showed high
 promise in the same field1 ,cousen and 
,girtin 7especially the former71 and    
there is no saying what these men might 
have done had they lived2 there might1  
perhaps1 have been a struggle between   
one or other of them and ,turner1 as    
between ,giorgione and ,titian4 ,but    
they lived not2 and ,turner is the only 
great man whom the school has yet       
produced1--quite great enough1 as we    
shall see1 for all that needed to be    

done4 ,to him1 therefore1 we now finally
 turn1 as the sole object of our        
inquiry4 ,i shall first reinforce1 with 
such additions as they need1 those      
statements of his general principles    
which ,i made in the first volume1 but  
could not then demonstrate fully1 for   
want of time to prepare pictorial       
illustration2 and then proceed to       
examine1 piece by piece1 his            
representations of the facts of nature1 
comparing them1 as it may seem          
expedient1 with what had been           
accomplished by others4         99      
99       99       99       99  ,i cannot
 close this volume without alluding     
briefly to a subject of different       
interest from any that have occupied us 
in its pages4 ,for it may1 perhaps1 seem
 to a general reader heartless and vain 
to enter zealously into questions about 
our arts and pleasures in a time of so  
great public anxiety as this4  ,but he  
will find1 if he looks back to the sixth
 paragraph of the opening chapter of the

 last volume1 some statement of         
feelings1 which1 as they made me        
despondent in a time of apparent        
national prosperity1 now cheer me in one
 which1 though of stern trial1 ,i will  
not be so much a coward as to call one  
of adversity4 ,and ,i derive this       
encouragement first from the belief that
 the ,war itself1 with all its          
bitterness1 is1 in the present state of 
the ,european nations1 productive of    
more good than evil2 and1 secondly1     
because ,i have more confidence than    
others generally entertain1 in the      
justice of its cause4  ,i say1 first1   
because ,i believe the war is at present
 productive of good more than of evil4  
,i will not argue this hardly and       
coldly1 as ,i might1 by tracing in past 
history some of the abundant evidence   
that nations have always reached their  
highest virtue1 and wrought their most  
accomplished works1 in times of         
straitening and battle2 as1 on the other
 hand1 no nation ever yet enjoyed a     

protracted and triumphant peace without 
receiving in its own bosom ineradicable 
seeds of future decline4 ,i will not so 
argue this matter2 but ,i will appeal at
 once to the testimony of those whom the
 war has cost the dearest4 ,i know what 
would be told me1 by those who have     
suffered nothing2 whose domestic        
happiness has been unbroken2 whose daily
 comfort undisturbed2 whose experience  
of calamity consists1 at its utmost1 in 
the incertitude of a speculation1 the   
dearness of a luxury1 or the increase of
 demands upon their fortune which they  
could meet fourfold without             
inconvenience4 ,from these1 ,i can well 
believe1 be they prudent economists1 or 
careless pleasure-seekers1 the cry for  
peace will rise alike vociferously1     
whether in street or senate4 ,but ,i ask
 their witness1 to whom the war has     
changed the aspect of the earth1 and    
imagery of heaven1 whose hopes it has   
cut off like a spider's web1 whose      
treasure it has placed1 in a moment1    

under the seals of clay4 ,those who can 
never more see sunrise1 nor watch the   
climbing light gild the ,eastern clouds1
 without thinking what graves it has    
gilded1 first1 far down behind the dark 
earth-line1--who never more shall see   
the crocus bloom in spring1 without     
thinking what dust it is that feeds the 
wild flowers of ,balaclava4 ,ask their  
witness1 and see if they will not reply 
that it is well with them1 and with     
theirs2 that they would have it no      
otherwise2 would not1 if they might1    
receive back their gifts of love and    
life1 nor take again the purple of their
 blood out of the cross on the          
breastplate of ,england4 ,ask them3 and 
though they should answer only with a   
sob1 listen if it does not gather upon  
their lips into the sound of the old    
,seyton war-cry--,set on4  ,and this not
 for pride--not because the names of    
their lost ones will be recorded to all 
time1 as of those who held the breach   
and kept the gate of ,europe against the

 ,north1 as the ,spartans did against   
the ,east2 and lay down in the place    
they had to guard1 with the like home   
message1 ,oh1 stranger1 go and tell the 
,english that we are lying here1 having 
obeyed their words2--not for this1 but  
because1 also1 they have felt that the  
spirit which has discerned them for     
eminence in sorrow--the helmed and      
sworded skeleton that rakes with its    
white fingers the sands of the ,black   
,sea beach into grave-heap after        
grave-heap1 washed by everlasting surf  
of tears--has been to them an angel of  
other things than agony2 that they have 
learned1 with those hollow1 undeceivable
 eyes of his1 to see all the earth by   
the sunlight of deathbeds2--no inch-high
 stage for foolish griefs and feigned   
pleasures2 no dream1 neither1 as its    
dull moralists told them2--,anything but
 that3 a place of true1 marvellous1     
inextricable sorrow and power2 a        
question-chamber of trial by rack and   
fire1 irrevocable decision recording    

continually2 and no sleep1 nor folding  
of hands1 among the demon-questioners2  
none among the angel-watchers1 none     
among the men who stand or fall beside  
those hosts of ,god4 ,they know now the 
strength of sacrifice1 and that its     
flames can illumine as well as consume2 
they are bound by new fidelities to all 
that they have saved1--by new love to   
all for whom they have suffered2 every  
affection which seemed to sink with     
those dim life-stains into the dust1 has
 been delegated1 by those who need it no
 more1 to the cause for which they have 
expired2 and every mouldering arm1 which
 will never more embrace the beloved    
ones1 has bequeathed to them its        
strength and its faithfulness4  ,for the
 cause of this quarrel is no dim1       
half-avoidable involution of mean       
interests and errors1 as some would have
 us believe4 ,there never was a great   
war caused by such things4 ,there never 
can be4 ,the historian may trace it1    
with ingenious trifling1 to a courtier's

 jest or a woman's glance2 but he does  
not ask--7and it is the sum of          
questions7--how the warring nations had 
come to found their destinies on the    
course of the sneer1 or the smile4 ,if  
they have so based them1 it is time for 
them to learn1 through suffering1 how to
 build on other foundations--for great1 
accumulated1 and most righteous cause1  
their foot slides in due time2 and      
against the torpor1 or the turpitude1 of
 their myriads1 there is loosed the     
haste of the devouring sword and the    
thirsty arrow4 ,but if they have set    
their fortunes on other than such       
ground1 then the war must be owing to   
some deep conviction or passion in their
 own hearts1--a conviction which1 in    
resistless flow1 or reckless ebb1 or    
consistent stay1 is the ultimate arbiter
 of battle1 disgrace1 or conquest4      
,wherever there is war1 there must be   
injustice on one side or the other1 or  
on both4 ,there have been wars which    
were little more than trials of strength

 between friendly nations1 and in which 
the injustice was not to each other1 but
 to the ,god who gave them life4 ,but in
 a malignant war of these present ages  
there is injustice of ignobler kind1 at 
once to ,god and man1 which must be     
stemmed for both their sakes4 ,it may1  
indeed1 be so involved with national    
prejudices1 or ignorances1 that neither 
of the contending nations can conceive  
it as attaching to their cause2 nay1 the
 constitution of their governments1 and 
the clumsy crookedness of their         
political dealings with each other1 may 
be such as to prevent either of them    
from knowing the actual cause for which 
they have gone to war4 ,assuredly this  
is1 in a great degree1 the state of     
things with us2 for ,i noticed that     
there never came news by telegraph of   
the explosion of a powder-barrel1 or of 
the loss of thirty men by a sortie1 but 
the ,parliament lost confidence         
immediately in the justice of the war2  
reopened the question whether we ever   

should have engaged in it1 and remained 
in a doubtful and repentant state of    
mind until one of the enemy's           
powder-barrels blew up also2 upon which 
they were immediately satisfied again   
that the war was a wise and necessary   
one4 ,how far1 therefore1 the calamity  
may have been brought upon us by men    
whose political principles shoot        
annually like the leaves1 and change    
color at every autumn frost3--how loudly
 the blood that has been poured out     
round the walls of that city1 up to the 
horse-bridles1 may now be crying from   
the ground against men who did not know1
 when they first bade shed it1 exactly  
what war was1 or what blood was1 or what
 life was1 or truth1 or what anything   
else was upon the earth2 and whose tone 
of opinions touching the destinies of   
mankind depended entirely upon whether  
they were sitting on the right or left  
side of the ,house of ,commons2--this1  
,i repeat1 ,i know not1 nor 7in all     
solemnity ,i say it7 do ,i care to know4

 ,for if it be so1 and the ,english     
nation could at the present period of   
its history be betrayed into a war such 
as this by the slipping of a wrong word 
into a protocol1 or bewitched into      
unexpected battle under the budding     
hallucinations of its sapling senators1 
truly it is time for us to bear the     
penalty of our baseness1 and learn1 as  
the sleepless steel glares close upon   
us1 how to choose our governors more    
wisely1 and our ways more warily4 ,for  
that which brings swift punishment in   
war1 must have brought slow ruin in     
peace2 and those who have now laid down 
their lives for ,england1 have doubly   
saved her2 they have humbled at once her
 enemies and herself2 and have done less
 for her1 in the conquest they achieve1 
than in the sorrow that they claim4     
,but it is not altogether thus3 we have 
not been cast into this war by mere     
political misapprehensions1 or popular  
ignorances4 ,it is quite possible that  
neither we nor our rulers may clearly   

understand the nature of the conflict2  
and that we may be dealing blows in the 
dark1 confusedly1 and as a soldier      
suddenly awakened from slumber by an    
unknown adversary4 ,but ,i believe the  
struggle was inevitable1 and that the   
sooner it came1 the more easily it was  
to be met1 and the more nobly concluded4
 ,france and ,england are both of them1 
from shore to shore1 in a state of      
intense progression1 change1 and        
experimental life4 ,they are each of    
them beginning to examine1 more         
distinctly than ever nations did yet in 
the history of the world1 the dangerous 
question respecting the rights of       
governed1 and the responsibilities of   
governing1 bodies2 not1 as heretofore2  
foaming over them in red frenzy1 with   
intervals of fetter and straw crown1 but
 in health1 quietness1 and daylight1    
with the help of a good ,queen and a    
great ,emperor2 and to determine them in
 a way which1 by just so much as it is  
more effective and rational1 is likely  

to produce more permanent results than  
ever before on the policy of neighboring
 ,states1 and to force1 gradually1 the  
discussion of similar questions into    
their places of silence4 ,to force      
it1--for true liberty1 like true        
religion1 is always aggressive or       
persecuted2 but the attack is generally 
made upon it by the nation which is to  
be crushed1--by ,persian on ,athenian1  
,tuscan on ,roman1 ,austrian on ,swiss2 
or1 as now1 by ,russia upon us and our  
allies3 her attack appointed1 it seems  
to me1 for confirmation of all our      
greatness1 trial of our strength1       
purging and punishment of our           
futilities1 and establishment for ever1 
in our hands1 of the leadership in the  
political progress of the world4        
,whether this its providential purpose  
be accomplished1 must depend on its     
enabling ,france and ,england to love   
one another1 and teaching these1 the two
 noblest foes that ever stood breast to 
breast among the nations1 first to      

decipher the law of international       
charities2 first to discern that races1 
like individuals1 can only reach their  
true strength1 dignity1 or joy1 in      
seeking each the welfare1 and exulting  
each in the glory1 of the other4 ,it is 
strange how far we still seem from fully
 perceiving this4 ,we know that two men1
 cast on a desert island1 could not     
thrive in dispeace2 we can understand   
that four1 or twelve1 might still find  
their account in unity2 but that a      
multitude should thrive otherwise than  
by the contentions of its classes1 or   
two multitudes hold themselves in       
anywise bound by brotherly law to serve1
 support1 rebuke1 rejoice in one        
another1 this seems still as far beyond 
our conception1 as the clearest of      
commandments1 ,let no man seek his own1 
but every man another's wealth1 is      
beyond our habitual practice4 ,yet1 if  
once we comprehend that precept in its  
breadth1 and feel that what we now call 
jealousy for our country's honor1 is1 so

 far as it tends to other countries'    
dishonor1 merely one of the worst1      
because most complacent and             
self-gratulatory1 forms of              
irreligion1--a newly breathed strength  
will1 with the newly interpreted        
patriotism1 animate and sanctify the    
efforts of men4 ,learning1 unchecked by 
envy1 will be accepted more frankly1    
throned more firmly1 guided more        
swiftly2 charity1 unchilled by fear1    
will dispose the laws of each ,state    
without reluctance to advantage its     
neighbor by justice to itself2 and      
admiration1 unwarped by prejudice1      
possess itself continually of new       
treasure in the arts and the thoughts of
 the stranger4  ,if ,france and ,england
 fail of this1 if again petty jealousies
 or selfish interests prevail to unknit 
their hands from the armored grasp1     
then1 indeed1 their faithful children   
will have fallen in vain2 there will be 
a sound as of renewed lamentation along 
those ,euxine waves1 and a shaking among

 the bones that bleach by the mounds of 
,sebastopol4 ,but if they fail not of   
this1--if we1 in our love of our queens 
and kings1 remember how ,france gave to 
the cause of early civilization1 first  
the greatest1 then the holiest1 of      
monarchs2#ajd and ,france1 in her love  
of liberty1 remembers how we first      
raised the standard of ,commonwealth1   
trusted to the grasp of one good and    
strong hand1 witnessed for by victory2  
and so join in perpetual compact of our 
different strengths1 to contend for     
justice1 mercy1 and truth throughout the
 world1--who dares say that one soldier 
has died in vain8 ,the scarlet of the   
blood that has sealed this covenant will
 be poured along the clouds of a new    
aurora1 glorious in that ,eastern       
heaven2 for every sob of wreck-fed      
breaker round those ,pontic precipices1 
the floods shall clap their hands       
between the guarded mounts of the       
,prince-,angel2 and the spirits of those
 lost multitudes1 crowned with the olive

 and rose among the laurel1 shall haunt1
 satisfied1 the willowy brooks and      
peaceful vales of ,england1 and glide1  
triumphant1 by the poplar groves and    
sunned coteaux of ,seine4    #ig ,the   
education here spoken of is1 of course1 
that bearing on        the main work of 
life4 ,in other respects1 ,turner's     
education        was more neglected than
 ,scott's1 and that not beneficently4   
,see the close of the third of my       
,edinburgh ,lectures4    #ih ,the       
picture is in the ,uffizii of ,florence4
    #ii ,this etching is prepared for   
receiving mezzotint in the next         
volume2 it is therefore much heavier in 
line1 especially in        the water1   
than ,i should have made it1 if intended
 to be        complete as it is4    #ajj
 ,compare ,vol4 ,i4 ,part ,,ii4 ,sec4   
,i4 ,chap4 ,,vii4 ,i repeat here        
some things that were then said2 but it 
is necessary now to         review them 
in connection with ,turner's education1 
as well         as for the sake of      

enforcing them by illustration4    #aja 
,now in the old library of ,venice4     
#ajb ,my old friend ,blackwood complains
 bitterly1 in his last         number1  
of my having given this illustration at 
one of my         late lectures1 saying1
 that ,i have a disagreeable knack of   
finding out the joints in my opponent's 
armor1 and that ,i         never fight  
for love4 ,i never do4 ,i fight for     
truth1         earnestly1 and in no wise
 for jest2 and against all lies1        
earnestly1 and in no wise for love4     
,they complain that a         noble     
adversary is not in ,mr4 ,ruskin's way4 
,no2 a noble         adversary never    
was1 never will be4 ,with all that is   
noble         ,i have been1 and shall   
be1 in perpetual peace1 with all that   
is ignoble and false everlastingly at   
war4 ,and as for these         ,scotch  
bourgeois gentilshommes with their ,tu  
n'as pas la         patience que je     
pare1 let them look to their fence4 ,but
         truly1 if they will tell me    

where ,claude's strong points           
are1 ,i will strike there1 and be       
thankful4    #ajc ,his first drawing    
master was1 ,i believe1 that ,mr4 ,lowe1
         whose daughters1 now aged and  
poor1 have1 it seems to me1         some
 claim on public regard1 being connected
 distantly with         the memory of   
,johnson1 and closely with that of      
,turner4    #ajd ,charlemagne and ,st4  
,louis4     ,,appendix4  ,i4 ,,claude',s
 ,,tree-,,drawing4   ,the reader may not
 improbably hear it said1 by persons who
 are incapable of maintaining an honest 
argument1 and therefore incapable of    
understanding or believing the honesty  
of an adversary1 that ,i have           
caricatured1 or unfairly chosen1 the    
examples ,i give of the masters ,i      
depreciate4 ,it is evident1 in the first
 place1 that ,i could not1 if ,i were   
even cunningly disposed1 adopt a worse  
policy than in so doing2 for the        
discovery of caricature or falsity in my
 representations1 would not only        

invalidate the immediate statement1 but 
the whole book2 and invalidate it in the
 most fatal way1 by showing that all ,i 
had ever said about truth was hypocrisy1
 and that in my own affairs ,i expected 
to prevail by help of lies4             
,nevertheless it necessarily happens1   
that in endeavors to facsimile any work 
whatsoever1 bad or good1 some changes   
are induced from the exact aspect of the
 original4 ,these changes are1 of       
course1 sometimes harmful1 sometimes    
advantageous2 the bad thing generally   
gains2 the good thing always loses3 so  
that ,i am continually tormented by     
finding1 in my plates of contrasts1 the 
virtue and vice ,i exactly wanted to    
talk about1 eliminated from both        
examples4 ,in some cases1 however1 the  
bad thing will lose also1 and then ,i   
must either cancel the plate1 or        
increase the cost of the work by        
preparing another 7at a similar risk71  
or run the chance of incurring the      
charge of dishonest representation4 ,i  

desire1 therefore1 very earnestly1 and  
once for all1 to have it understood that
 whatever ,i say in the text1 bearing on
 questions of comparison1 refers always 
to the original works2 and that1 if the 
reader has it in his power1 ,i would far
 rather he should look at those works   
than at my plates of them2 ,i only give 
the plates for his immediate help and   
convenience3 and ,i mention this1 with  
respect to my plate of ,claude's        
ramification1 because1 if ,i have such a
 thing as a prejudice at all1 7and1     
although ,i do not myself think ,i have1
 people certainly say so17 it is against
 ,claude2 and ,i might1 therefore1 be   
sooner suspected of some malice in this 
plate than in others4 ,but ,i simply    
gave the original engravings from the   
,liber ,veritatis to ,mr4 ,le ,keux1    
earnestly requesting that the portions  
selected might be faithfully copied2 and
 ,i think he is much to be thanked for  
so carefully and successfully           
accomplishing the task4 ,the figures are

 from the following plates3--    ,no4   
#a4 ,part of the central tree in ,no4   
#acd4 of the ,liber ,veritatis4         
#b4 ,from the largest tree              
#aeh4       #c4 ,bushes at root of tree 
#acd4       #d4 ,tree on the left       
#ahc4       #e4 ,tree on the left       
#ie4       #f4 ,tree on the left        
#gb4       #g4 ,principal tree          
#ib4       #h4 ,tree on the right       
#cb4  ,if1 in fact1 any change be       
effected in the examples in this plate1 
it is for the better2 for1 thus         
detached1 they all look like small      
boughs1 in which the faults are of      
little consequence2 in the original     
works they are seen to be intended for  
large trunks of trees1 and the errors   
are therefore pronounced on a much      
larger scale4  ,the plate of mediaeval  
rocks 7#aj47 has been executed with much
 less attention in transcript1 because  
the points there to be illustrated were 
quite indisputable1 and the instances   
were needed merely to show the kind of  

thing spoken of1 not the skill of       
particular masters4 ,the example from   
,leonardo was1 however1 somewhat        
carefully treated4 ,mr4 ,cuff copied it 
accurately from the only engraving of   
the picture which ,i believe exists1 and
 with which1 therefore1 ,i suppose the  
world is generally content4 ,that       
engraving1 however1 in no respect seems 
to me to give the look of the light     
behind ,leonardo's rocks2 so ,i         
afterwards darkened the rocks1 and put  
some light into the sky and lily2 and   
the effect is certainly more like that  
of the picture than it is in the same   
portion of the old engraving4  ,of the  
other masters represented in the plates 
of this volume1 the noblest1 ,tintoret1 
has assuredly suffered the most 7,plate 
#ag472 first1 in my too hasty drawing   
from the original1 picture2 and1        
secondly1 through some accidental errors
 of outline which occurred in the       
reduction to the size of the page2      
lastly1 and chiefly1 in the withdrawal  

of the heads of the four figures        
underneath1 in the shadow1 on which the 
composition entirely depends4 ,this last
 evil is unavoidable4 ,it is quite      
impossible to make extracts from the    
great masters without partly spoiling   
every separated feature2 the very       
essence of a noble composition being1   
that none should bear separation from   
the rest4  ,the plate from ,raphael     
7#aa7 is1 ,i think1 on the whole1       
satisfactory4 ,it cost me much pains1 as
 ,i had to facsimile the irregular form 
of every leaf2 each being1 in the       
original picture1 executed with a       
somewhat wayward pencil-stroke of vivid 
brown on the clear sky4  ,of the other  
plates it would be tedious to speak in  
detail4 ,generally1 it will be found    
that ,i have taken most pains to do     
justice to the masters of whom ,i have  
to speak depreciatingly2 and that1 if   
there be calumny at all1 it is always of
 ,turner1 rather than of ,claude4  ,the 
reader might1 however1 perhaps suspect  

me of ill-will towards ,constable1 owing
 to my continually introducing him for  
depreciatory comparison4 ,so far from   
this being the case1 ,i had1 as will be 
seen in various passages of the first   
volume1 considerable respect for the    
feeling with which he worked2 but ,i was
 compelled to do harsh justice upon him 
now1 because ,mr4 ,leslie1 in his       
unadvised and unfortunate rechauffe of  
the fallacious art-maxims of the last   
century1 has suffered his personal      
regard for ,constable so far to prevail 
over his judgment as to bring him       
forward as a great artist1 comparable in
 some kind with ,turner4 ,as            
,constable's reputation was1 even before
 this1 most mischievous1 in giving      
countenance to the blotting and         
blundering of ,modernism1 ,i saw myself 
obliged1 though unwillingly1 to carry   
the suggested comparison thoroughly out4
   ,,ii4 ,,german ,,philosophy4  ,the   
reader must have noticed that ,i never  
speak of ,german art1 or ,german        

philosophy1 but in depreciation4 ,this1 
however1 is not because ,i cannot feel1 
or would not acknowledge1 the value and 
power1 within certain limits1 of both2  
but because ,i also feel that the       
immediate tendency of the ,english mind 
is to rate them too highly2 and1        
therefore1 it becomes a necessary task1 
at present1 to mark what evil and       
weakness there are in them1 rather than 
what good4 ,i also am brought           
continually into collision with certain 
extravagances of the ,german mind1 by my
 own steady pursuit of ,naturalism as   
opposed to ,idealism2 and1 therefore1 ,i
 become unfortunately cognizant of the  
evil1 rather than of the good2 which    
evil1 so far as ,i feel it1 ,i am bound 
to declare4 ,and it is not to the point 
to protest1 as the ,chevalier ,bunsen   
and other ,german writers have done1    
against the expression of opinions      
respecting their philosophy by persons  
who have not profoundly or carefully    
studied it2 for the very resolution to  

study any system of metaphysics         
profoundly1 must be based1 in any       
prudent man's mind1 on some preconceived
 opinion of its worthiness to be        
studied2 which opinion of ,german       
metaphysics the naturalistic ,english   
cannot be led to form4 ,this is not to  
be murmured against1--it is in the      
simple necessity of things4 ,men who    
have other business on their hands must 
be content to choose what philosophy    
they have occasion for1 by the sample2  
and when1 glancing into the second      
volume of ,hippolytus1 we find the      
,chevalier ,bunsen himself talking of a 
finite realization of the infinite 7a   
phrase considerably less rational than a
 black realization of white71 and of a  
triad composed of ,god1 ,man1 and       
,humanity#aje 7which is a parallel thing
 to talking of a triad composed of man1 
dog1 and canineness71 knowing those     
expressions to be pure1 definite1 and   
highly finished nonsense1 we do not in  
general trouble ourselves to look any   

farther4 ,some one will perhaps answer  
that if one always judged thus by the   
sample1--as1 for instance1 if one judged
 of ,turner's pictures by the head of a 
figure cut out of one of them1--very    
precious things might often be despised4
 ,not1 ,i think1 often4 ,if any one went
 to ,turner1 expecting to learn         
figure-drawing from him1 the sample of  
his figure-drawing would accurately and 
justly inform him that he had come to   
the wrong master4 ,but if he came to be 
taught landscape1 the smallest fragment 
of ,turner's work would justly exemplify
 his power4 ,it may sometimes unluckily 
happen that1 in such short trial1 we    
strike upon an accidentally failing part
 of the thing to be tried1 and then we  
may be unjust2 but there is1            
nevertheless1 in multitudes of cases1 no
 other way of judging or acting2 and the
 necessity of occasionally being unjust 
is a law of life1--like that of         
sometimes stumbling1 or being sick4 ,it 
will not do to walk at snail's pace all 

our lives for fear of stumbling1 nor to 
spend years in the investigation of     
everything which1 by specimen1 we must  
condemn4 ,he who seizes all that he     
plainly discerns to be valuable1 and    
never is unjust but when he honestly    
cannot help it1 will soon be enviable in
 his possessions1 and venerable in his  
equity4  ,nor can ,i think that the risk
 of loss is great in the matter under   
discussion4 ,i have often been told that
 any one who will read ,kant1 ,strauss1 
and the rest of the ,german             
metaphysicians and divines1 resolutely  
through1 and give his whole strength to 
the study of them1 will1 after ten or   
twelve years' labor1 discover that there
 is very little harm in them2 and this  
,i can well believe2 but ,i believe also
 that the ten or twelve years may be    
better spent2 and that any man who      
honestly wants philosophy not for show1 
but for use1 and knowing the ,proverbs  
of ,solomon1 can1 by way of ,commentary1
 afford to buy1 in convenient editions1 

,plato1 ,bacon1 ,wordsworth1 ,carlyle1  
and ,helps1 will find that he has got as
 much as will be sufficient for him and 
his household during life1 and of as    
good quality as need be4  ,it is also   
often declared necessary to study the   
,german controversialists1 because the  
grounds of religion must be inquired    
into4 ,i am sorry to hear they have not 
been inquired into yet2 but if it be so1
 there are two ways of pursuing that    
inquiry3 one for scholarly men1 who have
 leisure on their hands1 by reading all 
that they have time to read1 for and    
against1 and arming themselves at all   
points for controversy with all persons2
 the other1--a shorter and simpler      
way1--for busy and practical men1 who   
want merely to find out how to live and 
die4 ,now for the learned and leisurely 
men ,i am not writing2 they know what   
and how to read better than ,i can tell 
them4 ,for simple and busy men1         
concerned much with art1 which is       
eminently a practical matter1 and       

fatigues the eyes1 so as to render much 
reading inexpedient1 ,i am writing2 and 
such men ,i do1 to the utmost of my     
power1 dissuade from meddling with      
,german books2 not because ,i fear      
inquiry into the grounds of religion1   
but because the only inquiry which is   
possible to them must be conducted in a 
totally different way4 ,they have been  
brought up as ,christians1 and doubt if 
they should remain ,christians4 ,they   
cannot ascertain1 by investigation1 if  
the ,bible be true2 but if it be1 and   
,christ ever existed1 and was ,god1     
then1 certainly1 the ,sermon which ,he  
has permitted for #ahjj years to stand  
recorded as first of all ,his own       
teaching in the ,new ,testament1 must be
 true4 ,let them take that ,sermon and  
give it fair practical trial3 act out   
every verse of it1 with no quibbling or 
explaining away1 except the reduction of
 such evidently metaphorical expressions
 as cut off thy foot1 pluck the beam out
 of thine eye1 to their effectively     

practical sense4 ,let them act out1 or  
obey1 every verse literally for a whole 
year1 so far as they can1--a year being 
little enough time to give to an inquiry
 into religion2 and if1 at the end of   
the year1 they are not satisfied1 and   
still need to prosecute the inquiry1 let
 them try the ,german system if they    
choose4   ,,iii4 ,,plagiarism4  ,some   
time after ,i had written the concluding
 chapter of this work1 the interesting  
and powerful poems of ,emerson were     
brought under my notice by one of the   
members of my class at the ,working     
,men's ,college4 ,there is much in some 
of these poems so like parts of the     
chapter in question1 even in turn of    
expression1 that though ,i do not       
usually care to justify myself from the 
charge of plagiarism1 ,i felt that a few
 words were necessary in this instance4 
,i do not1 as aforesaid1 justify myself1
 in general1 because ,i know there is   
internal evidence in my work of its     
originality1 if people care to examine  

it2 and if they do not1 or have not     
skill enough to know genuine from       
borrowed work1 my simple assertion would
 not convince them1 especially as the   
charge of plagiarism is hardly ever made
 but by plagiarists1 and persons of the 
unhappy class who do not believe in     
honesty but on evidence4 ,nevertheless1 
as my work is so much out of doors1 and 
among pictures1 that ,i have time to    
read few modern books1 and am therefore 
in more danger than most people of      
repeating1 as if it were new1 what      
others have said1 it may be well to     
note1 once for all1 that any such       
apparent plagiarism results in fact from
 my writings being more original than ,i
 wish them to be1 from my having worked 
out my whole subject in unavoidable1 but
 to myself hurtful1 ignorance of the    
labors of others4 ,on the other hand1 ,i
 should be very sorry if ,i had not been
 continually taught and influenced by   
the writers whom ,i love2 and am quite  
unable to say to what extent my thoughts

 have been guided by ,wordsworth1       
,carlyle1 and ,helps2 to whom 7with     
,dante and ,george ,herbert1 in olden   
time7 ,i owe more than to any other     
writers2--most of all1 perhaps1 to      
,carlyle1 whom ,i read so constantly1   
that1 without wilfully setting myself to
 imitate him1 ,i find myself perpetually
 falling into his modes of expression1  
and saying many things in a quite other1
 and1 ,i hope1 stronger1 way1 than ,i   
should have adopted some years ago2 as  
also there are things which ,i hope are 
said more clearly and simply than       
before1 owing to the influence upon me  
of the beautiful quiet ,english of      
,helps4 ,it would be both foolish and   
wrong to struggle to cast off influences
 of this kind2 for they consist mainly  
in a real and healthy help2--the master1
 in writing as in painting1 showing     
certain methods of language which it    
would be ridiculous1 and even affected1 
not to employ1 when once shown2 just as 
it would have been ridiculous in        

,bonifacio to refuse to employ ,titian's
 way of laying on color1 if he felt it  
the best1 because he had not himself    
discovered it4 ,there is all the        
difference in the world between this    
receiving of guidance1 or allowing of   
influence1 and wilful imitation1 much   
more1 plagiarism2 nay1 the guidance may 
even innocently reach into local tones  
of thought1 and must do so to some      
extent2 so that ,i find ,carlyle's      
stronger thinking coloring mine         
continually2 and should be very sorry if
 ,i did not2 otherwise ,i should have   
read him to little purpose4 ,but what ,i
 have of my own is still all there1 and1
 ,i believe1 better brought out1 by far1
 than it would have been otherwise4     
,thus1 if we glance over the wit and    
satire of the popular writers of the    
day1 we shall find that the manner of   
it1 so far as it is distinctive1 is     
always owing to ,dickens2 and that out  
of his first exquisite ironies branched 
innumerable other forms of wit1 varying 

with the disposition of the writers2    
original in the matter and substance of 
them1 yet never to have been expressed  
as they now are1 but for ,dickens4      
,many people will suppose that for      
several ideas in the chapters on        
,landscape ,i was indebted to           
,humboldt's ,kosmos1 and ,howitt's      
,rural ,scenery4 ,i am indebted to ,mr4 
,howitt's book for much pleasure1 but   
for no suggestion1 as it was not put    
into my hands till the chapters in      
question were in type4 ,i wish it had   
been2 as ,i should have been glad to    
have taken farther note on the landscape
 of ,theocritus1 on which ,mr4 ,howitt  
dwells with just delight4 ,other parts  
of the book will be found very          
suggestive and helpful to the reader who
 cares to pursue the subject4 ,of       
,humboldt's ,kosmos ,i heard much talk  
when it first came out1 and looked      
through it cursorily2 but thinking it   
contained no material 7connected with my
 subject7#ajf which ,i had not already  

possessed myself of1 ,i have never since
 referred to the work4 ,i may be        
mistaken in my estimate of it1 but      
certainly owe it absolutely nothing4    
,it is also often said that ,i borrow   
from ,pugin4 ,i glanced at ,pugin's     
,contrasts once1 in the ,oxford         
architectural reading-room1 during an   
idle forenoon4 ,his ,remarks on         
,articles in the ,rambler were brought  
under my notice by some of the reviews4 
,i never read a word of any other of his
 works1 not feeling1 from the style of  
his architecture1 the smallest interest 
in his opinions4  ,i have so often      
spoken1 in the preceding pages1 of      
,holman ,hunt's picture of the ,light of
 the ,world1 that ,i may as well1 in    
this place1 glance at the envious charge
 against it1 of being plagiarized from a
 ,german print4  ,it is indeed true that
 there was a painting of the subject    
before2 and there were1 of course1 no   
paintings of the ,nativity before       
,raphael's time1 nor of the ,last       

,supper before ,leonardo's1 else those  
masters could have laid no claim to     
originality4 ,but what was still more   
singular 7the verse to be illustrated   
being1 ,behold1 ,i stand at the door and
 knock71 the principal figure in the    
antecedent picture was knocking at a    
door1 knocked with its right hand1 and  
had its face turned to the spectator6   
,nay1 it was even robed in a long robe1 
down to its feet4 ,all these            
circumstances were the same in ,mr4     
,hunt's picture2 and as the chances     
evidently were a hundred to one that if 
he had not been helped to the ideas by  
the ,german artist1 he would have       
represented the figure as not knocking  
at any door1 as turning its back to the 
spectator1 and as dressed in a short    
robe1 the plagiarism was considered as  
demonstrated4 ,of course no defence is  
possible in such a case4 ,all ,i can say
 is1 that ,i shall be sincerely grateful
 to any unconscientious persons who will
 adapt a few more ,german prints in the 

same manner4  ,finally1 touching        
plagiarism in general1 it is to be      
remembered that all men who have sense  
and feeling are being continually       
helped3 they are taught by every person 
whom they meet1 and enriched by         
everything that falls in their way4 ,the
 greatest is he who has been oftenest   
aided2 and1 if the attainments of all   
human minds could be traced to their    
real sources1 it would be found that the
 world had been laid most under         
contribution by the men of most original
 power1 and that every day of their     
existence deepened their debt to their  
race1 while it enlarged their gifts to  
it4 ,the labor devoted to trace the     
origin of any thought1 or any invention1
 will usually issue in the blank        
conclusion that there is nothing new    
under the sun2 yet nothing that is truly
 great can ever be altogether borrowed2 
and he is commonly the wisest1 and is   
always the happiest1 who receives       
simply1 and without envious question1   

whatever good is offered him1 with      
thanks to its immediate giver4    #aje  
,i am truly sorry to have introduced    
such words in an         apparently     
irreverent way4 ,but it would be a      
guilty         reverence which prevented
 us from exposing fallacy1              
precisely where fallacy was most        
dangerous1 and shrank from              
unveiling an error1 just because that   
error existed in         parlance       
respecting the most solemn subjects to  
which it         could possibly be      
attached4    #ajf ,see the ,fourth      
,volume4         99       99       99   
99       99       99       99       99  
,transcriber's ,notes 7continued from   
top of text73     ,typographical changes
 to the original work are as follows3   
,minor punctuation changes have been    
made without annotation4    pg #bdb     
paus_/pause3 ,matilda pause where 444   
pg #bgg charater_/character3 the        
character of this 444   pg #ccj         
cloads_/clouds3 clouds of rage 444