/o , / 0~ . o oi ^J PRINCETON, N. J. ^jg Presented by cJ V\ £• ^_y .uA-hoT Division •■ Section '■~/\*JLt£L, » Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library http://www.archive.org/details/representativesiOOraym Professor Raymond's System of COMPARATIVE /ESTHETICS I. — Art in Theory. 8°, cloth extra $1.75 " Scores an advance upon the many art-criticisms extant. ... Twenty brilliant chap- ters, pregnant with suggestion." — Popular Science Monthly. "A well grounded, thoroughly supported, and entirely artistic conception of art that will lead observers to distrust the charlatanism that imposes an idle and superficial mannerism upon the public in place of true beauty and honest workmanship." — The JVew York Times. " His style is good, and his logic sound, and ... of the greatest possible service to the student of artistic theories." — Art Journal (London). II. — The Representative Significance of Form. 8°, cloth extra. $2.00 "A valuable essay. . . . Professor Raymond goes so deep into causes as to explore the subconscious and trie unconscious mind for a solution of his problems, and eloquently to range through the conceptions of religion, science and metaphysics in order to find fixed principles of taste. . . . A highly interesting discussion." — The Scotsman (Edinburgh). " Evidently the ripe fruit of years of patient and exhaustive study on the part of a man singularly fitted for his task. It is profound in insight, searching in analysis, broad in spirit, and thoroughly modern in method and sympathy." — The Universalist Leader. " Its title gives no intimation to the general reader of its attractiveness for him, or to curious readers of its widely discursive range of interest. ... Its broad range may re- mind one of those scythe-bearing chariots with which the ancient Persians used to mow down hostile files." — The Outlook. III. — Poetry as a Representative Art. 8°, cloth extra . $1.75 " I have read it with pleasure, and a sense of instruction on many points." — Francis Turner Palgrave, Professor of Poetry, Oxford University. " Dieses ganz vortreffliche Werk." — Englische Studien, tlniversitdt Breslau. "An acute, interesting, and brilliantpiece of work. .. . As a whole the essay deserves unqualified praise." — N, Y. Independent. IV. — Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts. With 225 illustrations. 8° $2.50 " The artist will find in it a wealth of profound and varied learning ; of original, sugges- tive, helpful thought . . . of absolutely inestimable value." — The Looker-on. "Expression by means of extension or size, . . . shape, . . . regularity in outlines ... the human body . . . posture, gesture, and movement, . . . are all considered ... A specially interesting chapter is the one on color." — Current Literature . " The whole book is the work of a man of exceptional thoughtfulness, who says what he has to say in a remarkably lucid and direct manner." — Philadelphia Press. V.— The Genesis of Art Form. Fully illustrated. 8° . . $2.25 " In a spirit at once scientific and that of the true artist, he pierces through the mani- festations of art to their sources, and shows the relations intimate and essential, between painting, sculpture, poetry, music, and architecture. A book that possesses not only sin- gular value, but singular charm." — AT. Y. Times. "A help and a delight. Every aspirant for culture in any of the liberal arts, including music and poetry, will find something in this book to aid him." — Boston Times. "It is impossible to withhold one s admiration from a treatise which exhibits in such a large degree the qualities of philosophic criticism." — Philadelphia Press. VI. — Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music. Together with Music as a Representative Art. 8°, cloth extra . $i.75 " Prof. Raymond has chosen a delightful subject, and he treats it with all the charm of narrative and high thought and profound study." — New Orleans States. " The reader must be, indeed, a person either of supernatural stupidity or of marvellous erudition, who does not discover much information in Prof. Raymond s exhaustive and instructive treatise. From page to page it is full of suggestion." — The Academy (London). VII. — Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture. Fully illustrated. 8° $2.50 "Marked by profound thought along lines unfamiliar to most readers and thinkers. . . . When grasped, however, it becomes a source of great enjoyment and exhilaration. . . . No critical person can afford to ignore so valuable a contribution to the art-thought of the day." — The Art Interchange (N. Y). " One does not need to be a scholar to follow this scholar as he teaches while seeming to entertain, for he does both." — Burlington Hawkeye. " The artist who wishes to penetrate the mysteries of color, the sculptor who desires to cultivate his sense of proportion, or the architect whose ambition is to reach to a high standard will find the work helpful and inspiring." — Boston Transcript. G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, New York and London THE REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM AN ESSAY IN COMPARATIVE ESTHETICS GEORGE LANSING RAYMOND, L.H.D. PROFESSOR OF ESTHETICS IN PRINCETON UNIVERSITY AUTHOR OF " THE ORATOR'S MANUAL," " ART IN THEORY," " POETRY AS REPRESENTATIVE ART," " PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE AS REPRESENTATIVE ARTS," " THE GENESIS OF ART-FORM," " RHYTHM AND HARMONY IN POETRY AND MUSIC," " PROPORTION AND HARMONY OF LINE AND COLOR IN PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE, " THE ESSENTIALS OF ESTHETICS, " ETC. SECOND EDITION REVISED G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS NEW YORK AND LONDON Gbe "Knickerbocker press 1909 Copyright, 1900 BY K. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Copyright, igog BY G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Ub- Ifcnicfeerbocfcer frees, Hew Jporh PREFACE THIS volume, an analysis of the thought in which will be found clearly indicated in the headings of the chapters in the Table of Contents, completes a series of essays begun several years ago on the subject of Compar- ative ^Esthetics. But while the last to be published, the volume is the second in the order in which the members of the series are to be arranged, and was the first to be planned, as also, with exception mainly of Chapters V. to VII. and IX. to XL, the first to be written. The manu- script has been left lying in my desk for so many years for two reasons. In the first place, I was not certain that the general conception of art — indirectly underlying if not directly expressed in the volume — could be applied to all the details of each of the arts ; and the only course that could make me certain was to think the subject out to the end of all its possible ramifications. While pur- suing this course, I produced the other volumes. In the second place, the particular theory of the relations be- tween the mind's conscious and subconscious actions, which appealed to me at that time as a vague suggestion, I had not verified ; and my conceptions of the importance and reach of the subject, as well as of the responsibilities of authorship, were such that I did not feel justified in publishing opinions that were not grounded upon thorough investigation. Such investigation is attended with diffi- culties ; and if pursued with an application of every test which one's mind is capable of devising, is a work of years. & IV PREFACE. This book contains no records of preparatory processes ; but the conclusions reached in it, and the views implied in them would have little value, were they not conformable to results obtained by the broadest feasible outlook over the whole field of phenomena with which they are connected. There are very evident reasons for the importance of the subject thus studied as applied to art. The tran- scendentalists of New England who, fifty years ago, were exercising the most pronounced of any effect upon the art and literature of our country were constantly confound- ing artistic inspiration with religious inspiration. The tendency of this mistake was not only to minimize in re- ligion the importance of the spiritual, because this was conceived to be the same in kind as the distinctively hu- man in art ; but to minimize in art also the importance of the material, — i. e., of the material product as given form through skill in technique, — because the whole desired ef- fect was conceived to be attained, as in religion, by merely giving adequate and accurate expression to the results of inspiration. Emerson himself, not only in his practice but in his theory, almost always goes astray when he approaches this subject of art-form. On the other hand, the followers of the French, who, during the last twenty-five years, have occupied in our country the position formerly occu- pied by the transcendentalists, are constantly confounding artistic observation with scientific observation ; and the tendency of their influence is not only to minimize in science the importance of imaginative hypothesis as a pre- requisite for the discovery of great underlying principles, because they conceive that science has the same interest in the mere appearances of nature that art has ; but to minimize in art also the importance of imaginative con- struction embodying the great truths of analogy ; because PREFACE. V they suppose the end to be attained in art, as in science, by an accurate study of the facts of nature as they are, poems or paintings being ranked according to the literal fidelity with which they recall or imitate the details of that which has been observed. The two tendencies of art thus exemplified, and the constant inclination of the mind, when perceiving the de- ficiency in the one, to turn altogether away from it to that which, when regarded in itself alone, causes equal de- ficiency in the other, make one feel, at times, as if it were wellnigh hopeless to try, as has been attempted in these volumes, to introduce into the conceptions of American artists and critics even a beginning of that balance be- tween the two which always characterizes the highest art, — that of ancient Hellenism, for instance, which was equally careful to reproduce only the ideal in thought and only the beautiful in form. I have concluded that nothing could more certainly accomplish the desired end than a practical recognition of the relationship of art both to religion on the one hand and to science on the other, together with a recognition of the natural limitations to art which such a double relationship necessarily involves. The facts with reference to this relationship could not well be brought out without the thorough discussion in Chapters V. to XII. inclusive. I am free to admit, how- ever, that aside from its bearings upon art, I became in- terested, as I was writing, in the discussion for its own sake. Many of the conclusions reached are unusual, and may prove satisfactory to few. The materialist may not like them because they concede too much to the spirit- ualist, and the spiritualist because they concede too little ; while the conventional Christian may demur because they seem to let down certain bars which it pleases him to vi PREFACE. think that the Almighty has put up to separate him from the world to-day, as similar bars separated the Jew from the Gentile of old. However, it is the duty of an author claiming to be a seeker of truth to publish the truth which he thinks that he has found ; and if he do so without reserve, he may be confident that the result will be a help to some of his readers whose minds work as his mind does. Besides this, in view of the acknowledged skeptical tendencies of the scientific and historic criticism of the present age, it is not a valueless contribution to general thought to show that all that is needed for the highest spiritual stimulus, all that is vital to practical religion, even to the vaguely guided life of faith which character- izes the Christian religion, can command acknowledg- ment and acceptance upon its own merits — even with such an one as delegates many of its mysteries to the realm of mystery where, though suggestive and possible, he cannot recognize them to be provable. There are always some who, like a boy whistling through the dark to keep up his courage, imagine that the need of the world in a period of doubt is a strong, emphatic, and even extravagant expression in an opposite direction. Yet if it be never right or wise, or even, in the long run, ex- pedient, to pretend to be certain about that which is merely probable, any method of regarding the subject in question that renders such forms of expression not only unnecessary, but unphilosophical, ought to be wel- comed. Besides this — to say nothing of religion — what a revival of art there might be, in an age which many deem too materialistic to be at all poetic, if only what is un- folded in these pages with reference to the subconscious and the spiritual could be widely recognized to be true ! It is hoped that the last half of this volume will prove PREFACE. VI I especially satisfactory owing to the endeavor, through the thorough analysis of the whole subject, to make the definitions and characteristics of epic, realistic, and dra- matic art, together with their various subdivisions in the different arts, appear inevitable. The same may be said of what is unfolded with reference to the particular phases of significance which each art is fitted to express, as, in accordance with the analogies of form in nature, the art-form is presented in space alone, or in time alone, or in both combined. The fundamental thought of this part of the discussion was suggested, of course, by Less- ing in " The Laocoon." But the subject has been de- veloped much further than by him ; and some of the conclusions are based upon conceptions entirely different from his. Princeton, N. J., January, 1900. CONTENTS. I. PAGE Significance Attributable to the Elements of Natural Form in Space and Time Traced as far as to Organism, Life, and Import . i-ii Art-Form as Appealing to the Senses and Sense-Influenced Imagi- nation— Significance Includes an Appeal to both Thought and Emotion — Object of the Present Volume — Thoughts and Emotions Derived from Experience — Those of Art Derived from Experience of Nature — Certain Fundamental and General Suggestions of Nature to the Mind — Space, Time, Existence, Matter, Movement, Force, Arrangement, Operation — Method of Operation — Every Object Bears Relations to Space and Time — A Rock — A Musical Tone — Every Object in Bearing Relations to both Space and Time Suggests Methods of Operation — Suggestions of Organism — Of Life — Of Import. II. Higher Significance as Attributable to the Elements of Natural Form in Space and Time: the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute ....... 12-25 An Appearance or Form may be Connected with all Space or all Time — The Apprehension of a Method of Operation in a Small Form may Involve some Apprehension of that in the Whole Universe — Do Forms in Nature Reveal Anything of the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute? — Testimony of Art and Philoso- phy— Of Religion — These Inferences Drawn from the Forms of Nature, yet not as they Appear in Space alone — Nor in Time alone — But in both — How they Suggest the Infinite — The Eternal — The Absolute — Suggestions of the Absolute not Inconsistent i* CONTENTS. with those of the Infinite and the Eternal — Unity in Mode and Diversity in Operation — Illustrated by a Spiral — Appearances of Nature as Suggesting a Divine Living Intelligence — Men and Animals Express Intelligent Life through Material Appearances in Space and in Time Combined, or by Methods of Operation — Arguing from Analogy to Modes of Expression of Divine Intelli- gence— Human Expressions of Feeling — Divine Expressions of the Same — Human Expressions of Character — Divine — Applica- tion of the Subject to Art. III. The Highest Significance: the Nature of Truth as Indicated by the Sources to which Men Attribute it, and the Terms by which they Characterize it . . . . . 26-38 The Value of Significance Determined by the Truth in it — Scien- tists and Philosophers Search for Truth behind Appearances in Space — And in Time — Therefore Conceive it to be not alone in the Appearances themselves — But in these as Related to Cer- tain Methods of Operation — Same Facts Shown by the Treatment Given to Formal Statements — The Truth in them Discovered by Regarding Relations to Surrounding Circumstances — Therefore to Methods of Operation — Absolute Truth as Existing without Ref- erence to Relations — Necessity of Considering Methods of Oper- ation Shown by Men's Ways of Characterizing Truth : Meanings of the Adjective True — Further Meanings — The Meanings when Material or Bodily Conditions are Compared with Mental or Spiritual — Its Meanings when Applied to Language — The False in Language is a Want of Conformity to a Method of Opera- tion in a Mental Process — Summary of the Meanings of the Word True — Of the Word Truth : Its Special and General Applica- tions. IV. The Highest Significance : the Nature of Truth as Indicated by the Methods in Language and Life, through which Men Express it ...... . 39-60 Objections to the View Presented in the Third Chapter — Truth as Expressed in Language should not be Confounded with the CONTENTS. XI PAGE Formula : Illustrated from Interpretations of the Bible — Its History Noteworthy for the Methods and Results of Life, etc., which the Events Exemplify — Its Prophecies Valuable for their Fulfilment not only, but Applicability to Laws Operating everywhere — Confir- mation of this Principle of Interpretation of the Bible in its Expla- nations— Its Arguments — Its Injunctions — Real Meaning Lost when Truth is Supposed to be Conformed to Formulae alone, and not also to Methods of Operation — Importance of Observing this Distinction — The Use of the Word Truth in the Bible — Illus- trations— Truth as Expressed in Life — Truth to the Divine Spirit is Action in Conformity with the Divine Method — Truth is Per- ceived in the Process of Searching for it — Dangers of Supposing Progress or Change Inconsistent with Absoluteness in Truth : The Source both of Infidelity and Bigotry — Right Views of Truth as a Corrective of these — The Truth in Revealed and Natural Re- ligion Lies in its Method — He who Recognizes this a Friend to both Progress and Permanence — Inferences from the View here Presented — A Few Forms in Space may Reveal Universal Methods — One Mind may Represent God — And One Life, if Full of Love — The Mission of the Friend — Comfort in this Suggestion — The Changes of a Few Moments in Time may Reveal Universal Methods — Child or Man, with Short or Long Life, may both have Experience of them. V. Significance, Religious, Scientific, and Artistic, as Respectively Attributable to Mental Action, Predominantly Subconscious, Con- scious, and Blended ..... 61-85 Results Reached in the Foregoing Chapters — Mental and Material Conditions Preceding the Recognition of Truth — Religious, Scientific, and Artistic Conceptions — How they Differ — Religious or Spiritual Meaning — The Occult Side of the Mind — Proof of Subconscious Intellection in Memory, Fright, Fever — Hypnotism — Its Effects Allied to those of Art — Germs of Hypnotic Sugges- tion— Subconscious Philosophical and Mathematical Intellection — Resulting from Previous Conscious Action as in Skill — Not Result- ing from Previous Conscious Action : Coburn, Mozart, Blind Tom — Subconscious Diagnosis of Disease at a Distance — Subconscious Apprehension of Distant Occurrences — Both in Space and in xii CONTENTS. Time — Mind-Reading and Mediumship — Automatic Writing — The Truth and the Limitations of Spiritualism — Hudson's Theory — The Investigation of the Subject Justifiable. VI. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Religious Conceptions Having their Source in Inspiration 86-1 11 Subconscious and Conscious Influences P'ound in all Intellection, but the Main Source of it Different in Religion, Science, and Art — Making it in Each Different in Kind — Origin of Religious Con- ceptions Concerning a Future State of Rewards and Punishments — Often Attributed to Material Causes — Should be Attributed to Influences from Nature's Occult Side — Shown in Susceptibility of the Primitive, Uneducated Man to Such Influences — Instinct and Reason — Instinctive and Reflective as Correlated to Subconscious and Conscious Intellection — Result of Subconscious Intellection Allied to the Teachings of Nature and Religion — To the Mental Action of Animals — Of Negroes, Indians, and those Subject to Hallucinations, with Inferences therefrom — Like Inferences with Reference to the Origin of Religion Drawn from Primitive Re- ligious Customs — With the Growth of Intelligence Physical Occult Manifestations are Considered Less Important than Verbal — But the Verbal Continue to be Associated with Subconscious Intellec- tion— Truth Obtainable from this Depends on Suggestion De- veloped in it — Truth of the Suggestion Depends on Conscious as well as Subconscious Intellection Exercised by Some One — The Conscious Mind Modifies Everything Received from the Sub- conscious, Making it not Less Inspired, but More Intelligent — This the Condition in Inspired Writings — Intellectual Progress Resulting from this Form of Inspired Influence. VII. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Religious Conceptions Having their Source in Inspiration; Artistic in Imagi- nation ........ 1 12-136 Form of Inspiration partly Dependent on the Human Mind as Developed by Environments of Place and Time — This Theory CONTENTS. Xlll PAGE Explains the Gradual Development of Truth in the Revealed Scriptures — Also the Necessity for Spiritual Discernment : no Form is an Adequate and Complete Expression of the Spiritual — Trac- ing all Inspired Writing to or through the Same Subconscious Mental Processes Need not Impair Authority or Authenticity of the Scriptures — Nor Need the Attributing of Signs and Wonders to Sources not Divine — Conformity of this View to the Theories of Modern Biblical Criticism — The Three Tests of the Truth in the Scriptures : Conformity to Previous Information — To Results of Intuitive Judgment — To Results of Rational Inference — Differ- ent Views of Scriptural Inspiration Conformable to the Theory here Presented — Bearings of this Subject upon Artistic Sympathy, the Zeit-Geist, Imagination — Differences between Inspiration and Imagination — Failure to Recognize the Differences Detrimental to Both Religion and Art — Influence of Recognizing it upon Opinions Concerning Religion — Concerning Art — Nevertheless Art Lessens Materialism and Traditionalism, and Aids Religion, but is not a Substitute for it — Religion an Aid to Art. VIII. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Scientific Conceptions Having their Source in Investigation ; Artistic in Im- agination ....... 137-154 Results of Scientific Investigation to be Contrasted with those of Artistic Imagination — Quotation from Huxley Showing Scientific as Contrasted with Religious View-Point — Is equally far from View-Point of Art — The Difference in View-Point is Owing to a Difference between a Desire to Investigate and to Imagine — Scien- tific Interest is in Preceding Conditions, Artistic in Conditioned Effects — The Detailing of Results of Investigations is Inartistic in Literature — Quotations from Gay — From Scott — Expression of Results of Imagination from Tennyson — Of Investigation from West — Of Imagination from Homer — Criticism upon an Explana- tion of a Quotation from Shakespeare — This Distinction of Uni- versal Applicability — Thought in Modern Art Different in Range from Ancient — Justification for Introduction of Philosophy and Science in Art — Scientific Investigation Overlooks Nothing : Ar- tistic Imagination Regards only the Prominent and Emphatic— XIV CONTENTS. PAGE Scientific Comparison is a Result of Thorough Study : Artistic is not — Yet Being a Result of Sub-Intellection, in an Instructed Mind, it may be Accurate — Scientific Conclusions are Corrected at every Stage by Results of Investigation: Artistic are not — In- ferences therefrom against and in Favor of the Artist — Science cannot Cross the Border of the Unseen : Art can — Art Connects Religion and Science — Artist must be Something of a Scientist. IX. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Religious Conceptions Characterized r,v Faith; Artistic by Ideality . . . 155-163 Connection of Thought — Faith, like Conscience, Related to Sub- conscious Control — Manifested in Practice as well as in Opinion — Thus Interpreted, Faith Allows for Possibilities of Difference Owing to Degrees and Kinds of Intelligence — Artistic Concep- tions— These are Characterized by Ideality — Faith and Ideality usually Go together, and Tend to Develop one another — Art as an Expression of Religious Faith Fails both as Art and as Re- ligion; Art Does the most Good when Attending to its own Business. X. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Scientific Conceptions Characterized by Knowledge; Artistic by Ideality . . 164-173 The Knowledge Resulting from Investigation, and its Limitations — Ideas and Ideals — Occupy an Intermediate Position between Knowledge and Faith — Enabling us to Experience through Imagi- nation that of which we cannot have Knowledge — Quotation from Shakespeare — Wordsworth — Differences between the Man of Ideality and of None — Quotations from The Prelude — Peter Bell — These Differences as Important in their Bearings upon Success in Science as in Religion — Shown by Tracing the Method through which an Observation of One Fact Leads to the Discovery of a General Law — The Effect upon the Mind — Ideals Stimulate to Effort in both Art and Science — Conclusion. CONTENTS. XV PAGE XI. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Religious Conceptions Tending to Ex- pression through Spiritually Influential Suggestion; Artistic through Analogical Representation ...... 174-191 Subconscious, Conscious, and Blended Intellection, as respectively Tending to Spiritual Suggestion, Logical Formulation, and Ana- logical Representation — Inference from Hypnotism Concerning Connection between Influencing Subconscious Intellection and Giving Suggestions — How Religion, as Distinguished from Science and Art, Influences Feeling, Thought, and Conviction Suggestively, Shown from the Methods of Jesus — From the Nature of what, Coming from the Subconscious Region and Hav- ing to Do with the Unseen World, cannot be Formulated — This True as Applied to the Imaginative Phraseology of Art — More True as Applied to the Inspired Phraseology of Religion : Dog- mas Not True Scientifically — Nor many Statements in Scripture — Importance of this View — How Religion Suggestively Influ- ences Life, Conduct and Character — Illustrated from the Analogy of Freedom of Action under Hypnotic Control — Conversion — Re- ligious Methods Rendered more Apprehensible by the Analogy between them and Methods of Hypnotism — The Law of Self- sacrifice — The Christ, Creation, Future Life — Why Suggestive Influence is Necessary to Stimulate Spiritual Life — It is the only Spiritual Influence upon the Mind in Harmony with that of Ex- ternal Nature — Difference between Suggestive Expression in Re- ligion and Representative in Art — Art Benefits, even religiously, in the Degree in which it Confines itself to Representation, Shown in Poetry — In Sculpture and Painting. XII. Significance as Attributable to Mental Action: Scientific Conceptions tending to Expres- sion through Logical Formulation; Artis- tic, through Analogical Representation 192-207 Introduction — Formulation rather than Representation Necessi- tated by the Sources of Scientific Expression — By its Nature — XVI CONTENTS. By its Results : Science Presents Thought Logically ; Art, Ana- logically— This Latter Fact Renders Form Essential in Art — Also Significance, which is the Basis of the Analogy Expressed through the Forms — Difference between that which Looks like and which also Operates like — To Bring out the Latter Involves a Higher Effort of Imagination — Because Making Art in the Highest Sense Natural : Illustrated in the Novel, Drama, Ballad, Descriptive Poetry — In these such Comparisons as are not Based on Analogies Taken from Nature are not Indicative of High Imaginative Gifts — The Same Principles Apply to Conceptions of Poems as Wholes — To the Use of Separate Words — Same Principle Illus- trated in Music — When both Artistic and Natural — Illustrated in Painting and Sculpture — Further Explanations — In Architec- ture— That Art should Represent Analogies through Forms not Inconsistent with its Representing Beauty — Relative Use in Art of Natural Beauty and of Ugliness — Representative Expression a Limitation to Art ; yet the Reason why its Products Have such Enduring and Universal Influence. XIII. Artistic Significance as Attributable to Bodily Action, and Having its Source Subjec- tively in Temperament, Objectively in Training ..... . . 208-232 Connection between the Thought in this and in Preceding Chapters — Subjective and Objective Relationships of Expression — Instinc- tive, Reflective and Emotive Sources of Mental Effects — Conscious Reflective and Investigative Mental Action Slow — Subconscious In- tuitive and Imaginative Action Rapid — The Two Actions do not Differ as Thought and Feeling, but as Unexcited and Voluntary from Excited and Involuntary Thought — The Artistic Involves Much Emotion — The Exciting Cause, being Permanent in Some, is Due to Temperament — Difference between Scientific and Artistic Temperament largely one of Degree — Some necessarily Excluded from the Sphere of Art, Some Included in it — Effects of Education and Practice — They Develop Mental through Physical Nature — Even Develop Possibilities of Genius — Illustrations — Connection between Results of Artistic Inspiration and of Skill — Inspiration, or Unhindered Expression of Subconscious Intellection, Helped by CONTENTS, XV11 PAGE Cultivation of Expression and Memory — Even by Scientific Study — Broad Culture not Injurious to the ^Esthetic Possibilities — Here as elsewhere Labor the Measure of Worth — Nothing Neces- sary in Religion or Science Fails to be an Aid to Art. XIV. Artistic Significance as Attributable to Bodily Action, and Characterized Subjectively by a Personal Effect, Objectively by a Sympathetic ...... 233-250 Connection between the Thought in this and the Preceding Chapter — The Surmisals of Art those of One Individual, the Artist — Should Have a Personal Effect — A Prose Description that Lacks this : Scott — A Poetic : Crabbe — A Poetic that Exhibits it : Byron — A Prose : Dickens — The Latter Descriptions Show the Effects of an Intervening Human Mind — As Personality is most Apparent in Unconscious Action, to Represent these Effects does not Interfere with consciously Representing Nature — The Per- sonality of Artistic Effects is Recognized in the Universal Prone- ness to Attribute to Artistic Genius Originality and Eccentricity — Personality of Effect always Appeals to Others through Awaken- ing Sympathy for or against — So the Arts are the Humanities — Illustrations of Artistic Appeal to the Sympathies — Explanation of the Passages — The Principle Involved — Why Artists Seem often Interested in Technique rather than in Significance — Individuality of Effect not Inconsistent with an Appeal to Universal Interest — Yet the Artist must Have a Peculiar Temperament to Fulfil both Requirements — Genius Has a Temperament Congenial to Nature and Man — German Words Corresponding to Genius, Genial, and Geniality — Brilliancy — Art Humanizes Nature ac- cording to the Sentiments of One, yet Accords with the Senti- ments of All. XV. Artistic Significance as Attributable to Bodily Action, and Tending Subjectively to the Possession of Culture, Objectively to the Expression of Sentiment .... 251-269 Connection between Thought in this and in the Preceding Chapter — Culture: its Relation to Training — Its Development through xviii CONTENTS. PAGE Art-Study — Sentiment as Defined by Karnes and Schiller — Is Characteristic of Artistic Expression — The Tendency of the Dis- tinctively Artistic to Express and Awaken Sentiment is a Test by which to Distinguish it from the Religious Influencing Conduct and the Scientific Imparting Information — Inartistic Examples from Pollok and Wordsworth — But it must not be Supposed that Sentiment itself cannot be Religious or Scientific — Examples from Tennyson and Shakespeare — Milton's Expressions of Religious Faith in Form of Sentiment — Of Information to Awaken Senti- ment— Criticism of these Passages — Mistake of Supposing that not to Use the Religious and Scientific except for Sentiment Means the same as not to Use them at all — Great Artists have Man- ifested a Desire to Promote Religion, Morality, and Learning — Quotations from Shakespeare Evincing this — Shakespeare's, Dante's, Milton's, and Wordsworth's Affirmation of this Desire — The Great Poets Men of Education — Same Facts Exemplified in the Products of the Great Musicians, Painters, and Sculptors — No Inconsistency between the View Presented in this Chapter and that which Deems Pleasure the Aim of Art — Sentiment Meets all Demands of this Theory and Fulfils them better. XVI. Artistic Significance as Characterized by Re- ligious, Scientific, or Distinctively Artis- tic Tendencies: the Good, the True, and the Beautiful; the Sublime, the Pictur- esque, and the Brilliant; the Grand, the Simple, and the Striking; the Horrible, the Pathetic, and the Violent . . 270-290 Three Artistic Tendencies, Religious, Scientific, and Artistic — The First Leading to Instinctive Subjective Idealism ; the Second to Reflective Relative Realism ; and the Third to Emotive Ob- jective Idealized Realism — Some Tendencies as Developed into the Good, the True, and the Beautiful, etc. — The Same as Differ- ently Developed in Serious and in Playful Conditions — The Good, the True, the Beautiful— The Sublime, Definitions of— With Il- lustrations from Milton — Michael Angelo — Coleridge — Shakespeare — The Bible — Other Definitions — The Picturesque — Illustrations — Explanations — The Brilliant — Illustrations — The Brilliant and the CONTENTS. XIX Beautiful — The Former Distinctively a Development of the Latter — Why the Brilliant rather than the Beautiful should be Con- trasted with the Sublime — Indefiniteness of Definitions of this — Resulting Effects of these Tendencies are the Grand, the Simple — The Striking — Serious Developments of these in the Horrible — The Pathetic — And the Violent — All these Tendencies Mani- fested in all the Arts. XVII. Artistic Significance as Characterized by the same Three Tendencies in Non-Serious Con- ditions: the Burlesque, the Ludicrous, and the Ridiculous, as in the Mock-Heroic, Parody, and Farce; the Grotesque, the Droll, and the Jocular; Travesty, Hu- mor, and Wit; Caricature, Satire, and Sarcasm ....... 291-309 Playful Conditions — Incongruity as in the Burlesque, the Ludi- crous, and the Ridiculous — The Burlesque in the Mock-Heroic — In the Parody — In the Farce and Pun — The Ludicrous in the Gro- tesque— Another Example — In the Droll — In the Jocular — The Ludicrous in Travesty — In Humor and Wit — Humor Truthful, Wit Beautiful — Humor Picturesque, Wit Brilliant — Humor Simple, Wit Striking — The Ridiculous, as non-Pleasurable Play in Caricature — In Satire — In Sarcasm — Similar Developments of In- congruity in Music — In Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture. XVIII. Artistic Significance as Expressed in Form: the Three Tendencies Already Considered as Developed in the Epic, the Realistic, and the Dramatic ...... 310-322 The Good, Sublime, and Grand Developed in the Epic ; the True, Picturesque, and Simple in the Realistic ; the Beautiful, Brilliant, and Striking in the Dramatic — Epic Art Defined — Realistic and Dramatic Art Denned — A Story as Told Epically — Realistically — Dramatically — The Epic Developed First in Order of Time — XX CONTENTS. PAGH The Dramatic Later — Relative Advantages of the Different Forms — Taine's Criterion Founded on the Degree of Importance of the Character Delineated — Indicates Superiority in the Epic — On the Beneficence of the Character — Also Indicates Superiority in the Epic — But both the Realistic and Dramatic Have Points of Su- periority— And may Include the Excellences of the Others — Im- portance of Distinguishing the Three Forms. XIX. The Epic, Realistic, and Dramatic in Poetry . 323-348 Epic, Realistic, and Dramatic Subdivisions in All the Arts — Neces- sity of Certain New Terms for Some of these — Chart of — Defini- tions of the Epic Derived from Combining Previous Definitions — Its Symbolic Form — Allegoric Form — The Epic Proper — Realistic Poetry — Its Didactic Form — Wide Range of — Its Nat- uralistic Form — Treating of Natural Scenery — With not Sufficient Individualism to Awaken Sympathy — Yet Nature may be Made Human — Narrative Form of the Realistic and the Ballad — The Dramatic as Distinguished especially from the Epic — Its Subjec- tive Form in the Lyric — How Differing from the Didactic — The Naturalistic Narrative — The Protactic, a New Term — But Needed and Applicable ; Illustrations — The Drama. XX. The Epic, Realistic, and Dramatic in Music and Painting . .... 349-366 These Forms more Difficult to Determine in Music ; yet Distin- guishable— The Epic in Music — The Realistic — The Dramatic — The Three Forms in Painting — Quotations from Others — Epic Painting as Symbolic — As Allegoric — As Epic Proper, Heroic or Typical — The Epic in Landscapes — The Realistic, its High Rank in the Arts of Sight ; as Decorative — As Naturalistic when Imita- tive— When Imaginative as in Figures or Landscapes — As His- toric, and how Differing from the Dramatic — Quotations — Illustrations — The Dramatic as Character-Painting — As Panto- mimic— As Dramatic Proper — Dramatic Landscape. CONTENTS. XXI PAGE XXI. The Epic, Realistic, and Dramatic in Sculp- ture and Architecture .... 367-387 The Same Principles Apply to Sculpture as to Painting : Epic — Realistic — Dramatic — Architectural Effects Dependent on Out- line in the Same Sense as Effects of Painting and Sculpture — Effects of Epic Tendency in Roundness — Of Realistic, in Straight Lines and Angles — Of Dramatic, in Curves, Straight Lines, and Angles Combined — Same Respective Effects in Human Gesturing — Quotations Confirming these Conclusions — The Conventional Designations of Styles of Architecture are not Determined by any Philosophic Principle — What is Meant by Significance and Form and the Relations between them in Architecture — The Three Gen- eral Principles of Construction — Round Caps and Arches — Other Correspondences to the Epic — Flat Caps, Entablature, and Hori- zontality — Other Correspondences to the Realistic — Pointed Caps, Mixed Lines, and Verticality and other Correspondences to the Dramatic — Subdivisions of these Three General Styles. XXII. Significance as Attributable to the Elements of Art-Form in Time and Space Combined : Import, Life, and Organism as Suggested in Poetry ....... 388-402 Resume of the Line of Thought in this Volume — Have still to Compare Significance as Represented by the Underlying Elements of Form in Art with the Same in Nature — Import, Life, and Or- ganism as Represented in Nature through Combined Effects of Movement or Operation in Time and of Matter or Arrangement in Space — Objects in Time Suggesting Space Manifest Progress — Objects in Space Suggesting Time Manifest Unity — Poetry and Music Manifest Progress Suggesting Unity — Of the Two, Poetry Suggests More Unity ; Words Having More Meaning than Single Notes — Poetry Suggests Unity also through Verse, Metre, Rhyme, Alliteration, Assonance, Refrains, Choruses — Through Repetition of Epithets and Phrases in Blank Verse — Through Parallelism Causing Expression to be Prolonged and Reiterated — Two Ex- tremes to be Avoided : One the Disproportionate Emphasis of XXli CONTENTS. PAGE Conditions Tending to Progress : Doggerel — Corrected by Breadth of View, Introducing Suggestions of Space — Other Extreme to be Avoided is Disproportionate Emphasis of Conditions Tending to Unity — How Avoided in a Shakespearian Soliloquy — By the Poetic Hiatus or Ellipsis. XXIII. Significance as Attributable to the Elements of Art-Form in Time and Space Combined: Import, Life, and Organism as Suggested in Music and Oratory .... 403-414 Unity, or the Effect of Arrangement in Space can be Suggested in Connection with Progress in Music — By Melody when its Prog- ress is not too Rapid or Slow ; and is Subject to a constantly Recurring Rhythm — By Harmony, when its Simultaneous Tones are Compounded of the Successive Notes Developed in the Melo- dies— Same Principles Apply to Developments of Themes in Long Compositions — Extreme of Disproportionate Emphasizing of Effects of Progress to be Avoided : Illustration — Extreme of Dis- proportionate Emphasizing of Effects of Unity to be Avoided : Illustration — Tendency of Wagner to Emphasize Unity by Sub- ordinating Melody to Harmony — Application of these Principles to Oratory which must Manifest Progress not too Rapid or Slow, and Unity by Regularity in Pauses and Rhythm, and in Modula- tion— Gesture as Delivery in Space, and its Influence upon Effects of Life, Organism, and Import — Must not Go to the Extreme of too much Movement or too little. XXIV. Significance as Attributable to the Elements of Art-Form in Time and Space Combined: Import, Life, and Organism as Suggested in Landscape-Gardening, Painting, Sculp- ture, and Architecture .... 415-431 Landscape-Gardening — How it may Suggest both Progress and Unity — One Extreme to be Avoided — Also the Other — Painting : The Scene and its Precedences and Consequences — Painting must CONTENTS. xxiii PAGE Represent a Single View — How Progress, as in the Allegoric Paint- ing, may be Appropriately Treated — Immobility in Space must not be too Exclusively Represented — The most Suggestive Mo- ment must be Represented : Illustrated from Titian's Methods — Same Principles Applied to Landscapes — Sculpture: Suggestions of Progress in this more Difficult than in Painting, yet not Impos- sible— Two Extremes to be Avoided — The Foremost Statues, even of Single Figures, are Full of Organic Life and Import — A Build- ing may Suggest Progress or Growth — The Idea or Plan of it Is the Seed — The Suggestion of Effects in Time or Growth must not be too Prominent — Nor must the Suggestion of Effects of Fixed- ness or Space — Neglect of these Principles in Irregularity of Out- line and Color on American Streets — Of Buildings amid Scenery which are Apparently out of Place — Effects of Appearances of Nature on the Growth of Styles of Architecture. XXV. Significance as Mainly Attributable to the Elements of Art-Form in Time alone or in Space alone: Representation in Poetry, Music, and Oratory, as Contrasted with that in Landscape-Gardening, Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture . . . 432-453 Different General Conceptions Demand Different Elementary Forms of Representation — Poetry and Music are both Made up of Different Phases of Sounds Heard in Time ; Painting, Sculp- ture, and Architecture are Made up of Different Phases of Shapes Seen in Space — Sounds that Move in Time, and Shapes that Stand in Space, Represent Differently — Form of Representation Deter- mined by what the Mind Wishes to Express, not by what has Influenced it : a Story may Represent a Scene — This Principle Applied to Descriptive Poetry — Talfourd — Crabbe — Wordsworth — Other Examples — Why in Early Ages Poetic Conceptions are most Clearly Differentiated from those of Painting — Homer — His Method as Described by Lessing — The Drama and the Law of the Unities — Derived from Requirements of Other Arts — Also from those of Epic Poetry — Why English Drama did not Fulfil these Laws — Architectural Conception at the Basis of Words- worth's " Excursion" — Non-Poetic Conception in Other English xxiv CONTENTS. PAGE Poems — Non-Poetic Description of Cathedral — Of Natural Scenery — Even when Imaginative — Passages Illustrating Poetic Concep- tions— Another, Illustrating a Painter's Conception — Contrasted with a Poetic One — Different Classes of Poetry Represent Different Degrees of Movement. XXVI. Significance Mainly Attributable to the Ele- ments of Art-Form in Time alone as Dif- ferently Represented in Poetry, Music, and Oratory ...... 454-473 Definite Thought as Expressed in Poetic Words, and Indefinite Emotion in Musical Tones — Words Cause Imagination to See as well as to Hear what is Referred to — Poetry of the Highest Order Presents a Vision of an Ideal Realm — Even when Describing Ob- jects Vague in Themselves — Lack of these Effects in that Poetry which Subordinates the Verbal to the Musical — Such Poetry Com- mon in our Own Day — And does not Exert the Legitimate Influence of Poetry — Contrast between Tennyson and Byron — Reasons why Foreigners Prefer the Latter — Comment on Byron's Methods — Explanations — Expression Appropriate for Musical Tones — Printed Explanations of Scenery Accompanying Musical Com- positions no Proof that Limitations of this Form of Expression should not be Recognized — Pleasure from Musical Effects is In- dependent of these Explanations — And of the Words and Acting in Ballads and Operas — As Shown by Various Facts with Refer- ence to Lovers of Music — Expression in Oratory as Limited on its Poetic or Musical Side — And on its Picturesque Side. XXVII. Significance Mainly Attributable to the Elements of Art-Form in Space alone as Differently Represented in Landscape- Gardening, Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture ...... 474-492 Landscape-Gardening : Difference between the Conceptions Appro- priate for it and for other Arts of Sight — Painting Attempting to CONTENTS. XXV PAGE Express what can be Represented in Poetry only — Illustrations — Even in Legitimate Allegoric Paintings the Interest is Greatest in Single Figures — Some Subjects Appropriate for both Painting and Poetry, but must be Differently Treated — The Shield of Achilles as Painted and as Described in the " Iliad" — That which can be Represented in Painting Distinguished from that in Landscape- Gardening — In Sculpture — In Architecture — Difference between that which can be Represented in Sculpture and in Poetry — And in Landscape-Gardening and Painting : The Material and Lack of Color in a Statue Emphasizes Individual rather than Associative Interest — The Large and Grand rather than the Small and Trivial — The Dignified, Regular, Parallel, etc., rather than the Oppo- site— The Conception of Architecture should be Peculiar to Itself — Injurious Influence of its Imitating Methods of Representation in Painting or Sculpture — Buildings Conceived as Pictures Tending toward Inartistic Styles — Conclusion — Explanations. )EX 493 : r4 THE REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. CHAPTER I. SIGNIFICANCE ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELEMENTS OF NATURAL FORM IN SPACE AND TIME TRACED AS FAR AS TO ORGANISM, LIFE, AND IMPORT. Art-Form as Appealing to the Senses and Sense-Influenced Imagination — Significance Includes an Appeal to both Thought and Emotion — Object of the Present Volume — Thoughts and Emotions Derived from Experi- ence— Those of Art Derived from Experience of Nature — Certain Fundamental and General Suggestions of Nature to the Mind — Space, Time, Existence, Matter, Movement, Force, Arrangement, Operation — Method of Operation — Every Object Bears Relations to Space and Time — A Rock — A Musical Tone — Even' Object in Bearing Relations to both Space and Time Suggests Methods of Operation — Sugges- tions of Organism — Of Life — Of Import. A LL the higher arts produce their effects through what artists and people in general seem to have agreed in terming form. This term, derived from the Latin word foritia, meaning an appearance, refers, primarily, to any- thing that can be perceived by the senses, and, in the higher arts, for reasons given in Chapter II. of "Art in Theory," by one of two senses, — that of hearing or of seeing. But besides this, the term has a secondary and metaphorical meaning ; it refers to any conception the whole and the 2 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. parts of which appeal to the imagination — i.e., the imaging power of the mind — in a clearly articulated, distinctly outlined, or graphic, way, so that one may liken the con- ception to a thing that the senses can perceive. This is the use of the word that justifies one in speaking of the form of an oration or a drama, or of a storm-scene or a battle-scene, which latter he may have only in mind with- out any intention of ever putting it into the form of a picture. Not all the effects of art, however, are limited to such as can be thus perceived or conceived. There is a clear distinction, the recognition of which is philo- sophically essential, between the effects of a form phys- ically fitted to produce a certain physiological result in the ear or the eye, as do some of the phenomena of tone or of color, or else artistically fitted to produce a certain psychological result or image in imagination, — there is a clear distinction between these effects and the implicit or suggestive, rather than explicit or arbitrary, effects upon thought or emotion, which, invariably, when the mind perceives art's real or imagined outlines, seem to surround these outlines as by a halo. This halo of thoughts and emotions surrounding the natural form as represented in the art-product, or surrounding the image of this product as represented in imagination, constitutes what, in this volume, will be termed the representative significance. As distinguished from the significant effects, the form-effects might be termed the sensuous. But the word sensuous, meaning that which is perceived by the senses, is, in the first place, subtly suggestive to some of the word sensual, meaning that which is dominated by the senses ; and, in the second place, the word sensuous, though it is some- times figuratively attributed, as when speaking of a vis- ually representative style of poetry, to an appeal to the MEANING OF SIGNIFICANCE. 3 imagination, is not, in other regards, broad enough in meaning for all the uses to which art finds it necessary to put the word form. This word, therefore, seems the one best fitted for the conception that has just been indicated. In ordinary language, when, by using one thing which, owing to its nature, we can see, we indicate another thing which, owing to its nature, we cannot see, nor even imagine as having any particular outlines that could be seen, as when, by hanging out a flag, we indicate our patriotism, we are accustomed to say that the former is the signal of the latter, which is the thing signified. It is in accordance with this use of language that, in the pres- ent volume, the substance of the thought or emotion represented or suggested by any given form of art will be termed its significance. In this last sentence, the words thought and emotion were both introduced inten- tionally. By significance in art is meant its mental as distinguished from its material effects, whether these ma- terial effects be produced by the external form itself, or by the image of this form which reflectively appears in imagi- nation ; and thought and emotion are effects as inseparable in mental experience as perception and feeling are in the experience of the senses. Indeed, in the term humanities, so often applied to the arts, we may recognize a conception equally suggestive of the sources of understanding and of sympathy. These arts address not only the senses and the sense-influenced imagination, but, through them, the whole range of the mind's activities. The general fact that all the higher arts are audible or visible forms representing the phenomena — or, as they are technically termed, whether appealing to ear or eye, the appearances — of material nature for the purpose, through them, of representing human thoughts and emo- 4 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. tions, was brought out and illustrated in the introductory volume of this series, entitled "Art in Theory." The object of that book was to examine the forms of art, as we find them developed in the world about us, in order to detect, inductively, the sources to which their effects are attributable. The present book has for its object to be- gin the work of tracing, deductively, these effects outward from their sources, and, in doing so, to direct attention to the principal artistic possibilities toward which, when rightly developed, the effects tend. In endeavoring to at- tain this end, it is evidently logical to start, not as in " Art in Theory," with the art-forms ; but to start at the point reached in that book, i. e., with the intellectual or emotional significance which was found to be, as it were, behind the art-forms. But besides being logical, as related to the general course of thought in these volumes, this method is psychological. It conforms to that necessarily pursued by the artist himself the moment that he turns from con- siderations of art in theory to those of art in practice. In his practical work, he begins with effects of which he is conscious in his own mind, and only later considers the ways in which, through his products, he may make others conscious of the same effects. The present volume is designed to trace the steps of only the earlier parts of this general mode of procedure ; in other words, it is designed to show from what the artist derives his thoughts or emotions, what is their character, under what heads they can be classified, and what general methods of ex- pression can represent them. The further applications of the subject to the particular methods peculiar to each of the arts will be left to subsequent volumes. When we speak of the thoughts or emotions that art is to embody in form, we are reminded, at once, that these SIGNIFICANCE AS DERIVED FROM NATURE. 5 themselves, sometimes in whole but always in part, are derived from a man's experience ; and that a large pro- portion of his experience is derived from the appearances of external nature. Moreover, the first condition of art is an audible or visible form ; and, as shown in Chapter I. of "Art in Theory," this form is always a reproduction, at least partially, of something perceived in nature, which term is to be understood as including not only non-human but human nature, as manifested in a man's actions and utterances. It follows, therefore, that, in some way, one must always associate with nature whatever thoughts and emotions he puts into artistic form. Otherwise, he could not attribute to nature any possibility of representing these; he could not suppose that, by using natural forms as he does, he could suggest his thoughts and emotions to others. Accordingly there is a sense in which, without being sensationalists or materialists, we may say that an artist is indebted to nature not only for the forms that he uses, but also for thoughts and emotions. For, even though thousands of these latter may be traceable mainly to his own mind, his mental processes in themselves are inaudible and invisible ; and, when he comes to let another know of them, he must convert them into a form which another can hear or see. Especially must he do so when express- ing them in art which necessitates form. But notice that this is the same as to say that he can express them at all only so far as somewhere in external nature he has recog- nized a form that seems fitted to express them, because it has already represented them to himself. This statement evidently brings us to the question, What are the methods through which the audible or visible forms of nature represent or suggest thoughts or emotions? Evidently, too, this question must be an- 6 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. swered before we can be prepared to show the methods through which the forms of art can suggest the same. Evidently, again, it will be logical to determine the answer to the question as applied first to such suggestions as are more fundamental and general, and advance from these to those that are more inferential and particular. In pursu- ance of this course, the reader will recognize the sub- stantial accuracy of the following : Space Matter Arrangement Organism Time Movement Operation Life Existence Force Method of Operation Import These four columns are intended to indicate the order of the development of the elementary suggestions of na- ture, all the later ones in the list being dependent on all that precede them. As will be noticed, the most funda- mental of these suggestions are those of space and time, which, together, are conditions enabling us to form a gen- eral conception of existence. Existence, as conditioned mainly in space, i. e., by the effect of one thing standing side by side with another, gives us our impression of mat- ter. Existence, as conditioned mainly in time, i. e., by the effect of one thing following another, gives us our impres- sion of movement ; and, as conditioned by combined effects in both space and time, i. e., by combined effects both of matter and of movement, existence gives us our impression of force, i. e., of one thing working upon another, as the movement of the wind in matter affects our cheeks which resist it, or the clouds which are carried along by it. Force, — which itself, as must be borne in mind, is a manifestation of existence conditioned upon both matter and movement and in both space and time,— force, when it is manifested mainly in matter, gives us our impression of arrange?uent, SIGNIFICANCE : SPACE AND TIME. J like that of the clouds which the winds blow together or separate; and, when it is manifested mainly in movement, it gives us our impression of operation, like that of the wind when fanning our cheeks or when blowing us down. Once more, when conditioned both in space by matter and arrangement and also in time by movement and operation, force gives us our impression of the method of operation. This latter impression is very important, for it has to do with suggesting not only the method of operation, but, as will be shown presently, with suggesting almost every other advanced phase of significance. But before the im- portance of this impression can be recognized, its derivation needs to be clearly perceived. Of course, all that we can learn about methods of operation we must derive from ap- pearances ; and these can be observed only in space or in time or in both together. Can we gain a knowledge of a method of operation by observing an object as manifested in space alone or in time alone ? It is not necessary, except for its bearings upon what is to follow, to argue that we cannot. If we could, the rocks could teach any one who merely looked at them the principles of geology ; and moon and stars while standing still, " like Joshua's moon at Ajalon," could manifest the laws of astronomy. But such is not the case. To the study of rocks and stars, as they appear in space, must be joined the conception of the influence of time upon them. This conception alone can cause the scientist to break apart the rocks in order to detect their evidences of development, or to adjust his telescope to the stars in order to make out their variations of move- ment. Or again, take an object that assumes different appearances in successive intervals of time — could this fact even as a fact be recognized unless at more than one time men had observed the material arrangements of 8 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the parts of the object as it appeared in space ? And how is it about recognizing the method of the change, the con- nection between one phase of appearance and another? Take, for instance, two trees, the one an "inside-grower" and the other an " outside-grower." How do men detect the different methods of operation distinguishing these? Simply through a superficial look at the trees, and notic- ing the mere fact that changes occur in different years and seasons ? Or how do they become acquainted with the methods of operation among the fluids? Simply through noticing superficially that different phases — snow, rain, ice, vapor — appear at different intervals of time? Evidently not. To learn that for which they are in search, men cut into the trunks of the trees and analyze the fluids. In other words, they examine both as they appear in space. If this be true, i.e., that methods of operation can be understood in natural objects so far only as one regards them as affected in both space and time, it must be true, in addition, — a fact which, as we shall find by-and-by, has an important bearing upon art-methods, — that every object can be thus regarded. Otherwise there might be forms in nature through which it would be impossible for operations to be manifested. In order to show that all things can be thus regarded, two examples only need be instanced. A rock is recognized in space. We never see it move itself, nor any movements in it. And yet the method of the operation of life upon it can be ascertained alone when one has recognized the fact that it has reached its present state while passing through successive changes. From time, one needs to instance no example more extreme than that of a musical tone. What space can it be said to occupy? And yet, as long ago as when Pythagoras lived, men knew that no one can begin to SIGNIFICANCE: SPACE AND TIME. g comprehend the operations of a tone until, in connection with it, certain effects in space have been considered ; that not until the relative contractions of the spaces through which different quantities of wind must pass, not until the relative proportions of different cords made to vibrate together, have been investigated, can there be any trust- worthy theories concerning melody and harmony. Accordingly, all forms in nature may be said to sustain relations both to space and to tune, the medium through which they appear to us depending not upon their nature, but upon our point of view. If we regard a plant without any consideration of influences exerted upon it before the time when we notice it, it appears related only to space. But in the degree in which we conceive of it as a product of growth, it appears related to time. When, therefore, methods of operation are declared to be discoverable so far alone as one regards effects as they appear in space and in time conjointly, no criterion is given not susceptible of being applied to all appearances of nature whatsoever. We pass on now to the remaining suggestions indicated on page 6. The first of these is the suggestion of organ- ism. An organism is an arrangement of matter resulting in a body, the parts of which form organs, i. e., are mu- tually operative upon one another. An organism there- fore involves an operation according to a particular method, therefore a method of operation, in which the suggestive element appears mainly in space. It is because there is nothing in the arrangement or body of the rock suggesting interaction between one part of it and another that we say that it is inorganic, and it is because of the slight evidences of such an arrangement in the plants and lower animals, as contrasted with the higher animals, that we term the latter highly organic. IO REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Again, as indicated on page 6, the method of operation, as affected mainly in time, gives us the suggestion of life. This is a particular method of movement or operation which takes place in connection with organism or a body. But life is mainly suggested by an appearance in time. If we see something strike the ground and stay where it falls, we are likely to consider it lifeless, — a feather, chip, or stone, as the case may be. But if shortly it begin to move, we usually change our opinion, because few things move in this way that fail to manifest the method of opera- tion characterizing life. Moreover, our impression of this latter is frequently increased in the exact degree of the shortness of the time in which different movements are manifested. We are more apt to infer the presence of life from the rapid changes taking place among the leaves of a tree in springtime, than from noticing the slow develop- ment of its trunk; and from the movements of the animal which are physically perceptible, than from those of veg- etable growth which are not so. And among the animals, too, other things being equal, we generally attribute the greatest degree of life to those whose movements are the most rapid, — to the bird or hound, for instance, rather than to the snail or sponge. In Chapters XXII. to XXIV. will be found indicated the bearings of these natural methods of suggesting effects of organism and life upon the methods of producing effects of organic form and animation in art. At present we pass on to the last suggestion indicated on page 6. It is that of import. This term has been chosen because it seems to include, equally well with significance, both the apprehen- sion of a general emotive tendency and a comprehension of a particular intellectual tendency. At the same time, it is a term indicating greater definiteness of meaning and SIGNIFICANCE. II — as the word itself indicates — greater importance of meaning than significance ; and it cannot be applied quite as appropriately as the latter to the elementary suggestions such as we have in the more abstract ideas of space, time, matter, or movement. Now it is the method of operation, as affected both by organism and life, — both in space through matter and arrangement, and in time through movement and operation, — that mainly furnishes the con- ditions causing appearances in the world to be suggestive of depth and breadth of import. Without life, organism alone, as in the dead or petrified animal or plant, has slight significance. The same is true of life alone, connected with little or no organism, as in the sponge, jelly-fish, or fungus. Only in the degree in which organism reveals life, or life is revealed through organism, do the forms of nature appeal in the most rational and profound way pos- sible to intellect and sympathy, to mind and soul. This fact, with its bearings, will be brought out in the chapters following. CHAPTER II. HIGHER SIGNIFICANCE AS ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELE- MENTS OF NATURAL FORM IN SPACE AND TIME : THE INFINITE, THE ETERNAL, AND THE ABSOLUTE. An Appearance or Form may be Connected with all Space or all Time — The Apprehension of a Method of Operation in a Small Form may Involve some Apprehension of that in the Whole Universe — Do Forms in Nature Reveal Anything of the Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute? — Testimony of Art and Philosophy — Of Religion — These Inferences Drawn from the Forms of Nature, yet not as they Appear in Space alone — Nor in Time alone — But in both — How they Suggest the Infinite — The Eternal — The Absolute — Suggestions of the Absolute not Inconsistent with those of the Infinite and the Eternal — Unity in Mode and Diversity in Operation — Illustrated by a Spiral — Appearances of Nature as Suggesting a Divine Living Intelligence — Men and Animals Express Intelligent Life through Material Appearances in Space and in Time Combined, or by Methods of Operation — Arguing from Analogy to Modes of Expression of Divine Intelligence — Human Expressions of Feeling — Divine Ex- pressions of the Same — Human Expressions of Character — Divine — Application of the Subject to Art. \\T HEN we speak of the forms or appearances of nature, as in the preceding chapter, we are using terms that are necessarily indefinite in meaning. Nothing ex- cept our own choice or ability need limit the extent in time or in space of that which we designate by them. A man may look at a drop of dew. It alone is an appear- ance. But while he looks at it, he may look also at the rose on which it rests, or enlarge his field of vision till HIGHER SIGNIFICANCE. 1 3 it embrace the bush, the ground, the ledge beneath it, and, possibly, the whole scope of the horizon. But all this, in spite of many appearances, may still, in a sense, be considered an appearance ; and if one could stretch his comprehension far enough, he might extend the out- lines to embrace the world, its planetary system, and the universe ; and these as developed, too, not only in one moment of time, but through all time. In fact, though our own choice, or the limitations of our physical or mental powers, in view of certain arrangements of out- line, color, or tone, may cause an object to seem sep- arate from others, there is a sense in which it may be said that no actual separation, isolation, self-sufficiency, exists in nature. Every smallest object is a partner of all space and a product of all time. What is the little rose- bud, which one plucks upon the meadow, but the blos- soming of material forces which have been at work on every side of it since the first day of creation ? But if this be so, if every appearance in nature, how- ever small or large our choice or circumstance may make it, be a portion of all the universe, it follows that the apprehension of the method of operation in this single portion must involve some apprehension of the method of operation in the whole. Each thing is an effect, and when thought searches for the cause of this effect, it jour- neys sideward toward infinity in space and backward toward eternity in time. This fact suggests the inquiry, how much nature, fully interrogated, has the power to teach us. Must we stop at limits of the finite, the transient, the concrete, or can our investigation pass beyond these to that which is not finite, but infinite ; not transient, but eternal ; not con- crete, but absolute ? This is asked, of course, because 14 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. of the necessary correspondence that must exist between conceptions like these, as represented through the forms of nature and as represented through the forms of art. It is a simple fact of history that men of every age have drawn from nature inferences that warrant an af- firmative reply to our inquiry. There is no need here of recalling the myths, theories, and various imaginings that prove this to be true of the poet and the artist. But it is equally true of the philosopher and the scientist. Notice a confirmation of this from a source which, on first consideration, might be thought to controvert it, viz., the writings of Mr. Herbert Spencer, the representa- tive of the philosophy of the Unknowable, the philos- ophy which, as some think, accepts the revelations of the supernatural at their minimum. While he argues, on the one hand, that a natural theology can give man no authority either to affirm or to deny the attributes of the Creator, not even such as intelligence and will, on the ground that ("First Principles," p. 109) "the ultimate cause cannot, in any respect, be conceived by us, because it is in every respect greater than can be conceived," he nevertheless admits, on the other hand (p. 397), that "community of result implies community of cause. It may be that of such cause no account can be given fur- ther than that the Unknowable is manifested to us after this mode"; and again, on page 122, that " we must recog- nize . . . elements in that great evolution of which the beginning and end are beyond our knowledge or concep- tion, as modes of manifestation of the Unknowable." Thus, both the artist and the philosopher bear testi- mony to the essential rationality of the claim, universal among religionists, that the outward appearances of na- ture are, in some sense, symbols suggestive of that behind HIGHER SIGNIFICANCE. I 5 them, which is greater and grander than they. Religion- ists, of course, carry their conceptions farther than the others, but only develop the same principle. When they say that nature gives expression to the attributes of a Divine Life, creating and controlling it, they do not claim that these attributes can be. perceived in them- selves, but merely that they can be inferred from what is perceived. In fact, the spirit or character of the Divine Life, as a whole, is supposed to be recognized, like the spirit or character of the human life about us, not in its essence, but in its effects, " the invisible things . . . being understood by the things that are made " (Rom. i., 20). It is from the appearances of nature, therefore, that art, philosophy, and natural theology equally derive their conceptions of that which transcends the finite by being infinite, the transient by being eternal, and the concrete by being absolute. Now from what in these natural appearances are these conceptions derived ? The appear- ances themselves, as we have found, must be perceived in space, or in time, or in both. Are the conceptions derived from that which is perceived in space, and in this alone? How could they be? Objects that appear in space are rendered distinct to consciousness by means of outlines that limit their extent. How then could they, of themselves, convey an impression of the infinite, i. e., of space without limits? — or of the eternal, i. 1 H g,'~ [the Beautiful artistic the Brilliant the Striking J (.Dramatic THREE GENERAL ART-EORMS. 31I to religious-artistic, scientific-artistic, and artistic-artistic tendencies, together with the other tendencies respec- tively associated with these, are three general divisions or forms of art, under one or the other of which all its pro- ducts may be classified, namely, the epic, the realistic, and the dramatic. What was said in Chapter XV. in connection with what is to be said in this chapter, may, therefore, be summarized thus : In order to get back, as nearly as possible, to first prin- ciples, we have dropped from this summary the non- pleasurable developments, respectively corresponding to these, namely, the horrible, the pathetic, and the violent ; as well as all the playful developments. But it is easy enough for the reader to perceive that the same methods of classifi- cation apply to these developments as to those indicated in the summary. It has been shown elsewhere that, in the order of develop- ment, the religious-artistic tendency comes first, operating analogously to the spiritual truth that may be supposed to be represented in natural appearances. But anything spiritual, when represented in appearances, can be ex- pressed in only a very indefinite and general way. For this very reason, however — through exciting curiosity if nothing else — that which is so expressed calls emphatic attention to itself as a source that is not, but might be, wholly manifested in the form. In other words, as indi- cated on page 272, this religious-artistic tendency empha- sizes the thing signified, i. e., the subject-matter behind the form. In the summary on page 274, the tendency is 312 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. termed instinctive and subjective, and indicated as mani- festing idealism. Now add to this the further fact, brought out on pages 274 to 280 and 286, namely, that the same tendency leads to the expression of the sublime and the grand ; and we have all the elements necessary to constitute what are usually recognized to be the char- acteristics of epic art, a well-known definition of which is that of Blair in his " Rhetoric," namely, " the illustrating of some great and general idea." This might be improved by saying that it is the illustrating of a great idea or spirit- ual principle, through forms typical of the general effect of its influence. This definition will be exemplfied from the different arts hereafter. On the pages just mentioned, it was shown also that the scientific-artistic tendency emphasizes the relations be- tween the thing signified and the form. In fulfilment of this condition, both subject-matter and form seem in it to be given, as far as possible, equal consideration, neither being subordinated to the other. But, of course, the prac- tical effect is great accuracy in the delineation, all the de- tails of natural appearance, in the order of succession and of interaction, being, in a sense not true in epic art, necessary to the desired result. This we find to be the condition in what may be called realistic art — the art not necessarily of that which is termed realism, but the art which has the same general tendency as realism, and may be defined as the delineating of material and mental effects in human or non-human life exactly as, on the surface, they appear to be. The term historic has sometimes been applied to this form of art, but it is narrower in its meaning, and accurately distinguishes only one subdivision of the form. Once more, it has been shown that the artistic-artistic tendency emphasizes the " form signifying." This is the THE EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC. 313 characteristic of dramatic art, which accepts the influence of the subject-matter only after this has taken possession of a particular medium of expression and transfigured it, producing thus a result, as will be noticed, exactly the opposite of the religious-artistic tendency. Instead of giving supremacy to the general and indefinite, of which the form is typical, the dramatic emphasizes the special and definite, thus enlarging the attractiveness and impor- tance of the form itself, furnishing — to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. Midsummer Night's Dream, v., 1: Shakespeare. In contrast to the epic and the realistic, the dramatic may be defined as the impersonating of individual characteris- tics as affected by considerations influencing them from within and from without. It will be noticed that the definition is broad enough to include dramatic effects as produced in and by not only human forms but also those that are non-human. These definitions of the three main divisions of art-form differ in phraseology, but correspond in essentials to the same as recognized many times before. Thus Fuseli, in his third "Lecture on Painting," says that "in the epic, act and agent are subordinate to the maxim ; and in pure history " — what has here been termed the realistic — " are mere organs of the fact ; but the drama subordinates both fact and maxim to the agent, his character and passion." The distinction between the three and also their natural order of sequence, as related to one another, may be better understood, perhaps, through an illustration. Suppose that one feel moved to tell a story. That which first prompts him to do so is some thought, usually a general impression, which strikes him in connection with certain 314 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. transactions that he has witnessed or heard ; and because the impression remains, he tells the story in such a way as to convey to his hearers an impression similar to his own. His whole object in the recital, though he may not be con- scious of it, is to make clear the impression, or, as we sometimes say, the moral, the point that has interested him, and so long as he does this, he cares little about ac- curacy in all the details. Now this is the condition requisite to the epic form of art, and, as all of us will probably recognize, this is the condition of the method most instinctively adopted by those who gain the reputa- tion of being good story-tellers. Therefore it seems appropriate that the Greeks, taking their term from a word meaning story, should have named this form, par excellence, the epic, or story-style. But there is another way in which one may recall the same transactions. After reflecting upon them a little, he may begin to analyze the different deeds or words of the persons implicated, and to ask himself, Why did this one do this or say that? These reflections will lead him to think more particularly of the details of the transactions and sayings, and of each of them in the order of its occurrence. When, after such a consideration, he comes to tell the story, although possibly he may not neglect to bring out that which at first seemed to him to be its " point," nevertheless this will appear subordinate to the accuracy with which he relates the details themselves and their interaction. In other words, his desire to be true to the facts in their order of sequence — i. e., to the scien- tific-artistic tendency — will realize the condition requisite to what has been termed realistic art ; and with reference to this, it is evident that while such a mode of recital may render a story far less interesting as a mere story, it will THE DRAMATIC. 315 render it far more satisfactory to a consideration purely intellectual and analytic. Once more, there is still a third way of telling the story. After analyzing the different words and deeds of the persons engaged in the transactions, a man may be- come conscious of forming definite conclusions with re- ference to the motives and characters of these persons, and, as a result of his conclusions, he may be joyous or otherwise, according to the degree in which the events have pleased or grieved him. At this stage, he will be prompted to express his pleasure or grief ; i. e., his emo- tions, and while doing so, in order to manifest his reasons and enforce their reasonableness on others, he will be led instinctively to imitate the expressions or appearances of the characters to whom he is referring. This, at last, gives us the condition requisite to dramatic art — from the word dramo, to act. In this form, the story is told, not with supreme reference to the point or moral, as in the epic, or to the details or facts, as in the realistic, but to the effects produced upon thought or feeling, and to the way in which they can be represented in action. Just here it may be well to direct attention to a fact for which unnecessarily elaborate explanations have been given. In the history, not only of literature, but of almost all art, it has been noticed that, well-nigh invariably, the epic form is the first to manifest itself, and the dramatic the last. In the light of the illustrations just employed, it must be evident that this result is owing to the very nature of the epic as distinguished from the dramatic. As has been shown, the epic narrative is the first result of a superficial view. A man catches certain inferences from certain scenes, and then represents these scenes in such a way as to convey the same inferences to others. When a 316 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. man, so to speak, is in the epic state, his mind is in the attitude of mere apprehension, curiosity, or wonder. Be- cause, as a rule, the minds of children are necessarily in such an attitude, we find that the stories told by them are generally epic in character. Nor is it strange that the same form should prevail in the childhood of the race, before men acquire habits of scrutiny and analysis. The dramatic form, on the contrary, is necessarily a later result of observation. No child resorts to mim- icry except with reference to scenes with which he has become somewhat familiar. It is usually the mode in which he echoes an old opinion, or reiterates an old story. There is a reason, therefore, founded on the very nature of things, why a great dramatist like Shakespeare should appropriate old plots. There is still more reason why all the art of a later age should incline toward the dramatic. Indeed, it is a question whether an attempt to write in the epic form in modern times among people who have become accustomed to a large exertion of individual thought and feeling with reference to everything that they observe, has not some tendency in the direction of affecta- tion unbecoming the dignity of art. Especially are we led to surmise this when we recall that the highest devel- opment of the epic has always been considered to be the heroic, and that the highest development of the heroic deals with gods and goddesses. Certainly these beings, to whom it was natural to refer in a superstitious age, are very unnatural personages to introduce into a poem of the nineteenth century. As a fact, few believe in them now, and to pretend to believe in them involves an attitude of mind not naturally expressive of the race's maturity. Not that the less mature form is not deserving of very great admiration. All of us capable of tenderness and RANK OF EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC. 317 sympathy regard with pleasurable interest and fascination the pranks and prattle of the children. But we should hardly fascinate the household, were we ourselves to imi- tate them. A different form of expression is appropriate to maturity. The same principle is true in art. The " Inferno " and the " Paradise Lost " are great as epics ; but they are inferior to the " Iliad " ; and, proportionately, perhaps, as the world advances, productions that are epic in form will be less and less successful. This is not the same as to say that the epic is artistically inferior to either of the other two, or to claim that one of them, as Aristotle claimed of the dramatic, is superior. Take, for instance, the rank that may be assigned to each of them, owing to the nature of its subject-matter. As judged by this alone the epic should apparently rank highest. Taine, in his " Ideal in Art," as translated by J. Durand, points out that one way of determining the relative values of artistic products is by the degrees of importance of the character delineated. "All things in other respects being equal," he says, " according as the character set forth in a book is more or less important, that is to say more or less elemen- tary and stable, this book becomes more or less beautiful, and you will see the layers of the moral strata communi- cate to the literary works which express them their proper degree of power and duration. . . . On the surface of man are grafted manners, ideas, a kind of character which lasts three or four years, such as that of fashion and the passing hour. . . . Below this we find a substratum of char- acter a little more solid ; it lasts twenty, thirty, and forty years, about the half of an historic period. . . . We have now reached the substratum of the third order, which is very vast and very deep. The characters composing it 318 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. last a whole historic period, like the Middle Ages, the Re- naissance, and the Classic period." Then he speaks of the characters of communities and of races. " Finally, at the lowest stage, are found the characters peculiar to every superior race capable of spontaneous civilization, that is to say, endowed with that aptitude for general ideas which is the appanage of man, and which leads him to found societies, religions, philosophies, and arts ; similar dispositions subsist through all the differences of race; and the physiological diversities which master the rest do not succeed in affecting them. . . . The superior rank and the first importance belong to the most stable char- acters ; and if these are more stable, it is that, being more elementary, they are present on a much larger surface and are swept away only by a greater revolution." The truth of all this, so far as it goes, no one would dispute. To apply it to our present subject, it makes evident that of the three forms of art which have been mentioned, the epic, having for its purpose to give em- bodiment to general ideas, is much more apt to occupy that superior rank which belongs " to the most stable characters . . . present on a much larger surface," and " swept away only by a greater revolution." Nothing certainly can be more important or stable than the sub- lime and grand ideas to which the themes of the highest forms of epic art are allied. Their attractiveness, depend- ing little upon transient, definite, and local conditions, may be felt lastingly and universally in a sense that is not necessarily true of realistic or dramatic products. These last may be capable of exciting greater interest in the particular age and country for which they are written, but because of the different phases of individual char- acters and customs peculiar to different periods and RANK OF EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC. 319 nations, their subject-matter is, on the whole, less likely than that of the epic to awaken general and permanent interest. This is especially true of the products of real- istic art. Their subjects, because associated almost en- tirely with the local and the transient, are exceptionally restricted in range and durability of influence. But the different values of artistic products, besides being determined by " the degrees of importance of the character delineated," may be determined, according to Taine, by the " beneficence of the character." " At the lowest step of all," he says, " are the types preferred by the literature of realism and by the comic drama ; /. e., simpletons and egotists, weak and inferior natures." . . . Next, " a family of powerful but incomplete types, and generally wanting in balance. Some passion, some faculty, some disposition or other of mind or of character is de- veloped in them with enormous accretion, like a hyper- trophied organ, at the expense of the rest, amidst all sorts of ravages and misfortunes. Such is the ordinary theme of dramatic and philosophic literature. . . . Advancing a step farther, we encounter complete personages, true heroes. We find many such in the dramatic and philo- sophic literature of which I have just spoken. . . . But creations truly ideal are fertile only in primitive and simple epochs." These last quotations indicate their own moral. Whether we classify the products of art according to the degrees of the beneficence or to the degrees of the im- portance of the character, we arrive at the same result. So far as concerns the significance expressed in art, the epic has what we may term the greatest natural advan- tages. As indicated in the summary on page 311, of all subjects that can be treated, its are the most nearly allied 320 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. to sublimity. Where they fall short of this, at all events they are generally grand and dignified ; and the persons who are described, whether in their repulsions or attrac- tions, are, as a rule, heroic. But in realistic and dramatic art, a fitful sublimity or grandeur is soon exhausted, and instead of heroes we have merely heroism. Yet from what has been said, let us not rush to the con- clusion that, therefore, the epic is, in all regards, superior to all other forms of art. As related to the general sub- ject-matter to be expressed, this form certainly possesses great advantages. But we must remember that the sub- ject-matter, or theme, is only one requisite of art. A second feature is the form or body to be given to the theme ; and this, in all cases, is taken from the world of physical reality, as made prominent in the realistic. A third feature, too, is the way in which the form or body is made to conform to individual psychical or emotional requirements, as in the dramatic. Or, to change our phraseology, art involves beauty of expression ; and this, as brought out in Chapters X. to XV. of " Art in Theory," involves the fulfilment of requirements emphasizing some- times the subject-matter, as in the epic ; sometimes the appearances of nature represented in the form, as in the realistic ; and sometimes the way in which the subject- matter has taken possession of the representative form, as in the dramatic. To take a department of art that fulfils in all regards only one of these requirements, and to say that it alone realizes the best that art can accomplish, is evidently unphilosophical. Yet we probably all know many who do this. Some, apparently thinking that nothing can have the highest excellence that was not originated in the past, assign superiority to the epic. Some, apparently hoping to convince people that the RANK OF EPIC REALISTIC AND DRAMATIC. 32 1 epic work of Homer, Dante, or Michael Angelo, or the dramatic work of Raphael, Shakespeare, or Goethe, is in- ferior to the work of their own age, if not to their own individual work, assign superiority to the realistic ; and some, apparently imagining a far more exclusive interpre- tation of the words of the poet than he himself conceived when saying All the world 's a stage And all the men and women merely players — As You Like It, it., y : Shakespeare — rank the dramatic highest. It certainly seems more dis- criminating to hold that, in certain circumstances, each of the three may be the most appropriate, and therefore the most successful ; for there are times and ways in which each influences us differently. The epic artists, Michael Angelo and Milton, may inspire our admiration ; but not as frequently as the realistic artists, Teniers and Burns, do they stir our sympathies ; nor, as the dramatic artists, Raphael and Shakespeare, broaden our enthusiasms. It is well, also, in drawing distinctions, to recognize that our classifications should not themselves be made too exclusive. It has been said that sublimity is a characteristic of the thought embodied in the epic, pic- turesqueness of that in the realistic, and brilliancy of that in the dramatic. But let it not be supposed that there- fore any one of these forms of art contains merely one of these qualities. A great epic product must be sublime ; a great realistic one, picturesque ; a great dramatic one, brilliant ; but in every epic product, especially in its lower forms, as, for instance, in the metrical romance, there is much that is picturesque and brilliant ; and in every dramatic product, especially in its higher forms, as in tragedy, there is much that is sublime and picturesque. 322 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Therefore, though the eternal, infinite, and absolute truth may be germane to the epic, there are instances in which both realistic and dramatic art may rise to it ; and in art, as in life, a high result attained in spite of natural disadvantages, for this very reason, seems deserving of higher commendation. He who in the wisdom of mature life still retains the purity of childhood, seems doubly worthy of regard. Why should not the same be true of dramatic or realistic art, whenever either reveals the nobler range of thought peculiar tothe epic ? Possibly, just here, some reader may be prompted to ask whether the distinctions between the epic, the realis- tic, and the dramatic that have been made in this chapter, are really necessary ; whether they have, after all, any practical bearing. The answer will be found in " The Genesis of Art-Form," particularly in Chapters VIII. and IX., which unfold the importance in art of producing an impression of unity, especially through congruity between different parts of the thought and the treatment. An art- product that is neither distinctly epic, realistic, nor drama- tic is lacking in definiteness of form, and is felt to be so, and, therefore, its effect is inartistic. Wholly satisfactory results can be attained by the artist in only the degree in which he recognizes clearly both the limitations and the possibilities that distinguish such divisions and subdivis- ions of art in general as are to be considered in the chapters following. CHAPTER XIX. THE EPIC. REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC IN POETRY. Epic, Realistic and Dramatic Subdivisions in All the Arts — Necessity of Certain New Terms for Some of These — Chart of — Definitions of the Epic Derived from Combining Previous Definitions — Its Symbolic Form — Allegoric Form — The Epic Proper — Realistic Poetry — Its Didactic Form — Wide Range of — Its Naturalistic Form — Treating of Natural Scenery — With not Sufficient Individualism to Awaken Sym- pathy— Yet Nature may be Made Human — Narrative Form of the Realistic and the Ballad — The Dramatic as Distinguished especially from the Epic — Its Subjective Form in the Lyric — How Differing from the Didactic — The Naturalistic Narrative — The Protactic, a New Term — But Needed and Applicable ; Illustrations — The Drama. TT will avoid repetition and, in other regards, be equally satisfactory to consider in the different arts the vari- ous exemplifications of the Epic, the Realistic, and the Dramatic forms at the same time that we consider in the same arts certain subdivisions of these forms. The chart on page 325 will indicate what these subdivisions are. At first glance, certain arrangements of the chart may seem fanciful ; and all the more so, inasmuch as some of the terms employed are new. But this latter fact, as will be made clear presently, was unavoidable. For instance, in the art of poetry, which we shall consider first, the names of the different styles, still preserved in all our works upon the subject, have been handed down from a time anterior to the existence of some of the forms which are now the most popular, as Robert Browning's " The Ring and the Book," Mrs. Browning's, " Aurora Leigh," ?33 324 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Tennyson's " Princess," Robert Bulwer Lytton's " Lucile," Byron's " Corsair," and a host of others too numerous to mention. Strictly speaking, these are neither epic, lyric, pastoral, elegiac, didactic, dramatic, descriptive, nor satiric. Great artists and great schools of artists originate new forms. Why should not critics designate these by new terms? Aside from this fact too, the ordinary terms, such as have just been quoted, exemplify no single principle of classification. What, for instance, is to hinder the dramatic from being satiric? the pastoral from being descriptive? or the elegiac from being didactic? One need not dwell upon these questions. Their answer is evident. In order to show the general connection of the chart with the development of the thought in the chapters im- mediately preceding this, notice the following repetition of the summaries already given in them. Significance in Representative Form according as its Tendency is Religious Scientific or Artistic rs Instinctive Reflective u V tj ■ or rt • Emotive c L I Subjective Relative or Objective and expressed f Idealism i Realism Idealized- |_ realism Religious- _ ") »60 f the Good Artistic 'G o.c Scientific- | £"£>">. Artistic 1"° *"4? Artistic- the True the Sublime the Grand "1 f Epic the Picturesque the Simple Realistic sue- i «.> i i a l Artistic J H g," (.the Beautiful the Brilliant the Striking J (, Dramatic J Let us turn now to the chart on page 325, and con- sider, first, the subdivisions in poetry of the epic form. "According to Aristotle," says Quackenbos in his " Rhe- toric," "the plot of an epic must be important in itself and instructive in the reflections it suggests ; must be SUBDIVISIONS OF ART- FORMS 325 c S 03 &i3 u a u c T> = <-s 1/2 c - ■c-0 2 i u ■g§« QC ► «- 3 M S*.C to-- oe« „ 2W'G c -o |-S3-g o S rt O O g > o •> E v o c^.S U C *0 yj a,« = « Pe uppo ines rche — cn>J< v s O H kt ™ w o §5* P c h .0 5 E — o a a * lert - E 9 >• ■8 -S o a O B. o o 2 swy 3S3t{) jo LJ3E3 ui suoisiAipqng aqj sdopAsp ApAijaadsai upB'j aqj in Xonspuax aqj ui Xouapuax aqi ui KouapusjL 0 .. 0 ° 0 .° 0 uT - 0 ° ,° o ■-.£.- O 4; C HI 3 V • ■■3 w S .8 u "5, .2-S E « 8« jjj« '■slw jj tj « * « £ — 3 Sg« O a? en ££« O *- - O* ° u - ° o 3 i1 IS -'A « tT'E 'Sit! 5» =--'"5 -S*3 E J=«w .ss2 Eg? to * ^Q 326 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. filled with suitable incidents, as well as enlivened with a variety of characters and descriptions ; and must retain throughout propriety of character and elevation of style." Besides this, Hart in his " Rhetoric " maintains that the " epic should have a hero." But a clearer idea of this form is conveyed in Long's " Art, its Laws, and the Rea- sons for Them." Quoting Blair's definition in his " Rhe- toric " that it is the " illustrating of some great and gen- eral idea in verse," he goes on to say : " This we adopt as the best that we can find, as in the definition we dis- cover the great characteristic difference between epic and dramatic writing, ' the tragedy of which,' says Mr. Blair, ' has for its object compassion, and the comedy of it ridicule.' The epic is further distinguished from the drama by the broad and liberal manner in which every- thing is conducted, by its admitting no discrimination of character, nothing, in short, that is individually character- istic, other than as that individual trait illustrates the leading idea of the poem, as exemplified in the parting scene between Hector and Andromache in the Iliad, a poem whose subject is 'War,' — it being there admitted, not to exhibit a phase of the character of Hector and Andromache, but because such scenes constitute a fea- ture in all warlike operations. . . . No character is discriminated but where discrimination discovers a new look of war ; no passion is raised but what is blown up by the breath of war, and as soon absorbed in its uni- versal blaze. As in a conflagration we see turrets and spires and temples illuminated only to propagate the horrors of destruction, so through the stormy page of Homer we see his heroes and his heroines only by the light that blasts them." All this accords, as will be recognized, with what was said of the epic in Chapter XVIII., namely, EPIC POETRY. 327 that it is the illustrating of a great idea or spiritual principle through forms that are typical of the general nature of its influence. Without further comment, every- one will recognize this characteristic in the heroic or epic proper, as exemplified in such poems as the " Iliad," " /Eneid," and " Paradise Lost." 1 But before we take up the epic proper, let us consider ' the two other forms into which, in the chart on page 325, i the epic is subdivided. The first of these, the most sub- , jective form, is termed the symbolic. The following, for j instance, reads as if intended to be an accurate description of what we all recognize to be a symbolic painting: The Register that up this order drew Is Time itself clad all in azure blue, Winged like an angel, shadowed with a veile, And Truth his daughter bearing up his traile. Nobly attended with a Lady kind, More quick and nimble than the swift foot hind. Within his mouth a lofty Trumpe did stand, And a sharp scythe or sickle in his hand. The Glasse of Time : Thomas Peyton. This may properly be termed symbolic poetry ; and, as most of us will recall, it characterizes many so-called epics, especially those whose writers affect what is called the classic style. It is, perhaps, impossible for it to predomi- nate throughout a long product ; but we find an immense amount of it not only in real epics, but in such as are merely didactic poems with epic passages, like Pollok's " Course of Time " and Peyton's " Glasse of Time." Be- sides this form of poetry, however, another, not at all classic in the sense just indicated, is also called symbolic, it is a form mainly used in France in an endeavor to ex- press through words more than the words themselves ex- press,— a perfectly proper endeavor except where it is 328 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. supposed to be a sufficient excuse for hinting at all sorts and degrees of triviality through all sorts and degrees of vagueness, — in fact for violating the very first condition of poetic art, which is that it should be constructed of words and phrases, which are not mere sounds but sounds with definite meanings. The only justifiable symbolism constructed upon the principle which the French have in mind, is that which conveys, through a perfectly appre- hended surface-meaning, a profounder meaning which is not upon the surface, as in the following representation of an idealist : " Whom lovest thou best, enigmatical man, say, thy father, thy mother, thy sister, or thy brother?" " I have neither father nor mother nor sister nor brother." " Thy friends ? " " You use there a word whose sense has to this day remained unknown to me." " Thy fatherland ? " " I know not in what latitude it is situated." " Beauty? " " I would fain love it, godlike and immortal." "Gold?" " I hate it as you hate God." " Eh? What lovest thou then, extraordinary stranger?" " I love the clouds . . . the clouds that pass . . . over there . . . the marvellous clouds." The Stranger : Baudelaire, tr. by Stuart Merrill. From " Pastels in Prose." Copyright 1890 by Harper &• Brothers. In English poetry, effects resembling this are uncommon, and, of course, difficult to find, which is a sufficient ex- cuse for using the following. It appears to tell of a love experience, and, like the forms of a symbolic painting, the words are intelligible, if accepted as referring to this alone. But they mean more. They are symbolic of a universal law of human life, namely, that, to be successful, a man while following to some extent his own ideals, must also SYMBOLIC POETRY. 329 avail himself of his opportunities, and accommodate his ideals to them. But in the poem this general principle is suggested, not stated : She came ; and I who lingered there, I saw that she was very fair ; And, with my sighs that pride suppressed, There rose a trembling wish for rest. But I, who had my own ; For destiny that should be mine, I turned me to my task and wrought, And so forgot the passing thought. She paused ; and I who questioned there, I heard she was as good as fair ; And in my soul a still small voice Enjoined me not to check my choice. But I, who had my own design For destiny that should be mine, I bade the gentle guardian down, And tried to think about renown. She left ; and I who wander fear There comes no more to see or hear ; Those walls that ward my Paradise Are very high, nor open twice. And I, who had my own design For destiny that should be mine, Can only wait without the gate, And sit and sigh — " Too late ! too late ! " The Destiny-Maker: G. L. Raymond. The question is not whether this kind of poetry is sym- bolic, but whether it should be termed so by way of distinction. If, as brought out in Chapters X. and XL, all art should present arguments from analogy, verses like these, so far as the symbolic means the representing of the general through the special, do no more than all poetry should do, if of an artistic quality. Moreover, is there not a clear distinction between symbolizing a truth. 330 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. as these verses do, through phraseology that is perfectly intelligible even if no symbolism be detected in it, and symbolizing the same through personifications like those of Time and Truth in the quotation on page 327, — personifications involving phraseology the very first mean- ing of which, as all recognize, is symbolic? And if so, are we not justified in confining the term symbolic to such cases ; and in allowing the more subordinate and com- paratively incidental symbolic method illustrated in the quotation on page 329 to be termed, in accordance with one or another of the principles to be unfolded hereafter, either realistic or lyric ? The next subdivision of epic poetry, the allegoric, is epic in the sense that in it, too, the general truth that is illus- trated— and it is usually a religious or moral truth — aside from the details through which it is represented, is of primary importance. The " Faerie Queen " of Spenser, which is usually classed as a metrical romance, was de- signed, according to its author, "to fashion a gentleman or noble person in virtues and gentle discipline." In it, the twelve private moral virtues are represented in the persons of twelve knights, and their various adventures are designed to teach lessons with reference to these virtues. In the same sense, too, though humorous, "The Dunciad," by Pope, in which he depicted the fate of the literary dunces of his period, is an allegorical form of the epic. Under the epic proper, besides the great poems men- tioned on page 327, we may place Tennyson's " Idyls of the King." It should be said, however, that the idyls of Theocritus, which suggested the title, were less epic than realistic ; and parts of them were also, to some extent, lyric. Like Tennyson's " Dora," they treat of simple REALISTIC POETRY. 33 I stories of natural life. The " Idyls of the King," on the contrary, treat distinctively of heroes, living in a super- natural atmosphere, and by their conduct representing, in accordance with what was said on page 312, the in- fluence, upon typical persons and events, of great ideas and spiritual principles. See the quotation from " Morte d'Arthur " on page 458. Therefore though, owing to the less emphasized unity of the plot, this poem perhaps must rank with the "Odyssey" of Homer rather than with his " Iliad," or with the " ^Eneid," the " Divine Comedy," or the " Paradise Lost," it must nevertheless be classed as epic. Under the general head of realistic poetry one may in- clude all that large class in which characters, scenes, or events are treated as if interesting chiefly on account of what they are seen to be in themselves without reference to the general idea which their appearances illustrate, as in the epic, or to the special characteristics which their actions manifest, as in the dramatic. Undoubtedly the realistic, in some of its forms, because so nearly allied to the scientific, is not supremely artistic. Nevertheless, it is the most common form of poetry, the works even of the greatest poets being full of passages exemplifying it. The religious or subjective development of this form is found in what is known as the didactic. This term, applied to poetry that deals with what is true or real in principle as well as in illustration, is derived from a Greek word meaning to teach; and in the chart it is indicated that the didactic is not a legitimate form of poetry except when it is also descriptive in the sense of naturalistic or narrative, which conception is paralleled by indicating that except when also naturalistic, the decorative does not belong to the art of painting nor the architectural to the art of 332 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. sculpture. This is the same as to indicate that the didac- tic is not a legitimate form of poetry, nor the decorative of painting, nor the architectural of sculpture, except so far as it is made so through an accompanying and dis- tinctively artistic method of treatment. In poetry, for instance, it is the descriptive or narrative illustrations that make the didactic acceptable. Notice this fact as exem- plified in these verses : Man, like the generous vine, supported lives ; The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. Essay on Man, Hi. : Pope. The fiery soul abhorred in Catiline, In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine : The same ambition can destroy or save, And makes a patriot as it makes a knave. Idem, ii. Again the following didactic lines — didactic because the lesson in them is indicated so clearly — exhibit as much imagination — but not art — as they might do if presented in an epic or dramatic form : Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads ; Friend, parent, neighbor, first it will embrace ; His country next, and next all human race ; Wide and more wide, th' o'erflowings of the mind Take every creature in of every kind : Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, And heaven beholds its image in his breast. Essay on Man, iv. : Pope. The very wide range of didactic poetry includes most discoursiveand meditative products, such as Horace's "Art of Poetry," Pope's "Essay on Man," Cowper's "Task," DIDACTIC POETRY. 333 1 Young's " Night Thoughts," Campbell's " Pleasures of Hope," and Akenside's " Pleasures of the Imagination." In all of these the subject-matter seems intended to cause reflection and awaken thought according to the methods of logic fully as much as to cause perception and appeal ] to the sympathies according to the methods of analogy. \ In fact, one might almost hold that this poetry necessitates I a scientific action of mind fully as much as an artistic. , But though this be true of its subject-matter, the treat- ment is often poetically redeemed, as has just been exem- plified, by the descriptions or narratives that illustrate the ': subject-matter. Of the other developments of realistic poetry, we come I first to that which in the chart is termed naturalistic. This term is preferred to descriptive (which sometimes in- cludes the ?iarrative), because naturalistic is not quite so indefinite in its meaning as applied to poetry, and, at the | same time, can be applied to corresponding developments i in the arts of sight. Of the naturalistic, we may make two 1 divisions: — the one, of works that do not treat of the ■ aspects of human life ; and the other, of works that do. Some of the critics foreign to England have argued that compositions such as are particularly characteristic of that country- — compositions which do not treat of human life but only of natural scenery — are not legitimate to the art I of poetry. But this is going too far. Such poetry may not i appeal strongly to the aesthetic tastes of all. But the ' reason for this may be the same that prevents much of I the art of landscape-gardening, as developed in England, | from appealing to all. Just why it is a fact would be : difficult to determine, but it is a fact that to commune j with nature exactly as it reveals itself seems more ger- I mane to the Anglo-Saxon mind than to any other. One 334 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIEICANCE OF FORM. seldom sees in England the clipping of trees into artificial shapes that one finds in the parks of the continent of Europe ; nor, on the continent, such a degree of adapta- tion "of roadways and walks to the lay of the land, as in England. At the same time the naturalistic tendency in poetry may be carried to inartistic extremes. Owing probably to a certain phase of influence exerted by Thomson, Wordsworth, and Tennyson, it is not too much to say that, frequently, among English-speaking people, the supreme test applied to new poetry is the degree of accuracy with which the words that are used depict the objects of nature to which they refer — /. e., do approximately what a painter does when imitating in line and color. To do this undoubtedly involves an artistic use of language ; but it does not involve, as some of these critics evidently suppose, the only nor even the most artis- tic use of it. In neither the Bible nor in Greek or Latin poetry is there much descriptive language of this kind. The most important element in rendering language artistic is that which makes it imaginative ; and it becomes this through imaging in material form spiritual — by which is meant both intellectual and emotional — conceptions. Accurate descriptions of nature may make the material form of the image seem more natural, and therefore more artistically effective, and thus cause it to fulfil an important function as a means to an end. But they are not an end in themselves, as they evidently are supposed to be by the writer of the following : Fiercely the gaunt woods to the grim soil cling That bears for all fair fruits, Wan wild sparse flowers of windy and wintry spring Between the tortive serpent-shapen roots, Where through their dim growth hardly strikes and shoots And shews one gracious thing ; NATURALISTIC POETRY. 335 Hardly, to speak for summer one sweet word Of summer's self scarce heard. But higher the steep green sterile fields, thick-set With flowerless hawthorn even to the upward verge Whence the woods gathering watch new cliffs emerge Higher than their highest of crowns that sea-winds fret, Hold fast, for all that night or wind can say, Some pale pure color yet, Too dim for green and luminous for gray. On the Cliffs : Swinburne. For in no deeps of midmost inland May More flower-bright flowers the hawthorn, or more sweet Swells the wild gold of the earth for wandering feet ; For on no northland way Crowds the close whin-bloom closer, set like thee With thorns about for fangs of sea-rock shown Through blithe lips of the bitter brine to lea ; Nor blithelier landward comes the sea-wind blown, Nor blithelier leaps the land-wind back to sea. The Garden of Cvmodoce : Swinburne. ! The interest in this form of poetry resembles too nearly i that which one takes in a curio. The natural scene or • object described is treated as the central point of atten- tion, and about this the mind is made to work according to the method of the artisan rather than of the artist. In that highest form of art which we find in the humanities, . . . the human mind is at the centre, and the natural objects I described are made to revolve around it, and are kept a subordinate to it. We are all familiar with this method as exemplified in such poems as Bryant's " Thanatopsis," Thomson's " Seasons," and Wordsworth's " Prelude " and | " Excursion." It may be well, however, before directing | attention to the illustration of the method in the follow- I ing quotation, to say that the poetry of Wordsworth is | exceedingly difficult to classify. The thought, though 336 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. suggested by nature, shows a constant tendency to tran- scend its limitations as in the epic. In fact, we often feel like classing him with Milton. But, on the other hand, his ode entitled " Intimations of Immortality " and other of his shorter poems are distinctly lyrical. The main body of his work, however, seems to be about equally divided among all three forms — i. e., the didactic, the naturalistic, and the narrative- — of the realistic, e. g. : Earth hath not anything to show more fair ; Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty : The city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare. Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still ! Sonnet on Westminster Bridge : Wordsworth. From what has been said, it follows necessarily that the objection mentioned on page 333 does not apply to that form of naturalistic art which treats of human life, — a fact which may be illustrated by recalling Goldsmith's " De- serted Village," Burns's " Cotter's Saturday Night," Byron's " Childe Harold," Campbell's " Gertrude of Wyo- ming," or Beattie's " Minstrel." Of course, too, the reason why such poems cannot be classed with the narrative form of the epic is because there is no single general idea under- lying their plots which, as in the epic, is the determining cause of the whole and of which the different facts nar- rated are merely so many illustrations. On the contrary, the facts themselves often suggest the ideas, e.g.: NARRATIVE POETRY. 337 From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, " An honest man 's the noblest work of God." And certes in fair virtue's heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind ; What is a lordling's pomp? — a cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined ! Cotter's Saturday Night : Burns. Burns is essentially a realistic poet. Let us recognize him as such. The last and most artistic form of realistic poetry is the narrative, including works like Chaucer's " Canterbury Tales" and Morris's " Earthly Paradise," as well as almost everything cast in the ancient form of the ballad. This latter form, by the way, is often misunderstood. Psycho- logically, it is the result of such interest in successive details that the writer has no inclination to stop in order to express his own opinions or feelings with reference to them. This mood gives simplicity to the style and con- sequent speed to the movement, and makes any expression at all which is strictly subjective rather than relative ' in its character entirely out of place. Modern poetry, as devel- oped by Keats and Byron and their followers, has seldom been characterized by this form of simplicity, and this is the reason why so few modern ballads are successful, not- i withstanding the fact that attempts to write them are j carried often to the extreme of artificiality. Even if a writer of the present does express the ballad spirit in the only style that would be natural to a narrator of the unro- I mantic homespun period that he is representing, he is ', more than likely to be accused of writing doggerel, notwith- ! standing that almost every page contains lines like these : 1 See page 273. 338 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. God guided it and us, alas, But how he scorch'd our heaven to pass His finger through the skies ! Our First Break with the British : G. L. Raymond. And they forgot, we mountaineers, High rangers, like the Swiss, Had learn'd to value freedom's world By looking down on this ! Too few were they to brave a fort Well mann'd at every gun ; Yet those who slight the light of stars But seldom see their sun. Ethan Allen : Idem. Other illustrations of the various forms of realistic poetry will be given in connection with what is to be said now of dramatic poetry. " In our analysis of ' the epic," " says Mr. Long, in his "Art, its Laws, and the Reasons for Them," "we stated that the business of both the epic poet and the epic painter was the illustrating of some great general idea, and that to this everything else was subordinate. On the other hand, the avowed object of both the dramatic writer and painter is to exhibit character, to develop the passions, to lay open the heart, and to excite in every bosom corre- sponding emotions. Whatever, therefore, by reflected self-love, inspires us with hope, fear, pity, terror, love, or mirth, is the legitimate sphere of both the dramatic poet and painter." It is in strict accordance with this that it has been said that the dramatic, in distinction from the epic, which is the illustrating of a great idea or spiritual principle through forms that are typical of the general nature of its influence, is the impersonating of individual LYRIC POETRY. 339 character, as manifested in action excited both from within the mind and from without it. The subjective form of the dramatic seems to be the lyric. This term is derived from the same word as the term lyre, and originally was applied to poetry composed to be accompanied by the lyre; and, as a fact, was usually < accompanied by both music and dancing. In other words, it was composed to be used in a primitive form of acting. Hence it seems right to infer an organic connec- tion between it and the drama. " Lyric poetry," says Chaignet, in his " Les Principes de la Science du Beau," 1 "appears to us to be a subdivision of dramatic poetry; / for it consists, as appears to us, eminently in action. The 1 ode is the form which takes words to express a solitary ] action of a single actor, at least most frequently." In addition to this, Chaignet might have said that the lyric not only represents action — the epic does the same — but, \ like the soliloquy, it represents character, and character \ under excitement moving on from the expression of one \ emotion to that of another. It will be understood, of 1 course, as was brought out in Chapter XIII., that emotion j is expressed in all forms of art ; but in the artistic-artistic phase of it represented in the dramatic form, the emo- j tional effects are particularly emphasized. The term lyric I cry is often used by critics. What does this indicate except \ a recognition that, in this form of poetry, the soul, as in j the case of one crying out in excitement, is over-mastered by the impulse from within. Yet there is little suggestion :; that the thought or emotion, as in the epic condition, is \ absolutely too great to be adequately expressed. There j is often a suggestion of the opposite. Judging of the per- \ sons who cry loudest, and of the circumstances in which I they do so, it might be argued that this form of expression, 340 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. as a rule, exaggerates the amount and quality of the experience ; and this is the condition in dramatic art. Viewed with this in mind, any one who will examine a typical lyric will be interested in observing how few traces it manifests of either the epic or the realistic. In neither of the following, for example, are there any great ideas illustrated, as in the epic ; nor many facts delineated in the order of their sequence and interdependence, as in the realistic. Nothing is mentioned except what is neces- sary in order to reveal to us how the poet's individual imagination has been affected by the suggestions received. Just as, through a few outlines, a good draughtsman gives us a conception of a whole form, so the lyric poet, through a few words, gives us a conception of a whole series of scenes or events. But in the lyric these few words do more than represent, as in realistic art, what exists or may be supposed to exist. They create something that with- out them would not exist. They give apprehensible form to impressions made upon thought and feeling ; form too which is represented not merely in a few words and phrases, as illustrated on page 200, but in whole poems. In what sense this is true, will be found explained from one point of view in Chapter VI. of " The Genesis of Art- Form," and from another point of view in Chapter XXVI. of " Poetry as a Representative Art." At present it is enough for the reader to observe how entirely the aes- thetic interest awakened by the following is an interest not in any great idea illustrated nor in successive events accurately detailed, but in the form which the writer has constructed in order, through it, to represent the particu- lar character of the emotional effects which, owing to his own poetic sensibilities, he himself has, or may be sup- posed to have, experienced : LYRIC POETRY. 34 1 " O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands o' Dee ! " The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, And all alone went she. The creeping tide came up along the sand, And o'er and o'er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see ; The blinding mist came down and hid the land : And never home came she. " O is it weed, or fish, or floating hair— A tress o' golden hair, O* drowned maiden's hair — Above the nets at sea? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes on Dee." They rowed her in across the rolling foam— The cruel, crawling foam, The cruel, hungry foam — To her grave beside the sea ; But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands o' Dee. O Mary, Go and Call the Cattle Home : Kingsley. The sun had scattered each opal cloud, And the flowers had waked from their winter's rest, The song of the skylark rang free and loud, And ah ! there were eggs in the swallow's nest ! And for joy of the spring that so sweet appears, I sang with the singing of twenty years. Out from the meadows there passed a maid,— How can I tell you why she was fair ? To see was to love as she bent her head Over the brooklet that murmured there. As I gazed, in an April of hopes and fears, I dreamed with the dreaming of twenty years. 342 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Next, — for I saw her just once again, — Just once in that rare spring-tide, — I felt a heart-throb of vague sweet pain, For I noticed that some one was by her side ! And I turned, with a passion of sudden tears, For they loved with the loving of twenty years. Twenty Years : Trs. from the French of E. Barateau. There is no great liability of confounding the lyric with the epic ; but there is of confounding the lyric with the realistic. The tendency may be best avoided perhaps by remembering that the lyric is always dramatic ; and that in the dramatic, as contrasted with the realistic, imagina- tion is never itself subordinated to natural conditions or forms ; it clothes itself in these forms, and makes them give expression to its own activities, — in fact, it makes the forms take on character, and often its own character. The following, for instance, is realistically didactic. It is an exhortation expressing a conscious subordination of thought and feeling to certain great realities of life : Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ! Let the dead Past bury its dead ! Act, — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'erhead ! A Psalm of Life : Longfellow. A similar thought expressed as follows is lyric. It is an exultant cry expressing conscious ability to subordinate certain realities of life to one's own thought and feeling : Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range. Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. LYRIC POETRY. 343 0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient fonts of inspiration well through all my fancy yet. Locks ley Hall : Tennyson. The following, devoid, as it is, of any suggestion of char- acter, almost of any action that has affected character, is ;realistically descriptive of nature : Below me trees unnumbered rise, Beautiful in various dyes : The gloomy pine, the poplar blue, The yellow beech, the sable yew, And see the rivers how they run Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, Sometimes swift, and sometimes slow, — Wave succeeding wave, they go A various journey to the deep, Like human life to endless sleep. Grongar Hill : John Dyer. Tennyson's " Farewell " illustrates a descriptive phase of the lyric. Instead of placing man and nature side by side.it reveals him expressing his own moods, through re- jferring to nature : Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver ; No more by thee my steps shall be Forever and forever. A thousand suns will stream on thee, A thousand moons will quiver. But not by thee my steps shall be Forever and forever. The Farewell : Tennyson. "The Cloud " does the same emphatically. It personifies nature, and puts a man's character inside of its activities : 344 REP RE SENT A TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky, I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores, I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain when with never a stain The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, — I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I rise and unbuild it again. The Cloud : Shelley. Finally, let us look at the historic or narrative phase of the realistic, as exemplified in the ancient ballad : The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summer's days to take. The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace To kill and bear away ; The tidings to Earl Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay. Who sent Earl Percy present word He would prevent his sport ; The English Earl not fearing this, Did to the woods resort. More Modern Ballad of Chevy-Chace : Percy's Reliques. In contrast to this, each of the following gives a narrative still, but it is presented dramatically ; in other words, for the purpose of representing the effects exerted upon or through the characters engaged in the transactions. The passages are therefore lyric : 'T was at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son ; LYRIC POETRY. 345 Aloft in awful state, The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne. The lovely Thais, by his side, Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride. Happy, happy, happy pair. None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserve the fair ! Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful quire, With flying fingers touched the lyre ; The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. Alexander's Feast : Dryden. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the light brigade ! Charge for the guns ! " he said. Into the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. The Charge of the Light Brigade : Tennyson. The form of the dramatic which it seems proper to place half-way between the lyric and the dramatic proper, sustaining the same relation to each respectively as the naturalistic to the didactic on the one hand and to the historic on the other, is the protactic. This is a new term ; but it is appropriate, and there is occasion for its use. The word has one meaning and one only. It was formerly applied to those who appeared in the introduc- tions of the Greek plays, for the purpose of explaining 346 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the meanings of them. " Protactic persons in plays," says Webster, " are those who give a narrative or ex- planation of the piece." This is exactly what is done by the writers of the form of composition to which it is proposed to apply this term. They give a narrative or explanation of a distinctly dramatic series of passages representing actions through the words of the characters depicted. These poems are not, like Scott's " Lady of the Lake," and other merely narrative poems, novels in verse. They exemplify a form of literary art not exten- sively used previous to the last half-century; and it seems desirable to have a term which can distinguish them. As a rule, the basis for the dramatic unity of this style of poem is the fact that the narrator himself is a principal actor in the scenes described, which he relates in the first person, e. g. : Do you see this square old yellow book I toss I' the air and catch again , and twirl about By the crumpled vellum covers, — pure crude fact Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard, And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since? The Ring and the Book : R. Browning. Of writing many books there is no end ; And I who have written much in prose and verse For others' uses, will write now for mine, — Will write my story for my better self, etc. Aurora Leigh : E. B. Browning. R-r-r, you brute, beast, and blackguard ! cowardly scamp ! I only wish I dared burn down the house And spoil your sniggering ! O what, you 're the man ? You 're satisfied at last ! You 've found out Sludge? We '11 see that presently : my turn, sir, next ! I too can tell my story ; brute, do you hear ? — You throttled your sainted mother, that old hag, In just such a fit of passion ; no, it was . . . DRAMATIC POETRY. 347 To get this house of hers, and many a note Like these . . . I '11 pocket them, however, . . . five, Ten, fifteen .... ay, you gave her throat the twist, Or else you poisoned her ! Confound the cuss ! Mr. Sludge, the Medium : R. Browning: The form of dramatic art termed the dramatic proper, or the drama, needs little mention here. We are all acquainted with its main characteristics. The different persons in it are usually represented precisely as in life, by their own utterances, and, as portrayed on the stage, by their own actions. These two facts are the funda- mental ones on which are based all the other require- ments. Nothing in word or deed is usually introduced which it is not supposable that a character represented would introduce in the circumstances, nor omitted, which it is not supposable that this character would omit. Moreover, as dramatic art is particularly representative of that which is emotionally effective (see page 339), and as the effective is the result, in all cases, of more or less action, the drama, to a greater extent than any other form of poetry, must represent action. To have every charac- ter on a stage stand still, while one is declaiming a passage like the following, is fatal to success : Why then, you Princes, Do you with cheeks abashed behold our works. And think them shames which are, indeed, naught else But the protractive trials of great Jove, To find persistive constancy in men ? The fineness of which metal is not found In Fortune's love ; for them, the bold and coward, The wise and fool, the artist and unread. The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin : But, in the wind and tempest of her frown, Distinction with a broad and powerful fan, Puffing at all, winnows the light away ; 348 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. And what hath mass or matter by itself Lies rich in virtue and unmingled. Troilus and Crcssida, »., j : Shakespeare. Far more effective are both words and deeds, when given a form like this : Macduff. Turn, hell hound, turn ! Macbeth. Of all men else have I avoided thee : But get thee back ; my soul is too much charged With blood of thine already. Macd. I have no words ; My voice is in my sword : thou bloodier villain Than terms can give thee out. (They fight.) Macb. Thou losest labor ; As easy may'st thou the intrenchant air With thy keen sword impress . . . Before my body I throw my warlike shield ; lay on, Macduff ; And damned be him that first cries " Hold, enough ! " Macbeth, v., j : Idem. CHAPTER XX. THE EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC, IN MUSIC AND PAINTING. These Forms more Difficult to Determine in Music ; yet Distinguishable — The Epic in Music — The Realistic — The Dramatic — The Three Forms in Painting — Quotations from Others — Epic Painting as Symbolic — As Allegoric — As Epic Proper, Heroic or Typical — The Epic in Land- scapes— The Realistic, its High Rank in the Arts of Sight ; as Decora- tive— As Naturalistic when Imitative — When Imaginative as in Figures or Landscapes — As Historic, and how Differing from the Dramatic — Quotations — Illustrations — The Dramatic as Character-Painting — As Pantomimic — As Dramatic Proper — Dramatic Landscape. TN music some difficulties confront us, — not peculiar, however, to an endeavor to distinguish the particular phases of artistic form that we are now considering, but inci- dent upon all endeavors to determine with definiteness any phases of expression represented in inarticulated sounds. A complete discussion of both the possibilities and the limitations of these sounds, will be found in the essay of this series entitled " Music as a Representative Art," which is printed in the volume entitled " Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music." At present, it is only necessary to direct attention to certain general considerations suggest- ing in what sense it is appropriate to speak of music as epic, realistic, or dramatic. To take up, first, the epic, there is no doubt that certain musical compositions may be termed " illustrations of general ideas." What is meant by a musical idea is explained on pages 198 and 200 to 349 350 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. 210 of "Art in Theory," and has been well expressed by Choron, the author of the " Introduction a 1' Etude Gen- erate et Raisonnee de la Musique." " In music " he says, " and in the arts in general, we call idea that which in more exact language we call thought. However that may be, the musical thought or idea is usually a passage of melody which presents itself to the mind of the composer with all its suitable accessories. We ought also to distinguish ideas into principal and secondary. The first are suited to form the basis or foundation of a composition ; the others are applied to the development of the principal ideas." Now in certain varieties of music, it is easy to perceive the subordination of every special or secondary to some general or principal idea. We listen in a mood disposed rather to feel after this general idea than to rest contented with special separate effects. Perhaps one could say more appropriately, we attempt to feel the gen- eral idea through experiencing the separate effects. But this, and this alone, is the legitimate influence of epic art. To separate epic music into departments of it correspond- ing to symbolic, allegoric, and heroic poetry, is difficult and not important. In a general way, however, it maybe said that the capriccio and the. fantasia, which are the least constrained by the rules of precise form, represent the most subjective tendency; that the complications, the constant departures yet returns to the same subject-matter of illus- tration as in the fugue and canon, are analogous to the movements of a metrical romance or allegory like " The Faerie Queen " of Spenser ; and that the more elaborated developments and enlargements of the theme, as in the concerto, overture, and symphony, in cases where none of them are dramatic, correspond to the most objective or artistic epic tendency. Especially the symphony, with its REALISTIC MUSIC 35 I illustrations of the influence in the realm of sound of grand and spiritual sequences of emotive conditions, seems tojDe the musical analogue of the heroic or highest form of the epic. When we come to realistic music, subdivision is perhaps still more difficult. What best corresponds to the didac- tic in poetry, is apparently the music of accompaniment, when, as in many operas and oratorios, especially those of Haydn and Handel, it is naturalistic. As for the distinc- tively naturalistic, it need not be confined entirely to imi- tations of the jingling of sleigh-bells, the popping of champagne bottles, and the thunder of cannon such as abound in third-class concert halls. It characterizes, as in the dragon-scene from " Siegfried," a good deal of the music of Wagner, and adds much interest to the Pastoral Sym- phonies of both Beethoven and Handel. Finally the third form of realistic music is illustrated in products avowedly composed to represent successive series of sensations, as awakened in the mind by successive external scenes and experiences. This is the sort of music which, for lack of a better word, is termed in the chart analogic. It is well exemplified in the " Poeme Sympathique of Liszt." ' Dramatic music may be said to include, first, corre- sponding to the lyric, the song in its various forms, whether of the ballad, the glee, the hymn, or the anthem ; second, corresponding to the protactic in poetry, indeed resem- bling it very closely in its alternation of description in the recitative and of characterization in the aria, the oratorio ; and third, of course, corresponding to the drama, the opera. It must not be supposed, however, that the words which usually accompany this form of music are necessary 1 Upon this whole subject consult pp. 250-319 of " Rhythm and Har- mony in Poetry and Music." 352 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. in order to render it dramatic. On account of them the music is often made what it is, and they often serve to interpret its meaning. But representing, as it does, the rise, development, conflict, victory, defeat, or decline of successive and different emotions, music contains in itself all the elements needed in order to depict — within, of course, its own limitations — the beginning, unfolding, and end of a completed play of passion. This was the theory of Wagner, and many of his compositions reveal as much of the dramatic in the interchange of notes and chords as in that of words and gestures. In the earliest composed overture of Tannhauser, for instance, the conflict of theme with theme, and the final suppression of the one by the other, is as clearly indicated as if the sounds had bodies that we could see meeting and grappling, till, finally, the one was thrown and trampled by the other. So, too, where there is not conflict. The very tune of a song, when rightly composed, indicates the tenor of its sentiment, whether of love or of war, of melancholy or of exultation. All this, however, has been amply discussed in the essay on " Music as a Representative Art," published in the volume of this series entitled " Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music." Now let us turn to painting. As in the case of music, another volume of this series, namely, " Painting, Sculpt- ure, and Architecture as Representative Arts," includes, though examined from another point of view, much that, were it not desirable to avoid repetition, might be in- troduced here. But, even omitting this, it is hoped that enough will be said to enable the reader to differentiate in all the arts of sight the three phases of artistic expres- sion which we are now considering. When treating of painting, Opie, in the third of his " Lectures on Design," SYMBOLIC PAINTING. 353 says that its subjects " are epic or sublime, drama- tic or impassioned, historic or circumscribed by truth. The first astonishes, the second moves, the third informs." Notice again, too, the quotation from Fuseli on page 313. If for Opie's historic, we substitute the broader term realistic, which includes the historic, his analysis will accord exactly with that given in this book. Long, too, in his " Art, its Laws and the Reasons for Them," similarly distinguishes the three classes. In speaking of the epic painter he says : " His aim being equally " — with that of the epic poet — " to impress one general idea, is in like manner, dignified, sublime, and elevated, — dealing only in generals, excluding detail, admitting no minute discrimination of character, or introduction of varied pathos, — not aiming to develop the man, to exhibit the movements of the heart, as that would be dramatic, — not striving to present the portraiture of a fact, as that would be historic, — but causing all to blend in one great and leading idea, the visible agents that he employs are only the agents to force that idea on the mind and fancy." First under epic painting, as under epic poetry, we may place the symbolic. This differs from the allegoric, in that it suggests no continuous story ; from the realistic, in that the figures draw attention to themselves less than to the ideas of which they are emblematic ; and from the dra- matic, in that they represent traits of character that are typical rather than individual. Symbolic painting depicts groups, or single figures, which are of some interest in themselves, yet which cannot be wholly understood ex- cept as they are perceived to represent attributes or functions. Many paintings of this kind are among the decorations of the National Library at Washington, such as the " Government," " Peace and Prosperity," and 3S4 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. " Anarchy " of Vedder ; and probably all of us are well ac- quainted, through engravings or photographs, with other examples, like the "Aurora " ' and " Hope " of Gui Jo ; the " Justice," " Prudence," " Religion," and " Innocence " of Raphael ; and the " Poetry," " Philosophy," " Science," and " Religion " of Kaulbach. Next to the symbolic form of epic painting comes, as in poetry, the allegoric. This form frequently represents as present at one time and place either mythologic or his- toric personages belonging to different periods or coun- tries. A phase of the form which is allied to the symbolic is exemplified in the great picture by Delaroche in the hall for the distribution of prizes in the School of Fine Arts in Paris. In this, the figure of Fame sits in the centre, crowning with laurel seventy figures, the great artists of every land and age, who are represented as standing or seated before her. Another phase of the form which is allied to the historic, is exemplified in the " School of Athens," a by Raphael. In this we see, in ad- dition to the great philosophers and artists of ancient Greece, Raphael himself and his master, Perugino. In Kaulbach's " Reformation," too, we see Copernicus, Shakespeare, Raphael, and their contemporaries, all in one church, in which Luther is holding up an open Bible. An objection to this form of painting, owing to the fact that it attempts to depict as appearing at one time a col- lection of persons or a series of events which in real life could be perceived only in succession or at different times, will be discussed on page 418 of this volume. At present, 1 See Fig. 34, page 71 " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." s See Fig. 156, page 249, also pages 201, 248, 249, 250, and 272, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts " ; also Fig. 10, page 41, " Genesis of Art-Form." EPIC PAINTING. 355 it is enough to notice that all the personages thus grouped together could not be represented as appearing in one time and at one place except as imagination were sup- posed to be thinking of them in connection with some general idea illustrated by the lives and characters of all ; and that this condition corresponds exactly to the re- quirement of the epic as indicated on page 312. The most artistic form of epic painting is found, of course, in the epic proper, sometimes called the heroic, or, as it might be termed still more appropriately, the typical ; and the name that stands first in this department of the art, is undoubtedly that of Michael Angelo, " in all of whose productions," says Long, in his " Art, its Laws and the Reasons for Them," "sublimity of con- ception and grandeur of form characterize everything." His great epic, indeed, the epic painting of the world, is in the series of paintings in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. Fuseli, in his third " Lecture on Painting," thus interprets them : " The veil of eternity is rent. Time, space, and matter teem in the creation of the elements and of earth. Life issues from God and adoration from man, in the creation of Adam and his mate. Transgres- sion of the precept at the Tree of Knowledge proves the origin of evil, and of expulsion from immediate inter- course with God. The economy of justice and grace commences in the revolutions of the Deluge and the cove- nant made with Noah. The germs of social intercourse are traced in the subsequent scene between him and his sons. The awful synods of the prophets and sibyls are the heralds of the Redeemer, and the hosts of patriarchs are the pedigree of the Son of Man. The brazen serpent and the fall of Haman, the giant subdued by the stripling David, and the conqueror subdued by female weakness in 356 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Judith, are types of his mysterious progress till Jonah pronounces him immortal ; and the magnificence of the Last Judgment by showing the Saviour in the judge of men, sums up the whole and reunites the founder and the race." But though the greatest, Angelo is not the only epic painter. Such productions as Murillo's " Im- maculate Conception," Correggio's " Holy Night," ' and, notwithstanding suggestions of the dramatic, Titian's " Assumption " all may be placed in the same category. Before turning from epic painting, it seems necessary to guard against the supposition that the application of the principle underlying it is confined to the delineation of figures. That which causes an epic result is the method in which the conception is expressed. The epic artist has an intuition of a general idea, which, though suggested by nat- ural forms, entirely transcends them, and, in representing it through the forms, he subordinates more or less his de- sire to imitate them, to his desire to have them illustrate his idea. Of course, this can be done in the painting of landscapes as well as of figures. As a fact, the conditions seem perfectly realized in such compositions as Ruysdael's "Jewish Cemetery,"2 in which, in connection with the tombs, a ruined church tower, a tree swept bare of bark and leaves, and clouds torn into shreds — though with a glimmer of sunshine and a rainbow in the distance, — all blend, and, in a distinctively typical way, exemplify the effects of death and resurrection. So in Turner's " Decline of Carthage"3 and Claude's "Evening,"4 as well as in 1 Fig. 70, page 215, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 2 See Fig. 157, page 261 ; also pages 260-262 of "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 3 See Fig. 51, page 175, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 4 See Fig. 40, page 119, " The Genesis of Art-Form " ; also page 262 of " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." REALISTIC PAINTING. 357 many other of the works of all these painters, the human beings subordinately introduced, as also the natural and architectural forms, are made distinctively interpretive of one another by being made illustrative of the same general idea. The character of representation in painting and sculpt- ure causes these arts to be more naturally allied to reality than are poetry and music. Hence the realistic in the arts of sight ranks relatively higher than in the arts of sound. Of course, too, like epic painting, the realistic can be manifested both in landscapes and in figures. The most subjective phase of this form — that which corresponds to the didactic in poetry — is termed, in the chart, decora- tive, to which term is added, " when also natttralistic." By this is meant that the decorative is not to be ranked with the highest art except when it involves a use of pictures. It will be remembered that it was said on Page 332 that in didactic poetry an otherwise argumen- tative and scientific theme may be rendered imaginative through a use of illustrations. It is the same with an otherwise scientifically constructed and decorated wall- space. The fundamental requirement of decorative paint- ing is that it fit the place in which it is put. It might be supposed that so far as the place dominates the figures and colors of the limbs, drapery, flowers, or fruit depicted, this form of painting could not attain high rank. Yet at times it may do so, though in these cases it ceases to be merely decorative. Few finer specimens of epic or dra- matic art exist than in the frescos of Michael Angelo and Raphael. Next to decorative painting in the chart is placed the naturalistic. This includes, of course, what is termed " still life," — i. e., pictures of fruit, or flowers, or of dead 358 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. fish, beasts, or birds. But besides this it includes imitative landscapes and figures of the kind of which, in the fourth of his " Lectures on Painting," Fuseli speaks, — " Land- scapes entirely occupied with the tame delineation of a given spot, and enumeration of hill and dale, clumps of trees, shrubs, water, meadows, cottages, and houses, what are commonly called ' views ' — little more than topog- raphy." It includes also that kind of portrait which he terms " the remembrancer of insignificance, mere human resemblance, in attitude without action, features without meaning, dress without drapery, and situations without propriety ... in which the aim of the artist and the sitter's wish are confined to external likenesses, — it is furniture." ' Realistic art, however, is not all merely imitative. While showing the most scrupulous fidelity to all the features of the scenes or faces depicted, it may contain so much in addition, in the way of the arrangements of form, drapery, color, and light, as to suggest, as powerfully as can almost any kind of painting, the effects of imagination and in- vention. But so long as the subjects of these paintings are predominantly " circumscribed by truth," as Fuseli expresses it, they furnish examples of realistic, rather than of epic or dramatic, art. In this division of realistic art, we may place most of the landscapes — and perhaps they are the majority of all of them — that are essentially pho- tographic, in the sense of being exact reproductions; and we may place here also figures, especially portraits, that are not in any sense typical, or illustrative of general ideas, as in the epic, nor strongly representative of character, as in the dramatic. Perhaps the best exemplifications of this 1 See illustration of "Light and Shade," Fig. 16, page 41, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." HISTORIC PAINTING. 359 kind of art are found among the Dutch painters, like Denner, for instance, who apparently never lets a hair of a man's head escape his notice. Some of the work of Willems and Meissonier, however, seems almost equally accurate. In the degree in which the realistic in painting suggests action, it may become historic, and, in certain circum- stances, dramatic. The historic and dramatic differ thus: the former is intended to impress upon us the truth with reference to certain occurrences that have actually taken place or that, owing to what we know, may be believed to have taken place. The dramatic is intended to impress upon us the truth with reference to certain individuals, either historic or not, who are depicted as representing their own characters as excited either by their own moods or by the actions of others. Broadly considered, historic painting, like historic literature, may include much that is no more than an illustration of the customs and costumes of different nations. In its highest form, however, which is the highest form also of realistic art, it requires almost as much imagination and invention as epic or dramatic painting. In order to illustrate precisely what an historic painting is, Mr. Long, in his " Art, its Laws and the Rea- sons for Them," speaks of Sir Joshua Reynolds's " Portrait of Elliot," the British commander at Gibraltar in the year when it was attacked by the combined French and Spanish forces. " The painter's design was not simply to give a portrait of Mr. Elliot, but of General Elliot ; not only that, but of the successful defender of Gibraltar upon that occasion. He has therefore represented him in his mili- tary costume, and holding in his hands a key, in symbolic allusion to the fact of that citadel being the key to the Mediterranean. In the distance may be seen the two 360 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. squadrons at the moment of battle,' and behind him a cannon pointed downwards to show the loftiness of the fortress, — all which surroundings connect him with that transaction, and thus make the representation a good illustration of historic portraiture. But to define the class under consideration more particularly, it may be proper to state that the painter of pure history does not, like the dramatic painter, represent that which might be, but that which was or is." Fuseli, in his third " Lecture on Painting," gives a still clearer description of historic art : " History strictly so called follows the drama ; fiction now ceases, and inven- tion consists only in selecting and fixing with dignity, precision, and sentiment the movements of reality. Sup- pose that the artist choose the death of Germanicus, — he is not to give us the highest images of general grief which impress the features of a people or a family at the death of a beloved chief or father, for this would be epic imagery ; we should have Achilles, Hector, Niobe. He is not to mix up character which observation and com- parison have pointed out to him as the fittest to excite the gradations of sympathy ; not Admetus and Alceste, not Meleager and Atalante ; for this would be the drama. He is to give us the idea of a Roman dying amidst Ro- mans, as tradition gave him, with all the real modifica- tions of time and place which may serve unequivocally to discriminate that moment of grief from all others." From what has been said, it will be evident that to dis- tinguish historic from dramatic painting is in some cases extremely difficult. Nor can it be done at all except by first deciding what is the predominating motive that the 1 See criticism on this statement in " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts," p. 266. HISTORIC PAINTING. 36 1 picture exhibits. When we look, for instance, at some of the products of the Dutch School, at a picture, say, of Teniers,1 or at some of the work of a painter like J. F. Millet,' we find much that suggests the dramatic. But when we seek for the predominating motive of the artist, we recognize that it must have been to picture the life of the peasant as he really saw it ; and this leads us to class his work as realistic. On the contrary, when we look at a picture like Piloty's " Death of Wallenstein " or Gerome's " Pollice Verso"3 it suggests, at first, only the historic; yet the predominating motive of the artist was so evi- dently to portray character as affected by certain specific emotions that, as in the case of Shakespeare's historical plays, we can call the paintings historic in only the sense of being historico-dramatic. The object of dramatic painting is to reveal the effects upon particular characters or temperaments of particular occurrences or surroundings. As in dramatic poetry, so in this kind of painting, all must be definite and vigorous, if not brilliant and striking. We have placed first here what may be called character-painting. The most typical form of this seems to be exemplified in that popular phase of art represented by " The Beggar Boys " of Murillo and " The Newsboys " of J. G. Brown. But portraits, too, are often so composed as to come strictly within this class. All of us probably can recall the likenesses of wives, daughters, or mistresses which Raphael, Rubens, and Rembrandt were accustomed to produce in the guise of 'See "The Village Dance," by Teniers, Fig. 43, page 142, "The Genesis of Art-Form." 2See "Leaving for Work," by J. F. Millet, Fig. 169, page 299, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 3 Fig. 8, page 31, idem. ; also Fig. 26, page 81, " The Genesis of Art- Form." 362 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. fictitious and sacred personages.1 " In the Louvre," says Kugler, when speaking, in his " Handbuch der Kunstges- chichte," v., 8, of the portraits of Titian, " we find the Mar- chese del Guasto with his mistress, to whom Cupid, Flora, and Zephyr are bringing gifts." Of the portraits of Titian's daughter, Lavinia, he says: " One of the finest specimens is in the Berlin Museum. Here the beautiful and splendidly attired girl is holding up a plate of fruit." " Another " is " in the possession of Lord De Gray, where, instead of fruit, she is holding up a jewel-casket. A fourth is in the Madrid Gallery, but here it becomes an historical representation ; it is the daughter of Herodias." No one needs to have explained why portraits like this can be said to be portraits in character. But the same may be affirmed also of many less ostensibly designed with this object in view, — portraits which, while omitting the costumes causing us to associate the persons repre- sented with others who have certain individual traits, nevertheless preserve everything else that will emphasize these traits ; portraits, for instance, like some of Sar- gent's,—the " Little Marjorie," or that of Mr. H. G. Mar- quand in the Metropolitan Museum of New York. For the scientific or realistic phase of dramatic painting, no better word seems attainable than pantomimic. Genre is the term first suggested. But a genre painting that depicts common life without drawing attention particularly to character may be realistic, as is the painting of Teniers mentioned on the preceding page. When & genre picture or any other derives its chief interest from the fact that it represents an interchange of feeling, thought, or action between different characters, it affects us precisely as a 1 See the Madonnas in Fig. 38, page 116, and Fig. 39, page 117, " The Genesis of Art-Form." DRAMATIC PAINTING. 363 pantomime would on a stage. Why, therefore, should it not be called pantomimic ? By what word could we bet- ter describe a painting like "The Summer Night" by Van Beers,1 or better, say, "The Card Players " by Cara- vaggio ? a In this latter, we see cards and money on a table. Seated on one side of this is a man with a dishonest face. On the other side, playing with him, is a man with an in- nocent face, evidently just the one to be made a dupe. Behind this last man, looking over his shoulder, stands a third, muffling his breath to prevent his presence from being detected, and holding up two fingers to let the first player know what cards are being played by the second. In the same way the panel -paintings by Alexander, in the National Library at Washington, termed " The Making of a Book," are dramatically pantomimic rather than realistically historic. The differences between them, by the way, and those of Vedder in the adjoining corridor, afford a good opportunity for contrasting the dramatic in this form with the epic in the form of the symbolic. Even pantomimic painting usually necessitates some representation of the customs and costumes of periods and countries. For this reason, they must be, to some extent, historic as well as dramatic, — a fact which, when we consider the blending of the narrative and the dra- matic in protactic poetry, will give us a reason for per- ceiving a certain correspondence between this form of 1 poetry and pantomimic painting. The dramatic proper in painting, as in poetry, some- times differs from the historic in only the degree in which the historic features are subordinated. For instance, 'Fig. 161, page 273; see also pages 271 and 272, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 4 Fig. 160, page 271, idem. 364 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. though suggested by historic facts, the " Rape of the Sa- bines " ' and " The Woman Taken in Adultery " J by Pous- sin, " The Descent from the Cross," 3 " The Crucifixion," and, more unmistakably, " The Lion Hunt," by Rubens, are dramatic rather than historic. So are the greater works of Raphael, — even those so apparently historic as " The Vision of Constantine," " The Burning of Borgo," " The Death of Ananias,"4 and " The Defeat of Attila." This is so, because the design in them is to represent not general ideas, as in epic art, but specific persons; and not the literal facts with reference to these persons, as in his- toric art, but certain conditions which will manifest their characters. As Fuseli says, in the third of his " Lectures on Painting " : " . . . . Leo, with his train, calmly facing Attila, or deciding on his tribunal the fate of captive Sara- cens, tell us by their presence that they are the heroes of the drama, that the action has been contrived for them, is subordinate to them, and has been composed to illus- trate their character." A word more now with reference to dramatic land- scape. We mean by this much the same that we mean by a dramatic description of a landscape in poetry. Where, under the influence of a lyric motive, a poet would refer to natural objects in words, a painter would depict them with his brush. To show clearly what is meant, let us recall the difference between lyric and realistic poetry. This is lyric, representing nature as subordinated to human thought and emotion, i. c, to human character, — in this 1 Fig- 36, page 75, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 2 Fig. So, page 139, idem. 3 Fig. 163, page 277, idem. ; Fig. 16, page 73, " Genesis of Art-Form." 4 Fig. 39, page 79, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 94, page 288, " Genesis of Art-Form." DRAMATIC PAINTING. 365 case to human character impersonating itself in the clouds : 1 bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers From the sens and the streams ; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noon-day dreams. Prom my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet buds, every one, When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. The Cloud : Shelley. And this is realistic, representing nature as of equal im- portance with human thought and emotion, — in this case, representing nature as suggesting them : Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge — the Mere Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, And motionless ; and, to the gazer's eye, Deeper than ocean in the immensity Of its vague mountains and unreal sky ! Evening Voluntaries : Wordsworth. Of paintings, corresponding to these poems, it is easy to perceive that certain landscapes resemble the former. They are those in which the aim is evidently less to re- produce a typical scene, in order to illustrate an idea, which would make them epic ; or to imitate a scene ex- actly as it is, which would make them realistic, — than to depict certain features because they seem to represent exactly certain moods and feelings of the painter, which features therefore he so adapts as to represent his moods and feelings to others. A good example of this is afforded by J. F. Millet's " Storm." ' It does not depict any scene which any one can recall having witnessed. Therefore it is not typical. Nor does one care to know whether the 1 Fig. 152, page 231, " Taint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; see also Fig. 17, page 43, and Fig. i&, page 45, idem. 366 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. painter ever did witness it. The interest is wholly in the individual characterization. It is the painter's thought and feeling with reference to a storm, not illustrated by what he has necessarily seen, but embodied in a form supposed to manifest a storm's possible effects. The same characteristics are apparent in Rottmann's series in the New Pinakothek at Munich, of encaustic paintings of the historic sites of ancient Greece. Their main object is evidently to represent these cities — largely through at- mospheric effects of sunshine or storm — as they would be if a condition should arise in which the thought or feeling of the painter with reference to them could be fully realized. For obvious reasons, there is always more or less danger that this dramatic — and the same is true of the epic — tendency will in landscapes be carried too far, as is done in some impressionist pictures in which, in order to produce certain effects, the whole scheme of coloring as well as of outlining is made unnatural. But, applied within proper limitations, a moderate amount of epic or dramatic feeling may add greatly to a painting's artistic effectiveness. CHAPTER XXI. THE EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC IN SCULPTURE AND ARCHITECTURE. The Same Principles Apply to Sculpture as to Painting : Epic — Realistic — Dramatic — Architectural Effects Dependent on Outline in the Same Sense as Effects of Painting and Sculpture — Effects of Epic Tendency in Roundness — Of Realistic, in Straight Lines and Angles — Of Dra- matic, in Curves, Straight Lines, and Angles Combined — Same Respec- tive Effects in Human Gesturing — Quotations Confirming these Conclusions — The Conventional Designations of Styles of Architecture are not Determined by any Philosophic Principle — What is Meant by Significance and Form and the Relations between them in Architecture — The Three General Principles of Construction — Round Caps and Arches — Other Correspondences to the Epic — Flat Caps, Entabla- ture, and Horizontality — Other Correspondences to the Realistic — Pointed Caps, Mixed Lines, and Verticality and other Correspond- ences to the Dramatic — Subdivisions of these Three General Styles. *T*HE application to sculpture of the principles that we have been considering need not detain us long, pre- cisely the same conditions being realized in it as in painting. The numerous figures representing abstract conceptions like "Justice," " Mercy," "Charity," " Faith," and " Hope," so often seen in prominent civic and ecclesiastic buildings, the large bronze " Bavaria " near Munich, and the larger " Liberty Enlightening the World " in the harbor of New- York, and, in the National Library at Washington, the " History " by French and the " Art " by St. Gaudens may be rightly termed symbolic. The classic " Apollo and Daphne," representing the god clasping the maiden 367 368 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. just as she is turning into a tree, and the " Nile " of the Vatican, a huge reclining figure around and on which a host of pigmies are swarming, may be classed as allegoric ' ; while the colossal " Moses " by Michael Angelo, and, with the accompanying symbolic figures of " Night " and " Day," the statue above the tomb in Florence of " Giu- liano de' Medici,"2 as well also as many of the classical representations of mythologic deities and heroes, such as "Jupiter," "Minerva," "Hercules,"' and "Theseus,"4 may be ranked as heroic or epic proper. Under realistic sculpture we may group, first, that large decorative architectural department of the art, extending from imitations of human figures and animals down to those of flowers, fruit, and foliage, which abound in so many corbels and capitals.6 Next we may place the natu- ralistic bust and statue of portraiture, the excellence of which is determined mainly by its scientific accuracy. Finally, to a third group, we may assign commemorative historic sculpture. In this, with more exercise of imagi- nation, accuracy must still remain prominent, whether illustrated in ideal monuments of great size and elaborate design representing actual personages, or in more minute work found in such products as the celebrated bronze doors0 of the Baptistery at Florence, on which Pisano and Ghiberti represented supposed scenes from Biblical his- tory, or as the doors of the Capitol at Washington, on 1 See also " The Resurrection," Fig. S2, page 143, of " Painting, Sculp- ture, and Architecture as Representative Arts," and the group from the .Mausoleum of Maria Christina, Fig. 22, page 50, idem. 2 Fig. 170, page 301, idem. 3 Fig. 1. page 20, idem. 4 Fig. 93. page 2S5, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 5 See Chapter XX. " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 8 Fig. 155, page 247, idem. DRAMATIC SCULPTURE. 369 i which Crawford and Rogers represented supposed scenes from American history. In the dramatic form of this art, we find, first, corre- sponding to lyric poetry and character-painting, charac- ter-sculpture. This includes all that large class of statues j which are attractive mainly on account of certain traits of I beauty and grace which are supposed to be manifested in j figure and posture. The classical " Faun " ' of Praxiteles ; and the " Cupid Bending his Bow," as well as the ordi- 1 nary representations of cherubs or of mermaids blowing water in a fountain, exemplify this style. That their \ object is neither to illustrate ideas through a typical form i as in the epic, nor to recall what actually exists as in the realistic, is evident without argument. Corresponding to • pantomimic painting, again, we have equally pantomimic : sculpture. We may apply the term either to single figures like the Greek " Discobolus " ' or to groups like j the Greek " Wrestlers " 3 or like the relief called " The Sol- I dier's Return " 4 on one side of the great national German i monument near Bingen-on-the-Rhine. Last, in the class ; that we may term dramatic proper, we may place statues like the well-known " Laocoon " 5 and " Dying Galatian [or Gladiator]," 6 also many groups with which the Greeks filled the pediments of their temples. However, some of the most renowned of these, like that termed " Niobe 7 and 1 Fig- 83, page 144, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 6 Fig. 27, page 83, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 3 Fig. 21, page 77, idem. * Fig. 52, page 176, idem ; Fig. 23, page 51, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 6 fig. 75, page 226, "The Genesis of Art-Form"; Fig. 21, page 49, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." ' Fig. 166, page 2S3, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 1 fig- 45. page 146, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 370 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. her Children," now in the British Museum in London, appear to be less dramatic than epic. Until one has thought over the subject, architectural effects seem dependent upon the constructive elements of the form, as in curves, straight lines, and angles, to a far greater extent than do those of painting and sculpture. The latter arts represent figures, as of men, animals, and trees, which we are accustomed to accept from nature as wholes, without analysis of their parts. Nevertheless, we do analyze the parts whenever the figures produce an epic, a realistic, or a dramatic effect. This is a fact of which we may remain unconscious when looking at a picture or a statue, but not, if we are to be influenced by the effect, when looking at a building. For this reason, before going farther, it seems well to notice that the fact is really exemplified in all the arts of sight — exactly, in- deed, as it has already been shown to be exemplified in all the arts of sound. Almost all the verses quoted in Chap- ters XVI. to XIX. were short extracts necessarily repre- senting only certain parts of whole poems. No attention was there directed to this fact, because it was not neces- sary. We are always accustomed to judge of poetry or mu- sic by considering separate sentences or phrases. Besides this, as we employ sounds in language, it is comparatively easy for us to recognize that every intonation or articula- tion has its own significance. Of paintings or statues, how- ever, we not only judge as wholes, as has been said, but — mainly for this very reason — we do not often, when con- sidering them, associate a separate significance with each constituent element of the form. Nevertheless, that we may and often should do this, is shown by illustrations, more than enough to establish the general principle, in the volume of this series entitled " Painting, Sculpture, EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC OUTLINES. 37 1 and Architecture as Representative Arts." At present, we are interested in the subject so far only as it has a : bearing upon the representation, to some extent in paint- ing and sculpture, but especially in architecture, of an "■ epic, realistic, or dramatic effect. In considering this subject, let us start by recalling that, I as manifested in the conditions of the form, the epic is that which seems to have been least moulded to the sub- ject-matter,— i. c\, to the thought, feeling, purpose, what- ever it may be, that may be supposed to be underneath the form ; that the realistic is that which seems to have been most exactly moulded to it ; and the dramatic is that which seems to have been moulded to it, so to speak, in excess. Applying this principle to outlines, we shall find that, as a rule, an absence of material interference, which, in this case, would represent the moulding purpose — therefore a free, unimpeded expression of the forces underlying natural life, corresponding in this to the epic condition — tends to produce a predominance of curves. The eye itself is circular, and the field of vision which it views at any one moment always appears to be the same. So do the horizon and the zenith, and so, too, do most of the objects which they contain, — the heaving moun- tain, the rising smoke or vapor, the rolling wave, the gushing fountain, the rippling stream, the bubbles of its water, the pebbles of its channels, every plant with all of its developments, and every animal with all of its movements. Again we shall find that a presence of material interference when exactly fitted to mould nature to its own purposes — corresponding to the realistic, especially to this as developed from the scientific condi- tion (see page 312) — is apt to result in straight lines and angles, i. e., in rectangular forms. Boxes and buildings 372 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. and the majority of the objects constructed by men have this shape; and, by way of association, the same shape, when we see it in the horizontal hill-top, or in the sharply perpendicular cliff or peak, causes us to think often, and to say, that it looks precisely as if a man had been at work levelling and blasting. Once more, we shall find that material interference when carried to excess — correspond- ing to the dramatic condition — leads to the presence, and in exaggerated conditions too, of all forms of outlines that have been mentioned, i.e., curves, straight lines, and angles. It is the complication and irregularity arising from such combinations which, by calling attention to the effect produced rather than to that which has produced it, result in the dramatic. These may be comparatively slight in their influence, as in that which fascinates us in a curio ; or they may be of grander import, as when the tree and bush are wreathed above the precipice, or as when the dome-like mountain and the rolling cloud lift above the sharp peak and the cloven crag, while far below them lies a flat plain or lake. But it is always in connec- tion with such blendings of effects that the most exciting appeal is made, through the emotions, to the imagination. Notice, too, that at the basis of this phase of variety essential to dramatic effect, lies always a suggestion of force which has broken up the sort of development in nature which one may term normal, — force that seems exerted like that of the tempest when it tosses the wave to edges and points of spray, and tears the cloud to shreds, or like that of the volcano when it cleaves the mountain and levels the cliff, and is tracked everywhere by the results of cracking and crystallizing. The legit- imate influences upon our minds of such appearances of violence are themselves violent, or, as we say, exciting. EPIC, REALISTIC, AND DRAMATIC EXPRESSION. 373 They are influences, too, the characteristic effects of which might be suggested by what we have all experienced in the realm of touch. From this we have learned that while the rounded and regular surfaces are, as a rule, agreeable, the sharp and irregular pierce and cut ; that while the globules of the healing oils belong, as a rule, to the one class, those of the irritating saltsbelong to the other. Now add to this observation with reference to the ex- pression of outlines in material nature, another with reference to the expression of thoughts or emotions in the human form. Whenever these find vent under the predominating influence of a subjective or instinctive prompting, corresponding to the epic ; in other words, whenever, wholly from within, a man is inspired to rap- ture, enthusiasm, and eloquence, either of a joyous or serious character, then his gait, postures, gestures, and all the movements of his body, in the degree in which his senti- ment is able to find unimpeded expression in his physical frame, will take the form of free, large, graceful curves. But whenever his thoughts or emotions find vent under a predominating influence of a relative or reflective prompt- ing corresponding to the realistic — in other words, when- ever he is actuated by a desire, conscientious, self-conscious, and therefore more or less constrained, to accommodate expression exactly to that which it is to express, then his form will be erect, and his gestures straight and stiff, and, so far as is necessary in order to make them straight, angular. And once more, whenever he is under a pre- dominating influence of objective or emotive promptings, corresponding to the dramatic — in other words, whenever his chief impulse is to emphasize in the forms of expres- sion that which in view of outward circumstances or con- sequences has stirred him profoundly, then the excitement 374 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. or passion either joyous or grievous, in the degree in which it is effectively manifested, will double up his form, throw out his chin, bend violently his elbows, knees, and wrists, and make all his body a human representation of the same sort of varied irregularity already described in the forms of nature which have been said to represent the same tendency. There are reasons, therefore, founded both upon the principle of association and upon methods of expression pertaining to the very nature of our body, why the three tendencies of form should find expression as has here been indicated. " We have renevvedly to refer," says S. P. Long in his " Art, its Laws, and the Reasons for Them," " to the ancient Greek sculptures, in which a correspondence between the disposition of the figure and the sentiment of the subject will always be found, — the forms of virtue and of wisdom " — religious, as will be noticed — "being less varied than those of pleasure." Again he speaks of the " Minerva's position " as " being perpendicular, and her drapery descending in long unin- terrupted lines . . . the plain, the simple, the dig- nified and the intellectual " — she was the Goddess of Wisdom — "being the sentiment." Charles Blanc, too, in his " Grammar of Painting and Engraving," speaks of " the horizontals, which express in nature the calmness of the sea, the majesty of the far-off horizon, the vegetable tranquillity of the strong resisting trees, the quietude of the globe, after the catastrophes that have upheaved it " ; and again, in describing the lines in two dramatic paint- ings, he says: " Poussin torments and twists his in the pictures of ' Pyrrhus Saved,' and ' The Sabines ' " ' ; and Barry also in his " Lectures of the Royal Academicians," 1 See Fig. 36, page 75, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." STYLES OF ARCHITECTURE. 375 referring to the Laocoon,1 one of the foremost existing specimens of dramatic sculpture,1 says that " the convex lines predominate and the forms are angular." Enough has been indicated now with reference to the artistic effects of mere outlines to show that it is reason- able to suppose that even an art like architecture, wholly dependent, as it is, upon these effects, should be able to manifest an epic, a realistic, and a dramatic tendency. It is true that the forms of this art are not usually classified according to this principle ; and that its products, like those of poetry, are already divided into different styles, the names of which have been fixed for years, and are to-day as familiar to most of us as are household words. At the same time, the most superficial examination of what is meant by terms like Egyptian, Assyrian, Grecian, Reviewed Grecian, Moorish, Byzantine, Saracenic, Ro- manesque, Renaissance, Gothic, must convince us that, however these may serve the purpose of indicating chronological or national developments of the art, they are not the results of any philosophic principle of classification. But in architecture is a classification based upon such a principle possible ; and is there any sense in which archi- tecture can be termed epic, realistic, or dramatic t The moment that we ask these questions, a new difficulty con- fronts us. All these terms, as has been shown, imply the influence in architecture of significance as well as of form. But can it be said that in any way reasonably analogous to that exemplified in the other arts, architecture can manifest significance ? This is evidently the first ques- tion that must be asked here. Can it be answered satisfac- 1 See Fig. 21, page 49, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 75. page 226, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 376 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. torily ? It can. The subject is fully discussed on pages 92 to 96 and 227 and 228 of " Art in Theory," as well as in Chapters XVII. to XIX. of " Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts." In these places it is shown that the plan of a building may represent the general purpose for which it is designed, and also that each individual feature in it may represent some special constructive purpose. The plan, for instance, may indi- cate a theatre, or a temple ; and each individual pillar, bracket, or beam may indicate the exact degree of sup- port for which it is intended. In these regards, archi- tecture fulfils the analogies of the other arts, in which the product as a whole has a general significance, and each individual note, word, line, or color, as related to each other factor of the same kind, has a special harmonic, grammatic, or proportional significance. Bearing these facts in mind, it is easy enough to recog- nize that certain buildings may be suggestive of the sub- ordination of the form to general or special constructive principles developed in it, and may thus, in the main, ful- fil the conditions of epic art ; that other buildings may be suggestive mainly of the exact adaptation of the construc- tive principles to the constructed material, suggestive, i. e., of the correlation of the one to the other, and may thus ful- fil, in the main, the conditions of realistic, in the sense of scientific, art ; and that other buildings may be suggestive of the subordination of the constructive principles to the method of rendering the forms aesthetically effective, and thus fulfil, in the main, the conditions of dramatic art. This system of classification certainly seems satisfactory, whether judged by the standards of philosophy or of aes- thetics ; and that it is not adopted merely because a con- venient way of making architectural developments conform THE THREE STYLES OF ARCHITECTURE. tfj to what in this book has been said of the other arts, may be shown by the following quotation from an article by Mr. E. A. Freeman in the " Fortnightly Review," entitled " The Origin and Growth of Romanesque Architecture." "To judge," he says, "from the popular disputes about Law Courts and the like, people in general group all forms of architecture under two heads. Architecture is supposed to be divided into two great styles, ' Grecian ' and ' Gothic' ; and it is thought a very good joke to call the admirers of the supposed styles respectively Greeks and Goths. It is not very easy to find out what people who talk in this way mean by the words which they use. The only sound classification of styles of architecture is that which arranges them according to their leading principles of construction. Of such principles, as far as we know at present, there are only three ; more accurately speaking, there are only two, one of which again falls into two great subdivisions. The two great systems of construction are the entablature and the arch, and the arch, again, may be either round or pointed. We thus get three distinct forms of construction, the entablature, the round arch, and the pointed arch. And each of these principles of construction has been, in its own time and place, the animating prin- ciple of a style of architecture." Here then are three forms of architecture, and if one can show that they cor- respond in any way to the three forms already indicated as existing in all the other arts, he can have at least one authority sustaining the general truthfulness of the classi- fication on page 325. Take, for instance, changing the or- der in which these styles are mentioned by Mr. Freeman, so as to make them conform to the method that has been adopted in the other arts, — take the architecture of the round arch, or, as it is termed in the chart on page 325, the 378 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. architecture of vaulted support, this phrase being used because it seems the best both to differentiate this style from all others, and to apply to all features in which identical characteristics usually appear, namely in caps, gables, ceilings, roofs, and domes. Suppose that we ask of what this style is significant, in other words, for what it seems intended, of what it reminds us? There is but one answer. " It is the generic office of an arch," says Professor Bascom, in his " Science of Beauty," " to bear a burden. It is this very burden which consolidates and strengthens it, and enables the piers and abutments to endure its side thrusts." Whether perceived in the found- ations of a bridge or of a building, in the capping of a window or of a porch, or forming, as it does, the whole contour of a dome, vaulted support, of which the round arch is typical, is always suggestive of the constructive prin- ciple exemplified in the form. But whatever is suggestive, and mainly suggestive, of this, manifests, according to what was said on page 311, the epic tendency. " A Romanesque church," says Mr. Freeman, referring to one phase of this style, " always seems to carry me nearer than any other building to the men who dwelt or worshipped within its walls." This is very nearly the same as if he had said "to carry my thoughts back to those who erected the build- ing, and to their reasons for erecting it as they did " — in other words, to the building's conditioning antecedents. But there are other features necessarily associated with this style, which also ally it to the epic. The round arch cannot be constructed of stone except as it is sprung from piers of great size and strength, and this — to go no far- ther— produces that effect of grandeur, which we have found to be characteristic of the epic in other arts. This effect is very noticeable in pure specimens of the style, as ARCHITECTURE OF VAULTED SUPPORT. 379 in the Suleymaniya Mosque ' or in St. Sophia,3 at Constanti- nople; but it is also made noticeable, as if their artists had recognized the necessity of an appearance of strength as a matter of artistic congruity, in buildings in which this style is blended with the Grecian, as in St. Peter's at Rome3 and St. Isaac's at St. Petersburg.4 The great blocks of stone that uphold all the arches, to say nothing of the domes of these buildings, are as different as possible from the innumerable shafts, slender in shape and minutely chiselled, which, massed together, support the pointed ceilings of a Gothic cathedral.5 Not less noteworthy are the differences in the accentuation of the parts as separated from one another. No greater contrast could be afforded than that between the even fronts of Suleymaniya Mosque or St. Sophia, — even between the slight relief given to the pilasters of St. Peter's, — and the width of half the chancel characterizing the flying buttresses of the Gothic Notre Dame at Paris. Now all these kinds of effects, peculiar to the architecture of the round arch, are distinctively epic. Correggio's " Holy Night," 6 Murillo's " Immaculate Con- ception," Michael Angelo's pictures in the Sistine Chapel, or his statues of " Moses " or of " Night and Day," 7 are characterized by a size of parts and a vagueness of outline which, while producing effects of grandeur, often border on a disregard of those of nature. Neither in the paintings 1 Fig. 30, page 86, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 2 Fig. 42, page 123, idem ; Fig. 40, page 80, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 3 Fig. 23, page 78, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 4 Fig. 12, page 35, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 5 See Cologne Cathedral, Fig. 41, page 81, also Beverley Minster, Fig. 43, page S4, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts " ; also Fig. 2, page 17, Fig. 78, page 235, and Fig. 79, page 256, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 6 Fig. 70, page 215, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 1 Fig. 170, page 301, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 380 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. nor in the statues is there anything to suggest the scrupulous regard for details that is apparent in so many Dutch pictures and Italian busts. Think how the faces of angels and cherubs in all the former paintings blend with one another and the clouds, making this epic art in a sense the forerunner of modern impressionalism. We come now to the architecture, as Mr. Freeman calls it, of the entablature, termed in the chart on page 325 that of horizontal support . This term, like that given to the style just considered, seems the one best adapted to differentiate it from all others. It may be applied, too, to all the feat- ures exhibiting the method, whether in the entablature itself, or in the caps, cornices, or even pediments, the sides of which are so nearly flat that they cannot be sup- posed to be supported either in the vaulted method of the style already considered, or in the perpendicular method of the style to be considered hereafter. That these state- ments are justified will be recognized at a glance by any one who will contrast examples of these different styles.1 In typical architecture of vaulted support, there is often visible scarcely a single horizontal straight line, and never many of these lines, while in the architecture of perpen- dicular support, every other effect — even the thrust of the arches — is entirely subordinated to that of verticality. In speaking of the significance of what is termed the Greek style, " It is universally felt," says Mr. Freeman, " that the architecture of the entablature is the expres- sion of horizontal extension." " The old predominance of horizontalism," says Prof. Wyatt, in his " Fine Art," 1 Compare Suleymaniya Mosque, Fig. 30, page 86, with Fig. 2, page 17, "The Genesis of Art-Form" ; St. Sophia, Fig. 40, page 8o,or St. Mark's, Fig- I5. Page 37- with the Theseum, Fig. 14, page 36, and also with Cologne Cathedral, Fig. 41, page 81, all in " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." ARCHITECTURE OF HORIZONTAL SUPPORT. 38 1 1 " has shown men thinking of themselves and running parallel with the soil, ' of the earth, earthy,' rather than breaking away from it." Could any language have been framed to express more accurately than do these words of Professor Wyatt that parallelism between conception ' and form which in this book has been said to charac- j terize the realistic, or scientific-artistic, tendency ? Or look at the subject in another light, this style, even where 1 it does not reveal horizontal lines alone but vertical, and, as in the pediments, slanting, always manifests in an ex- I ceptional degree continuity, parallelism, and, as in the I pediments, an exact conformity of equivalents, or balance. ! All these are effects that rarely impress us with a sense of ] underlying strength, as do the vast domes that rest above ! huge blocks of masonry in a style like that of St. Sophia ' ; or that appear artistically striking, as do the aspiring j arches to which thousands of frailly constructed filaments 1 in pillars and windows point in a style like that of Cologne Cathedral.2 The flat caps and horizontal lines rather elicit our admiration for the perfect adaptation of the parts to one another and to the whole, and thus suggest mechanical accuracy, and the testing of every appearance by square and plummet. With good reason, therefore, can this style be considered as in the chart on page 325 a development of the realistic in the sense of scientific tendency. In some of the arts this tendency is supposed to be indicative of inferiority. But even if such a sup- position were well founded, it would not follow that it could be justified when applied to architecture, simply because scientific and mechanical contrivance are more 1 See Fig. 42, page 123, " The Genesis of Art-Form" ; or Fig. 40, page 80, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." s See Fig. 2, page 17, " The Genesis of Art-Form" ; or Fig. 41, page 81, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 382 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. legitimate in buildings than in poetry or painting. The classification here made, therefore, need not be supposed to deprive the Egyptian, Renaissance, or Greek architect- ure, in which this horizontalism predominates, of its artistic pre-eminence. But this style of architecture is allied not only to the scientific tendency. The Greek form of it may be shown to be allied to the distinctively historic phase of this tendency. Mr. Freeman calls it the architecture of the en- tablature. But what is an entablature? It is that part connected with a column which is over the capital, including the architrave, frieze, and cornice. The entablature, there- fore, is only the crowning feature of the column. It im- plies the column, and is a development in connection with it. But what is the column, or better, what does it mean ? From the time when a rude stone was set up above the buried form of a great man of the desert, to say nothing of the Egyptian obelisk, what meaning has it had if not historic? For what has it been used, if not to commemo- rate persons or events ? Accordingly, though the col- onnade of the Greek temple was undoubtedly used in part, because these temples were modelled upon primitive roofs supported by poles,' why may it not also have been derived in part, especially as developed into its more elaborated forms, from a desire to commemorate ? What was the entablature but the fitting crown of a collection of columns2 ; and where more appropriately than in it could be placed the statuary illustrating the events in which those to whose honor the temples were erected were supposed to have figured ? 1 See pages 374 to 377 of " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 2 Rows of like stone lanterns, high enough to be columns, may be seen in Japan to-day, all together commemorative of some one man, ARCHITECTURE OF PERPENDICULAR SUPPORT. 383 I The last of the three styles that we are considering is what Mr. Freeman terms the architecture of the pointed arch, but which, for reasons similar to those already given when speaking of the other styles, is termed in the chart on page 325 the architecture of perpendicular support. This phrase need not apply solely to perpendicular straight lines. It may apply to arches in case they be 1 sharply pointed. As a fact, when practically developed, ; the style always does include arches in this form. Notice now that, so far as it does this, it necessarily includes all the forms entering into the two other styles. At the I points of the arches, there are angles, and in other parts ; of them there are curves, while everywhere there are mul- , titudes of straight lines, most of them perpendicular, as in ' the excessive parallelism in buttresses and pinnacles ; but j some lines are also horizontal. This combination of forms makes this third class of architecture both a blending I and — if for no other reason, because contrast neces- 1 sarily emphasizes — an emphasizing of the features enter- ' ing into the two other classes, exactly as is the case ■ with every third class throughout all the corresponding classifications attempted in this volume. Notice the state- ments on pages 62 and 271 ; and recall the arguments in Chapters V. to XII., showing that a combination of the j requirements essential to religion and to science results I in the artistic. When we consider, too, the architectural I significance of the effects of mixed lines, such as have just been described, we shall find other reasons for allying , this style with the distinctly artistic. It is evident, for I instance, that the great verticality of the arch in a cathe- ; dral nave results from a desire to increase its apparent ! height. But why should this be increased ? Why but j to make the building as a work of art more aesthetically 384 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. effective, which, as we have found, is the chief impelling reason for every dramatic development. Again, in itself considered, a roof with a pointed apex affords the most satisfactory kind of a water-shed, and, in this regard, it may be said to be an expression of the idea of protection. But in many parts of a building where, nevertheless, a pointed arch is used, as over windows and doors, it is not needed to afford protection in the same sense in which the round arch is needed in order to afford support. When therefore we perceive this pointed arch in such places, places in which it is needed, if at all, only slightly, we are forced to infer that it is used merely for the sake of its appearance, — in other words, for an artistic purpose, i. £., in order to produce effects of harmony between different parts of the building. Thus, whether we con- sider the relation of the pointed arch to the roof, or to the cappings, we can perceive a sense in which it may be looked upon as a development of the distinctively artistic tendency. But this tendency is manifested not alone in the pointed arch, but also in the bewildering complexity of lines of other kinds that accompany this arch, — of spaces so enormous, yet so minutely elaborated, of out- lines the strongest in architecture, yet broken into the most delicate subdivisions, many of them massed against the buttresses, yet others by themselves, drooping like feathers to form tracery, — effects which are sometimes augmented, too, as in the Arabesque and Venetian styles, by colors as varied as are the outlines. Could anything afford a better analogue to the brilliant and striking re- sults of what we have termed the dramatic in painting and sculpture ? " In a grand Gothic building," says Mr. Freeman, " the purely artistic effect is so perfect, so en- trancing that it is hard to turn our thoughts from the art THREE ARCHITECTURAL STYLES SUBDIVIDED. 385 to the building." Thus in all particulars do this writer's I general conclusions, though differently derived, confirm the methods of classification that have been here sug- gested. The subdivisions of these three radically different architectural styles are not important ; nor, any more than in the case of music, can they be accurately de- termined, especially in view of the way in which the whole subject has been confused by the national or racial 1 designations which have been given to the styles. In some cases, two or three of these terms indicate the same style ; and, in other cases, one term applies to a combina- tion of styles. In a very general way, however, it may be said that, of the styles that may rightly be considered the results of artistic study and intelligence, the Byzan- tine, as illustrated in St. Sophia,1 Constantinople, exem- plifies the most subjective or epic development of the epic tendency ; that the later Etruscan,2 showing us, as in the gate at Perugia and in the Cloaca Maxima at j Rome, the Roman arch before the Greek entablature had been added to it, exemplifies the most scientific or realistic development of the epic ; and that the Romanesque, es- pecially the Venetian as in St. Mark's,3 but also much of the later Romanesque of Italy 4 and of Germany and of the Norman of England, exemplifies the most objective or artistic development of the epic. In the same way, it 'Fig. 42, page 123, "The Genesis of Art-Form"; Fig. 40, page 80, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." s Producing a result approximately like that in Fig. 30, page 86, and Fig. 11, page 47, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 3 Fig. 31, page 88, idem ; Fig. 15, page 37, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 4 See Cathedral of Sienna, Fig. 97, page 292, "The Genesis of Art- Form " ; also Fig. S4, page 240, idem. 386 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. may be said that the Greek style,1 with its slight tendency to elevation in its inclining pediments, exemplifies the most subjective or epic development of the realistic ten- dency ; that the Egyptian style3 exemplifies its. most scientific development ; and that the Roman style,3 in- cluding the Renaissance4 — i. e., flat caps and cornices sur- mounted by round arches — and also the Revived Grecian, or, as it is better termed, the Romo-Grecian,6 i. e., the en- tablature surmounted by the dome — on account of their combinations of forms, if of nothing else, — represent the most objective or dramatic development of the realistic ; while the Mohammedan or Moorish style, to which Rosen- garten, in his "Architectural Styles," ascribes " free vent to overwrought fancy and eccentric tone, in conjunction with spectacular display," may be said to exemplify, as in the Taj-Mahal,6 and especially as in the Arabesque forms of the Alhambra,7 the most subjective or epic develop- ment of the dramatic ; the non-ecclesiastical 8 or so-called Tudor Gothic, its scientific or relative development ; and 1 Temple of Theseus, Fig. 14, page 36, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; The Acropolis, Fig. 1, page 15, " The Genesis of Art- Form." 2 Temple at Ipsambool, Fig. 227, page 394, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 3 Court of Honor, Fig. 203, page 365, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 4 Fig. 173, page 319 ; Fig. 196, page 349 ; and Fig. 201, page 361, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 5St. Isaac's, Fig. 12, page 35, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts"; also St. Peter's, Fig. 23, page 78, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 6 Fig. 3, page 19, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 1 Fig. 96, page 290, idem. 8Fig. 198, page 351, also Fig. 206, page 369, Fig. 13, page 36, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts"; Fig. 22, page 78, " The Genesis of Art-Form. THREE ARCHITECTURAL STYLES SUBDIVIDED. 387 the so-called pointed Gothic ' of the cathedral, its most objective or dramatic development. See again the note at the bottom of page 380. 1 Fig. 41, page Si, Fig. 150, page 227, and Fig. 220, page 392, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts"; Fig. 2, page 17, Fig. 68, page 207, Fig. 78, page 235, " The Genesis of Art-Form." CHAPTER XXII. SIGNIFICANCE AS ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELEMENTS OF ART-FORM IN TIME AND SPACE COMBINED : IMPORT, LIFE, AND ORGANISM AS SUGGESTED IN POETRY. Resume of the Line of Thought in this Volume — Have still to Compare Significance as Represented by the Underlying Elements of Form in Art with the Same in Nature — Import, Life, and Organism as Repre- sented in Nature through Combined Effects of Movement or Operation in Time and of Matter or Arrangement in Space — Objects in Time Suggesting Space Manifest Progress — Objects in Space Suggesting Time Manifest Unity — Poetry and Music Manifest Progress Suggesting Unity — Of the Two, Poetry Suggests More Unity ; Words Having More Meaning than Single Notes — Poetry Suggests Unity also through Verse, Metre, Rhyme, Alliteration, Assonance, Refrains, Choruses — Through Repetition of Epithets and Phrases in Blank Verse — Through Parallelism, Causing Expression to be Prolonged and Reiterated — Two Extremes to be Avoided : One the Disproportionate Emphasis of Conditions Tending to Progress : Doggerel — Corrected by Breadth of View, Introducing Suggestions of Space — Other Extreme to be Avoided is Disproportionate Emphasis of Conditions Tending to Unity — How Avoided in a Shakespearian Soliloquy — By the Poetic Hiatus or Ellipsis. A S we turn in this chapter from comparatively generic to more specific results of art-significance as mani- fested in the form, the reader will perceive that the course of thought in this volume, having boxed the compass, as it were, of all the possibilities of expression, is returning to its starting-point. Our endeavor to detect the methods of representing significance through the 338 IMPORT, LIFE, AND ORGANISM IN ART-FORM. 389 forms of art began with a study of the ways in which it seems to be represented through the forms of nature. In these latter, it was shown that the elementary suggestions of space and of time are gradually developed into sug- gestions of organism, life, and import ; and, through the latter, into conceptions of the infinite, the eternal, and the absolute, or, as one may say, of truth in the abstract. Having reached this point, as preliminary to retracing our steps, in order to show how that which had been discovered to be suggested through the forms of nature could be made by man to be suggested through the forms of art, it was found necessary to consider three different departments in which, for different purposes, the truth or the significance embodied in form is differently derived, characterized, and expressed — namely, religion, science, and art. After this, having separated the conceptions of art from those of the other two, it was shown that even in this there can be detected three distinct tendencies, the first religious, leading through the good, the sublime, and the grand, to epic art ; the second, scientific, leading through the true, the picturesque, and the simple, to realistic art ; and the third, artistic, leading through the beautiful, the brilliant, and the striking, to dramatic art ; and the preceding three chapters have indicated the in- fluence of each of these tendencies upon products in the higher arts of poetry, music, painting, sculpture, and architecture. The reader will recognize that the work of showing how significance may be represented in the same way in the forms of art as in those of nature, cannot be com- pleted till, in our applications of the subject, we have retraced all our steps back to the very first one with which we started ; back, that is, to the elementary forms 390 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. of nature in which significance begins to be suggested. In order to do this logically we should consider — reversing the order of arrangement in each triad of suggestions mentioned on page 6 — how the forms of art as well as of nature can represent conceptions of Import Method of Operation Force Existence Life Operation .Movement Time Organism Arrangement Matter Space To dwell upon all these terms, and thus to repeat what was said in Chapter I., is not necessary in this place. It will be sufficient to remind the reader that the suggestions respectively indicated in each triad of terms are cumula- tive, and depend upon those in each of the triads pre- ceding them ; also that all the suggestions mentioned first in each of the triads — and the same is true respectively of those mentioned second and third — are connected. In other words, the suggestion of import is conveyed through that of life, which itself is conveyed through that of organism. Besides this, import is mainly represented through a method of operation produced by force upon existence ; life, by an operation produced by movement in time; and organism, by an arra?igement produced by matter in space. For our present purposes, much of this, especially that which is in the second and third columns, need not be considered. We may confine attention mainly to that which is in the first and fourth columns, i. e., to the suggestions in art, corresponding to those in nature, of import, life, and organism as conveyed through appear- ances having existence in time and in space. In Chapters XXII. to XXIV. we shall consider the representations of import, life, and organism in each art-form, owing to its suggestions of effects in time and in space combined ; IMPORT, LIFE, AND ORGANISM IN ART-FORM. 39I and in the remainder of the book we shall consider the suggestions predominantly made either in time alone or in space alone, which need to be considered thus, inasmuch as the effects of poetry and music are mainly manifested in the one, and those of painting, sculpture, and architect- ure are mainly manifested in the other. To take up the first of the topics thus indicated, Chapter I. has shown us that impressions of organism and through them of life and import are conveyed by objects in nature, and therefore presumably by those in art, in the degree in which they appear to be subjected when separated from others in space, to successive movements or operations — to what we may term changes in time ; or in the degree in which successive changes, perceptible in time, seem to have affected objects as separate portions of matter, which is what we mean by separate objects in space. Notice now that the former of these conditions, when, notwithstanding successive changes in an object, it is still perceived to be one object, or to be an organic whole, is that which is mainly instrumental in producing an effect of unity ; and that the latter condition, when, notwithstanding the object is one, or an organic whole, it is perceived to be subject to change, is that which mainly produces an effect of progress. Whether unity or progress be the more apparent depends less upon the intrinsic nature of an object than upon our individual way of viewing it. If we regard a tree at any single moment of time, all that render it apprehen- sible are outlines separating it from other things in space. These cause it to seem a unity. The moment, however, that we come to inquire what has caused these outlines to appear as they do, we attribute their appearances to former processes of growth ; in other words, although the unity of the tree is what is chiefly noticed, the very appearance of 392 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. this unity suggests progress. Again, if we observe the changes that time has wrought upon the tree, we at once have our minds directed to the fact that the progress noticed is effected in some one thing which, because it is one, pos- sesses unity. Thus we may accept it as a general principle, that, when objects in nature that manifest import through life and organism appear to be a unity, they suggest pro- gress ; and that when they appear to have progress, they suggest unity. And our inference with reference to the forms of art is that they must manifest primarily either unity suggest ing progress or progress suggesting unity. In this and the two chapters following, this principle is to be applied to the methods of expressing significance through the forms of the different arts. The reader who may be interested in noticing how the same may be applied to the methods of constructing each form as a form, will find this indicated on pages 131, 270, 299, and 300 of the volume of this series entitled " The Genesis of Art- Form." Before we pass on, it is important to notice particularly the words suggest and suggested, as used in the sentences above. Doing this will save one from the error of suppos- ing that the arts of sound should attempt to give form to subjects that can be adequately delineated in only space, or that the arts of sight should attempt to give form to subjects that can be adequately reported in only time. Concerning this error, more will be said in Chapters XXV. to XXVII. At present, let us confine ourselves to the question in hand. Let us notice how each of the art-forms may be made suggestive of import through being sugges- tive also of life and organism. In doing this, we shall be- gin with the arts of sound, — poetry and music. The forms of these are apprehended through successive effects that UNITY AND PROGRESS IN ART-FORM. 393 appear, moving one after another, in time, and thus man- ifest primarily progress suggesting unity. Of the two arts, poetry can, in a certain sense, be said to be more naturally suggestive of unity than music. No separate musical note can be so complete in itself, or so representative of a form in space, as a separate word. When we say tree or man, for instance, the word recalls an object in space. Even when we use words that do not recall such an object, the flow of ideas during the time in which each word is being uttered stands still, as it were, for a moment ; and this fact of standing removes it some- what from the sphere of progress in the sense of move- ment. Notice too, that, in part, it is this fact also that gives a word as contrasted with a note more import. Music moves forward like a wheel when its spokes are re- volving, the united influence of the tones being far more marked than the significance of separate tones. Poetry moves forward like one walking, step by step, the united influence of sentences being scarcely more perceptible than that of separate words. Accordingly when we come to inquire how unity, which is primarily a condition of space, may be suggested in connection with progress which is mainly represented in poetry, the answer is easier than when we apply an analogous question with reference to music. In trying to find the answer, let us start by recalling exactly what it is that constitutes form in poetry. " Notwithstanding all that has been advanced by some French critics," says Whately in his " Rhetoric, " " to prove that a work not in metre may be a poem, universal opinion has always given a contrary decision, and when that which is poetical is put into the form of verse we have poetry." According to this critic, then, poetry is a form of verse. But what is 394 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. verse? A little reflection will reveal that every known phase of it is a method of causing the flow of the words as they present themselves in time, to be interrupted suffi- ciently and with sufficient regularity to convey an impres- sion like that produced when objects appear side by side in space. Lines, feet, alliteration, assonance, rhyme, — all have the effect of retarding or preventing an absolute change ; and thus of causing the composition to manifest not movement only, but unity of movement. Consider, for instance, the lyric. Its thought usually moves on very impetuously. The artistic requirement in its mode of ex- pression, therefore, is that it manifest, in some way, that there is unity in the movement. But, how can this be done better than by arranging the sounds in certain like groups, indicating unity of method ? And how can we find like groups more clearly indicated than in the regular recurrence of accents, as in feet, or of tones as in alliter- ation or assonance, and especially as in rhymes at the ends of lines. These latter, in particular, cause the thought, at like intervals, to pause, as it were, and to connect the sound heard with a like sound that has preceded it. A similar impression is also conveyed when successive stanzas end with a like refrain or chorus. Notice the poems on page 341. The refrain and the chorus, therefore, are not superfluous. Without them, the thought of the lyric might often seem to roll forward as lifelessly and with as little evidence of organism as a log. These make it step and fly, — give it a regularly recurring motion like that of a living creature. As contrasted with the thought of the lyric, that of the epic is less impetuous. In assuming form, therefore, the latter can afford to a greater degree to disregard the suggestion of space. It can advance, as in blank verse, with very much less aid than is afforded by UNITY AND PROGRESS IN POETRY. 395 the regular recurrence of the accents and tones just mentioned. At the same time, the only metrical effect that is really absent from the ordinary epic is that of rhyme. All the other effects, even something that is similar to the refrain or chorus of the lyric, blank verse includes. In the " Iliad," for instance, time and again we meet with the same phrase- ology. Sometimes whole lines are repeated. Juno, " large eyed and august," Agamemnon, "king of men," "swift-footed" Achilles, the "white-armed" Helen, "winged words," and other epithets like these, are reite- rated with a frequency that in our age might be con- sidered monotonous and redundant. Tennyson, however, has done the same thing with fine effect in his " Idyls." In " Morte D'Arthur," the king is made to say : Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word. Sir Bedivere replies: Yet I thy hest will all perform at full. Watch what I see, and lightly bring thee word. And still again, farther on, the king says: I bade thee watch, and lightly bring me word. An artist like Tennyson would not have repeated these J Homeric methods, unless he had perceived a subtle reason for doing so. What is it ? What but to convey to the i ear and also to the mind an impression of unity as well \ as of progress, — an impression, as- we shall find presently, ' similar to that conveyed through the repetition of similar , strains in a composition of music? Another more intimate analogy between musical and poetic forms of expression is also worth noticing. It I 396 KEPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. will serve to reveal as well the very close connection that exists between versification and poetic thought. In the following parallelism we have one of the oldest poetic expressions on record : I have slain a man to my wounding And a young man to my hurt, Gen. iv., 2j. Examination will show that these two lines sustain to the single idea of murder, a relation exactly the same as that which will be pointed out presently between different notes of melody and the single chord of harmony from which these notes are developed. The two lines prolong and reiterate, and thus reveal in succession, according to the order of sequence in experience, what might be stated in a single phrase. This prolongation or presentation in succession is necessary because the medium of poetry must manifest movement or progress. It is, moreover, a prolongation, and a manifest prolojigation, of what might be stated in a single phrase, because poetry must indicate also certain effects of unity. Here then, in this simple parallelism of early poetry are very clearly manifested these two suggestions which it has been said that this form of art must convey. The very fact, however, that it may convey either of them involves the possibility of its conveying one of them to an overbalancing extent ; and shows the necessity of maintaining in this art the mean between the two ex- tremes, at the one of which the conditions tending to progress are exclusively emphasized, and at the other the conditions tending to unity. As has just been indicated, it is the ability to evolve an idea, rather than to state it, which, more than anything else, perhaps, renders poetic art-production possible. Notice, too, that a large number UNITY AND PROGRESS IN POETRY. 397 of words and phrases can do no more than state an idea, while few words, however rapidly uttered, can keep pace with the processes of ideas. From this fact it fol- lows that there is much less liability in poetry than in music, that the movement be too rapid. There is, how- ever, some danger of it. What is doggerel ? At times, nothing more nor less than verse so intently driven toward the expression of one idea that the writer of it ignores all other ideas. He looks straight at his goal and at nothing on either side of him. The result is a narrow line of thought, devoid of any of those sugges- tions of associated things in space, i. c, in heaven or earth or under the earth, with which poetry that really stimu- lates the imagination is always crowded. Verse may represent movement to perfection and still be doggerel, e. g. : And still I him pursued with speed, Till at the last we mett ; Whereby an appointed day of fight Was there agreed and sett : Where we did fight, of mortal life Eche other to deprive, Till of a hundred thousand men Scarce one was left alive. The Legend of A'ing A rthur: Percy's Reliques. Before we parted, one kind friend, And then another talked so free ; They went from table-end to end, And spoke to each, and spoke to me. Books, pretty books, with pictures in, Were given to those who learn to read, Which showed them how to flee from sin, And to be happy boys indeed. The Climbing Boy's Soliloquies : Montgomery, 39$ REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. On and on through many cities, Through Bologna to Ancona, Stopping off to see the places Mentioned in the classic history, Down the eastern coast of Italy By a route not much frequented, Therefore far more interesting, — Finally they reached Brindisi. Sketches in Palestine : Hammond. The primary condition needed in order to make lines like these poetic, is that the mind should, once in a while, glance off from the course which it is pursuing, and show how its thoughts are connected with thoughts in other associated courses. That is to say, the words should suggest space through which the thought is moving, and thus give to the whole the effect of outlook or breadth, in which, as in all true art, imagination has compared one thing with another. Is it not a fact that in the following the vitality, freshness, warmth, glow, charm, and all those qualities that are associated with life and organism, as well as those that are connected with depth and breadth of import, are owing to the presence of the characteristics that have just been said to be lacking in the verses above ? Notice how the poet, by referring to the " scream of the curlew," " yawning," " subterranean host," " loose crags," "infant touch," "adder," "wolf," "maiden," etc., draws suggestions from every side of the channel which the main thought is following, and makes them all do service in augmenting the amount of force which is dash- ing on like a flood in one general direction : " Have thou thy wish ! " He whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill ; Wild as the scream of the curlew From crag to crag the signal flew. UNITY AND PROGRESS IN POETRY. 399 That whistle garrisoned the glen At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given. Watching their leader's beck and will, All silent there they stood and still. Like the loose crags whose threatening mass Lay towering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung, Upon the mountain-side they hung. Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, Received, but reck'd not of a wound. And lock'd his arms his foeman round. — Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! Lady of the Lake, v. : Scott. But as poetry is an art, the words of which follow one another in time, the poet should be careful to have these effects in space merely suggested and not in any sense detailed. There is a special liability to violate this re- quirement, whenever the main thought to be presented is not naturally associated with movement, as when one is describing something actually perceived in space, as in j quotations on pages 343 and 438, or is expressing a senti- , ment or belief discoursive or didactic in nature, rather than : narrative. But even though the main thought be not ' associated with movement, the subordinate thought may ; be. And if the poet will bear this in mind, he may direct I attention to that which exists in space, and yet by refer- 1 ring constantly, while doing so, to actions which can take 400 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. place in only time, he may have his language full of the representation of movement. Notice how this fact is exemplified in the use of the words that are italicized in the following : For instantly a light upon the turf Fell like ajlash, and lo ! as I looked up, The Moon hung naked in a firmament Of azure without cloud, and at my feet Rested a silent sea of hoary mist. A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved All over this still ocean ; and beyond, Far, far, beyond the solid vapors stretched, In headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes, Into the main Atlantic, that appeared To dwindle and give up his majesty, Usurped upon far as the sight could reach. The Prelude ; Conclusion : Wordsworth. Notice, too, how Shakespeare in the following gives effects of life and organism as well as of import to the discoursive character of his main thought — which other- wise would have merely given him "pause" in space. Notice the allusions which he makes to things that move in time ; and which have no interest nor even existence except as actions : To be or not to be, that is the question : — Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them ? To die, — to sleep, No more ; — and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep ; — To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there 's the rub ; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, UNITY AND PROGRESS IN POETRY. 4OI Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life ; For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong,. But that the dread of something after death, — The undiscovered country from whose bourn No traveller returns, — puzzles the will ; And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of ? Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all. Hamlet, Hi., 1 : Shakespeare. There is a significant connection between these effects and the use of the rhetorical hiatus and ellipsis which are so general in poetry, and so generally regarded as legiti- mate. These figures of speech are suggestions to the reader that the thoughts of the writer are moving forward in time, and that he must not try to elaborate them. He must hurry on to something else. In the majority of cases, too, hiatus follows a reference to something that is aside from the main line of thought, something that the writer conceives of as existing side by side with that with which he is dealing. In other words, these figures of speech suggest space as well as time. This fact ex- plains why it is that they alone so often add effects of import and life to what would otherwise seem very insig- nificant and lifeless. One secret of Robert Browning's J power lies in this use of the ellipsis. But he sometimes i carries the figure too far. Compare his handling of it in I the following with that of Shakespeare in the passage ; last quoted. See also page 214. Alcamo's song enmeshes the lulled isle, Woven into the echoes left erewhile By Nina, one soft web of song ; no more Turning his name, then, flower-like, o'er and o'er ! 26 402 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. An elder poet in the younger's place — Nina's the strength — but Alcamo's the grace ; Each neutralizes each then ! Search your fill ; You get no whole and perfect Poet — still New Ninas, Alcamos, till time's midnight Shrouds all — or better, say, the shutting light Of a forgotten yesterday. Dissect Every ideal workman — (to reject In favor of your fearful ignorance The thousand phantasms eager to advance, And point you but to those within your reach) — Were you the first who brought (in modern speech) The Multitude to be materialized ? That loose, eternal unrest — who devised An apparition i' the midst ? The rout Was checked, a breathless ring was formed about That sudden flower : get round at any risk The gold-rough, pointel, silver-blazing disk O' the lily ! Swords across it ! Reign thy reign And serve thy frolic service, Charlemagne ! Sordello, bk. j : Browning. CHAPTER XXIII. SIGNIFICANCE AS ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELEMENTS OF ART-FORM IN TIME AND SPACE COMBINED: IMPORT, LIFE, AND ORGANISM AS SUGGESTED IN MUSIC AND ORATORY. Unity, or the Effect of Arrangement in Space can be Suggested in Connec- tion with Progress in Music — By Melody when its Progress is not too Rapid or Slow ; and is Subject to a constantly Recurring Rhythm — By Harmony, when its Simultaneous Tones are Compounded of the Successive Notes Developed in the Melodies — Same Principles Apply to Developments of Themes in Long Compositions — Extreme of Dispro- portionate Emphasizing of Effects of Progress to be Avoided : Illustra- tion— Extreme of Disproportionate Emphasizing of Effects of Unity to be Avoided : Illustration — Tendency of Wagner to Emphasize Unity by Subordinating Melody to Harmony — Application of these Principles to Oratory which must Manifest Progress not too Rapid or Slow, and Unity by Regularity in Pauses and Rhythm, and in Modulation — Gesture as Delivery in Space, and its Influence upon Effects of Life, Organism, and Import — Must not Go to the Extreme of too much Movement or too little. T N order that musical tones as they follow one another may seem to constitute a tune, and thus may seem to be musical in the highest sense, it is evident that they must possess certain characteristics in addition to the mere fact of being consecutive. In the first place, the tones must move neither too rapidly nor too slowly. In the former case, the mind cannot separate the notes ; in the latter, it cannot connect them ; and hence in neither case will they manifest those characteristics that make 403 404 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. music intelligible, vital, and organic. All who have applied themselves to the task know how difficult it is to learn passages that represent either of these two extremes of movement. They prevent the mind from readily perceiv- ing— and, for this reason alone, from remembering — the relationships of the notes. Moreover, those whose atten- tion has been directed to the subject must have noticed that, as a rule, notwithstanding superior facility in the execution of difficult runs, great performers upon musical instruments usually execute the same passage in slower time than inferior performers do ; and also that the slower rendering of the passage usually enhances greatly such effects as it may manifest of import, life, and organ- ism. The slower rendering enhances these, because, if the movement be too rapid, it fails to suggest anything that can check it. While this is true, however, it is also true that, if the movement be too slow it suggests something that checks it too much. Anything of substance sufficient to check movement suggests an effect produced by some- thing that does not move. As the mean between the two extremes is the one in which musical art becomes most expressive, as we say, it evidently becomes this in the de- gree in which it conveys suggestions both of movement which is represented in time, and of non-movement, which, as a rule, is represented in space. Notice again, however, that it is not only the fact of moving with just the right degree of deliberation that conveys these im- pressions, but still more, perhaps, the fact of moving rhythmically with different changes and interruptions of movement recurring at regular intervals. Look at the following : MUSICAL MOVEMENT AND NON-MOVEMENT. 405 Graziose Trh Jolie Waltz : E mile Waldteufet. It is hardly necessary to call attention to the fact that these recurrences in rhythm and in movements of pitch produce unity of effect in music, in the same way as in poetry do alliteration, assonance, feet, lines, and rhymes. See page 394. But there is another more literal sense in which the effects of music may be suggestive of something else than movement. In the chord several notes are sounded at one time. By consequence they are not apprehended in suc- cession. When, therefore, we come to ask how music, though appearing in time, may suggest effects not requir- ing different intervals of time, we may get one clue to an answer from the chord. We apprehend this to be what it is, because its notes are sounded simultaneously ; and we apprehend the resemblance between a chord and a melody in the degree in which the different notes which, when sounded together, constitute the chord, are in the melody sounded at near intervals. The melody, in this case, seems, more than anything else, like the chord pulled apart ; and its notes, though separated, are comprehended as if united. In other words, the separate notes, though appre- hended in time, are comprehended, as it were, in space. It is important to notice also that unless the different notes of the melody or the notes of its different phrases can be thus comprehended, they convey no impression 406 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. of their relationships. If the movement be too slow or too involved for the notes constituting the one chord, or constituting other chords naturally associated with this chord, to linger in the memory, or if the movement be so regardless of these notes as not to sound them at all, then the tune will have little import; it will not be intelligible, because it will not appear to be a tune, or to have organic life. Accordingly, it is not alone on account of its delib- erate movement, but on account also of its relation to the chord, i. e., to sounds not apprehended in succession, that the ordinary hymn or ballad can be easily retained in memory. Here is the first phrase of a hymn all the notes of which are in a single chord, which is printed at the right : a=* m -JSL Ovio : L. Mason, And all the notes of the following are in two chords, also printed at the right : Old Melody. But the vast majority of simple melodies are composed of the notes of three chords and of no more, the last two chords at the right of this next example being merely modifications of one and the same chord : I Know that my Redeemer Liveth : Handel. MUSICAL UNITY AND PROGRESS. 407 The chief reason why it is less difficult to remember mel- odies like these than the melodic movements of ordinary symphonies, is because the latter contain notes from a greater number and variety of chords, and are, therefore, more irregular and complex. The same principle is applicable to longer compositions. In operas like Beethoven's " Fidelio " or Wagner's " Lo- hengrin," on account mainly of consistency in the meth- J ods of development, a somewhat similar though greatly varied general effect is felt to pervade all the melodies ; ; and, as these follow one another, they are felt to be sug- j gestive of something connected and cumulative. In other j words, the music seems to have body and an end in view. The body conveys the impression of organic vitality, and the end in view that of import. In mere operettas, like those of Offenbach or Lecocq, we hear only separate 1 snatches of melody with effects which, if varied, seem ; disconnected, and, if not, monotonous. In other words, j the compositions appear to have little unity or progress, ; — little, that is, to suggest either one kind of movement l or one aim for all movements. These two kinds of music will serve to illustrate the necessity in this art, as well as in others, of avoiding the two extremes, in the one of which the conditions tending to progress are too exclusively emphasized, and in the other the conditions tending to unity. Several years ago — it may not be true now — when music of the kind last mentioned was played by the bands in Paris, one would hear the lighter passages performed by a chosen few, while, when it came to the heavier passages, all the musi- cians, with a great flourish of trumpets and beating of drums, would play together. For such compositions, this method of rendition was apparently appropriate. It 408 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. certainly represented very strikingly their lackof continuity and of climax. But the general method of such perform- ances, at that time, had had such an influence in France, that it had come to be applied to the execution of music of a higher order, and, as in the case of other executions, was usually successful in taking all the life out of it. This was so, as will be noticed, because everything was subordinated to the requirements of the melody as dis- tinguished from the harmony, or, as this use of terms has been explained, to the requirements of the effects of movement, as distinguished from those of non-movement. On the contrary, when at that time the Austrian bands would render even light music, as if influenced by a remi- niscence of the requirements of more serious music, the quality and quantity of their tones, though greatly les- sened in force, were seldom sacrificed, and were not always even subordinated to the requirements of the different melodies. The result was a sustained unity of effect wholly different from what was possible according to the French method. Of course the Germans some- times carry this other effect too far. When an opera like Gounod's " Faust " is produced in one of their opera- houses, the passages in recitative are usually rendered far more dramatically and powerfully than by the French or the Italians, but not so with passages like the flower-song or the soldiers' chorus. In these, the German tendency to subordinate the melody to that which is not the melody, seems at times to make them overlook certain require- ments of rhythm and tune essential to the effects intended by the composer. While, therefore, it is true that, in some respects, an opera may be improved by being ren- dered according to the method of Wagner, it is also true that in some respects it may be impaired. No one can MUSICAL UNITY AND PROGRESS. 409 deny that Wagner was a great composer of melodies. He throws away more of these in the orchestration of the second act of the " Meistersinger " alone than would suf- fice to immortalize almost any other composer. In fact, one peculiarity of his harmonic movements is the degree in which they are developed exactly as were the very earliest harmonies, i. e., from a simultaneous production, in many different parts, of many different melodies. But he does not always seem to bear in mind that harmony was developed from melody which was also, at first, sung. He too frequently seems to confine the singer's part to mere intonation, or recitative. The followers of Wagner would say that, in such cases, he is subordinating the melody to emotive expression, because the singer's part is always accompanied by orchestration representing, by way of analogy, association, or imitation, the feelings natural to the sentiment. But notice that, as a rule, an accompaniment is an arrangement not of melody but of harmony. It is in reality to this latter, therefore, that Wagner is subordinating what other composers would put into the form of melody. In doing this he and his follow- ers evidently represent the other tendency in music, which it has been said must be avoided, namely, that of empha- sizing too exclusively the requirement of unity, which is what harmony in music mainly represents. The result is just what, according to the theories of this volume, we should expect. However little may be confessed in these days when Wagner is the fashion, a good many people get very tired of listening to certain parts of his operas. These parts they find lifeless and meaningless, dull and uninspiring. A little examination, too, will convince most of us that they are all parts in which the tendency just mentioned has been carried to excess. On the contrary, 4IO REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the parts most universally popular, like the choral of " Tannhauser," the wedding march of " Lohengrin," the sword song of " Siegfried " and the prize song of the " Meistersinger," all show the influence of the counter- balancing tendency. Absolutely successful music, as in the case of all other absolutely successful art, is that which occupies a middle ground between the two extremes. To show how analogous are the methods applicable whenever there is any necessity for artistic effects, it will be interesting, before passing from the arts that address us through the ear, to notice how the principles under con- sideration apply to the partially aesthetic art of oratory. So far as this art is dependent upon vocal effects, the sounds of successive words, like those in music and poetry, must be uttered rhythmically — flowing onward without too much either of rapidity or of hesitation, of abruptness or of monotony. If the thought flow too rapidly, it fails to reveal sufficiently the separate import of the words ; if too slowly, it fails to reveal their consecutive or cumula- tive import. All successful orators, upon analysis of their styles, will be found to manifest a mean between these two extremes. Sometimes an exact measurement of time is evident between the utterance of successive emphatic and unemphatic words, producing, in this way, a rhythmic effect. Of course, as the subject changes from grave to gay, the general time becomes more rapid, but the relative time, as indicated by the proportion of it given to empha- tic as contrasted with unemphatic words, often remains the same. This feature was especially noticeable in the elocu- tion of Edward Everett. It was so very apparent, in fact, that during the first five minutes of his speaking the effect seemed artificial. But before long, as sentence after sentence rolled upon the ear, each laden successively with ELOCU TIONAR Y MO VEMENT AND NON-MO VEMENT. 4 1 1 those accumulating suggestions with which he knew so well how to build up a climax, the effect was something more than animating. It was electrifying and transporting. His words, owing largely to their rhythmic regularity, were literally winged. And yet he spoke always with delibera- tion. But the evenness of the flow of the whole conveyed the impression that the fountain was living, never ex- hausted nor to be exhausted, and, like the current of a mighty river, it bore irresistibly upon its tide, the thoughts and feelings of his hearers. Probably no orator of the present, in this regard, resembles Mr. Everett ; but frequently one listens to stump-speakers or to clergymen who, with unmusical voices, ungainly gestures, and crudely conceived themes, hold the attention of their audiences simply through manifesting this single virtue of a rhythmic flow of syllables. And where an orator does not ac- complish this result habitually, it will be noticed, never- theless, that in most of his climaxes that are particularly effective his elocution assumes the trait. Sometimes it is particularly emphasized by an unusually regular introduc- tion of phrases, similar pauses being always observed be- tween these. This was very apparent in the oratory of Wendell Phillips and of George W. Curtis ; and largely accounts for the aesthetic and finished effects of their delivery. Other orators, again, as was the case with Henry W. Beecher and John B. Gough, appear to have very little regard for exact measurements of time. But notwithstanding the broken, disconnected impression that many isolated portions of their delivery convey, examina- tion will discover even with them a similar method of making pauses and a similar method of intonation in con- necting these, which in the end convey the same general effect of unity. 412 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. The word intonation introduces us to another feature of successful elocutionary delivery, modulation. With its various forms of pitch and slide, this may be said to pro- duce effects which, as contrasted with those just considered, are a result of a vertical movement up and down rather than of one that is horizontal or forward. These elocu- tionary effects, therefore, of modulation or of inflection, as often called, seem to bear the same relation to the forward movement as the chord to the melody — in other words, to be the suggestion in elocution of an influence other than that produced by an effect in time. When all the words of an oration appear to move upon the same key, or when, in spite of many variations of this key, successive words, phrases, or sentences all seem to be emphasized or to end on the same key, the result is a lifeless monotony. Opposite conditions lead to an opposite result. In the mean between the two, we find that excellence which develops neither into a ministerial tone nor into bombastic ranting, nor, as some- times is the case, into both. Did any of the orators that have been mentioned lack ability to modulate their voices properly, with all their excellence as regards time they would not have deserved the name applied to them. A very artistic illustration of modulation in delivery was afforded, a few years ago in this country, by the elocution, when he was in his prime, of Dr. E. H. Chapin of New York. His voice swelled and sank literally like waves, billow after billow breaking into a spray of rhetoric about the listener with all the effect of an intellectual and emotional surf-bath. But the orator who, with the least appearance of effort, could produce the most satisfactory effects both of time and of modulation was Wendell Phillips. He could measure off his rhythm without any suggestion of monotony in recurrence ; and could pass ELOCUTIONARY UNITY AND PROGRESS. 413 over all the notes of two octaves so subtly that half of his audience would be willing to take oath that he had not varied his intonations by more than two or three intervals. If a natural effect be the perfection of art, then he was the most artistic elocutionist of his day. Similar facts may be affirmed of gesture. Gestures actually appear in space. And, as we should expect, a due regard for them may at times counterbalance defects in vocalization. There is delivery in which neither voice nor action in itself would seem satisfactory, yet both when combined do seem so. This is the case because the mind, regarding the result, perceives the effects of time in the language, and of space in the gestures, and, as we have found, the two, when manifested together, are able, as would not be possible for either by itself, to convey impressions of organic life as well as of import. It is doubtful whether the Italian Father Gavazzi, who, some years ago, attracted such crowds in this country, would have been able, with his imperfect knowledge of English, to hold the attention of his American audiences in any unusual degree, had it not been for the marvellously ex- pressive nature of his gestures. In the histrionic art, with the violent extremes of passion that are expressed in the language of many plays, few characters could ever be made to seem consistent throughout, were it not for the acting. It is this that adds, to what otherwise might seem an endless variety of language, the effect of unity. Hence, as distinguished from the orator, whose thoughts are usually so closely connected, whose subjects are so much of a unity, that he needs little action, the histrionic artist is properly called an actor. When we have the excellences of the orator and the actor combined, we have a product that is rare, but — as proved in the cases of Gough and 414 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Beecher — one to which all men concede extremely high intellectual rank. As for gesture considered by itself, after so much has been said to the same effect, it is almost superfluous to add that it too must manifest a mean between influences suggestive of progress and of unity, i. e., between too much movement and too little. If there be too much, the orator lacks unity, in the sense of a manifestation in all parts of his discourse of individual force of character; if there be too little, he lacks progress, in the sense of abandon directed toward an impersonal end. CHAPTER XXIV. SIGNIFICANCE AS ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELEMENTS OF ART-FORM IN TIME AND SPACE COMBINED : IMPORT, LIFE, AND ORGANISM AS SUGGESTED IN LAND- SCAPE-GARDENING, PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE. Landscape Gardening — How it may Suggest both Progress and Unity — One Extreme to be Avoided — Also the Other — Painting : The Scene and its Precedences and Consequences — Painting must Represent a Single View — How Progress, as in the Allegoric Painting, may be Appro- priately Treated — Immobility in Space must not be too Exclusively Represented — The most Suggestive Moment must be Represented : Illustrated from Titian's Methods — Same Principles Applied to Land- scapes— Sculpture : Suggestions of Progress in this more Difficult than in Painting, yet not Impossible — Two Extremes to be Avoided — The Foremost Statues, even of Single Figures, are Full of Organic Life and Import — A Building may Suggest Progress or Growth — The Idea or Plan of it Is the Seed — The Suggestion of Effects in Time or Growth must not be too Prominent — Nor must the Suggestion of Effects of Fixedness or Space — Neglect of these Principles in Irregularity of Out- line and Color on American Streets — Of Buildings amid Scenery which are Apparently out of Place — Effects of Appearances of Nature on the Growth of Styles of Architecture. T3ASSING on now to the arts that appear in space, and recalling that in these we must have, instead of progress suggesting unity, unity suggesting progress, it will be of interest, especially in view of the bearings of the subject upon landscape-painting, to consider, for a little, the conditions that confront us in the allied, but not wholly fine, art of landscape-gardening. That this 4*5 416 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. art manifests effects in space, and thus tends to unity, is self-evident. It will seem almost equally evident to those who have followed our line of thought, that it may also suggest effects in time, or progress. In external nature, effects in time are evinced in what we term growth, as manifested in the conformations of the surface of the land, or in the distributions or develop- ments of shrubs or trees that spring from it. Applying these ideas to landscape-gardening, it is simply a fact recognized by all, that any given plot may be so graded and laid out that hills and valleys, lawns and lakes, avenues and flower-beds, shall appear to be the results of nature as much as of artifice. In the degree in which such is the case, landscape-gardens may be said to suggest effects in time. And yet if, in connection with these, there be no evidences that the results perceived were contrived and constructed through an exercise of ingenuity and skill ; if, in other words, there be no evidences of a human mind which, accepting certain natural features of landscape as developed in time, has given unity to the whole in space, and this as a result of thinking, — then manifestly the landscape will not appear artistic. Accordingly here again, in these two facts, we have in- dicated the necessity of avoiding the same two tendencies — the one in the direction of effects in time, and the other in space — that were considered in poetry, music, and ora- tory. The artist, while suggesting effects in time, must not make them too prominent. Where human intellect is sup- posed to have graded the hillocks and cultivated the lawns, neither of these can appropriately present too great an appearance of ruggedness or unculture. Lakes that are acknowledged to be the results of contrivance should not seem swamps, nor should streams that are made to flow LACK OF TIME-EFFECTS IN LANDSCAPE-GARDENING. 417 into them seem sluggish. Trees that have been trans- planted should not appear illy selected as to sizes, nor illy arranged as to groups or rows. Walks that every one knows to have been planned, however adroitly they may be adjusted to the conformations of the land, should never violate the mathematical laws controlling the for- mation of curves ; nor should flowers that have been placed in beds be disposed otherwise as to sizes and colors than in a manner suited to produce effects that are aesthetic. On the other hand, the artist, while striving to avoid the tendency just mentioned, can scarcely be too cautious in his endeavor to guard against infidelity to such effects as may be supposed to have developed naturally. It is possible to grade the land so that the outlines and po- sitions of mounds, lawns, and lakes shall seem too much the products of design. The trees may be too nearly of a size, and arranged with too much regularity. If in ad- dition, as in some French gardens, they be clipped in order to seem uniform, or be made to imitate tents, spires, or what-not that a man may fancy, or if they be ranged like fence-poles about walks suggesting nothing but a square and compasses, or stuck into the edges of flower-beds, wherein all the colors are as carefully matched as in the mats of a French parlor, then, while artifice has had its perfect work, nature may seem to have been so painfully distorted and misrepresented that the result has been the death of her. Let us look now at painting. Here again we have an art that appears in space. As such, the medium for the embodiment of its theme is a fixture. It cannot move. Therefore, of course, painting cannot delineate succession. But all ideas or events depend for their interest very 41 8 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. largely upon that which has preceded them or which may follow them. Accordingly, the question to solve in this art is, How can preceding or following conditions be indi- cated with a due regard to representation legitimate to space alone? Evidently only so far as they can be sug- gested. And so far as thus indicated, the tendencies to be avoided must be the same as in the other arts already considered, namely, that of making the suggestion of suc- cession, or of progress, too prominent ; and that of making too prominent the representation of fixedness, or of unity. Let us glance at these tendencies in their order. A work of art, which represents a scene in nature, must ap- pear, of course, like such a scene, and therefore it must not include anything which could not be perceived, or legitimately supposed to be perceived, in a single view. As already suggested on page 354, it is a question whether we do not find a violation of this principle in the so-called allegoric painting. An allegory, it is said, is a continuous metaphor ; and, as anything continuous must takes place in time, an allegory must represent different intervals of time. But need it do this? Why need time be any more than suggested ? And why can it not be suggested in ways that do not interfere with that effect of unity which is dependent upon fixedness in space ? When we try to answer these questions, we find ourselves forced to decide that, whether or not a painting be artistic, depends not upon the fact of its being allegoric or the contrary, but upon the mode in which the allegory is presented. In Cole's well-known series of paintings called " The Voyage of Life," the allegory is embodied in four distinct pictures, each of which presents but a single scene, the only connection between the one and UNITY AND PROGRESS IN PAINTING. 419 , the others being supplied by the imagination. Dela- , roche's allegorical painting in the Hall for the Distribution . of Prizes in the School of the Fine Arts in Paris reveals ; the figure of Fame distributing wreaths of laurel to artists grouped about her as a centre. This arrangement 1 causes an effect of unity. But the artists are those of all j time. This fact suggests, though it does not delineate, progress ; while the combination of the effects of unity j and progress is such as to produce — what has been said here to be a legitimate result in such cases — an effect that is interpretive of import because manifesting life and organism. To an extent, a similar effect may be said to characterize Kaulbach's " Reformation " and Raphael's j " School of Athens," ' mentioned on page 354. Of course j all these paintings represent forms that never met the eye of a living man at any one moment. But their appearance in a single picture may be defended upon the ground that, j when the mind recalls " The Reformation " or " Athens," it thinks of the different characters not as existing in dif- : ferent places and periods, but in that one conception of its own imagination. Why, therefore, should not the rep- resentation of the imagination reveal them all as present together? Nevertheless one would be untrue to all the facts of the case, did he not acknowledge a liability to confusion in such paintings. For instance, Kaulbach's composition in the Berlin Museum, termed " The Destruc- tion of Jerusalem by Titus," introduces both men and angels, both the material and the heavenly Jerusalem. This confusion may be so great, too, as to prevent the picture from suggesting unity, or organic life, or from being, in any full sense, interpretive of its own import. On this subject, the reader may consult Chapters XIV. 1 Fig. 156, page 249, " Paint. Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 420 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. and XV. of " Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts," and may notice, also, what is said further of this same painting, as well as of others, on pages 476 to 478 of the present volume. But again we have to note in painting the tendency to make fixedness, or effects in space, too prominent, and, doing so, to disregard the suggestions of movement or of effects in time. This tendency is the cause of the dead or lifeless impression left by many family portraits and groups, and by most pictures representing prominent men assembled in council, a president with his family or cabi- net, a senator in the chamber of state, or reformers in convention. In these, there are presented likenesses and perhaps accurate ones, but the arrangements of the figures often contain no suggestions of the influence of preceding intentions or of following incidents. In single figures, it is frequently difficult to secure these suggestions without a sacrifice of naturalness. But it can be done. Fig. 169 on page 299 of " Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts " contains the " Leaving for Work " by J. F. Millet. In this picture one of the legs of a peasant who is walking is made longer than the other for the purpose of suggesting two different positions which the eye is obliged to take in at one glance. In other words, the picture represents the effect of movement. On pages 298 to 302 of the same book other representa- tions of the same effect are described. Where figures are grouped, the possibilities of indicating an interchange be- tween them of thought, emotion, or action are, of course, much greater. Yet they are too often entirely neglected. The result is that, however accurately the figures may reproduce the outlines of their models, all stare out from the canvas, looking as inanimate as do Punch and Judy THE MOST SUGGESTIVE MOMENT IN PAINTING. 42 1 after the play is over, and the figures are waiting to be packed for removal. This introduces an important question. Inasmuch as a painting can delineate that alone which takes place in space, and yet must suggest that which has taken place, or is to take place, in time, what moment of time in a series of transactions should be chosen as the most sug- gestive ? Evidently the moment in which are concentrated the effects of the most causes that have preceded it, and also the germs of the most effects that shall follow it. This is what is meant by Lessing when, in his celebrated criticism on the Laocoon,1 he speaks of the most fruitful moment, which, for the subject treated in that statue, seems to him to be the moment just before the cry of pain ! on the part of the father. This principle in itself is important, and wherever it is applied by an artist of good sense the result will be found to be, in the high- est degree, satisfactory. Kugler in his " Handbuch der Kunstgeschichte," v., 8, says of Titian : " He was not content with giving his subjects all that was grand and characteristic. . . . He seems to have taken them at the happiest moment, and thus has left us the true con- ception of the old Venetian, by the side of whom all modern gentlemen look poor and small." The happiest moment, of course, is the one fitted to suggest most viv- idly that which has preceded and is to follow. " An ' Equipment of Cupid,' " says Kugler, " is in the Borghese palace ; Venus is binding his eyes, whilst another amorino leans whispering over her shoulder, and two Graces bring the bow and quiver. ' The Three Ages ' repre- sents a young shepherd and a fair girl seated together on the grass, his hand resting on her shoulder, while she 1 Fig. 21, page 49, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 422 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. looks at him with an expression of innocence and sweet- ness ; on one side are three winged children, two of them sleeping, the other just awakened ; in the distance an old man surrounded with the bones of the dead." Thus carefully did this great painter (see also what is said of his portraits on page 362) cause his compositions to fulfil the requirements of which we have been speaking ; and the fact ought to throw discredit upon the theories of some of those who, in imitation of certain modern artists, suppose that the mere ability to cover a certain amount of space with harmoniously blended lines and colors, can compensate for deficiency in suggesting events that have to do with time. If Titian with all his mastery of color could not disregard the claims of the latter without becoming less of an artist than he was, what shall be said by-and-by of some of these ? This whole subject will be found treated at length and illustrated in Chapters XII. to XV. of " Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts." Landscape- painting is so distinctively the reproduc- tion of appearances in space, that it manifests but little tendency to make suggestions of effects in time too promi- nent. There is, however, great liability in an opposite direction. And the distinction between what is termed a poetic painting and one that is not such is found largely in the degree in which the former avoids this tendency. The landscape-artist, more than any other, needs to bear in mind that a painting must contain something beyond a mere reflection of scenery, such as might be imaged in a Claude-Lorraine-glass. But, at the same time, in his desire to produce effects of unity, a landscape-painter must not go so far as to destroy effects of life. He may not only produce the former effects, as Claude frequently did, by SUGGESTIONS OF SCULPTURE. 423 placing the sun in the centre, with the light radiating from it like spokes from the axle of a wheel. He may also give the whole vitality and import through such play of cause and effect as has already been pointed out in the arrange- ments described on pages 356 and 366. If, for instance, the wind be represented as blowing, his picture may show, at least, a few leaves, not to say a tree that has fallen ; if the rain be descending, it may show some man or brute that has dodged under shelter. It is somewhat strange, by the way, inasmuch as the figures of human beings are, of all forms that can be put on canvas, the most capable of suggesting a mode of movement or the influence of thought, that landscape-artists do not use them more fre- quently for this purpose. Even though in themselves poorly executed, they can sometimes impart effects of life and import which without them would be wholly wanting. Turning now to sculpture, a moment's reflection will reveal that to suggest successive events which are to give effects of import and of organic life is still more difficult in it than in painting. In sculpture there are no colors, and, as a rule, few objects surrounding that which is of main in- terest ; hence there is less opportunity than in painting for suggesting the operation of one thing upon another, and thus for interpreting the meaning. But, of course, this is not true of all statues. The colossal figure in the Par- thenon of Pallas by Pheidias is said to have been modelled in the form of a maiden clad in armor, but victorious and ruling in serene majesty. On her breast was an aegis with a Gorgon's head, on her head a helmet, in her left hand a spear, at her right side a shield under which coiled a serpent ; and in her left hand, resting on the shield, an image of the goddess of victory. Evidently, this statue was surrounded by all the accessories needed 424 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. to interpret it. And were we under no obligations in this art to regard a contrary tendency, it might follow that the more objects or figures that could be grouped in a product, the more likely would it be to appear effective. But, as we shall find in Chapter XXVI., this art has limita- tions of a kind to render such an inference erroneous. As a fact, too, it will be noticed that, with a few notable ex- ceptions, like the " Laocoon " ' and the " Children of Niobe," ''the statues universally conceded to rank highest are not grouped with others but are solitary. The mistakes to be avoided in this art are evidently the same as in the arts already considered: — first, that of making movement too prominent. Statuary is the rep- resentation of arrested movement,3 not of movement in itself ; and to work upon the supposition that it is the latter is to deviate from the legitimate purpose of the art. See what is said further on this subject on page 484. At the same time, the statue must suggest that some movement has taken place or is to do so. The opposite tendency can be made too prominent only at the expense of impressions of intelligibility and animation. That which was meant for a statue will then become, like many of the monuments of our public men, merely an effigy, — as if, forsooth, its object were to remind one, above all things, that the man is dead ! All this is the same as to say that in the foremost statues we invariably find indications in the posture of that which 1 Fig. 21, page 49, " Paint., Sculp., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 75. PaSe 226, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 2 Fig. 45, page 146, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 3 Notice the statue of Nathan Hale, Fig. 159, page 267 ; the Apollo Belvedere, Fig. 28, page 62 ; " The Soldier's Return," Fig. 23, page 51 ; and what is said on pages 298 to 302 of " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 52, page 176, " The Genesis of Art-Form." TIME-EFFECTS SUGGESTED IN SCULPTURE. 425 has caused it ; and these so decided as to make the statue, notwithstanding its isolation from others, give no uncertain report of itself. For instance, most of the Venuses, like those of the Medici,1 of Dresden, and of the Capitol, are represented in the attitude instinctive to a woman sur- prised in a state of nature. The inference, therefore, on the part of the spectator, is clear enough. She is think- ing, and her attitude obliges the spectator to think, of her physical appearance, or beauty. The difference be- tween the significance expressed in such a statue and in that of the Apollo Belvedere,2 who with outstretched arms and uplifted brow seems wholly unconscious of aught save his own godlike mission to the race, is very great. And what is the important matter to be observed is that this difference is owing to movement not detailed but suggested, not such as could be represented in poetry, or in any form of language, but such as can be represented in a manner strictly appropriate to only painting or statu- ary, and yet, even in this, in a manner sufficiently distinct to render the impression of life and of a distinctive character of life unmistakable. At first thought, architecture appears to be the most difficult of all the arts to which to apply the principles under notice. It is not at once easy to perceive how it can suggest effects in time, or progress. We may gain our clue to this, however, from what was said of land- scape-gardening. It was remarked that in this art these effects are produced in the degree in which a plot of ground, with its vegetation, appears to have grown to be what it is. A similar statement may be made with refer- ence to architecture. It is apparent, on the one hand, 'Fig. 38, page 77, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." * See Fig. 28, page 62, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 426 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. that a building or parts of a building, owing either to out- line or color or situation or to all these combined, may look, as we say, wholly out of place — i. e., as if it had been made for some other place, and then, arbitrarily, without reason, dropped where we find it ; or, on the other hand, the reverse may be true. Everything about it may seem so well adapted to its purpose or position that it shall suggest the results of natural growth almost as much as of art. As we always need to bear in mind, a building, in just as true a sense as a poem, a symphony, a picture, or a statue, is the embodied expression of an idea. In archi- tecture, this idea is a plan. It is sown, so to speak, in a particular locality ; and there straightway it springs into walls, branches into wings, leaves into doors and windows, flowers into capstones and roofs, and sometimes filaments into spires. In causing it to do this, it is evident that the artist must avoid the same two tendencies to which refer- ence has been made in connection with the other arts. First, the suggestion of progress must not be made too prominent. That a building should seem overgrown, is as fatal to architectural beauty as would be a similar development in a human being. All appropriate orna- mentation, as brought out in " Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts," is the result of an adaptation of means to ends. A roof, for instance, is a necessary conclusion in the case of every erection de- signed for protection ; but towers or turrets are not. Upon a hill-side or elevation, a tower may indicate a view ; but what is its meaning in a valley or surrounded by a forest ? Over a public building a dome may sug- gest a hall beneath, too lofty and too vast to enable it to afford support to an ordinary roof ; but of what is it UNITY AND PROGRESS IN ARCHITECTURE. 427 significant in a private house? In connection with a mosque or church, a minaret or spire may recall a " call to prayer," or suggest a bell or even the heaven above ; but who can understand the connection between these suggestions and a warehouse ? To have such protuberances needlessly multiplied, or the wall-surfaces that support them broken without some cause in the plan which necessitates the ar- rangement, i. e., to have false appearances merely because the artist fancies that the plan — although it does not — ought to need such adaptations or developments, — this is evidently to attempt to atone for poverty of conception by deceit in expression ; and how can the result be ex- pected to be more dignified than that which always fol- lows superficiality, or — what in art is the same thing — artificiality ? Is it not about time that mansard roofs and wooden cornices, which are no real roofs or cornices at all, with their various mouldings almost as light as if intentionally curled into shavings, should be committed to the flames, once and forever ? This is said not merely because they are frauds, but because they are — what in art is worse — palpable frauds, frauds clearly seen to afford no legitimate conclusion whatever to a wall of stone, — donkey's ears protruding where they are clearly seen to have no connection with the body under them. Leaving to be suggested in another place what might be added here with reference to effects of violent con- trasts in the colors of a building, whether considered in itself or in connection with its site, we pass on to the other tendency to be avoided, viz., that of making effects in space too prominent ; and by consequence, of not re- garding the necessity of imparting to the plan an appear- ance of being a growth or development. Consider, for instance, the character of a building which in America is 428 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. termed a store. Of course, its external appearance should not be the same as that of a dwelling. The light and airy framework and the cheerful colors, the bay-windows and the balconies that impart in the latter so irresistible an impression of coziness and comfort, are not in the stores appropriate. Yet this is scarcely a reason why they should convey no further intimations of design than so many boxes ranged in a row. A store should show, at least, that it is a building, that it is more than a combination of walls and apertures. It may not be necessary, in an age in which these might not be adapted to our wants, to go back to the picturesque gables and roofs found in the older German cities ; but an approach to the truth that was manifest in those honest windows and water-sheds would certainly impart to our buildings more effects of import. The same is true with reference to the appearance of organic connection between different parts of one build- ing or between adjoining buildings. Viewed horizontally or perpendicularly, what a hodge-podge of discordant styles and colors do many of our single edifices and whole blocks and streets present ! Every one admits the superior attractiveness of a building or of a collection of buildings all the members of which, taken together, sug- gest unity of design : as applied especially to a collection, every one knows that, if the builders of adjoining struc- tures could only agree, our avenues and public institutions might have an effect as symmetrical as those of Paris. Why then do these builders not agree? Let them con- fess it or not, the real reason often is because others with more money than themselves, or some of themselves with more money than others, are architectural snobs. And the snob here, as elsewhere, sacrifices all other considerations ARCHITECTURE CONFORMED TO NA TURAL SCENERY 429 to emphasize his own obtrusiveness. The author knows of an instance in which an addition in one style was erected against a building constructed in an entirely differ- ent style, thus impairing the beauty of both structures, for the avowed purpose of letting everybody know that each of the two had been erected by a different benefactor. Is it too much to say that subtle analysis may occasionally find reason to suspect that it is the lack of the good and the true in American manhood, that causes the lack of the beautiful in the American city street or college campus?' Is it this lack in character that destroys the symmetry of adjoining buildings by throwing the cornice of the last comer just enough above that of its fellows to produce the effect — and for a similar reason — of the feather that stands straighter and higher than any surrounding it, in the head -gear of the uncivilized Indian? And then, besides the outlines, think for a moment of the inhar- mony of the colors ! — sometimes of the paint, sometimes of the brick and stone, imported too, at great expense from distant places, to afford another opportunity for the snob's exhibition of himself ! The whole method of pro- cedure is as fatal to the requirements of sound aesthetics as of neighborly courtesy. In a city where the soil and surrounding scenery are seldom visible, the shapes and colors of buildings may be matters to be settled only by general laws controlling har- mony and contrast. But in the open country it is different. Certain outlines and hues utterly destroy the suggestion of the effects of growth or life. Invariably in such a site, that sort of formation and material presents the best ap- pearance which seems most native to the soil from which 1 See further on this subject pages 363 to 371, "Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 430 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the building springs. One of the most charming features in connection with the castles on the Rhine, for instance, is their apparent correspondence — always in the nature and color of the building-material, and sometimes in out- line— to the demands of the surrounding scenery. Art seems in them to have simply carried out the suggestions of nature. Indeed, had we time for it, it would be interesting to study the extent to which such suggestions have influ- enced those who have originated different styles of archi- tecture. On the borders of the Nile, where the eye must see constantly the low and seldom undulating lines of the horizon giving way to the clean-cut limits of an almost cloudless sky, where man learns of multiformity mainly through the squarely shaped limbs of the cactus and the palm, the proudest achievement of Egyptian architecture seems to have been to chisel angular outlines like those of the pyramids, and to embody an ideal of symmetry in the stiff smile of the sphynx. But just across the sea, amid the same clearness of atmosphere, yet surrounded by a more generous guise of objects on the earth, that heave heavenward through grand hills and bend genially down amid the shadows of mysterious groves, have been reared the no less distinctly outlined but far more varied and symmetrical column and capital of the Grecian temple. Beyond this land again, amid the vapory climate of the north, where on either side the high horizon reaches up in outlines indistinct, that blend with mountains existing often only in the clouds, the child of storm and fog has drawn the hazy lines that sprout and branch out into pin- nacle and spire above the spirit whose ideal of architec- ture seems complete alone when he is gazing upward toward his lofty Gothic arch and finial. To-day, in our ARCHITECTURE CONFORMED TO NA TURAL SCENER Y 43 I own land, with the experience and the models of the past to guide us, we may take our choice of any of these styles ; and we can learn much from the study of them. But while we study them with care let us be sure that we are paying equal heed to the promptings of nature without us and within us. Let us be sure that our builders are not producing forms that are foreign to our own surround- ings and demands, and thus violating one of the first prin- ciples of thoroughly successful architectural art. CHAPTER XXV. SIGNIFICANCE AS MAINLY ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELE- MENTS OF ART-FORM IN TIME ALONE OR IN SPACE ALONE : REPRESENTATION IN POETRY, MUSIC, AND ORATORY, AS CONTRASTED WITH THAT IN LANDSCAPE-GARDENING, PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE. Different General Conceptions Demand Different Elementary Forms of Representation — Poetry and Music are both Made up of Different Phases of Sounds Heard in Time ; Painting, Sculpture, and Architec- ture are made up of Different Phases of Shapes Seen in Space — Sounds that Move in Time, and Shapes that Stand in Space, Represent Dif- ferently— Form of Representation Determined by what the Mind Wishes to Express, not by what has Influenced it : a Story may Repre- sent a Scene — This Principle Applied to Descriptive Poetry — Talfourd — Crabbe — Wordsworth — Other Examples — Why in Early Ages Poetic Conceptions are most Clearly Differentiated from those of Painting — Homer — His Method as Described by Lessing — The Drama and the Law of the Unities — Derived from Requirements of Other Arts — Also from those of Epic Poetry — Why English Drama did not Fulfil these Laws — Architectural Conception at the Basis of Wordsworth's " Ex- cursion " — Non-Poetic Conception in Other English Poems — Non- Poetic Description of Cathedral — Of Natural Scenery — Even when Imaginative — Passages Illustrating Poetic Conceptions — Another, Il- lustrating a Painter's Conception — Contrasted with a Poetic One — Different Classes of Poetry Represent Different Degrees of Movement. T N tracing the methods of expression through forms adapted for this purpose from the sounds and sights of nature, we have now reached the final stage. From Chapter VI. to the present, we have been analyzing sig- nificance less and less general in its character, — first 432 DISTINCTNESS IN ART-REPRESENTATION. 433 religious, scientific, and artistic, then artistic alone, and then only phases of the artistic, — and showing how each is represented through methods common to all the arts. We have now reached a point where we can analyze no further without taking up such phases as can be represented in only a single art. In the chapters remaining, attention will be confined to these phases, our object being to detect, if possible, how to distinguish each of them from all others. That this object is important, needs no argu- ing. Only in the degree in which it is correctly solved by the artist, will he be able to correlate his subject-matter to his form, and his form to his subject-matter, in such ways as to render both in the highest degree effective. " The aim of a work of art," says Taine in his " Ideal in Art," " is to make known some leading and important character more effectively and clearly than objects them- selves do." " Distinctiveness and richness of idea," says Prof. H. N. Day, in his "Science of Esthetics," "are indispensable in all art. . . . The first work of the artist is to shape this ideal into more complete and definite outline." Evidently the earliest step toward im- parting effects of clearness and definiteness of idea must be taken by distinguishing the phase of significance appropriate for one art from that appropriate for another. As we start out to do this, we are reminded of what was indicated in Chapter XXII., namely, that poetry and music are composed of words or notes that follow one another, and are thus fitted to reproduce movement in time, but only to suggest arrangement in space ; and that painting, sculpture, and architecture are composed of colors or outlines that appear side by side, and are thus fitted to reproduce arrangement in space, but only to suggest movement in time. But, apart from this 434 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. very clear line of demarcation between the arts that are apprehended in time and in space, all the arts on either side of this line have characteristics separating them from one another. Poetry is composed of articu- lated words, each of which conveys to the intellect a definite meaning. Music is composed of inarticulated notes not one of which, of itself, conveys a definite meaning, and several of which, joined together, convey a meaning which, while approximately definite to emotion, is not necessarily so to the understanding. Painting is composed of colors and outlines made to resemble defi- nitely those of nature; sculpture, of outlines and bulk made to do the same ; but architecture, of colors, outline, and bulk, which, while fulfilling the general principles of con- struction in nature, do so in only an indefinite way, in a way analogous, therefore, to that in which music fulfils the laws of intonation in speech. Hence the appropriate- ness of the term applied to architecture by Madame de Stael, — " frozen music." Now let us take up each of the arts in order, and try to determine those characteristics which separate its form from the forms of the other arts, and which, by so doing, limit the phase of significance that the form can appro- priately represent. That this phase should be limited thus, is no new conception. It is as old, certainly, as the time of Plutarch. In modern times, Lessing has ex- panded it in his " Laocoon," emphasizing particularly the difference due to the fact that certain arts appear in time, and others in space. " The rule is this," he says (Sec. 18, Frothingham's translation), " that succession in time is the province of the poet," and of course, he would have added, had he been referring to music, of the musician also ; " coexistence in space, that of the artist," — by which he REPRESENTATION OF ACTIONS VERSUS BODIES. 435 meant, one who produces works distinctively of painting or sculpture. " Objects which succeed one another, or whose parts succeed one another in time," he says in Sec. 16, "are actions. Consequently actions are the peculiar subjects of poetry. . . . Objects which exist side by side, or whose parts so exist, are called bodies. Conse- quently, bodies with their visible properties are the peculiar subjects of painting." . . . And again (Sec. 18), "To try to present a complete picture to the reader by enumerat- ing in succession several parts or things, which in nature the eye necessarily takes in at a glance, is an encroachment of the poet on the domain of the painter. . . . To bring together into one and the same picture two points of time necessarily remote, as Mazzuoli does in the ' Rape of the Sabine Women,' and the reconciliation effected by them between their husbands and relations ; or, as Titian does, representing in one piece the whole story of the prodi- gal son ... is an encroachment of the painter on the domain of the poet." It will be perceived that the force of this criticism is derived from the supposition that the arts are representative. Lessing argues that as effects are presented in nature, whether in time or in space, so must they be presented in art. There must be no attempt, therefore, to represent through music and poetry effects that can be presented adequately only in space, or in bodies ; nor to represent through painting and sculpture, those that can be presented adequately only in time, or in movement. There is an objection to the theory of Lessing thus stated, which is met and obviated by the further develop- ment of the general principle underlying it, which is un- folded in Chapters XVI. to XIX. of "Art in Theory." The objection is, that a literal application of the theory 43^ REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. seems to necessitate the artist's invariably representing in a story something that is heard in time — in other words, something that is received by him in the form of a story ; as also his invariably representing in a picture something that is seen in space, or that is received by him in the form of a picture. As a fact, however, it often happens that the forms through which effects have been exerted upon the mind have lingered so long in it, and experienced so many modifications there, that, though critical analysis may detect, as in architecture and music, that the effects have been suggested by forms in nature, the artist himself is unconscious of what these forms were. Often, too, even though not unconscious of this, the effect upon his imagination has been such that what was experienced as the result, say of hearing a story, can be represented truthfully only through a picture, and vice versa. Indeed, as shown in Chapters XVI. to XIX. of "Art in Theory," exactly the same experience, at different stages of the development of its influence upon the mind, can be rep- resented appropriately only as represented through the medium of a different art. Therefore, though there is a general truth in Lessing's principle, when one comes to apply it practically, the question to be asked is not whether the conception was derived from a form appearing in time or in space, but whether, as it has affected the mind, it can be represented to others in time or in space. But notice that, when we ask this question, it necessitates our asking another. This has reference to the mental condition legiti- mately expressed in a form in time or in space. Let us apply the question, first, to a form of poetry as contrasted with one of painting. When a man uses words, as he does in the phase of consciousness represented in poetry, he thinks of certain scenes in the external world because they CHARACTERISTICS OF POETIC DESCRIPTION. 437 are suggested not by anything that he is actually, at the time, perceiving there, but by his memory that is recalling them. To one likening his actions to those of Nelson at Trafalgar, or of Dewey at Manila, these men are not really present, only ideally so. As objects of thought, they are not outside of the thinker's mind, they are in it. In the phase of consciousness represented in painting, however, a man thinks of external scenes because they are actually before him. He is much more clearly aware than in the former case, of two different sources of thought — one with- in and the other without. The objective world is really present. If he wish to represent this fact, he must do it in some other way than through words alone ; because words contain only what is in the mind, or is ideally pres- ent there. He must use an external medium, as in paint- ing, sculpture, or architecture. Notice now that, as applied to poetry, the facts just mentioned seem to rule out of its domain any descriptive details other than those of such prominence that a man observing them might reasonably be supposed to be able to retain them in memory, — other than details — to state it differently — which have been stored in the mind, and are brought to consciousness because, apparently, the most important factors entering into the general mental effect. There is, of course, a certain interest, though sometimes not above that which is merely topographic or botanic, awakened by minute descriptions of fields and flowers, such as a painter on the spot would be able to give while carefully scrutinizing these in order to depict them. But descriptions of this kind do not accurately represent the processes of thought of which, when using words, the mind is conscious. Such descriptions do not represent, as words should, the mental results of the action of the 438 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. poetic imagination, and, therefore, they do not appeal, as poetic words should, to the imaginations of others. Here, for instance, is a passage written with the motive of the painter. The readers of it instinctively think of a plot of ground, i. c, of a mindless thing standing between their thoughts and the thought of the writer. They are not brought into immediate communication with the living mind from which the words come, and therefore their minds are not addressed directly by this mind, as, through the use of words, they should be addressed : From the gate Of this home-featured inn, which nestling cleaves To its own shelf among the downs, begirt With trees which lift no branches to defy The fury of the storm . the heart-soothed guest Views a furze-dotted common, on each side Wreathed into waving eminences, clothed Above the furze with scanty green, in front Indented sharply to admit the sea Spread thence in softest hue — to which a gorge Sinking within the valley's deepening green Invites by grassy path. A him Bay : Thomas AToon Talfourd. Now let us notice a passage in which the description of the external world is subordinated to the thought in the same way in which a scene of nature is, when it is recalled by memory. As contrasted with the last quotation, the reader will recognize in the following a far more immediate communication of thought and feeling between mind and mind, while, at the same time, nothing is described which in a picture could be any more than suggestively represented : CHARACTERISTICS OF POETIC DESCRIPTION. 439 Home went the lovers through that busy place By Loddon Hall, the country's pride and grace ; By the rich meadows where the oxen fed, Through the green vale that formed the river's bed, And by unnumbered cottages and farms That have for musing minds unnumbered charms : And how affected by the view of these Was now Orlando ? — did they pain or please ? Nor pain nor pleasure could they yield — and why ? The mind was filled, was happy, and the eye Roved over fleeting views that but appeared to die. The Lover s yourtiey : Geo. Crabbe. This method of description, however, manifests nega- tive rather than positive excellence. There are other passages in which the external scene is not, as in this last case, subordinated in the sense of having certain of its details let alone, but in the sense of having everything important to the effect positively introduced. As we read the following, for instance, is it not true that we are con- stantly being made conscious of thinking more of what the poet thought than of what he saw ; and this because what he saw has been used, not for its own sake, but to give form to what he thought ? As a result, is it not true that we find certain images rising up in imagination and suggestively taking form, just as previously they may be supposed to have taken form in the mind of the author, giving us thus an illustration of what an artist's creative imagination can do in the way of stimulating creative imagination on the part of others ? At my feet Rested a silent sea of hoary mist. A hundred hills their dusky backs upheaved All over that still ocean ; and beyond, Far, far beyond, the solid vapors stretched 440 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. In headlands, tongues, and promontory shapes, Into the main Atlantic that appeared To dwindle and give up his majesty, Usurped upon far as the sight could reach. Prelude, xiv : Wordsworth. Another phase of poetic description seems also possible, a phase in which the thing described is subordinated, not only in the sense of having certain of its features over- looked, or, if not so, observed merely for suggestive pur- poses, but in the sense of having the features used and moved — in fact made almost to breathe and palpitate — in order to embody the significance. The following are at- tempts to represent such a condition : A year pass'd over me. Can I forget That wondrous April day that set me free? At first, as though I own'd no soul at all, I seem'd myself a part of that wide air. And all things else had souls. The very earth Beneath me seem'd to breathe ! its pulse to throb Through every trembling bush ! its breast to heave, Where the soft wind-sighs thrill'd the wooded hills ! And then, this great life broke in many lives, All one through sympathy. In lieu of clouds, The gusty breeze caught up the fluttering lark And shook down showers of trills that made bare rocks More sweet than fount-spray'd flowers, while all the leaves Went buzzing on their boughs like scent-lured bees. Then reverence hush'd the whole ; for, greeting me, Our dear church spire appear'd to mount the hill, Our home to reach around a slow-turn'd rock, — And all stood still with Haydn. Chill as ice, My hot cheek felt my sister's kiss then, then my sire's, And then bewilder'd, as from out a dream, At last I woke. And what a dawn was that ! As if the sun had drawn the earth to itself. CHARACTERISTICS OF TOE TIC DESCRIPTION. 44 1 I dwelt in central light ; and heaven, high heaven — Could feel some rays, perhaps, was touch'd by them, At star-points in the sky, but own'd no more. Haydn : G. L. Raymond. "Ah me ! " I sigh'd, yet strangely ; for there seem'd, While all the way the twilight thicker sank. Sweet silence luring dreamward wind and bird Until the reverent air lay hush'd to heed The hallowing influence of holier stars. And, all the way, deep folding round my soul, With every nerve vibrating at its touch, Fell dim delight, through which, as through a veil, Some nearer presence breath'd of holier life. Ah, wandering Heart, and had I had my day ? — With closing gates as golden as yon west ? And whither was I moving in the dark ? — " Who knows? " my spirit ask'd, " who knows or cares ? On through the twilight threshold, trustingly 1 What hast thou, Night, that weary souls need fear? Thou home of love entranced, thou haunt of dreams, Thy halls alone can hoard the truth of heaven ! Thy dome alone can rise to reach the stars ! " Ideals Made Real : Idem. Enough has been quoted to show what is meant by de- scriptive poetry in which there is nothing that a painter could reproduce except suggestively. It is conceivable too, that no other form of description ever would have been introduced into poetry, had its authors been affected by no other motives than those peculiar to their own art. But all late periods of production in every art develop a tendency causing its producers to cease to be thus affected. This is because of the mutual influence which artists in different departments always exert upon one another. Who has not asked himself why it is that to-day we find so many of the best models of art in all its branches among the earlier products of the kind ? And what is the 442 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. answer? Is not one reason to be found in the fact that, in the absence of specimens of the sister arts which crowd around and confuse the aims of the modern workman, the ancient one was in a better condition to confine himself to the legitimate promptings of the phase of consciousness natural to his own art? There was Homer, for instance. Instead of receiving his methods, as do so many of our modern poets, at second hand, one glance looking at nature and one at some other representation of something in a picture or a statue ; partly, perhaps, because of his individual blindness, but mainly because he lived before the other arts had reached their maturity, he described the earth and human life at first hand, and in a manner natural to one prompted solely by a poetic motive. He used words following one an- other, and instinctively he represented scenes following one another. As Lessing points out, when he wished to tell how Agamemnon was dressed, he made him put on every article of raiment in our presence, — the soft tunic, the great mantle, the beautiful sandals, and the sword, and finally to grasp the sceptre. We are thus caused to see the clothes through the act of dressing. An inferior poet would have described the clothes much more in detail, possibly down to the minutest fringe, but of the action we should have seen nothing. And sat upright and put his tunic on, Soft, fair, and new, and over that he cast His ample cloak, and round his shapely feet Laced the becoming sandals. Next he hung Upon his shoulders and his side the sword With silver studs, and took into his hand The ancestral sceptre, old but undecayed. Iliad, ii. : Bryant's Translation. " For a single thing," says Lessing again, " Homer has THE LAW OF THE UNITIES. 443 commonly but a single epithet. A ship is to him at one time the 'black ship,' at another the 'hollow ship,' and again the ' swift ship.' . . . Further painting of the ship he does not attempt. But of the ship's sailing, its departure and arrival, he makes so detailed a picture that the artist would have to paint five or six, to put the whole on can- vas. . . . He wants, for instance, to paint us the bow of Pandarus. It is of horn, of a certain length, well pol- ished, and tipped at both ends with gold. What does he do? Does he enumerate these details thus drily, one after another? By no means. . . . The poet shows us in the process of creation what the painter can only show us as already existing." ("Laocoon," Sec. 16, trans, by E. Frothingham.) He uncovered straight His polished bow made of the elastic horns Of a wild goat, which from his lurking place, As once it left its cavern lair, he smote, And pierced its breast, and stretched it on the rock. Full sixteen palms in length the horns had grown From the goat's forehead. Then an artisan Had smoothed, and aptly fitting each to each, Polished the whole and tipped the work with gold. Iliad, iv. : Bryant's Trans. But to leave Lessing and Homer, let us pass on to the drama. In the works of ^Eschylus, Euripides, and Soph- ocles, as well as in those of Racine and Corneille in the age of Louis XIV., everything is usually made to conform to what is termed the law of the three unities, i. c, the unity of time, of place, and of action. According to this law, the events must not extend over a period much longer than would be occupied by similar actual occurrences. They must take place in the same locality, and must not mix the comic and the tragic. We all know how the French are 444 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. supposed to have obtained this law, i. c, by following the example of the Greeks. But where did the Greeks get the law? Did they get it from an endeavor to represent a nat- ural— as the term may be applied to a dramatic — develop- ment of character, as influenced by its relations to outside persons and events? One can hardly be sure of this. Is it not a fact that in general, decided changes in phases of human thought and feeling are effected by only decided changes of place, lapses of time, and experiences both grave and ludicrous? And if one be thinking of a dramatic effect and of this only will he not consider them all? Why then did the Greek dramatist fail to consider them ? How can we better account for the fact than by recalling that he lived in an age of much sculpture and painting, as well as of great architecture, which, by the way, had prepared for him, among other things, stages of stone upon which, as constructed and used, there could be no shifting of scenery. With such surroundings all his thoughts with reference to the requirements of any par- ticular art would necessarily be associated with what he knew of the demands of all these other arts. But in these no success could be obtained except by conformity to this law of the unities. A single picture or statue can never attempt to represent what happens at different times or places or on account of different motives, without produc- ing meaningless confusion. But does it follow that this is the case in poetry, or in any form of art dealing with action in time rather than with bodies in space ? Most certainly not. Suggestions borrowed from the law of the unities may often aid in perfecting the drama; but they are not essential to its effects. On the contrary, the unities sometimes may interfere with these. To prove the fact, one need merely take up almost any drama planned THE UNITIES IN THE DRAMA. 445 according to the Greek model. He will find that, usually, the form itself necessitates much undramatic narration, describing previous events that have led to present situa- tions. Otherwise these situations will not be understood. This fact suggests what seems to be a second reason why the Greek dramatists regarded so sacredly the law of the unities, viz., because they were modelling their dramas after a form natural to the epic, — a mistake, which, though slightly different, is nevertheless clearly allied to the one just mentioned. Goethe's " Iphigenia in Tauris," for example, reads in parts more like an epic than a drama, and the narrative form of the one has a very dif- ferent effect from the form legitimate to the other, e.g. : But hast thou since thy coming here done naught ? Who hath the monarch's gloomy temper cheered ? Who hath with gentle eloquence annulled From year to year the usage of our sires By which, a victim at Diana's shrine. Each stranger perished, thus from certain death Sending so oft the rescued captive home ? Hath not Diana, harboring no revenge For this suspension of her bloody rites, In richest measure heard thy gentle prayer? On joyous pinions o'er the advancing host Doth not triumphant conquest proudly soar ? And feels not every one a happier lot Since Thoas, who so long has guided us With wisdom and with valor, swayed by thee, The joy of mild benignity approves Which leads him to relax the rigid claims Of mute submission, — Iphigenia in Tauris, I,, i. ; Goethe: Sir W. Scott's Trans. In order to turn such explanations as this into dramatic form, they must be represented instead of narrated. Yet the moment that a writer attempts to represent them, in 446 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. nine cases out of ten he must violate the law of the unities. This is a fact illustrated clearly by the methods chosen by those who gave form to the English drama of the age of Elizabeth. As we know, there is little in their writings to suggest conformity to this law. What is the reason ? Can we not attribute it partly to the fact that England had, at that time, no great painters or sculpt- ors ; and that her age of architecture, after having ex- pended itself almost exclusively upon churches and palaces, and, very fortunately, having exerted no influence at all upon places of amusement, had passed ? There was there- fore no extensive contemporary interest with reference to methods employed in arts other than the drama, and, of course, it never entered into the mind of any dramatist, any more than into that of Homer, to imitate the modes of presentation practised in paintings, statues, or buildings. The play-writer thought only of representing words and deeds in such a way that they could be recognized to be natural and would appeal dramatically to those who patronized the theatres. No wonder, therefore, that the methods of the English drama have, in every country, vir- tually supplanted those of the classic. The latter, like Goethe's " Iphigenia in Tauris," may contain excellent dramatic passages, and, for the sake of these, many may be willing to sit through the intervening explanations. But people in general have less patience. In a drama the only unity that, as a rule, they really desire is dramatic. Another illustration from the realm of poetry. In speak- ing of the plan of his " Excursion," Wordsworth, in sev- eral places, tells us that his conception of it was that of a cathedral to which his minor poems should stand related like chapels opening from the aisles. In other words, he acknowledges that a method of thought or expression not ARCHITECTURAL METHOD IAr POETRY. 447 natural to poetry, but to another art, an art, too, necessi- tating a body filling space, was present to his mind when considering the general form of his poem. So far as this method had influence, his motive, therefore, was that not of the poet but of the architect. A poem modelled after a cathedral ! One might as well talk of a picture modelled after a symphony, or a statue after a running stream. To be sure, if the stream were frozen stiff, and so far lifeless, the statue might image it. Only so far as thought were in a similar condition could a poem that was really like a cathedral, embody it. Analogous criticisms might be made with reference to many other of our English poems. Crabbe's " Borough," Cowper's " Task," and Thomson's " Seasons," are modelled apparently upon the methods of a man who is preparing a set of village photographs or a country guide-book. As a result, notwithstanding many admirable passages, who does not feel that, considered as wholes, the poems are inar- tistic? Or, as contrasted with them, who does not feel that works like Scott's " Marmion," Byron's " Corsair," and Bulwer's " Lucile," however deficient in passages, nevertheless, considered as wholes, are artistic? But what is the essential difference between the poetry represented by these two classes of products? Not merely that the former are explanatory and naturalistic, and the latter nar- rative. Scott abounds in information and description, and Crabbe in anecdotes. The difference lies in the fact that while, as a rule, poets like Scott portray actions in such ways that the successive events described keep pace with the movement of thought, even if they do not lead it onward, poets like Crabbe portray actions, if at all, as if stopping often, with pencil in hand, to sketch in detail, or explain and elaborate the scenes observed. While doing 448 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. so, the descriptions, of course, fail to keep pace with the movement of thought. Hazlitt's criticism on Words- worth's " Excursion " might be applied to all of them. " It is more than anything in the world like Robinson Crusoe's boat, which would have been an excellent good boat, and would have carried him to the other side of the globe, but that it could not get out of the sand where it stuck fast." To observe this effect of lack of movement, notice the passage from the " Excursion " in which a cathedral is described. The reader can judge for himself how far the story, the movement, the animation of the poem, is in danger of standing still, in order to give place or rather space for such descriptions ; as well as how far they are more appropriate for a guide-book, or a report to be handed to an architect, painter, or antiquary, than for any other purpose. As chanced, the portals of the sacred Pile Stood open ; and we entered. On my frame, At such transition from the fervid air, A grateful coolness fell, that seemed to strike The heart in concert with that temperate awe And natural reverence which the place inspired. Not raised in nice proportions was the Pile, But large and massy, for duration built ; With pillars crowded and the roof upheld By naked rafters intricately crossed Like leafless underboughs in some thick wood All withered by the depth of shade above. Admonitory texts inscribed the walls, Each in its ornamental scroll inclosed ; Each also crowned with winged heads, — a pair Of rudely painted cherubim. The floor Of nave and aisle, in unpretending guise, Was occupied by oaken benches ranged In seemly rows ; the chance] only showed POETRY INFLUENCED BY THE PAINTER'S MOTIVE 449 Some vain distinctions, marks of earthly state A capacious pew Of sculptured oak stood here, with drapery lined ; And marble monuments were here displayed Thronging the walls ; and on the floor beneath, Sepulchral stones appeared, with emblems graven, And foot-worn epitaphs, and some with small And shining epitaphs of brass inlaid. Excursion, v. : Wordsworth. Some of Wordsworth's descriptions of natural scenery have the same characteristics. For instance, in the follow- ing, how essentially the poet is conceiving of nature as so much space which he must divide into distinct portions; how evidently he is thinking of the way in which a painter would divide off his canvas in order to reproduce the scene ! — A point that showed the valley, stretched In length before us ; and not distant far, Upon a rising ground, a grey church tower, Whose battlements were screened by tufted trees. And towards a crystal mere that lay beyond Among steep hills and woods embosomed, flowed A copious stream with boldly winding course ; Here traceable, there hidden, — there again To sight restored and glittering in the sun. On the stream's bank and everywhere, appeared Fair dwellings, single, or in social knots ; Some scattered o'er the level, others perched On the hillsides, a cheerful, quiet scene Now in its morning purity arrayed. Excursion, v. : Wordsworth, Here are other descriptions of the same character: That lonely dwelling stood among the hills By a grey mountain-stream ; just elevate Above the winter torrents did it stand. Upon a craggy bank. An orchard slope Arose behind. . . . The narrow vale which wound 450 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Among the hills, was grey with rocks that peered Above its shallow soil ; the mountain-side Was loose with stones bestrewn, which oftentimes Clattered adown the steep, beneath the foot Of struggling goat dislodged ; or towered with crags. Madoc in Wales, xiv. : Southey. ' T was a spot Herself had chosen, from the palace walls Farthest removed, and by no sound disturbed, And by no eye o'erlooked ; for in the midst Of loftiest trees umbrageous, was it hid. Yet to the sunshine open, and the airs That from the deep shades all around it breathed Cool and sweet-scented. To a graceful arch The pliant branches, intertwined, were bent ; With fragrant moss the floor Was planted, to the foot a carpet rich, Or for the languid limbs a downy couch, Inviting slumber. Fall of Nineveh : Atherstone. With these lines, let us now contrast two descriptions from Tennyson. Notice how little there is in them which a painter could reproduce with accuracy ; and this because the motive to expression, although influenced by certain scenes to which allusion is made, is not that of the painter but that of the poet. In each the movement of thought is the main object of representation. We hear of a court and a sunset ; but we scarcely do so before other things are so crowded upon attention as to obviate at once any suggestion of a desire to delineate outlines as they appear in space. There rose A hubbub in the court of half the maids Gathered together ; from the illumined hall, Long lanes of splendor slanted o'er the press Of snowy shoulders, thick as herded ewes, POE TR Y NO T INFL UENCED B Y PAINTER'S MO TIVE 45 I And rainbow robes and gems and gem-like eyes. And gold and golden heads ; they to and fro Fluctuated, as flowers in storm, some red, some pale, All open-mouthed, all gazing to the light, Some crying there was an army in the land, And some, that men were in the very walls, And some, they cared not, till a clamor grew As of a new-world Babel, woman-built, And worse-confounded ; high above them stood The placid marble Muses looking peace. The Princess : Tennyson. The charmed sunset lingered low adown In the red West ; through mountain clefts the dale Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Bordered with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow set with slender galingale ; A land where all things always seemed the same ! And round about the keel with faces pale, Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed, melancholy Lotus-eaters came. The Lotus-Eaters : Tennyson. Two more quotations will illustrate the possibility of describing a scene without enough movement even when in itself it involves movement. For the same reason they will show still more clearly than any quotations that have preceded them, the poet's liability, even when circum- stances do not seem to favor it, to follow the methods of the painter. In the first quotation, notice the accuracy and minuteness of the descriptions — descriptions that can- not, by any stretch of imagination, be supposed to repre- sent what a person interested in all the series of events transpiring, would be able to observe. The minuteness is conceivable on only the supposition that the observer intends afterwards to make something, or to paint some- thing, precisely like some object seen, which therefore he has examined with special attention. In other words, 452 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the description is not a natural representation of the movement of thought in the mind of a poet. Notice, too, that during all the time that the writer is explaining the details, his story stands still : And lo ! the gorgeous pageant like the sun Flares on their startled eyes. Four snow-white steeds In golden trappings, barbed all in gold, Spring through the gate ; the lofty chariot then, Of ebony, with gold and gems thick strewn, Even like the starry night. The spokes were gold, With fetters of strong brass ; The idea of his being able at a glance to detect the differ- ence between gold and brass ! the naves were brass With burnished gold o'erlaid, and diamond rimmed ; Steel were the axles in bright silver case ; The pole was cased in silver ; high aloft, Like a rich throne, the gorgeous seat was framed Of ivory part, part silver and part gold ; On either side, a golden statue stood ; Upon the right, and on a throne of gold, Great Belus, of the Assyrian empire first, And worshipped as a god ; but, on the left, In a resplendent car by lions drawn, A goddess — The Fall of Nineveh : A ther stone. The other passage is a description of something very similar, by Shelley. But following the delicate poetic in- stincts of his nature, the writer reveals hardly a suggestion of a painter's view-point. Hark ! whence that rushing sound ? 'T is like the wondrous strain That round a lonely ruin swells Which, wandering on the echoing shore, POETIC REPRESENTATION. 453 The enthusiast hears at evening ; ' T is softer than the west wind's sigh ; ' T is wilder than the unmeasured notes Of that strange lyre whose strings The genii of the breezes sweep ; Those lines of rainbow light Are like the moonbeams when they fall Through some cathedral window, but the tints Are such as may not find Comparison on earth. Behold the chariot of the Fairy Queen ! Celestial coursers paw the unyielding air ; Their filmy pennons at her word they furl, And stop obedient to the reins of light. These the Queen of Spells drew in, She spread a charm around the spot, And leaning graceful from the etherial car, Long did she gaze and silently Upon the slumbering maid. Queen Mab : Shelley. Of course, in the movement of a poem there may be many different degrees of rapidity. In the lyric the thought may rush through its course like a mountain cat- aract, and in the epic may advance slowly and grandly as a river near the ocean ; but, in either case, the evolution of the ideas should be the principal thing, and the descrip- tive details subordinate, while all together should repre- sent movement. CHAPTER XXVI. SIGNIFICANCE MAINLY ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELEMENTS OF ART-FORM IN TIME ALONE, AS DIFFERENTLY REP- RESENTED IN POETRY, MUSIC, AND ORATORY. Definite Thought as Expressed in Poetic Words, and Indefinite Emotion in Musical Tones — Words Cause Imagination to See as well as to Hear what is Referred to — Poetry of the Highest Order Presents a Vision of an Ideal Realm — Even when Describing Objects Vague in Them- selves— Lack of these Effects in that Poetry which Subordinates the Verbal to the Musical — Such Poetry Common in our Own Day — And does not Exert the Legitimate Influence of Poetry — Contrast between Tennyson and Byron — Reasons why Foreigners Prefer the Latter — Comment on Byron's Methods — Explanations — Expression Appropriate for Musical Tones — Printed Explanations of Scenery Accompanying Musical Compositions no Proof that Limitations of this Form of Ex- pression should not be Recognized — Pleasure from Musical Effects is Independent of these Explanations — And of the Words and Acting in Ballads and Operas — As Shown by Various Facts with Reference to Lovers of Music — Expression in Oratory as Limited on its Poetic or Musical Side — And on its Picturesque Side. A S indicated in the preceding chapter, Lessing, in his " Laocoon," did a permanent service for sound criticism by distinguishing the method of representation in poetry from that in painting and in sculpture. In this chapter it will be shown that, owing largely to new devel- opments in both arts, it is now of equal importance to distinguish the methods of poetry from those of music. On page 434 it was pointed out that the differences be- tween sounds and sights, while greater in degree, are no more actual than between kinds of sounds. The effects of 454 POETIC VERSUS MUSICAL REPRESENTATION. 455 poetry are produced by articulated words, those of music, so far as it is " pure music," by unarticulated tones. Words represent conceptions of which the mind is made conscious through definition, and which are therefore sufficiently intelligible to be clearly distinguished. Tones represent conceptional tendencies of which the mind is made con- scious without definition, and which, therefore, are not always sufficiently intelligible to be clearly distinguished. See Chapters XVI. to XVIII. of "Art in Theory." The consequent difference between the effects of the two arts, whether considered as produced in the mind or expressed in the form, is this : Both influence the imagi- nation, and, while doing so, conjure pictures which pass in review before it ; but while poetry indicates definitely what these pictures shall be, music leaves the mind of the listener free to determine this, the same chords inclining one man, perhaps, to think of his business, and another of his recreation, one of a storm at sea, and another of a battle-field. Now notice a further reason for this differ- ence : Words make thought definite because they appeal to the imagination as is done through the sense not only of hearing but also of sight ; and this, not only because they can be printed as well as spoken, but because, as a rule, they refer to objects, as in the cases of hut, farm, road, and horse ; or to actions, as in the cases of come, go, stop, and hurry ; or to other conditions, as in the cases of near, far, with, and by, that can be seen, and that are seen by imagination whenever the words are used. Musical tones, on the contrary, appeal to imagination almost exclu- sively as is done through the sense of hearing irrespective of sight. This is a difference which will be shown, as we go on, to be radical, and extremely important. The effect of words in causing the imagination to perceive that which 456 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. is mentioned, may be observed by noticing those that are italicized in the following : Lost in the labyrinth of thy fury. Troilus and Cressida, it., j : Shakespeare. Riveted, Screwed, to my memory. Cymbeline, ii., 2: Idem. Thou art all ice, thy kindness freezes. Richard III. , iv. , 2 : Idem. I '11 queen it no inch further But milk my ewes and weep. Winters Tale, iv.,3: Idem. One test of poetry of the highest order is that, as we read it, it calls attention to these visible objects. Through doing this, the lines transport us into a realm of imagina- tion, and this not of our own making, as in music, but of the poet's making. So far as he fails to lift us into this realm, and to keep us in it, his poetry fails of one of its highest possibilities. Notice in the following how clean- cut and concrete every figure is, how it stands out in relief, rising visually before the mind, the moment that the words are heard : Like one that stands upon a promontory, And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye ; And chides the sea that sunders him from thence. 3 Henry VI.. Hi., 2 : Idem. New honors come upon him Like our strange garments ; cleave not to their mould. But with the aid of use. Macbeth, i.,j: Idem. Ay, marry now, my soul hath elbow-room. King John, v., 7 .• Idem. POETRY MAKES IMAGINATION SEE. 457 He has strangled His language in his tears. Henry VIII., v., 1 : Idem. Like a glow-worm golden, In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view. To the Skylark : Shelley. She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely Apparition sent To be a moment's ornament ; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; Like twilight's too her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May time and the cheerful Dawn ; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle and waylay. She was a Phantom of Delight : Wordsworth. Her feet beneath her petticoat Like little mice, stole in and out, As if they feared the light ; But O, she dances such a way. No sun upon an Easter-day Is half so fine a sight. A Ballad upon a Wedding : Sir yohn Suckling. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowered roof, With antique pillars massy proof. And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light : There let the pealing organ blow, To the full voiced choir below. In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness through mine ear Dissolve me into ecstasies. // Penseroso : Milton. 458 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away. The Day is Done : Longfellow. Art is long and time is fleeting. And our hearts, though stout and brave. Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. The Psalm of Life : Idem. These last two stanzas are characteristic of Longfellow. Does the visual effect of the style give us one reason for his wide popularity ? Observe now that this clean-cut, concrete visualization can be conjured in the imagination even by a description of something which, in itself, is not clean-cut or concrete: The other shape, If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb, Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, For each seemed either ; black it stood as night, Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell. And shook a dreadful dart ; what seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on. Paradise Lost, ii. : Milton. Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them ; and descending, they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms, Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream, — by these Three Queens with crowns of gold, — and from them rose A cry that shivered to the tingling stars, And, as it were one voice, an agony Of lamentation, like a wind that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come since the making of the world. Morte d' Arthur : Tennyson. MUSICAL POETRY APPEALING OXLY TO THE EAR. 459 With these quotations in mind, let us examine the fol- lowing. As we read them, are we not far more conscious of certain audible sensations of great delicacy and sweet- ness than of any definite and distinct pictures rising, one after the other, into consciousness ; and, just in the degree in which this is true, is it not a fact that we fail to be lifted out of our actual visible surroundings into that realm of the imagination, no less visible, into which it seems the peculiar function of poetry of the highest order to transport one? Round thee blow, self-pleached deep. Bramble roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. A Dirge : Tennvson, A slow-developed strength awaits Completion in a painful school ; Phantoms of other forms of rule, New Majesties of mighty States — The warders of the growing hour, But vague in vapor, hard to mark ; And round them sea and air are dark With great contrivances of Power. Of many changes, aptly joined, Is bodied forth the second whole. Regard gradation, lest the soul Of Discord race the rising wind. Love thou thy Land : Idem. Praise him, O winds that move the molten air, O light of days that were, And light of days that shall be ; land and sea, And heaven and Italy ; 460 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Praise him, O storm and summer, shore and wave, O skies and every grave ; O weeping hopes, O memories beyond tears, O many and murmuring years, O sounds far off in time and visions far, O sorrow with thy star ; And joy with all thy beacons ; ye that mourn, And ye whose light is born ; O fallen faces, and O souls arisen, Praise him from tomb and prison. A Song of Italy : Swinburne. The following is not, as might be supposed, a part wrested from a stanza in order to be used as an illustration. It is a complete stanza : So much we lend, indeed, Perforce, by force of need, So much we must ; even these things and no more, The far sea sundering and the sundered shore A world apart from ours, So much the imperious hours, Exact and spare not ; but no more than these All earth and all her seas From thought and faith of trust and truth can borrow, Not memory from desire, nor hope from sorrow. A Parting Song : Idem. Notice the following too, — a remarkably successful de- scription, so far as concerns the method of representation possible to sound alone: And gentler the wind from the dreary Sea-banks by the waves overlapped, Being weary, speaks peace to the weary From slopes that the tide-stream hath sapped ; And sweeter than all that we call so The seal of their slumber shall be, Till the graves that embosom them also Be sapped of the sea. By the North Sea : Idem. MUSICAL POETRY OF THE PRESENT. 46 1 In our own day, the general effects of this kind of verse are exceedingly familiar and popular. It is not too much to say that its cadences so ring in the ear that, in the opinion of some, new verse that fails to echo them almost fails to manifest any poetry at all. Indeed, in their minds, the distinctively poetical is confounded with this style, almost as completely as in the days of Pope it was con- founded with the balance of rhythm in lines iiKe the following : Where small and great, where weak and mighty, made To serve not suffer, strengthen not invade ; More powerful each as needful to the rest, And, in proportion as it blesses, blest ; Draw to one point, and to one centre bring Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king. Essay on Alan, Hi. : rope. This balance of rhythm, however, is now recognized to have been artificial and inartistic. Is it possible that our own frequent subordination of all other poetic effects to the musical may be the same? Of course it is not recog- nized to be so by our popular critics. The style of Pope was not recognized to be what it was by their representa- tives of his day. Popular critics, like other popular people, give voice to popular opinion. They are on the crest of its wave for the very reason that they have the full sup- port of the opinion that is about and below them. For this reason, paradoxical as it may seem, those esteemed the best critics of an age are often its worst critics. Nor, as applied to poetry, has this fact in our own times been otherwise than detrimental. " When I get my girls together and try to read to them," said a friend of the author, referring to his three daughters, all Eastern college students, " the only expression in which all universally 462 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. join is, ' Don't read poetry.' Now you and I," he went on, " when we were young, would have preferred poetry. Why don't the young of to-day prefer it?" Such a ques- tion usually suggests a homily about its being a scientific age. The homily may have relevance, but it does not deal with the sole reason for the result, nor with the one most important. Science and art are different, and they satisfy different mental cravings, one demanding stimulus for knowledge and the other for imagination. Nor was there ever a time when the normal mind did not demand both. To suppose that it can be satisfied with one of them is like supposing that thirst can be assuaged by giving food. If anything have taken the place of the poem, it is more likely to be the novel, which, like it, appeals to the imag- ination. But why should the novel take the place of the poem ? What imaginative effect attends it that was for- merly produced by poetry, and which, apparently, modern poetry does not produce? This can be best answered, perhaps, by mentioning another " modern instance." At an evening gathering, a professor of literature had been reading and explaining some of Tennyson's poems. Later in the evening, a retired banker, a college graduate and an omnivorous reader, said to him, "That kind of poetry is all very fine, but it is too fine for me. When I want poetry, I read Byron," to which remark he added in an undertone a phrase or two about the lurid light in front of which, according to him, Byron was accustomed to ar- range his characters in relief. This comment conforms in spirit to that which an unprejudiced mind must ac- knowledge to represent the best critical judgment of continental Europe. As a rule, its writers and scholars fail to assign as high rank to the poetry of Tennyson and his school as do the English and our own people. Probably TENNYSON VERSUS BYRON. 463 many of us who are enthusiastic admirers of Tenny- son can recall foreign friends, given to literary criticism, with whom we have had long controversies on this sub- ject. It would not be accurate to say that the poet con- trasted with Tennyson is always Byron. It can only be affirmed that, as a rule, the English poetry for which they express preference, is of a kind affording certain contrasts to that of the great laureate ; and that, if Byron be men- tioned at all, he is mentioned in superlatives. Now is there any need of arguing about what is the reason for this ? Is it not because Tennyson and writers of his school depend so largely upon musical effects ? These effects are either, as in those on page 459, entirely sub- stituted for visual effects, or are allowed to overbalance the visual to such an extent as to obscure them, especially to the mind of a foreigner too unaccustomed to either the sounds or the associations of English words for them to reveal to him their subtlest suggestions. In other words, the outlines of this style of poetry are not large enough or broad enough for him ; not like those of Shakespeare, or of Byron, for instance, as illustrated in the following: 'T is midnight. On the mountains brown The cold round moon shines deeply down ; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high, Bespangled with those isles of light, So wildly, spiritually bright ; Who ever gazed upon them shining, And turned to earth without repining ? The Siege of Corinth : Byron. Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light, Nor less his change of form appalled the sight : Up rose that Dervise — not in saintly garb, But like a warrior bounding on his barb, 464 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Dashed his high cap, and tore his robe away — Shone his mailed breast and flashed his sabre's ray ! His close but glittering casque, and sable plume, More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom, Glared on the Moslem's eyes some Afrit sprite, Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight. The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow Of flames on high, and torches from below ; The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell — For swords began to clash and shouts to swell — Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell ! Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves ; Nought heeded they the Pasha's angry cry They seize that Dervise ! — seize on Zatanai ! He saw their terror — checked the first despair That urged him but to stand and perish there, Since far too early and too well obeyed, The flame was kindled ere the signal made ; He saw their terror — from his baldric drew His bugle — brief the blast — but shrilly blew ; 'T is answered — " Well ye speed, my gallant crew ! Why did I doubt their quickness of career ? And deem design had left me single here ? " Sweeps his long arm — that sabre's whirling sway Sheds fast atonement for its first delay ; Completes his fury what their fear begun. And makes the many basely quail to one. The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread, And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head : Even Seyd, convulsed, o'erwhelmed with rage, surprise, Retreats before him, though he still defies. No craven he — and yet he dreads the blow, So much Confusion magnifies his foe ! His blazing galleys still distract his sight, He tore his beard, and, foaming, fled the fight; For now the pirates pass'd the Harem gate, And burst within — and it were death to wait ; Where wild Amazement shrieking — kneeling — throws The sword aside — in vain — the blood o'erflows! The Corsairs, pouring, haste to where within BYRON'S POETRY. 465 Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life, Proclaimed how well he did the work of strife. They shout to find him grim and lonely there, A glutted tiger mangling in his lair ! But short their greeting — shorter his reply — " 'T is well — but Seyd escapes — and he must die — Much hath been done — but more remains to do — Their galleys blaze — why not their city too ? " The Corsair : Byron. Byron's poetry, with its abrupt, if not ungrammatical, transitions of tense, its inharmonious successions of sylla- bles, and its inaccuracies of diction,1 the German critics prefer to the poetry of Tennyson. If we ourselves do not prefer it, would it not, at least, be wise for us to try to perceive why others should do so, and to ask ourselves whether this style does not meet a legitimate imaginative demand which the poetry of our own time is neglecting? In this age there is no great danger that any large num- ber will give to the English poetry of the early part of this century, of which, perhaps, Byron is the foremost representative, the supreme literary homage once accorded it. But let us not go to the opposite extreme. Let us acknowledge that the artistic possibilities of many of our younger poets might be greatly broadened by giving to this poetry a certain amount of very cordial literary recognition. In this book we are considering the representative effects of poetry and of music for no other purpose than to distinguish them from one another. Those who wish to study the manner in which effects in each of these arts 'Notice "behold . . . nought heeded," " completes his fury what their fears begun," "spread . . . dare rise," " distract his sight, He tore," and " career," in the above. 30 466 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. may be represented in each detail of form, will find the subject amply discussed in the volume of this series en- titled " Poetry as a Representative Art," and in the essay upon " Music as a Representative Art," which latter is printed in the volume entitled " Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music." It follows from what has been said that, as distinguished from poetry, music should be representative of only such indefinite and emotive mental effects as can be expressed in unarticulated sounds. This inference suggests, at once, a reason for certain well-known facts with reference to the effects of this art. It shows us, for instance, why the music invariably conceded to rank highest is instrumental; is — to quote the words of Mr. Dwight, late editor of " The Journal of Music" — "pure music, which lives and moves in purely musical ideas" ; and again, it shows us why it is that all men, well-nigh with unanimity, recognize a super- lative sweetness in the midnight serenade. In both cases there is experienced a distinctive effect of sound, and of this only. In connection with the former, there is no distraction from words ; in connection with the latter, none from sights. Of course, some other facts apparently controverting this principle may be instanced. There is a certain style of instrumental music, especially among the Germans, which, to draw our inferences from explanations printed on programs, seems to be the embodiment of phases of thought which can be appropriately expressed in poetry also, and even in painting. It seems to be distinctly stated in connection with certain of these compositions, as of some, for instance, of Liszt, that they represent poems, and of others, as of the Pastoral Symphonies of Beethoven and Haydn, that they represent scenes MUSICAL VERSUS POETIC EFFECTS. 467 in nature. It is a question, however, whether we are not doing an injustice to the composers of such music when we infer that their so-called explanations are in- tended to imply that the phase of significance repre- sented might be as well expressed in poetry or in painting. Would the authors of these compositions ad- mit that their works are imitative merely, or imitative at all in any slavish sense? Do the explanations imply any more than this, — that the compositions to which they refer are musical developments representative of natural conditions analogous to such as, in certain circumstances, which are not those actually realized, might be expressed, but differently expressed, in poetry or in painting? If this be the true meaning of the composers, then they desire merely to explain their work, as all admit that they can do legitimately, according to the methods, as we might term them, of comparative aesthetics ; and if this be so, their compositions involve no violation of the principle here unfolded. No attempt is made in them at repre- sentation in a manner appropriate only in poetry or in painting. Their composers have merely indicated the ex- istence of relationships, which, in other conditions, or with a different development, might be differently represented. Again, judging this style of music from its effects, as we ourselves experience them, let those of us who can analyze the sources of our enjoyment of it inquire whether we are pleased with this or that composition be- cause it is an imitation — i. e., because it sounds so much like the roaring of a storm, the rustling of a forest, or the bleating of sheep ; or, because, aside from any resem- blances to other things, from any connections with sub- jects that might be depicted or described in other ways, the composition is enjoyable in itself, on account solely of 468 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. the way in which, starting with a theme suggested by some sound in nature, the melodies and harmonies have been developed, one after another, according to those strictly musical methods which cause the whole to be music and not something else. Or suppose that in any given product we really take delight, and our main delight too, in the imitation, let us ask ourselves again whether we take delight in the imitation for its evidences of ingenuity, or for the musical sweetness and beauty which this imita- tion has succeeded in bringing to our notice. A few such questions will probably convince us that the aesthetic effect, which is alone the legitimate effect of art, is always produced in the degree in which a musical composition is an expression of something distinctively musical. Again, the ballad or the opera may be instanced as controverting the principle that we are considering. But can it be said that these prove that the highest style of music is dependent for success upon the words or actions of a performer of it? With some persons, of course, it is. But let us recall that songs and operas are often enjoyed immensely by persons to whom music as music is a sealed art. Their pleasure in the song is similar to that which attends the utterance of very rhythmical poetry ; and in the opera, the gaudy playhouse, the gayly dressed people, the glittering stage, and the movements of the actors are all entertaining on their own accounts. A real musician, however, frequently regards everything of this sort as a distraction ; and he enjoys the music connected with it just as much — sometimes more — when the words used on the stage are in a foreign language which he does not understand, or when the harmony is played, apart from either words or scenery, by an orchestra in a concert room. It is true, of course, as brought out in Chapter EFFECTS OF OPERATIC MUSIC. 469 XIII. of "Art in Theory," that, up to a certain point, — the point where the mind ceases to be able to grasp all the component factors involved, — complexity in connection with harmony augments the aesthetic effect. This may be so even when the factors belong to different arts, as when to the effects of melody are added, first, those of harmony, then of poetry, then of acting, then of dan- cing, then of painting, then of sculpture, and then of architecture ; and it is upon this fact that the develop- ment of the opera by Wagner was based. But it is also true that there is something in this method to suggest its being successful not solely for aesthetic reasons, but because people in general like quantity rather than qual- ity. In some operas, there is a little of almost everything that a man can wish either to see or to hear. But this complexity cannot account, except indirectly and by way of contrast, for the effects of those parts of the opera where a single sweet voice sings a distinctively musical melody, or a number of well-trained voices sing a dis- tinctively musical chorus, or an experienced orchestra plays a distinctively instrumental passage, — in short, it cannot account for those parts of the opera that often have most to do with making its presentation enjoyable. What operatic company is successful in our own country in case it contain no preeminent solo-singer? And, aside from the parts just mentioned in which the music is suffi- cient unto itself, what does the opera furnish save a species of intellectual dissipation rather than of recrea- tion ; save effects that, on account of their variety, are distracting rather than restful, — effects in which there is very little influence resembling that of the " still, small voice" which thrills us when listening to the song of the family circle or to the " pure music" of the concert room, 470 REPRESENT A FIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. or when reading a beautiful poem or listening to an elo- quent address ? All parts of the opera furnish changes from ordinary thoughts and occupations ; and all changes have their charms. But something more than the effect of mere change must be produced before one can experience that distinctively aesthetic influence which cultivated minds know to be the result of the highest art. So true is this, indeed, that, very often at the opera, the real lover of music will be seen, during the execution of the more effective passages, closing his eyes in order to shut from view those distracting surroundings which, ac- cording to his conception, interfere with the musical effects. Even though one be not a German, then, he may be inclined to think, at times, that there is philosophy as well as comfort in the German's way of listening to classic music in a plain beer-hall, with the outlines of that but half revealed behind the fumes of tobacco. We may con- clude, too, that there is artistic tact as well as adherence to custom in the twilight vesper services of the cathedral, where the choir is hidden in the gallery, and about one is nothing distinctly visible save the mighty arches of the nave looming in misty forms above, and the vague outlines of the multitude bowing beneath it. Do not these facts suggest, too, a possibility of musical effects which never yet, save in the cases of a few choruses behind the scenes in the opera, have been attempted ? Art, like everything else that is human, is effective, for one thing, in the degree in which its efforts are directed toward one aim that is made distinct and separate from all else whatever, whether appealing to the ear or to the eye. Why could there not be, if not a style, at least a mode of rendering music in the future, which should be to that of the present what ELOCUTIONARY VERSUS POETIC EFFECTS. 47 1 the most thrilling choral of the cathedral is to the most trivial chorus of the barroom ? It will be interesting to notice here the tendency to confound the conceptions that find expression in music and poetry, the forms of which appear wholly in time, with those of the allied, though not strictly aesthetic, art of oratory, the words of which appear in time and the ges- tures in space. All must have noticed that writings which are distinctively poetic are not therefore the most effective when declaimed. A good elocutionist can produce a far more profound impression with Macaulay's " Horatius at the Bridge," or Scott's " Lochinvar," than with the finest passages that could be taken from Milton or Wordsworth. But it does not follow that the former are entitled to a higher rank in the scale of poetry, or that the elocutionist who renders them so as to make some think that they are' entitled to it, is a superlative artist. It follows only that, however well adapted to elocutionary delivery some poetic products may be, poetry is not elocution. Viewed in itself, poetry is an end, — a series of words representing the comparative processes of imagination. Viewed in connection with elocution, poetry is a means. If a written product happen to suggest acting, this fact alone, irrespec- tive of its merit as poetry, may commend it to the elocu- tionist. It follows therefore that the subject-matter of each of the two arts must be judged by a different stand- ard,— a fact which, if regarded, would save our critics of poetry many a slip, and our orators many an hour use- lessly employed in the vain attempt to produce an orator- ical effect through the medium of that which is distinctively poetic. It is logic aimed to affect reason and will, rather than analogy aimed to affect imagination and sentiment, that renders the oration powerful. The poetic end is 472 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. important ; but not in circumstances where the essential matter is to influence reason and will. Again, there is elocution characterized by a motive dis- tinctly musical. In correct elocutionary delivery, every sound represents a definite thought. In music, not every sound but every series of sounds represents, and, even then, it does not represent a definite thought but an in- definite emotive tendency of thought. The musical motive is manifested in elocution, when the speaker begins to be influenced by the general drift of the words rather than by the particular thought behind each word. He is more apt to be influenced thus when he is reading from a manuscript than when he is speaking without one. When the eye is attending to phrases instead of individual words the mind is apt to be thinking of the phrase. As a consequence, there begins to be a regularly recurring series of slow or rapid upward and downward utterances, irrespective of the emphasis appropriate for particular words, which, when a man is thinking of them, he always gives. This makes the result of elocution resemble that of music. Music either puts our thinking powers to sleep, as if the rhythm had a sort of hypnotic influence, or else it sets us to thinking not of anything in particular but of many things in general, the drift only of which need be in analogy with that which one is hearing. And this is just what is done by a sermon delivered with the musical motive, no matter how sweet the voice or correct the enunciation. It either puts people to sleep, or makes them think of something having nothing to do with the discourse. Indeed, however they may try to follow the line of its thought they have hard work in doing so, the legitimate effect of the delivery being to incline them away from it. One's feet might almost as well attempt, ELOCUTIONARY EFFECTS. 473 without slipping off, to follow a line of cracks along the side of a steep roof covered with ice. A word, too, might be added with reference to the fault of making elocution too picturesque ; of confounding representation in action with painting. As we all know, in connection with expression in language, only a moder- ate degree of action is natural. To overstep the boundary of moderation in this regard is to transgress those limits where the dignity of appropriate characterization passes into the ludicrousness of incongruous caricature, — a result that we may laugh with in comedy, but can only laugh at in a serious performance. CHAPTER XXVII. SIGNIFICANCE MAINLY ATTRIBUTABLE TO THE ELE- MENTS OF ART-FORM IN SPACE ALONE, AS DIF- FERENTLY REPRESENTED IN LANDSCAPE- GARDENING, PAINTING, SCULPTURE, AND ARCHITECTURE. Landscape-Gardening : Difference between the Conceptions Appropriate for it and for other Arts of Sight — Painting Attempting to Express what can be Represented in Poetry only — Illustrations — Even in Legitimate Allegoric Paintings the Interest is Greatest in Single Figures — Some Subjects Appropriate for both Painting and Poetry, but must be Differ- ently Treated — The Shield of Achilles as Painted and as Described in the " Iliad " — That which can be Represented in Painting Distinguished from that in Landscape-Gardening — In Sculpture — In Architecture — Difference between that which can be Represented in Sculpture and in Poetry — And in Landscape-Gardening and Painting : The Material and Lack of Color in a Statue Emphasizes Individual rather than Associa- tive Interest — The Large and Grand rather than the Small and Trivial — The Dignified, Regular, Parallel, etc., rather than the Op- posite— The Conception of Architecture should be Peculiar to It- self— Injurious Influence of its Imitating Methods of Representation in Painting or Sculpture — Buildings Conceived as Pictures Tending toward Inartistic Styles — Conclusion — Explanations. "DEFORE considering painting, it may be well, in ac- cordance with what has been done before in one or two instances, to dwell for a moment upon the phase of conception that finds expression in the allied, though not strictly fine, art of landscape-gardening. This phase is so distinctive in itself that there is little danger of con- founding it with other phases. But there is just enough 474 SUBJECTS OF PAINTING VERSUS POETRY. 475 danger to show that the principles which have been applied to the other arts apply to this one. What but a subtle tendency to imitate the effects of drawing or of painting could lead to the mathematical straightness or stiffness apparent often in the arrangements of walks and plants, and of outlines in artificial ponds, and even of forms and colors in flower-beds? Or what but a confounding of this art with sculpture or architecture could result in that which so offends good taste in many gardens, — the crowding together of plaster statues, waterless fountains, riverless bridges, and arbors whereon the sun never shines, dipt out and bent out of trees that would have seemed beautiful if only left in their natural condition ? No wonder that they appear artificial ! Returning to painting, the first thing in order, of course, is to notice pictures that indicate the methods of the poet. As stated on page 434, poetry represents phases of consciousness moving, one after another, in time. So its medium of representation is in words which also move. These are peculiarly fitted to present the various consec- utive thoughts suggested, as well as the events detailed, in a story. Painting, on the other hand, represents an influ- ence of fixedness such as appeals to the eye. A painter's first impulse is always to represent shapes as he sees them, and hence in space. A child with a pencil in hand, so far as he can draw at all, draws only what is visible. But once present his mind with the details, whether ap- pealing to the mind or to the eye, of that which forms the substance of a story, and he is tempted to represent these with brush or pencil. Yet, to quote from the second of Opie's " Lectures on Design " : " Many interest- ing passages in history and poetry are incapable of afford- ing more than a bald and insipid representation on canvas, 47^ REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Of this description is the incident in the ' Iliad,' where one of Priam's younger sons, fallen before the superior force of Achilles, solicits his life on account of his youth. Wretch ! ' exclaims the furious hero, ' dost thou complain of dying, when thou knowest that Achilles must shortly die?' Such also is the celebrated passage in Corneille's ' Horatii,' where the father of one set of the combatants, on being informed that his son, left single against his three antagonists, had turned his back, appears much agitated and enraged ; and when one of his attendants asks, ' What should your son have done against such dis parity? ' instantly retorts, ' He should have died.' '" Such incidents as these, if made the subjects of pictures, cannot be understood without an added verbal or written explana- tion, which is the same as to say that, in the form of a picture, they cannot be adequately represented at all. Other incidents can be indicated only so far as the same persons are represented as doing different things at the same time. Probably all of us have seen old engravings in which something like this is attempted, engravings in- tended to show at a single glance — although it requires several glances to discover what the intention really is — the whole story of a " Pilgrim's Progress " or of a " Drunk- ard's Progress." However interesting, curious, or instruc- tive these engravings may be, we all feel that they sustain much the same relation to painting of a high order as minutely descriptive verses, like those quoted on page 335, sustain to the finest poetry. Some curious pictures, composed according to this method, are found among products of the Middle Ages. In the Vatican there is a Greek manuscript which delineates the life of Joshua in a series of illustrations which form a continuous band. Those who have seen the originals or photographs of " The SUBJECTS OF PAINTING VERSUS POETRY. 477 Adoration of the Magi," or " The Presentation at the Temple," by Bernardino Luini, will recall the attempted representation of effects in time that is evident in both of them. In the first, besides the group of the Magi in the foreground, there is furnished, in the background, a pic- ture of the journey of these same Magi to the stable : we see them, with a line of heavily laden horses and camels, descending a zigzag pathway, which reminds one of the representation of a mountain-pass in a theatre. In the second, there is given, in the rear, a glimpse of the flight into Egypt of the same figures that are also in the fore- ground. It is apparent that in these paintings an attempt is made to depict in a single view events that could not con- ceivably be actually perceived thus. The pictures, there- fore, are not representative of the appearances of nature. Reference has already been made, on page 419, to a somewhat similar effect produced by allegoric paintings, together with a reason why, in some cases, their arrange- ments are, nevertheless, aesthetically excusable. To that reason another may be added here, which is, that, although there is a certain intellectual pleasure experienced in trying to make out their meanings, nothing can more strikingly illustrate the difference between this pleasure and that which is purely aesthetic than the fact that of Kaulbach's pictures in the New Museum in Berlin, the simpler single symbolic figures, like those of " Science " or " Poetry," are far more generally admired than the great allegoric paintings. Not only so, but it seems to be a fact also that those portions of the allegoric paintings that are favorites are less so on account of their connec- tion with the whole pictures of which they form parts, than because they can be separated from these, as is shown 478 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. in so many copies and photographs that are made of the group of the " Young Pilgrims " taken from " The Destruc- tion of Jerusalem." From what has been said, however, it need not be inferred that painters can never draw their subjects from poetry, or poets from painting. It need merely be inferred that there should be a difference in the ways in which the two arts treat the same subject. An illustration of this differ- ence has been mentioned already in connection with what was said on page 418 of the series of paintings by Cole entitled " The Voyage of Life." Hogarth's series of paintings, entitled " The Rake's Progress " and " The Harlot's Progress," exemplify the same principle. In these, each of the separate pictures represents only a single situation. Yet all placed side by side accomplish a result similar to that which would be reached if the suc- cessive details were unfolded in a representation in time. An illustration of the same difference in method has been noticed by certain of the German critics, in connec- tion with what is said of the shield of Achilles in the eighteenth book of the " Iliad." We know how the shield would be perceived in space ; but the poet, instead of saying merely that this and that were to be seen on it, assumes a time when they were not ; represents Thetis, the mother of Achilles, journeying to Vulcan to request him to forge it ; and then mentions the actions of the god of the anvil while he fulfils the request. So speaking he withdrew, and went where lay The bellows, turned them toward the fire, and bade The work begin. And first he forged the huge and massive shield, Divinely wrought in every part, — its edge Clasped with a triple border, white and bright, SUBJECTS OF PAINTING VERSUS SCULPTURE. 479 A silver belt hung from it and its folds Were five ; a crowd of figures on its disk Were fashioned by the artist's passing skill, For here he placed the earth and heaven, and here, The great deep and the never setting sun And the full moon, and here he set the stars. Iliad, xviii : Bryant ,s Trans. That which is appropriate for representation in painting needs to be distinguished from that appropriate not only in poetry but also in landscape-gardening, sculpture, and architecture. When we recall what an inartistic impression is frequently conveyed by the reproducing in a picture of a highly cultivated park, or of a gentleman's homestead, — the house architecturally correct, and the avenues leading to it as clearly drawn as the lines of a geometric figure, — then we may understand with some definiteness what is meant by confounding the conceptions to be expressed in landscape-gardening and in painting. Both ought to repre- sent, as all art should, the effects of nature at first hand ; but, in the case of pictures such as those just mentioned, there is danger that the main impression conveyed will be of the effects upon nature of some man, of some land- scape-artist. And reflection will convince us that this is the reason — certainly a sufficient one — why such pictures often appear inartistic. They manifest, to too great an extent, the influence of a method of representation appro- priate to another art. The difference between that which is appropriately represented in painting and in sculpture is very truthfully suggested, though not entirely indicated, by the difference, which all recognize, between the meaning of the terms picturesque and statuesque. The picturesque, as defined on page 280, involves a conception of much and minute variety. And this is just what painting involves. The 480 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. color that is used in it, and not in sculpture, is never well applied unless it imitates the influences of light and shade in nature to such a degree as to cause slight differences at almost every perceptible point. Besides this, color enables the artist to separate, one from another, and thus to represent clearly, a very large number of small details most of which would be indistinguishable if an attempt were made to indicate them in sculpture. On the other hand, the statuesque involves the conception of something that stands out by itself, — something that, because it has bulk or body, can be looked at from every side. Even when the term applies to the sculpture of mere relief, the solidity of the medium that is used in it, and not in paint- ing, tends to separate every contour from every other by emphatically defined outlines. These outlines, too, must be comparatively few in number and the objects which they delineate comparatively large in size. Thus the limitations of the material used in each of the arts deter- mine the limitations of the subjects which it and it alone can appropriately embody. On account of the minute representative possibilities of color, one can make a paint- ing of a landscape, and can crowd into a small compass a large number of figures and faces, appearing almost immediately beside or behind one other. In sculpture, landscape is well-nigh impossible, and so is any extensive grouping of figures. Even such figures as can be brought together, must, owing to the uniformity of color, be very distinctly separated, and, as artistic effects produced through variety of hues are impossible, compensating artistic effects through the use of outlines become impera- tive. Hence parallelism, continuity, balance, symmetry, and kindred methods of aesthetically accenting the require- ments of contour become more prominent. For instance, SUBJECTS OF PAINTING VERSUS SCULPTURE. 48 1 in the group of " Niobe and her Children," ' none of the figures touch one another, and all are separated by appar- ently equal spaces; besides which, on each side of the centre, they lean in exactly the same directions. In the relief called "The Soldier's Return,"3 on the National Monument near Bingen, Germany, the figures, though apparently touching, are all separated by approximately like distances, and, on each side of the centre, their trunks and limbs produce effects of exact parallelism. In paint- ing, such uniformity of arrangement, through the use of outlines alone, suggests artificiality, unless intended to imitate effects of sculpture. Why ? Because an art is always fulfilling its best possibilities when it is doing that which it and it alone can do. What painting can do and sculpture cannot, is to produce effects through the use of pigments. What sculpture can do and painting cannot, is to produce effects through the use of bulk, including outlines representing length, breadth, and thickness. When the painter is trying to produce effects of bulk such as can be better produced in sculpture, or of out- lines such as can be just as well produced where there is no color, he is, consciously or unconsciously, under the influence of methods necessitated where those of color are wanting. These statuesque effects in painting are most common upon walls. In almost any decorated interior, we come upon figures, either alone or in groups, some of them, if not highly colored, hardly distinguishable, at a distance, from statues. Often, even when grouped, they stand apparently alone, looking not at one another but at ourselves, showing that the chief object of their artist was 1 Fig. 45, page 146, " The Genesis of Art- Form." * Fig. 52, page 176, "The Genesis of Art-Form"; Fig. 23, page 51, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 31 482 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. to call attention to the beauty of the contour or pose of each individual figure, rather than to the blendings of the outlines and colors of all the figures of the composition considered as a whole. In other words, such paintings produce a statuesque rather than a picturesque effect. Undoubtedly, in certain cases, they are the only forms of painting adapted to the circumstances. But in other cases they are out of place, and appear stiff and unnatural. Especially do they seem out of place in certain products which carry to an extreme the conception that a painting should never even suggest a story. As will be shown on page 484, there is some reason for holding this view as applied to grouping in statuary. But, as applied to paint- ing, it is questionable whether the conception in its ex- treme form is not very largely a result of confounding the picturesque with the statuesque. There are other paintings, usually developments, too, of decoration, which may be said to manifest not so much a statuesque as an architectural effect. Some of the altar- pieces and religious compositions of the old masters show an absolutely symmetrical disposition of the figures.1 These appear balanced against one another in such ways that it is almost impossible to compare them to anything except the wings of a building ; while the symmetrical framework of pillars, pediments, and steps actually sur- rounding the figures in many instances, not only suggests but literally proclaims the architectural motive. These architectural effects, if there be a reason in the subject excusing them, as is the case, for instance, in Raphael's " School of Athens," a may add interest to the composi- 1 See Fig. 15, page 71, also Fig. 58, page 185, of " The Genesis of Art- Form." 2 Fig. ro, page 41, "The Genesis of Art-Form" ; Fig. 156, page 249, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." SUBJECTS OF SCULPTURE VERSUS POETRY. 483 tion ; but otherwise they not infrequently do the opposite. The methods of sculpture differ, of course, just as do those of painting, from the methods of poetry. A good illustration of the difference may be noticed by contrast- ing the statue of the Dying Gladiator or Galatian,' proba- bly well known to all of us, with Byron's description of the statue. Here are his words : I see before me the Gladiator lie ; He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death but conquers agony, And his drooped head sinks gradually low — And through his side, the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Bre ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. He heard it ; but he heeded not — his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away. He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butchered to make a Roman holiday. Childe Harold : Byron. Nothing needs to be added with reference to confound- ing sculpture with landscape-gardening beyond that which was said on page 475. But, at the risk of some unavoid- able repetition, the line of thought already suggested when separating painting from sculpture may, so far as it refers to the limitations of the latter, be somewhat extended. The word statue seems to indicate still more distinctively than the word picture that there must be a representation of that which is stationary. With this suggestion in mind, 1 Fig. 166, page 283, " Paint., Sculp., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 484 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM, we shall find that, as a fact, the principle applied to paint ing on page 477 is yet more applicable to sculpture. The continuous stages in which the hero is constantly reap- pearing, which is delineated in the spiral band surrounding the column of Trajan, is probably even less interesting in itself than is the pictorial story of the life of Joshua mentioned on page 476.1 Nor is there much doubt that the different separate pictures in the series by Hogarth, entitled " The Rake's Progress " or " The Harlot's Prog- ress," are more interesting than the different single scenes, all together representing the " Life of Columbus," which constitute the sections of one of the pairs of bronze doors of the Capitol at Washington. Another reason for this fact will be suggested on page 486. At present, let us notice that what sculpture can do, and painting cannot, is to produce effects through the use of bulk, i. e., of out- lines, including those of length, breadth, and thickness, — outlines that one can sometimes walk around and regard from every side. It follows that sculpture is at its best in the statue, or, so far as in the relief, in that in which the figures project to the greatest degree possible. This con- dition is represented in significance by giving to each figure even of a group an individual rather than a collec- tive, associative, or communicative interest. To explain what is meant, the figures depicted in the frieze surround- ing the Parthenon,9 whether in the procession or not, indicate an individual interest in the sense of not repre- senting any great interchange, between one figure and an- other, of thought, feeling, or action. In this regard, they 1 See also " An Epitome of the Lives of Isaac, Jacob, and Esau," as it is represented in one of the reliefs in the door of the Baptistery at Florence, Fig. 155, page 247, of " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 8 Fig. 148, page 223, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." THE STATUESQUE VERSUS THE PICTURESQUE, 485 present an entirely different appearance from figures in such paintings as Rubens's "Descent from the Cross,'" or Raphael's "Death of Ananias."' So, in the group of '' Niobe and her Children," 3 described on page 481, there is no interchange of feeling or action ; yet, at the same time, because each figure, in its own way, gives expression to the same general emotion of grief, its position is interpre- tive of the meaning of all the figures. Or take a more marked example. The German scholar, Ludwig Preller, says that the " Apollo Belvedere," 4 or the statue after which this is modelled, probably stood originally on the apex of the pediment of a temple at Delphi, with the statue termed " Diana of the Louvre " 6 on one side of it, and the statue termed " Athena of the Capital " ° on the other side. This would be in accordance with the answer said to have been given, when the Gauls approached Delphi, to the question of the people whether the treas- ures of the temple should be removed. The answer was, " I myself [meaning Apollo] and the White Maidens [meaning Athena and Diana] will take care of that." Now if we can recall the appearance of these three statues as thus situated, we shall be able to comprehend how their postures, full of movement as each is, should mutu- ally add to one another's interest, and at the same time not interfere at all with the statuesque character of the effect of each. When, however, we come to such products 1 Fig. 163, page 277, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 16, page 73, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 2 Fig. 39, page 79, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts" ; Fig. 94, page 288, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 3 Fig. 45, page 146, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 4 Fig. 28, page 62, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 6 Fig. 19, page 75, " The Genesis of Art-Form." 6 Fig. 37, page 76, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 4.S6 REPREF.ENTA TIVR SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. as the well-known bronze doors of the Baptistery ' at Florence, or those of the Capitol at Washington, men- tioned on page 484, we seem to be upon more doubtful ground. Different sections of these are made to repre- sent different parts of a continuous narrative. Perhaps a trustworthy method through which to estimate the aes- thetic value of the result is to ask ourselves whether we admire such products on account of the story which they reveal, or, as is true of the statues mentioned a moment ago, on account of the grace or significance of the indi- vidual figures represented in connection with the story. Upon reflection, we probably shall find the latter reason to be the true one. Even in statues, merely symbolic, as on the silver monument to Marshal Saxe by Pigalle at Prague, and on that to Maria Christina, Duchess of Saxe- Teschen,2 by Canova at Vienna, the former of which rep- resents the mailed form of Maurice of Saxony surrounded by all sorts of living creatures, — an eagle, a lion, a Cupid, etc., — and the latter the sepulchral pyramid of the de- ceased, in which heaven and earth are represented by an angel leaning on a lion, and the mourning people by the four ages of life, depositing the ashes of the princess, — even in such works we probably shall find our interest centring mainly in the individual figures. Notice, too, how much more true this is apt to be in the case of sculpt- ure than of painting. We seldom see in a picture a figure that stands out from all surrounding figures, asserting such claims to preeminent and exclusive attention as is com- mon in groups of statuary. Continuing this line of thought, we shall soon recall how superlatively we have enjoyed certain statues, for the very reason, apparently, 1 Fig. 155, page 247, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 9 Fig. 22, page 50, idem. DIGNITY IN THE STATUESQUE. 487 that they were placed so that we could view them apart from anything else, — statues that stand in rows, as in the Vatican, or in alcoves by themselves, as is the case at Rome with the "Apollo Belvedere,"1 and the "Venus of the Capital," and at Frankfort-on-the-Rhine with the "Ariadne." These facts may aid us in forming a concep- tion of what is meant by the phase of significance repre- sented in the statue, and by the statue's significance being less dependent than is that of a painting upon the sugges- tion of cause and effect as operating in time. But there is yet a more important limitation to the sub- ject-matter in sculpture. As said on page 434, sculpture differs from painting in not representing color, and in rep- resenting bulk or body. By consequence, painting that depicts leaves, flowers, fruit, and children, or grown peo- ple as doing very trifling things, may rank high, because manifesting a high degree of skill in drawing and coloring. The more minute the factors with which both of these deal, the more difficult, often, is it to attain success. Besides this, almost any scene which painting depicts includes a very large number of different objects ; and these to an extent may compensate in quantity for what the general subject lacks in quality. But in sculpture the conditions are different. There is almost no comparison between carving the wreath of a column's capital and the contour of a human body ; and, if the latter have to be carved at all, the difficulty of the work, the permanence of the material, and the fact that the body, when com- pleted, is to be the sole object of attention, all combine to make it seem especially inappropriate to have it repre- sent a trivial subject. It ought to be a dignified subject, or, in lieu of that, at least a subject treated in a dignified 1 Fig. 28, page 62, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." 488 REPRESENTA TIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. way. As for the dignity of the subject, notice that, in a sense not true of painting, it is appropriate that the figure delineated should be represented in a form greatly ex- aggerated. Very large pictures, like those of West in the Philadelphia Academy of Fine Arts, sometimes offend us by their very size ; and it is almost impossible to conceive of an attractive picture with figures of heroic proportions. But the " Moses" of Angelo or the " Liberty Enlighten- ing the World " in New York do not offend us. On the contrary, very small pictures, as in miniatures, are often extremely pleasing and valuable. But most of us cannot avoid feeling, when we see the bronze doors of the Capitol at Washington, that the small size of the figures makes the work expended upon them hardly worth while, be- cause such subjects could have been represented so much more satisfactorily in pictures. As for dignity of treatment in lieu of dignity of subject, the influence of this was indicated in what was said, on page 480, of the very extensive use made in sculpture of effects produced by regularity of lines, as in parallelism, continuity, balance, and symmetry. The prominence of these effects is noticeable even in a group like that of "The Laocoon,"1 where they are partly concealed by the complexity of the arrangements. But in other products they are not concealed. Often in sculptured reliefs the repetition of similar directions in the outlines is so ap- parent as to produce a rhythmic effect,* corresponding to that produced by men marching; and this effect imparts as much greater dignity to each individual figure as it 1 Fig. 21, page 49, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts " ; Fig. 75, page 226, " The Genesis of Art-Form." J See "Romans Besieging a Fortress," Fig. 6, page 27, "The Genesis of Art-Form" ; also " The Soldier's Return," Fig. 52, page 176, idem. ; also Fig. 23, page 51, " Paint., Sculpt., and Arch, as Rep. Arts." ARCHITECTURAL VERSUS PICTORIAL METHODS. 489 does to an ordinary man when he is put into line with others in a military company. Such effects, too, for reasons given on page 481, are frequently entirely out of place in paintings. Turning now to architecture, perhaps it might be af- firmed that in no other art is it more necessary to apply principles like those under consideration. Not, of course, that there is any danger of confounding its method of representation with that of poetry or music ; but there is danger of confounding it with that of painting or sculpt- ure. When our race, with no models to direct them, first began to build houses and temples, the external forms of each were determined by the design for which it was con- structed,— a design suggested, as reflection will show that it must have been, by the modes of attaining in nature ends like those of support, protection, and shelter. This being the case, the desire to attain these ends was evident to every one who saw the building; in other words, the building's effects were artistic in the sense of being genu- inely representative of the design of the builder. In process of time, however, after many such structures had been erected, and some of them had come to be especially admired for their appearance, a class of artists arose more intent to imitate this appearance than the methods in accordance with which the older architects had designed the buildings and caused them to appear as they did. As a consequence, there came to be no apparent con- nection between the outward form of a building and that for which it was designed ; — in other words, architecture ceased to be representative, in the sense in which the word has been used in this essay. But besides this, after the arts of painting and sculpture had been developed, archi- tects began to manifest a tendency to imitate the methods, 490 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. if not the appearances, employed in these arts. In ac- counting for the inferiority of the architecture of the Renaissance, Fergusson, in the introduction to his " His- tory of Modern Architecture," says : " Most of those who first practised it, at the time the revolution took place, were either amateurs, sculptors, or painters. Alberti may be named as among the earliest and the most distinguished of the first class. Among the latter, it is hardly neces- sary to name Michael Angelo, Raphael, Giulio Romano, Peruzzi, Leonardo da Vinci, etc. . . . All painters can make architectural designs for the backgrounds of their pictures. . . . But if any one supposes that such a design will make a permanently satisfactory build- ing, he knows little of the demands of true art, and how little its requirements are to be met by such child's play. Perfection was reached in architecture in the Middle Ages ; and the attempt to supersede this, and to introduce the plan of designing by the sketches of an individual, is really the root of the difference between the two systems." In this passage, Fergusson ascribes inferiority to mod- ern architecture as contrasted with mediaeval, — though he does not employ these words, — because of the prevailing tendency in this art to derive its methods from painting and sculpture rather than from the natural promptings and requirements of architecture itself. This tendency often causes the builder to be entirely satisfied with an "elevation " that merely makes a satisfactory picture when drawn on paper. But, as will be shown in the volume of this series entitled " Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color," the requirements of perspective often prevent the parts of a building, which, when so drawn, seem to fulfil the principles of proportion, from fulfilling them when put CONCLUSION. 491 into the building itself. Besides this, the tendency leads to other forms of confusion between the kinds of concep- tions appropriate for producing effects in this art and of conceptions that find legitimate expression in the other arts only. One element of successful architecture un- doubtedly is the mere external appearance of a building. And yet, if this alone be regarded, is it not evident that the building, according as it is constructed with exclusive reference to its position or proportions, will be the embod- iment of a motive less legitimate distinctively to architec- ture than to landscape-gardening, painting, or sculpture? And is it not because of this confusion of motives that we find in our modern buildings — in their cornices, roofs, windows, and walls — so much that is false, in other words, so much that is merely on the outside, put there to look well, not to fulfil or to give embodiment to any such sig- nificance as it is the peculiar function of architecture to represent? This is not to say that, in this art, the exter- nal form should violate the laws of proportion or har- mony ; but it is to say that these latter should be made subordinate to the general design, that they should cause the outlines to be so disposed as to indicate this design, and not, as is true in too many cases, to conceal it. Enough has been said, however, with reference to this and to the other arts, to indicate the truth of that which has been maintained in this chapter, namely, the neces- sity, when a work of art is to be produced, of first dis- tinctly separating the conception to be expressed in it from all that cannot be embodied appropriately in the form of art that has been chosen for the medium of repre- sentation. This discussion has now reached a point where it can go no farther in the direction which has been pursued without 492 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM, confining attention for a time to each art by itself, in order to show thus the different phases of thought and emotion which its various elements of form are fitted, singly and conjointly, to represent. The results of an endeavor to do this will be found in the volumes of this series, entitled " Poetry as a Representative Art," " Paint- ing, Sculpture, and Architecture as Representative Arts," and in the essay entitled " Music as a Representative Art," which latter, for convenience, is printed in the vol- ume entitled " Rhythm and Harmon)' in Poetry and Music." Later on in the development of the general line of thought, after this subject of significance in form has been fully considered, the subject of form as form is taken up and discussed in three volumes, namely, " The Genesis of Art-Form," " Rhythm and Harmony in Poetry and Music," and " Proportion and Harmony of Line and Color in Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture." INDEX. Absolute, the. as suggested in na- ture, 13-21 ; is conformity to an absolute method, 32, 38, 56 ; not inconsistent with suggestions of change, 51-56 : or of the eternal and infinite, 19-21 ; revealed through single specimens, ^6-59 ; truth, 32, 38, 54, 56-59- Achilles, shield of, described by Homer, 478. Adoration of Magi, Luini, 477. /Eneid, 263, 265, 327, 331. yEschylus, 443. Esthetics, comparative, iii. ; Sci- ence of, Day, 276, 280, 433. Africa, religion of, 89, 100, 102. Age, influence of the, on artistic in- spiration, 129 ; on religious inspi- ration, 31, 112-115 ; on works of genius, 247. Akenside, 333. Alcamenes, 204. Alexander, panel-paintings of, 363. Alexander's Feast, Dryden, 345. Alhambra, 3S6. Allegoric and Allegory : music, 325, 350; painting, 325, 354, 418-420, 476-47S ; poetry, 325, 330 ; sculp- ture, 325, 367, 368. Alum Bay, Talfourd, 438. Analogical Representation, 64 ; cause of continuing influence of art-products, 206, 207 ; distin- guished from logical formulation, 193-196 ; from spiritually influen- tial suggestion, 175, 189-191 ; necessitates form as does all art, 194. Analogy, 194-207 ; involves likeness in methods of formation, 196. ] Analysis of thought in this volume I 338, 389. I Ananias, Death of, Raphael. 364. j Anarchy, Vedder, 354. j Ancient Mariner, Coleridge, 236. j Anderson, Charles, trance speaker j 101. ] Angelo, Michael, 48, 231, 266, 277 321, 355-357, 368, 379- 488. Animals, their methods of communi- cation. 97-99 ; their thinking processes, 97 ; the subconscious in, 95-99 ; why sinless, 95. 96 why worshipped, 95., note. Antoinette, Marie, 78. Apollo Belvedere, 485, 487 ; signih cance, how represented in, 425. Appearances, meaning of word as used in art, 3. Arabesque Architecture, 325, 386. Arbuthnot, Epistle to Dr., Pope, 236. Arch, pointed, architecture of, 325, 377, 33i, 383, 384, 386, 387; round, architecture of, 325, 377— 379, 385- Architectural Styles, Rosengarten, 386. Architecture, as affected by sur- rounding scenery, 430, 431 ; com- memorative, 325, 382 ; constructed according to analogies of nature, 204, 205 ; distinguished from other arts, 434 ; distinguished from painting and sculpture, 434, 489-491 ; distinguished from poetry, 446-448 ; dramatic, 325, 37I_376, 383-387 ; effects con- founded with those of drawing, 489-491 ; effects of outline in, 493 494 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Architecture — Continued. 370-376 ; epic, 325, 371-376, 37S- 380, 385-387 ; of horizontal sup- port or entablature, 325, 377, 380- 382, 385-387 ; of perpendicular support or pointed arch, 325, 377, 380, 383-387 ; of vaulted support or round-arch, 325, 377-380, 3S5- 387 ; realistic, 325, 371-376, 380- 382, 385-387 ; significance in, 426-431 ; time-effects in, 425- 427 ; unity and progress in, 425- 431 ; unity of effect in street and campus, 428, 429. Architecture, History of Modern, Fergusson, 490. Ariadne, statue, 487. Aristotle on epic art, 324 ; on dra- matic, 317. Arnold, Matthew, 95. Arrangement, and method of, as suggested in nature, 6-11. Art, aided by religion, 136, 230-232 ; aided by science, 154, 211, 212, 229-232 ; an aid to religion, 135, 136; an aid to science, 151-154, 171— 1 73 ; characterized by blend- ing of conscious and subconscious mental action, 87, 94, 129, 133- 135. 155. 156, 159-161, 210, 211, 271 ; considers objects as wholes, 147 ; continued influence of, 206, 207 ; derives emotions, thoughts, and forms from nature, 5, 133 ; distinguished from religion, 62- 64, 87, 94, 130-134, 155-165, 189-191 ; distinguished from sci- ence, 62-64, 87, 94, 137-154, 164-180, 193, 194, 253, 254 ; ef- fects peculiar to those of sugges- tion through representation, 189- 191, 241; effects on culture, 252- 254 ; effects on materialism and traditionalism, 135, 136 ; does most for religion and morals when attending to its own business, 131-134, 162, 163, 190, 191 ; in- cludes the painful, 267-269 ; in hypnotism, 68, 6q, 132 ; its aim as pleasure, 267-269 ; its effects natural when analogical, 198-205 ; its effects related to hypnotism, 68, 69, 132 ; its limitations a source of strength, 206, 207 ; its forms appeal to the mind, 2, 3, 196 ; its use of ethics and learn- ing, 256-265 ; not injured by cul- ture and learning, 227-232, 265 : no substitute for religion, 136 ; observation and information help 'l- r33, x35. 265 ; personal effects of, 234-240 ; subject-matter of, 141 ; tends to ideality rather than faith, 159-163. Art in Theory, Raymond, 4, 5, 69, 94, 203, 210, 272, 273, 320, 376, 435, 436, 455, 469- Art, its Laws and the Reasons for Them, Long, 326, 353, 355, 359, 374- Art of Poetry, Horace, 332. Artist, the, as born, 217-220 ; as made, 1 31-133, 220-232, 265- 267; characteristics of, 129, 131- 134, 238-240, 246-250; charac- terized by sentiment, 255, 256 ; characterized by subconscious mentality, 71, 72, 129, 131-134, 149-154, 210-229 ; emotive sus- ceptibility of, 217, 244, 246 ; eth- ical and religious aims of, 263- 266 ; harmony in, between con- scious and subconscious mental action, 133-135, 155., T56, 159- 161, 210, 2ii, 271 ; information of, 133 ; interested in technique, 244 ; memory of, 228, 229 ; men- tal ability of, 133, 134 ; need of education and training in, 220— 229, 265, 266; versus scientist, 129, 133, 139, 140, 144, 148-150. 172, 211-220, 234, 235, 253, 254; versus teacher of religion, 131- 136. See Art, Artistic, Genius, and Subconscious. Artistic-Artistic tendency in art, 271-274, 311, 384. Artistic Conceptions, owing to com- paratively harmonious blending of conscious and subconscious mental influences, 62-64, 87, 94, I29- 133-135, 155, 156, 159-161, 210, 211, 271 ; versus religious, 62- 64, 87, 88, 94, 133-135. 155, 156, INDEX. 495 Artistic Conceptions — Continued. 159-161, 174, 175, 210, 271 ; ver- sus scientific, 62-64, 87, 88, 94, 137, 139. !46, I5I-I55, 164- l65. 171-180, 193, 194, 211-213, 271, 272. Artistic Inspiration, 65, 107, 227 ; versus religious, iv., 72, 131-136. Artistic Mind versus scientific, their methods, 148-150, 153, 154, 172, 218-220. Artistic Observation versus scien- tific, iv., v., 164-178. Artistic Significance, 62-64, 208- 268. See Artistic Conceptions. Artistic Temperament, 210, 216- 220; all children have, 218; dif- fers from scientific in degree of emotive susceptibility, 219 ; indi- vidual, yet reflective of nature, 234» 235 I or OI other men, 248 ; not injured by cultivation, 227- 232 ; not manifested physically alone, 216, 217. Artistic Truth, source of, 94 ; versus religious and scientific as affected by temperament and training, 224-232, 234, 235. Arts, the, as distinguished from one another in motive, 434-491 ; in time and space, 434, 435. As You Like It, Shakespeare, 264, 321. Assyria, religion of, 89, 100. Athena of Capitol, statue, 485. Atherstone, 450, 452. Atonement, necessity for, exempli- fied in hypnotism, 183. Attila, Defeat of, Raphael, 364. Aurora, Guido, 354. Aurora Leigh, Mrs. Browning, 323, 346- . Australia, religion of, 89, 100. Automatic writing of spiritualists, 80, 104. Bain, 296, 303. Baptistery at Florence, 368. Baptists, Seventh-Day, 132. Barateau, 342. Bardeen, 299, 303. Barry, 374. Bascom, 280, 378. Baudelaire, 328. Bavaria, statue, 367. Beattie, 336. Beautiful, the, 274, 276, 284, 299, 311 ; includes the sublime, 284- 286. Beauty, 205, 206 ; in art not incon- sistent with representing analogy, 205 ; relative use in art of it, and of ugliness, 206. Beauty, Science of, Bascom, 280, 378. Beecher, H. W. , 84, 236; his ora- tory, 411, 413, 414; his training, 226. Beethoven, 201, 231, 247, 309, 351, 466 ; his training, 223, 224. Beggar Boys, Murillo, 361. Bias of mind interferes with obtain- ing spiritual truth, 108, 109. Bible, cannot be interpreted as scientific statements, 1 77-181 ; Coleridge's test of its truth, 46 ; criticism of its poetry by Huxley, 138 ; development of truth in, 112-114 ; discrepancies appear because of literalism of interpre- tation, 180, 181 ; explained by suggestive interpretation, 176- 181, 184, 185, 187, 188 ; expres- sion of truth in, 41-49, 54, 55, 114, 115 ; higher criticism of, 42, 119 ; how inspired, 109-128 ; how to be interpreted as shown by its arguments, 43-45 ; its history, 41, 42 ; its injunctions, 45-48 ; its prophecies, 42, 43 ; its use of the word truth, 48, 49 ; legends and myths in, 119-121 ; no objection to associating it with occult men- tal action, 115-118 ; statements in, as affected by environment, 109, no, 113, 114; tests of its truth, 122-128. Bigotry, 123, 188. Bingen on Rhine, monument, 481. Biographia Literaria, Coleridge, 67. Bishops, On the Irish, Swift, 306. Blair, 312, 326. Blanc, C, 374. 496 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Bodily influence upon artistic sig- nificance, 208-26S. Borough, Crabbe, 447. Brain, two lobes in, 65 ; size of, as determining ability, 221, 222. Bridge, The, Longfellow, 197. Bridge of Sighs, Hood, 289. Brilliancy, characteristic of genius, 250, 307. Brilliant, the, 274, 281-290, 293, 294, 299, 301, 302, 307, 311, 389 ; its relation to the sublime and the picturesque, 274, 282. British Quarterly, 299, 303. Brown, J. G., 361. Browne, C. F., 301. Browning, E. B., 323, 346. Browning, R., 242, 243, 323, 346, 347 ; his obscurity artistic, 214 ; use of ellipsis, 214, 401, 402. Brunelleschi, 266. Bryant, 143, 335. Buddhist religion, 64, 89. Bull, the rhetorical, 292. Bulwer, 324, 447. Burke, 277-279, 284. Burlesque, the, 292, 295, 296, 305. Burning of Borgo, Raphael, 364. Burns, 321, 336, 337 ; realistic, 337 ; not wholly uneducated, 266. Bust, the, 203. Butler, 306. Byron, 237, 324, 336, 337,447. 483 \ defects in his poetry, 465 ; prefer- ence of foreigners for, 462, 463 ; versus Tennyson, 462-465. Campbell, 333, 336. Canon, 350. Canova, 486. Canterbury Tales, 337. Capitol at Washington, 368, 484, 486. Capriccio, 350. Caravaggio, 363. Card Players, Caravaggio, 363. Caricature, 305, 306, 309. Carlyle, 195, 214. Catholics, 108, 128. Ceremonial, not religious but ar- tistic, 176, 177. < hailliourne, 229. Chaignet, 278, 2S5, 286, 339. Chaldee account of Creation, 119- 121 ; seer, 120, 121. Chamouni, Hymn in the Vale of, Coleridge, 278. Change not inconsistent with abso- luteness or eternity of truth, 5 1-56. Chapin, E. H., oratory of , 412. Character, as manifested in deeds, 23, 24 ; divine, as manifested in nature, 23-25. Character-painting, 325, 361, 362 ; -sculpture, 325, 369. Charge of Light Brigade, Tennyson, 345- Charity, Intellectual, 123. Chaucer, 337. Chesterfield, Letter to, Johnson, 307. Chevy-chace, ballad, 344. Childe Harold, Byron, 336, 483. Children, naturally artistic, 212, 218. Childhood, second, owing to physi- cal weakness, 222. Chinese religion, 89. Chord, musical, as basis of melody, 405, 406. Choron, musical writer, 350. Chorus, producing effect of unity, 394, 395- Christ, the, his arguments, 44, 45 ; parables, 42, 44 ; use of word truth, 48, 49 ; was the truth be- cause full of love, and was the life, 49, 56, 57. Christian, faith, 157, 158, 160 ; Scriptures, 89, 103, 104, no, III. See Bible. Christians, 64, in. Christmas carols at Rome, 202. Churchill, J. W., 74. Churchman, zealous, justified, 123. Clairvoyants, 129. Claude, 356, 422. Claude-Lorraine-glass, 422. Clemens, S. L., 299. Cliffs, On the, Swinburne, 335. Climbing Boy's Soliloquies, Mont- gomery, 397. Cloud, The, Shelley, 344. INDEX. 497 Clouds, To the, Wordsworth, 139. Cole's Voyage of Life, 41S, 419, 478. Coleridge, 46, 67, 236, 278. Cologne Cathedral, 381. Color, harmony of, as resulting from harmony in vibrations, 68, 69. Columbus, Life of, on bronze doors, 484. Comedy, pure, 297. Comic, 308, 309. Commemorative Architecture, 325, 382 ; Sculpture, 325, 368. Communications of animals, 97-99. Comparison, superficial and organic, 197, 199, 200. Compilation of the Bible, 121. Conceptions, 63. See Artistic, Re- ligious, and Scientific. Confucius, in. Congenial, the, as manifested in genius, 249, 250. Conscience, as related to the sub- conscious, 109, no, 156-161 ; meaning of, 156-159; the wise and good least conscious of, 109, no. Conscious mental action, as related to subconscious, 64-66, 86-88, 93- 98 ; comparatively harmonious blending of it with subconscious action in imaginative art, 62-64, 87, 94, 129-136, 155, 156, 159- 161, 210, 211, 222-229, 271 ; corrects that which comes from subconscious action, as in hypno- tism, 106, T08-111, 113 ; devel- oped at same time as subconscious, 222-230 ; exerts a strong influ- ence in the educated or the good, 92, 109, no; its influence subor- dinate to that of the subconscious in religion, 87, 93, 94, 131, 156- 162, 175, 271 ; supreme over that of the subconscious in science, 87, 88, 94, 137, 139. U4-146. 148- 151. 153, 155. 271, 272. Consciousness as related to con- science, 156-161 ; coming to, 157. Constructive elements of outline un- derlying effects in all arts of sight, 370-385. 32 Contrast, artistic effects of, 202, 203. Conversion, through hypnotism, 182, 183. Coriolanus, Shakespeare, 290. Corneille, 443, 476. Cornhill Magazine, 302. Correggio, 245, 356, 379. Corsair, The, 324, 447, 465. Cotter's Saturday Night, Burns, 336. Coupland, W. C., 70. Cours d' Esthetique, Jouffroy, 278. Course of Time, Pollok, 163, 257, 327. Cowper, 304, 332, 447. Crabbe, 237, 439, 447. Crawford, 369. Creation of world from nothing, explained according to hypnotism, 184 ; order of, according to psy- chometry, 120. Creeds, cannot contain all the truth, 40, 41, 50, 51, 113-115 ; may tend to spiritual death, 187-189 ; ne- cessity for freedom from formulae, 50-60, 187-189; not religious but scientific, 176, 177 ; significance of, is beneath the form of state- ment, 30, 31, 40, 46, 47, 50-60, 114,115. See Freedom. Criticism, higher, 42, 1 19-122. Critics, popular, 461 ; often the worst, 461. Critique of Judgment, Kant, 277, 278, 284, 286. Crucifixion, Rubens, 364. Cultivation as related to artist, 227- 232. Culture, as resulting from art-study, 253 ; meaning of, 252, 253 ; not produced by study of science alone, 253, Cupid Bending Bow, statue, 369. Curtis, G. W., oratory of, 411. Customs, religious, as showing prim- itive beliefs, 100. Cymbeline, Shakespeare, 456. Dallas, E. S., 228, 267. Dante, 154, 163, 190, 200, 213, 231, 263, 321. Darwin, 29, 138. 498 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Davies, C, 302. Day, H. N., 276, 280, 433. Death of Ananias, Raphael, 485. Decline of Carthage, Turner, 356. Decorative, painting, 325, 331, 357, 358 ; sculpture, 368. Delaroche, 354, 419. Demon Possession and Allied Themes, Nevius, 81. Demosthenes, 225. Denner, 359. Denton, W., 120. Dervishes, Mohammedan, 102. Descent from the Cross, Rubens, 162, 364, 485. Descriptive, poetry, 325, 331-336 ; music, 351. Deserted Village, Goldsmith, 201, 336. Design, Lectures on, Opie, 475. Destiny-Maker, Raymond, 329. Destruction of Jerusalem, Kaul- bach, 419, 420, 478. Diana of the Louvre, Statue, 485. Dickens, 231, 237, 296. Didactic poetry, 325, 331-333. Dirge, A, Tennyson, 459. Discernment, spiritual, 41, 43, 114. Discobolus, 369. Discrepancies of the Bible, 113-115, 180, 181. Distance, subconscious apprehension of, 74-77, 98, 99- Divine Comedy, The, 163, 200, 265, 331. Divine Life, Intelligence, and Char- acter as Represented in Natural Forms, 15, 21-25. Dog, Methods of thought of the, 97, 98. Doggerel, what it is, 397, 398. Dogmas, 40, 187, 188. See Creeds and Formula. Dogmatism, 52. Dome, its architectural meaning, 426. Domestic Asides, Hood, 307. Dora, Tennyson, 330. Doubt as means of grace, 51. Drama, Greek 7'ersus English, and law of unities, 443-446. Dramatic, 273, 311-313, 320-332, 389 ; character of, in art, 315— 317 ; in architecture, 325, 371- 387 ; in music, 325, 351, 352 ; in painting, 325, 353, 360-366 ; in poetry, 325, 338-348, 443~446 ; in sculpture, 325, 369-375. Droll, the, 295, 297, 298 309. Drunkard's Progress, en^javing, 476. Dryden, 345. Dunciad, Pope, 330. Duncombe, 294. Dwight, 466. Dyer, J., 343. Dying Galatian, or Gladiator, 369, 483. Ear, musical poetry appealing to it and not to eye, 454-465. Earthly Paradise, Morris, 337. Eccentricity attributed to artists, 239, 240. Education, poem by West, 143. Education, what it means, 220-226. Egypt, religion of, 89. Egyptian, religion, 100 ; temples, 102. Elements, of Art-Criticism, Samson, 147 ; of Criticism, Kames, 254. Eleusinian Mysteries, 101. Elizabeth, Drama of Age of, 446. Elliot, portrait of, Reynolds, 359. Elocution, its gestures, 413, 414 ; modulation, 412, 413 ; movement, 411, 412; unity and progress in, 410-414; versus poetry, 471-473; with musical motive, 472 ; with pictorial motive, 473. Elyseum conceived by ancients, 89. Emerson and Transcendentalists, iv. Emotion, artistic, not merely physi- cal, 216, 217 ; always strong in the artist, 217, 244, 246 ; an ele- ment of sentiment, 254, 255 ; as addressed in art, 2-5 ; as associ- ated with nature, 5 ; as stimulat- ing imagination, 211-220 ; not in distinction from thought, the source of art, 212-214 ; often means the same as soul, 211. INDEX. 499 Emotive, the, versus the instinctive and reflective, 210, 2X1, 273. Encyclopaedia Britannica, 301. English Composition and Rhetoric, Bain, 296, 303. Entablature, architecture of, with horizontality, 325, 377, 380-382. Epic, 311-322, 389; an early form of art, 315, 316 ; character of, 313, 314; in architecture, 325, 37o, 37i. 373-38o, 385 ; in music, 325. 349-351 ; in painting, 325, 352-357. 3°° ; in poetry, 325, 323-331, 338; in sculpture, 325, 367, 368 ; lack of rhyme in its po- etry, 395 ; relative rank of, 31 7— 321 ; the, painting of the world, 355- Episcopalians, 128. Equipment of Cupid, Titian, 421. Essay on Man, Pope, 332, 461. Eternal, the, as represented in na- ture, 13-21. Ethan Allen, ballad, Ravmond, 338. Ethical, the, as used in art, 257- 265. Euripides, 443. Evening, Claude, 356. Everett, E., oratory of, 410, 411. Excursion, Wordsworth, 257, 335, 448, 449 ; general plan of, 440, 447- Existence as suggested by nature, 6. Expression, arts of, 209 ; its mean- ing, 209, 272. Eye, poetry should appeal to it, as words do, 454-465. Faerie Queen, Spenser, 330, 350. Faith, 40, 64, 155-163 ; Christian, 157, 158, 160; free, 124, 181, 182, 184 ; influenced by sugges- tion, 176-190 ; living and pro- gressive, 51-53, 187-189 ; relation to fidelity and faithfulness, 158 ; to hypnotism, 176, 181-1S3 ; to practice, 158, 1 81-189 ; to sal- vation, 185, 186 ; versus ideality, 155-163 ; versus knowledge, 55, 56, 155, 1S7, 1S8. Faithless Sally Brown, Hood, 295. Fakirs, Indian, 102. Fall of Nineveh, Atherstone, 450, 452. Fantasia, 325, 350. Farce, the, 293, 294, 305. Farewell, The, Tennyson, 343. Fawn, statue, 369. Fergusson, 490. Fernando and Elvira, Gilbert, 300. Fine Arts, Wyatt, 380. First Break with the British, Ray- mond, 338. First Principles, Spencer, 165. Florence, Baptistery at, 486 ; tomb of Giuliano de' Medici, 368. Flower in the Crannied Wall, Ten- nyson, 145. Force as suggested by nature, 6- 11. Form, as connected with ideality, 161, 165, 167 ; essential to an artistic conception, 133, 160, 161, 190, 194 ; essential to an ideal, 165, 167 ; meaning of the word as used in art, 1-3, 5, 12. Forms, of art as suggesting signifi- cance, 1-4, 69, 190, 191, 195-207 ; of nature as representing the di- vine life, intelligence, and charac- ter, 15, 21-25 '< OI nature as rep- resenting the infinite, eternal, and absolute, 15-21 ; of nature as rep- resenting truth, 26-32, 51-55, 114, 115 ; of nature as suggesting sig- nificance, 5-11, 15-32, 54-58, 198; of nature do not infallibly embody divine purposes, 114, 115. Formula, cannot contain all the truth, 40, 41, 50, 51, 113-115; may tend to spiritual death, 1S7- 189 ; necessity for freedom from, 50-60, 187-189 ; not religious but scientific, 176, 177 ; significance of, is beneath them, 30, 31, 40, 46, 47, 50-60, 114, 115. Formulation, logical, 64, 139, 146, 150, 174, 175, 177-179, 192, 193. 206, 207 ; not possible to the phases of truth needed in art and religion, 152, 153, 175-181. Fox, C. J., 228. 500 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Freedom of mind when controlled by art, 241 ; by faith, 124, 181, 182, 184. Freeman, E. A., 377, 378, 380, 382- 384. Friends, the, or Quakers, 108, 132. Friendship, as connected with know- ledge of God and truth, 57, 58. Fugue, 325, 350. Fuseli, 313, 353, 355, 358, 360, 364. Future, foretold, 77-79 ; life deter- mined by present life, 185, 186. Galatea and Pygmalion, 217. Garden of Cymodoce, Swinburne, 335- Gardener's Daughter, Tennyson, 242, 282. Gavazzi, Father, oratory of, 413. Gay, J., 141. Gay Science, Dallas, 228, 267. Genesis, description of knowledge of good and evil, 96 ; poetry in, 396. Genesis of Art-Form, The, Ray- mond, 340, 392, 492. Genial, geniality, significance of, and connection with genius, 249, 250. Genius, allied to insanity, 107 ; cre- ative and divine, 186 ; eccentricity of, 239, 240 ; methods of work of, 218,219; needs training and prac- tice, 131,223-227 ; related to sub- conscious and unconscious mental action, 131, 225-229 ; what it is, 147, 247-250. See Artist. Genre painting, 362. Gerome, 361. Gertrude of Wyoming, Campbell, 336. Gesture in oratory, 413, 414. Ghiberti, 368. Ghost in Macbeth, 75. Gifts, spiritual, 129. Gilbert, 297, 300. Gilpin, John, Cowper, 304. Giuliano de' Medici, tomb of, 368. Glasse of Time, Peyton, 327. Gnosticism, 102, 103. Goethe, 154, 213, 220, 230, 231, 247, 254, 265, 321, 445, 446. Goldsmith, 201, 298, 336. Good, the, 274, 275, 284, 297, 311, 389- Good-Natured Man, Goldsmith, 29S. Gothic Architecture as dramatic, 383-387. Gough, J. B., oratory of, 411, 413, 414. Government, Vedder, 353. Grammar of Painting and Engrav- ing, Blanc, 374. Grand, the, 274, 275, 284, 286-288, 290, 293, 295, 297, 311, 312, 389. Gray's Elegy, parody on, 294. Greece, 89, 104. Greek, architecture, 325, 380, 382, 385, 386 ; law of unities, 443-446. Greeks, the, 100. Gregorian chant, 162. Grongar Hill, Dyer, 343. Grotesque, the, 295, 296, 305, 308, 309. Guido, 354. Gurney, 77, 308. Guy Mannering, Scott, 141, 236. Hades, Greek and Roman, S9. Hallucinations, 99. Hamilton, Sir W., 154, 170, 172, 279, 280, 284, 285. Hamlet, Shakespeare, 287, 288, 298, 3°5- Hamlet's Soliloquy, parody on, 294. Hammond, 398. Handel, 201, 351. Harlot's Progress, Hogarth, 478, 4S4. Harmony, 69. Hart, 326. Hartmann, Von, 70. Haydn, composer, 309, 351, 466 ; poem, 441. Hazlitt's Criticism of Wordsworth, 44S. Hebraic, Compilers of Bible, 121 ; laws against sorcery and witch- craft, 82-85 ; prophets and Scrip- tures, 89, 104, 110-114, 119-121. Hebrews, 104; their character as in- fluenced by written Scriptures, in. Hegel, 29. INDEX. 50I Henry VIII., Shakespeare, 263, 457; 1 Henry IV., 201, 258, 283; 1 Henry VI., 307 ; 2 Henry VI., 263 ; 3 Henry VI., 2S9, 456. Herder, 43. Heroic, poetry, 325, 330, 331 ; paint- ing- 325. 35?- 356 I sculPture> 325. 367, 368. See Epic. Hidden Region of Mind, 64, 65. See Subconscious. Higher Criticism, 42, 119-122. Hindoos, their religion, 64. Historic, art, 312, 325 ; painting, 325. 353- 359-30I, 363 ; sculp- ture, 325, 368. History in the Bible, its inspirational purpose, 41, 42. History of Ancient Art, Winckel- mann. 286. Hogarth, 309, 478, 4S4. Holy Night. Correggio, 356, 379. Homer, 143, 247, 321, 326, 331 ; his descriptions, 442, 443, 446. Hood, 289, 295, 300, 307. Hope, Guido, 354. Horace, 332. Horatii, The, Corneille, 476. Horatius at the Bridge, Macaulay, 471. Horizontal Support, architecture of, 325, 380-382. Horrible, the, 275, 287, 289, 290, 3«- Hudibras, Butler, 306. Hudson, T. J., 83, 176, 181. Human Form, as expressing signifi- cance in movements and postures, 373_375 ! physical as influencing art-conceptions, 20S-269. Humanities, the, 3, 242. Humanity, influenced in art, 209. Humor, 294, 295, 298-304, 306- 309- Huxley, 13S, 139, 144, 150, 164. Hypnotism, 67, 68, 176, 181 ; as affording pos-ible explanations of certain religious doctrines, 120. 1S1-187 ; as related to faith, 176, 1S1-186; its control over mind exercised through suggestion, 68- 70, 105-110, 176. 177. 181-186 ; method of communication of ani- mals, 97-99 ; of spiritualism, 79. 83, 107-109 ; partakes of nature of art, 68, 69, 132 ; physical in character, 6S, 1S2 ; the truth of its reports from the subconscious de- pends on the truth of the premise suggested to the one hypnotized, 105-109, 150, 151 ; subconscious processes of memory and logic re- vealed by it, aside from premise, seem flawless, 105. 106, 150, 221 ; while controlling the mind, leaves it free and individual, 181, 1S2, 184. Hypnotizer, his methods, 68, 69. Ideal in Art, The, Taine, 317, 433. Idealism, 273, 274, 312, 324. Ideality, 64, 190, 191, 195, 196. 234 ; as related to religion, 159-163, 166-169 '< as related to science, 170-173 ; versus faith, 155, 159- 163 ; versus knowledge, 165—173. Idealized Realism, 273, 274, 324. Ideals, 234; defined, iot, 165, 167 ; in this world determine life in next, 186. Ideals Made Real, Raymond, 441. Idyls, of the King, Tennyson, 330, 331 ; of Theocritus, 330. Iliad, 143, 263, 265, 327, 33L 395, 442, 443, 476, 473, 479- II Penseroso, Milton, 24S, 457. Image in the mind in imagination, 2,3- Imagination, 2, 3, 63, 87 ; an aid to science, 151-154, 170-173 ; crea- tivewhen, in form and significance, continuing work of creation, 198 ; connected with emotion, 211-220 ; developed from subconscious in connection with conscious mental action, 129, 130, 149-155, 210, 211, 213-215, 223-227, 229 ; divine because creative, 1S6 ; im- proved by training, 226-229 ; in- dividuality of effect of artist's, 234-250 ; not injured by scientific study or learning:, 230, 231 ; not untrue nor irrational, 149, 150, 212 ; perceives definite pictures in 502 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. imagination — Continued. poetry, 455-465 ; one source of be- lief in immortality, 90, 152-154; versus religious inspiration, 127- x30, 155, 159, 271, 272; versus investigation, 137-155, 165, 170- 172, 193, 194, 210, 211, 271, 272 ; why a substitute for investigation, 149, 167, 170 ; why for experi- ence, 212, 213. See Art. and Artistic Conceptions. Imaginative minds as unpractical, intuitive, prescient, inventive, spiritual, 151-154. Immaculate Conception. Murillo, 356, 379- Immortality, 89. See Life after Death. Immortality, Intimations of, Words- worth, 96, 145. Import, as suggested in art, 388-431 ; in nature, 13-25 ; spiritual, 64. Incongruity, the basis of the playful in art, 292, 293, 299, 300, 308. 309. Indians, religion of, 99, no. Individual interest awakened by the statue, 484-487. Individuality of effect in art, 234- 240 ; not in conflict with represent- I ing natural appearances, 238-240; nor with general effects, 245-250. ( Inferno, Dante, 265. See Divine ! Comedy. Infinite, as represented in nature. J 13-21. Information, previous, as a test of j truth, but to be used with charity, ; 122-125 ; indispensable to artist, j 133, 228, 229. Innocence, Raphael, 354 Innocents Abroad, Clemens, isgg Innuendo, 307. Insight, spiritual, as a test or I truth, 31, 125, 126. Inspiration, 63, 87, 133-136; allied to results of hypnotism, 107 ; artis- tic, iv., 65, 71, 72, 107, 131-134, 226, 227 ; attributed to insanity, idiocy, and genius, 107; attributed to subconscious action, 107, 131- 133, 226, 227 ; Biblical, 109-128; divine and not divine, 75 , lm proved by practice, 227 ; in com jiilation of the Bible, 121 ; influ ence of environment on divine 112-114 ; its spiritual influence is by way of suggestion, 175-184 religious versus artistic, 65-72 religious, is rational, 109-113 tests of truth of Biblical, 122-128 truth of, interpreted by conscious action of some mind, 103, note, 107-118, 122-128 ; truth of, modi- fied by character and thought of the inspired person, 112-114; truth of religious, does not always depend on intelligence or ability of inspired person, 133 ; versus imagination, 87, 8S, 12S-136, 155, 1 59-161, 272 ; versus investiga- tion, 155, 271, 272. See Bible Religion, and Religious Concep- tions. Inspirational Preachers and theii training, 227. Instinct and Reason, Marshall, 92. Instinct in animals and man, 93. Instructive tendency, 93-95, 229 allied to religious, 94-100 ; versus the emotive and the reflective, 93- 95, 210, 211, 272_. Introduction a 1' Etude de la Mu sique, Choron, 350. Intuitive insight as a test of truth. 125, 126. Investigation, 03, 87, 138, 164, aided by art, 151-154, 171-173 218, 219 ; an aid to art, 133, 134 229, 231; versus imagination, 137- 155. 165, 170-172, 193, 194, 211 271, 272. See Science, and Scien tific. Iphigenia in Tauris, Goethe, 44s 446. Irony, 30b. Italy A Song ot, Swinburne 400 Jago, 294. Japanese Religion, be, Jessen, 70. Jesus. See Christ. Jewess, story of a, 76. INDEX S03 Jewish Cemetery, The Ruyvlaei 356. Joan of Arc, 105. jocular, the, 295, 297. Johnson, 307. Josephine, Empress, 78. Joshua, a relief, 476, 484 Jouffroy, 278, 285. journal of Music, 466. Julius Caesar, Shakespeare. 178, Justice, Raphael, 354. Kames, 254. Kanawha, 78. Kant, 104, 277, 278, 284. 2Sf> Karge, 75, 76. Kaulbach, 354, 419. Keats, 337. Kepler, 71. King John, Shakespeare, 456. Kingsley, 341. Klopstock, 163. Knight, 144. Knowledge, characteristic of Sci- ence, 64, 155, 156, 164, 165 ; of God, what it is, 56-58 ; of good and evil, 96 ; versus faith, 155, 156, 187, 188 ; versus ideal- ity, 164-172. Kugler, 362, 421. Lady of the Lake, Scott, 346, 399. Landscape-Gardening, in England, 333. 334 ; significance of, distin- guished from that of painting or sculpture, 474, 475 ; time sug- gested in, 416, 417 ; unity and progress in, 415-417. Landscapes, dramatic, 364-366 ; epic, 356, 357 ; realistic, 358. Laocoon, criticism, vii., 236, 285, 421, 434-436, 442, 443, 454 ; statue, 204, 285, 369, 375, 424, 488. Last Judgment, Angelo, 48, 277. Law of Psychic Phenomena, The, Hudson, 83, 176, 181. Lawrence, A., Size of Brain, 221, 222. Lay Sermons, Addresses, and Re- views, 1 luxley, 138. Learning, as expressed in art-pro ducts, especially poetry, 256-266 ; as influencing the artist, 226-232 Leaving for Work, Millet, 420, Legend of King Arthur, 397. Legends of the Bible, 1 19-12 r. Lemon, Mark, 304. Leonardo, 213. Les Principes de la Science du Beau Chaignet, 278, 285, 339. Lessing, vii., 51, 236, 285, 421, 443, 454 ; theory of, 434-436, 442. Liberty, Christian, 177, 181., 182, 187, 188. Liberty Enlightening the World statue, 367, 488. Life, as suggested in art-forms, 390 431 ; by nature, 9-11 ; character of, after death, determined by be- lief and character in this world, 185, 186 ; on earth as connected with that above, 56-60 ; sources of belief in future, 89-92 ; spirit- ual, dependent on freedom from formulas, 50-60 ; spiritual, influ- enced by suggestion, 187-190 ; truth involves it, 48-60. Lightning Calculators, 72, 93, 105. Lincoln, 181, 184 ; his dream, 79. Lion Hunt, Rubens, 364. Liszt, 351, 466. Literalism in interpreting the Bible, and its evils, 176-184, 187. Literary Interpretation of the Bible, 177-179. I8l. Lochinvar, Scott, 471. Locksley Hall, Tennyson, 343. Logical Inference, or reasoning, a test of truth, 126, 127. See For- mulation. Lohengrin, Wagner, 410. Long, 326, 338, 353, 355, 359, 374. Longfellow, 197, 199, 202, 203, 342, 453. Lost Love, The, Wordsworth, 288. Lotus Eaters, The, Tennyson, 142, 451- Love, connection between it and the truth, 56-58. Lover's Journey, Crabbe, 439. Love thou thy Land, Tennyson, 459. Lowell, 284. 504 REPRESENTATIVE SIGNIFICANCE OF FORM. Lucile, 324, 4J7. Ludicrous, the, 292, 293, 295-305. Ludlow, 75. Luini, Bernardino, 477. Lyric, cry, 339 ; poetry, 325, 339- 345. 364, 3"5- Lytton, 324. Mai), Queen, Shelley, 453. Macaulay, 471 . Macbeth, Shakespeare, 289, 34S, 456 ; ghost in, 75. Madoc in Wales, Southey, 450. Making of a Book, Alexander, 363. Malebranche, 51. Manfred, Byron, 237. Marjorie, Little, Sargent, 362. Marmion, Scott, 447. Marquand, 362. Marryat, F., 66. Marshall, IL R., 92. Martin Chuzzlewit, Dickens, 237. Mason, Dr. R. O., 182. Materialism, and belief in the Bible, 116 ; evils of, and effects of art upon, 135, 136. Mathematics, subconscious, 72, 73. See Lightning Calculators. Matter, 6. Maud, Tennyson, 242. Mazzuoli, 435. Measure for Measure, Shakespeare, 200. Medicine Man of Indians, 100. Medium, spiritual, 79-85, 100-103, 108-111 ; untrustworthiness of communications of, 82-85. Meissonier, 359. Meistersinger, The, Wagner, 308, 409, 410. Melody deriving suggestions of or- ganism and import from its con- nection with the chord, 405, 406. Memory, as influenced in hypnotism, 66-71 ; its influence in art, es- pecially poetry, 227-229. Mendelssohn, 231. Merchant of Venice, Shakespeare, 308. Merrill, 328. Messiah, The, Klopstock, 163. Metaphysics, Lectures on, Hamil- ton, 154, 170, 279, 280. Method of operation, as determined by appearances in time and space together, 7-9 ; as determining im- pressions of life, organism, and import in nature, 9-11 ; as deter- mining meanings of words, 35-37 ; as determining significance in art, 390—393 ; as determining truth in the Bible, 41-49 ; as indicating the divine in nature, 22-25 ; as suggesting the infinite, eternal, and absolute, 16-21 ; connection between a single and the universal, 13, 29, 30, 32, 38, 42, 45 ; connec- tion between it and truth, 25-27, 29-62. Meyers, 77. Midsummer Night's Dream, Shake- speare, 167. Millet, J. F., 361, 365, 420. Milton, 24, 130, 134, 154, 163, 185, 200, 226, 230, 247, 248, 260, 261, 276, 277, 321, 336, 457, 458, 471. Miltonic character of poetry, 23, 24. Mind, as addressed in art, 2, 3, 196 ; conscious, hidden, occult, subcon- scious, 64, 65 ; of man and in nature as representing the divine, 22-25 ; receiving truth subcon- sciously, modifies it, 106, 108- 113. See Conscious and Subcon- scious. Mind Readers or Reading, 79, 97- IOO, 102, 129. Minerva, Pheidias, 204. Minstrel, The, Beattie, 336. Miracles and Modern Spiritualism, Wallace, 108. Miserere sung at Rome, 202. Mock Heroic, the, 293, 294. Modulation in oratory, 412. Mohammed, 105. Mohammedan Architecture, 325, 3S6. Mohammedans, 64, 104, 105, 128. Montgomery, 397. Moorish Architecture, 325, 386. Mormons, 64, 128. Morris, 337. INDEX. 505 Morte